by Jami Gray
Together, he and Chay walked around Tala’s cabin, all senses on alert. As they came to the wrap-around deck at the back, faint canine barks drifted to them. Not the friendly variety, but the deeper, warning sounds of trouble.
Exchanging a look, they took off, weaving through the trees and running through the surrounding forest. Despite the rush of air through his lungs and the heavy beat of his pulse, Cheveyo couldn’t miss the sharp yips interspersed with deep growls growing in frequency and volume as they drew closer.
When a sharp feminine cry rent the air, Cheveyo’s heart stopped for a breathless moment in recognition. Tala! Having no idea what waited ahead, he locked her name behind his teeth and dug for more speed. A whisper of the earth’s natural magic swept over him, lending speed to his passage as if Mother Nature shared his sense of urgency. At his side, Chay kept pace.
There was another deep, evil sounding growl quickly answered by a different, aggressive snarl. The warning yips changed to threatening rumbles, and Cheveyo gathered his magic close. There was a pained yelp followed by a short scream full of frustrated rage, the echoes of both leaving Cheveyo swearing under his breath. Every hair on his skin stood on end as the unmistakable energy of magic rode like lightening through the air as a powerful spell was cast.
“Shit.” The muttered oath came from Chay even as the sunlight flashed off the blade in his hand as he leapt over a fallen log.
Cheveyo didn’t bother agreeing, too worried about what they were running toward. Abruptly, they broke through the tree line and rushed into a small clearing. Cheveyo rocked to a stop, horror rushing through him. In front of him, a damning scene unfolded, shifting the situation from challenging to perilous.
Tala Whiteriver, the leader of the Southwest Magi, was crouched over a wolf, her fist wrapped around the hilt of a knife sunk deep into the furred chest of Tomás Chavez, the alpha and leader of the Southwest Shifters.
Chapter Three
“Tala!”
The sound of her name pierced Tala’s adrenaline-laced haze and brought her head up, the demand in the familiar voice hard to ignore. Still reeling from the stunning blow delivered by the wolf currently pinned at her feet, it took precious seconds for the world to resettle. When it did, she wondered if the hit had done more damage than she suspected. Why on earth was Cheveyo here? Especially now?
A fiery lash of pain along her side wiped the questions from her mind, and she turned her attention back to the mortally wounded, but still struggling wolf. Gritting her teeth against the scream demanding freedom, she shifted her weight and wrapped her free hand around the wolf’s paw buried in her side, holding his savage amber gaze and exerting pressure until his claws flexed and tore free of her skin. The resulting agony left black spots dancing on the edge of her vision, but she didn’t dare give in. Not yet.
Breathing through the pain, she forced her chaotic thoughts into focus. She needed to get through to the rage-filled shifter. To ensure compliance, she sank as much power as she could into her command, praying it would work against the alpha. “Tomás, still.”
If he didn’t stop moving, her blade would nick his heart. Nearly immortal didn’t equal immortal. When his struggles stilled, her hand trembled on the hilt.
Fingers shackled her wrist, squeezing hard, but not hurting, not yet. “Tala, what the hell is going on?”
She didn’t dare look away from Tomás as she answered, “Something’s wrong.” That earned her a hiss of displeasure, which she chose to ignore. “He went after Ash, and when I went to intervene, he turned on me.”
The fingers on her wrists flexed and gentled. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Yes, she and Tomás had their differences, but this…She held the wild, maddened gaze while stunned panic clawed her mind. “This isn’t right.”
“Understatement of the century,” Cheveyo growled.
Still struggling to comprehend what the hell happened to Tomás, Tala muttered, “Maybe he’s bespelled? Or cursed?” Or his mind finally snapped. An option she wasn’t quite ready to voice because the ramifications made her blood ice.
Cheveyo didn’t answer, but his grip shifted, covering hers on the knife’s hilt, keeping it steady. “You need to let go.”
She shook her head. “If I move, he’s dead.”
“Is it silver?”
Swallowing against her dry throat, she nodded.
“If you want to find answers, you need to let go and get them while you can.” It was an order, pure and simple. One not easily dismissed.
She finally looked at Cheveyo. New lines marred his lean face, adding an edge to an already intimidating countenance. Between his piercing obsidian gaze, equally dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and bronze skin his Shoshone heritage was blatantly obvious. Strangely enough, his normally clean-shaven jaw was shadowed, but when her gaze went back to his, she couldn’t escape the grim truth staring back. Tomás was dying, because of her.
Guilt rose in a choking wave and collided with the rancid nausea of panic. The caustic mixture settled in the pit of her stomach like a leaden, poisonous weight. Forcing her hand to release the hilt, she managed to dip her chin in a nod. Once sure Cheveyo held the knife steady, she turned back to the man she once considered maybe not a friend, but an ally.
Ignoring his constant growls, she cradled his furred head in her palms, ignoring the blood smearing her hands, and sank her magic into her touch. The familiar ache of working with natural, living magic burrowed into the marrow of her bones and burned. She held his feral gaze with hers and let the magic take her.
Unlike some of the other Kyn bloodlines, Lycan magic was close enough to the Magis’ power to be malleable. She settled her magic over Tomás like a protective cloak, all the while searching for anything that didn’t belong. The combination of wolf and man was seamless, like the finest silk, and her magic slipped along, looking for purchase. It snagged over Tomás’s chest, and she stopped, narrowing her power as she began a slow, methodical search. Nothing, except the ragged edges of his severed mate bond. It rasped against her magic, like sandpaper on an open wound, and she couldn’t stop her reflexive flinch.
Nothing could be done for that injury, so she carefully moved on. She curled her magic’s protective energy around the unforgiving presence of her blade, trying to provide a magical barrier between Tomás and the silver. It slid into place, even as cold knowledge swept through her. Silver and Lycan blood did not mix well as evidenced by the weakening magic seeping beyond the blade’s touch. The barrier wouldn’t hold long.
Another’s magic slipped along hers, trying to reinforce the barrier. The familiar touch slipped into numb spaces and reawakened old aches. Desperate to stop the inevitable, she took Cheveyo’s silent offer of help, weaving their energy together, slowing, but not stopping, the silver’s deadly advance.
“Hurry, Tala.” Worry laced Cheveyo’s low voice.
Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the alpha’s chest and once again sent her magic spinning through every inch of Tomás’s body, desperately searching for the reason behind his incomprehensible behavior. Again, she came up empty. “There’s nothing there.” Refusing to look at Cheveyo, she ignored the tremor in her voice and held Tomás’s glare. “Why?”
His lips curled back as a growl rumbled from his flared muzzle.
“We won’t get anything from him unless we force him back into human form.”
She snapped her head around to glare at Cheveyo. “We force him to change, and he’ll bleed out in minutes.”
There was no give in his obsidian gaze, and his face a merciless mask. “We don’t force the change, you’ll be facing a Tribunal with nothing but speculation. I’m not comfortable with that, are you?”
She remained stubbornly mute while fear tried to gain a foothold. The Tribunal would require witnesses and the only witness was currently glaring at her over the dying alpha. She was so screwed.
Reading her silence as an answer, Cheveyo continued with relentle
ss practicality, “We don’t have time to get a healer here, nor do we have time to get him to one.”
He was right. Shoving her fear aside, she forced cold practicality to the fore. With Tomás dead, if she didn’t have some answers for his pack and the other Kyn leaders, it wouldn’t be long before she joined him in the hereafter. She was angry at having her hand forced, and there was no hiding her resentful consent from Cheveyo’s glittering gaze.
His mouth tightened, but he quickly pulled the blade free.
Working against the clock, she gave him no warning, waiting only until the knife was free before drawing hard and fast on his magic, using it to bolster her own. She slammed it into the maddened wolf. Cheveyo’s painful hiss was drowned out by Tomás’s howl. Relentless and unforgiving, she drove her magic through the alpha, the combined wills of two strong witches struggling to override the will of the grievously injured shifter.
Tomás’s wolf disappeared in a flash of heat and light, and when the burst faded, a man lay in the animal’s place. Blood smeared his barrel chest, and Tala pressed her hands tight against the wound. Cheveyo yanked his T-shirt over his head and wadded it up. “Ready?”
She nodded.
Together they switched places until Cheveyo could press the cloth against the wound. The additional pressure made Tomás groan, his eyes fluttering closed while his hands feebly clawed at Cheveyo’s wrists.
Tala caught them in her bloodied grip, holding them still. “Tomás.”
At his name, the alpha’s lashes lifted.
Tala was grateful to note some semblance of comprehending intelligence breaking through the lingering madness.
“Tala,” he growled her name despite his labored breathing.
She leaned in, searching his face. “Why?”
Fury twisted his lips into a snarl as he jerked against her hold “You and yours—are playing—games with my wolves.”
Despite his lethal wound, he managed a particular brutal shove rocking Tala back on her heels even as she tried to keep her grip on his wrists. Gritting her teeth, she held on. “I’ve never played any games with you or your wolves.”
Her denial acted like an accelerant to the alpha’s temper. “Liar!”
Despite Cheveyo’s weight against his chest, Tomás lunged forward, catching Tala off guard. Her balance compromised, she lost her grip on his wrists, and barely dodged a wicked swipe of a half-shifted claw.
“Dammit, Tomás!” Cheveyo’s voice whipped across the impending confrontation as he forced the wolf back to the ground. “Settle your ass down. I’m trying to keep you from bleeding out.”
With a snarl, Tomás subsided, his face paling even as he shared his baleful stare between them. “Witches—ain’t nothing but manipulative crones.”
Unruffled, Cheveyo snapped, “And wolves are nothing but damn drama queens. What in the world possessed you to attack Tala?”
The alpha’s chuckle was wet and choked. “Take her out first—before she—destroys us.”
Shocked rocked through Tala. “You’re mad.”
Tomás turned his head toward her, his smile cruel and malicious. “Not mad—determined.”
She shook her head. “I have never held any intention of destroying you or your pack.”
“Bullshit,” he hissed, only to fall into a painful coughing fit. When he finally stopped, his breathing was ragged and choppy, his complexion ashy and a thin line of blue surrounded his lips. “You took from me—just returning the favor.”
“She had nothing to do with your mate’s death.” Cheveyo reclaimed Tomás’s attention.
“Her—you—and that arrogant fleabag, Warrick—you killed my Lizzie.” An ominous rattle sounded as he sucked in more air. “He promised me vengeance—”
Startled by that, Tala bit out, “He?”
Instead of answering, Tomás’s lips curled in a fierce grin, revealing bloodstained teeth. “Not the only one you stole from…”
Ignoring the ominous shiver wrapping around her spine, she tried to appeal to the man who led the second largest pack in America. Grabbing his face, Tala forced him to meet her gaze. “You’re dying, you fool. I can’t save you.”
For a moment sanity flickered. “Don’t try…” Amber washed through his irises, and she lost him. “He’ll make you all pay—”
Another coughing fit cut off his babbling, this one so fierce it dislodged Cheveyo’s hold and curled Tomás’s body. When it finished, Tomás’s gaze was sightless, and one last harsh breath escaped before he fell eternally silent.
Stunned, Tala knelt next to him, her bloodstained hands in her lap, her thoughts chaotic. The warm press of fingers along her chin brought her back as Cheveyo forced her gaze to his, his fingers gentle but insistent. “Tala, you with me?”
Mutely, she nodded.
He searched her face, gave a short nod, and let her go. “We need to get to your cabin and get ahold of Andrew and the other alphas.”
Andrew was Tomás’s Second, but there were four other alphas who held the Southwest packs together. With Tomás’s death, the power structure would shift, and it wouldn’t necessarily be Andrew who took his place. Change had just bitch slapped the Southwest Kyn with a brutal backhand.
The enormity of the situation barreled into her and, for a moment, she floundered. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and took a bracing breath. She couldn’t afford to fall apart now. “We call Tobias in Tucson first.”
“Why?”
Grateful for Cheveyo’s focus, she answered, “Because he’s the closest alpha, and the one most likely not to tear my throat out when this news hits.”
“Tobias it is,” he muttered.
Chapter Four
The urge to turn around and head back to Portland was overwhelming, but Cheveyo knew he wasn’t going anywhere, anytime soon. He studied the woman on the other side of the thrice-cursed dead body of Tomás Chavez, Southwest Lycan leader and Alpha of the Red Thunder Pack. A bruise rose along one sharp cheekbone, the skin darkening, her dark eyes were wide and a tad wild, even her blood-streaked hands held a slight tremor.
Whatever problems existed within the Southwest Kyn just took a mammoth leap sideways and threatened to drag Tala along for the ride. Considering her stunned, blank expression as she stared at the body, he knew the reality of the situation had yet to sink in. When it did, no doubt she would do whatever she could to push him aside. Too damn bad he didn’t plan on budging.
When a canine whimper cut through the heavy silence, it jerked Tala out of her dazed state. She turned quickly and winced. “Ash?” She scrambled to her feet, her hand going to cover a crimson stained tear in her shirt.
Cheveyo reached out but missed her hand by millimeters as she turned away. His fingers curled into a fist as his arm dropped, and he kept his concern silent.
Chay hefted Tala’s pet wolf into his arms. “I need to get him somewhere where I can patch him up.”
She hurried to Chay’s side, her attention taken by Ash. “We can take him to the cabin.” She rested a palm on Ash’s head as the wolf tried to lick her hand.
Chay looked to Cheveyo in silent question. Understanding that Chay was reluctant to leave him alone and unguarded, Cheveyo said, “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”
Chay waited until Cheveyo, with Tomás in his arms, stood, and then he led the way back to Tala’s cabin at a brisk pace. Tala stayed at his side, not touching Ash, but ensuring he could see her. Cheveyo followed behind, his mind picking through the various possibilities of what they would soon face. Considering how strong pack bonds were, he posed the most pressing question. “How long do we have before Andrew hits your door?”
She didn’t even bother looking back. “If we’re lucky twenty, maybe thirty, minutes, depending on where he was when Tomás died.”
That wasn’t very long to prepare for a seriously pissed off wolf, especially if Chay was busy playing vet. “How bad is Ash?”
“He’s got a good sized slash along a foreleg and a couple of deep gouges
in his neck that need stitching.” Chay shifted his hold as he maneuvered around a log, causing Ash to whimper.
Tala made a soft shushing noise.
Obviously following Cheveyo’s train of thought, Chay continued, “I’ll need about twenty minutes to set the stitches.”
“Make it fifteen.”
Without bothering to answer, Chay picked up the pace. When they hit the edge of Tala’s backyard, Cheveyo’s arms were beginning to ache from the deadweight of Tomás’s body.
Tala scrambled up the short steps to the deck, her magic sweeping ahead of her and the back door slid open. She led the way, throwing over her shoulder, “This way.”
The men followed her inside. Tala stopped next to the entryway leading to the front of the house and motioned Chay in.
Cheveyo paused in the dining area. “Where do you want him?”
Small lines bracketed her eyes and her voice was rough. “Down the hall, last room on the left.”
He nodded and turned. A sound from behind had him craning his neck to see her standing awkwardly between the entryway and the hall, her indecision clear. She wanted to go to Ash but felt obligated to take care of Tomás. That glimpse into her well-hidden heart brushed against long suppressed protective tendencies, and he made the decision for her. “Go with Ash, bił hinishná-anii,” he urged. “I’ve got this.”
She gave him a tiny, weak smile and headed to the front room.
Cheveyo went down the hall to the bedroom she indicated. He laid Tomás on top of the bed then looked around, unwilling to leave the alpha’s body exposed. A quilt, its colors faded with age, lay folded on top of a wooden hope chest at the foot of the bed. Recognizing it, he brushed his fingers over the soft material. Just once. Memories tiptoed closer, but he lifted his hand and deliberately turned away. He wouldn’t use that one.