"It's all right," she whispered, though her body felt as if it were shattering into pieces. "It's all right."
"Rush, yeah, rush, Great Phantom," cried Sebastian, his voice growing ever more fervid. His eyes glinted red with angry intent. Fingers of flame reflected in the unclothed portions of his silvery coat. Lily closed her eyes in resignation. With a sob, Shala writhed out of her lap, but Lily was in too much pain to hold on.
"Race, Great Phantom, race, yeah, race. The Lady rolls on, time grows short. Heed us now. Heed us now.
Time grows short. Heed us now.
Yeafanay cawfanay nay–"
Yealanay cawfanay nayfanay may."
Lily didn't know where the unbidden refrain came from, but it raced through her mind in contradiction to Sebastian's words. "Spirits of light, hear our plea," she whispered weakly. "Yealanay cawfanay nayfanay may."
Her pain was now so intense she could barely lift her head, but at Sebastian's hesitation she forced it from the ground. He paused. A look of outrage crossed his face. Arms still raised in invocation, he eyed her suspiciously. At least she thought he did. Her vision was so blurred nothing was truly clear. And what was that, sitting on the stony rim of the fire pit, all white and golden-eyed?
"Cease that babble," he barked.
"Yealanay cawfanay nayfanay may," Lily choked out again, encouraged by his outburst. Her vision cleared a bit. Shala stirred beside her, moaning softly. Ravenheart grunted in discomfort. One of his feet extended beyond the edge of the circle and a wolf snapped at it. Sebastian snarled an order to desist, and it backed away.
With a shrill, ear-splitting shriek the white shape rose from the wall enclosing the fire, swooped down and buried its talons into Beryl's head. Beryl yelped and clawed at it, but the bird deftly avoided his flailing hands, soaring to the fire pit again.
Suddenly it was gone. In its place stood White Hawk, a knife in one hand, a bright yellow scarf tied around his face. With a war cry, he rushed toward the circle, scattering small white objects in his wake. Wolves flew in all directions, howling and spraying dirt. Beryl doubled over, coughing. Sebastian dropped his arms and covered his muzzle with a kerchief pulled from his suit pocket. Wolfish noses began receding. A hairless arm appeared on one wolf, a leg on another. Coughs and gasps mingled with the whine of the wind.
Ravenheart made a strangled sound. Lily rolled into a ball as the acrid ammonia seared her lungs. Forcing herself not to resist, she inhaled another dose, feeling the familiar tingle of ebbing body changes. She glanced over at Shala, alarmed to see her lying limply on the earth, apparently not breathing.
Scrambling to her knees, she tilted the girl's head back, inhaled another breath of ammonia, then pressed her mouth to Shala's and exhaled.
Coughing, Shala jerked upright. "Breathe," Lily rasped, almost too overcome to speak. The girl broke into sobs, trying to escape the ammonia but breathing nonetheless. Breathing Oh thank God, she was breathing.
Springing to her feet, Lily swept Shala from the ground. Mayhem surrounded her. Sebastian bellowed as his height shrank and his fur began to fade. Already in human form, Beryl huddled on the rocky soil, retching from the fumes. The seven ceremonial wolves, having reverted to human shape, were ripping at their own bodies as fangs and paws dissolved. Ravenheart screamed inside the circle, pallid and in obvious agony. White Hawk whooped incessantly.
With Shala against her shoulder, Lily ran from the circle, dipping to reclaim her jacket from the ground as she raced toward White Hawk. When he saw her, he gave out another whoop, then crouched and swept his knife in front of him, waiting to see what move she would make.
The obvious motive behind his stunned Lily. He thought she was part of this!
"Always the fool," she snarled, moving cautiously closer. "Take your daughter quickly. And run! Now! Before they recover."
A look of pure shock crossed his face. He tucked Shala against him, then reached for Lily's hand, spinning and pulling her toward the forest.
"No!" she cried, yanking free. "I have unfinished business here."
White Hawk hesitated, glancing first at her, then at the protection of the forest. Shala let out an ugly cough. "Go!" Lily screamed.
He nodded, ripped the scarf from his face and handed it to Lily, then broke into a sprint and quickly vanished amid the thick pines.
Lily tied the yellow scarf around her face. The clearing still reeked of ammonia. White Hawk must have dropped every damned capsule he owned, and thank God for it too. She then shimmied into her jacket and reached for the knife. To her relief, it was still there. Small, but keenly edged and sufficient for her needs.
She carefully wove through the yipping and whimpering werewolves, who were as a unit writhing on the ground. Sebastian had sunk to his knees beside the fire pit, still shifting between man-wolf and human shape. He fixed her with a stare as she approached.
"So," he groaned defiantly, eyeing the knife in her hand, "you hope to slay a king."
"I will slay a king."
He laughed harshly. "You do not have the stomach for it."
Holding the knife with both hands in front of her, Lily moved closer.
Sebastian sighed heavily and fell onto his side. "Much like Zeus dethroning Kronos, is it not, my dear?"
"If I recall correctly, Kronos swallowed his children," Lily replied, continuing to move forward. "Just as werewolves swallow mortals. I believe this is a fitting end to your infamy."
"You judge me quite harshly for one who shares in my crimes."
Lily was so close now she could see the irregular rise and fall of his soft underbelly, the werewolf's Achilles' heel. Although her knife was small, its deadly point could inflict a fatal blow. Even alchemizing to human form would not save him from such a wound.
She crouched, knife poised and aimed at his stomach, then hesitated. The ammonia stench was waning and, unlike the others, Sebastian wasn't completely immobilized. He'd tricked her once that evening with his slyly worded promise to free Shala, so it wouldn't surprise her if he possessed more strength than he was demonstrating.
Yet she'd never have a better chance. She coiled like a leopard and prepared to jump.
"Ah, the coup de grace," Sebastian whispered.
Thunder clapped, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminated the clearing. In that brief instant Lily took in Sebastian's disheveled appearance. His stylish tuxedo was covered in dust, one ragged lapel hanging limply on his chest. His top hat lay crushed on the ground beside him, and he clutched his natty pocket handkerchief. His face was etched with lines of pain.
Her gaze finally came to rest on his eyes, taking in the way the azure shade had dimmed to lackluster gray. She'd been his constant companion for years and knew him well. Knew his habits, the subtle variations of his moods. The pain she saw didn't come from the effects of the smelling salts. It was the signpost of a soul in agony.
An unwelcome wave of sympathy swept over her, stirring the deep love she'd once felt for him. She darted a panicky glance at the blade in her hand, saw firelight reflected in the shiny steel. A single downward sweep of her arm. That's all it would take to be free of him forever. Now! her soul screamed. Now!
Wild-eyed with inner conflict, Lily lunged, arching the knife toward her target. In that same second, Sebastian twisted. A hand closed around her ankle, sending her sprawling to the ground. In the space of his enraged bellow, she found herself soaring through the air, then landing inside the ceremonial ring on top of Ravenheart's prone body. Recoiling, she rolled off, rocked upright, and stared lividly at Sebastian.
Sebastian grinned mockingly, levering himself up until he leaned against the wall of the fire pit. He raised his arms.
"Yeafanay, cawfanay, naylanay, may," he cried thinly. "Yeafanay, cawfanay, naylanay, may. A she-wolf is born this day."
The last line of the Song of Hades! Sebastian had completed the ceremony! A reddish haze filled Lily's eyes, blinding her. Her joints creaked and groaned. No! No! She mustn't let this happen!
"Yealanay cawfanay nayfanay may," she murmured, barely able to speak. "The power of love . . . triumphs this . . . day." She'd once hated these words from the Shadow of Venus, but now . . . now she clung to them as her only...
. . . hope. "The power of love . . . the power of love . . . triumphs this . . . day."
The pain ceased. Her vision cleared. She looked down, horrified to see a thick covering of fine white hairs on her arms. Sebastian had collapsed against the fire pit, his head lolling onto his stained white shirtfront, his hair dancing in the wind. His slitted eyes stared at her, almost blindly.
She scrambled to her feet, horrified by this change in her body, wanting to rip off the covering on her skin, hair by hair. But though he looked dazed beyond awareness, she knew Sebastian saw her, realized she'd been given another chance to kill him.
Looking frantically around for her fallen knife, she moaned when she saw it lying many yards from the circle. The bodies of the other werewolves were slumped together in clusters, most appearing unconscious from the effects of her litany, but they would stir soon, as would Sebastian.
No she wouldn't kill him. Not this time, she realized with deep regret. Not this time.
She bolted for the path leading through the pines, but as she reached the trees she looked back over her shoulder. Sebastian's ice blue eyes were open now, taking her in. A sly smile covered his ravaged face.
Lily stopped and addressed him in a deadly cold voice. "Don't ever touch that girl again, Sebastian. If you do, I will kill you. I swear it."
Then she whirled to run through the forest, knowing her words hadn't scared him off, knowing her smooth human skin was covered with wolfish fur, knowing she'd become an outcast, unloved, belonging nowhere.
Across the needle-covered carpet of the forest floor, over the rugged desert, onto the path along the river, heedless of the needles, twigs, and rocks slicing her exposed toes, of the windswept branches scratching her face and snagging her hair, she ran. From Sebastian. From herself. From the hellish fate that had brought her to this point.
She didn't stop until she ran straight into White Hawk's arms.
Chapter Seventeen
Chest heaving, Lily let out a gasp and backed out of Tony's arms. The wind tore at her hair, and her wide dark eyes darted in all directions. Clearly she was terrified.
“Lily,” Tony said gently. "It's okay. It's only me."
Looking down at her hands, she brought them up and stared if she'd never seen them before. Then she ran her fingers quickly over her arms as if checking for something. Finally, she met his eyes. "Sebastian . . . I thought–" Her voice choked. "But I'm all right, aren't I?"
"Yes, Lily. You're all right. Just fine in fact."
"What are you doing here?" she asked in panic. "You shouldn't have left Shala. The ceremony almost killed her."
"She's with Riva, Lily, and she's recovered. But she wouldn't settle down until I agreed to come after you."
Not that he needed his daughter's urgent pleas. He'd only left Lily behind for Shala's sake, and because he'd seen how intent she was on carrying out her purpose. Nothing he could have done would have persuaded her to leave.
"Sebastian?"
"He's still alive." She looked defeated. "I should have—" She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Tony put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Lily, you saved Shala's life. What do you have to be sorry for?"
"Are you being kind to me?" she asked suspiciously. Tony laughed.
"Was that funny?"
"Not funny, but– Lily, I'm so filled with gratitude . . . You can't imagine."
Swaying trees admitted streaks of moonlight that shone on Lily's face. Gone was her usual haughty expression. In its place was a vulnerability Tony had never seen there before. She looked away uneasily, and he reached out to touch her cheek. "You're hurt."
"It's only a scratch." She brought her own hand up. It trembled as it brushed against his.
Involuntarily, Tony closed his hand around hers. She clutched at him for a moment like a frightened child, then let go and dropped her arm. Strangely unnerved, Tony stepped back. Twigs and leaves were tangled in her windswept hair and in the shifting moonlight they almost resembled a halo. Her eyes possessed an unusually brilliant sheen.
Tony cleared his throat. "Let's get out of here before the werewolves show up again."
Lily shook her head. "They won't recover until morning. How many of those capsules did you throw anyway? I've never seen such violent reactions."
Tony grinned. "Several dozen."
"Then you still have plenty left. Good, we'll need them."
He shook his head. "Star Dancer issued a warning for no one to leave the village."
"It won't help. Ravenheart led Beryl through the maze. I think he died from the ceremony, but it doesn't matter. They now know how to find us."
Us. Although Tony understood the importance of her information, that word us stuck in his mind. Lily didn't think of herself as a werewolf now.
"Did you hear me, White Hawk?"
"I heard. I was just taking it in." He inclined his head toward the village, then started walking. Lily moved slowly forward, and he reduced his pace, thinking she was still winded. "I don't understand why Ravenheart betrayed us," he said after she caught up.
Lily gave him a sideways glance. "Jealousy. He wants to outdo you." She paused, obviously considering her next words. "He asked me to initiate him as a werewolf."
"What?" Tony looked at her sharply. "Why didn't you tell someone?"
Lily laughed bitterly.
"You thought no one would listen."
She nodded, then immediately let out a soft moan and stumbled.
"Good Lord, Lily. You're only wearing sandals."
"I didn't have time to pull on boots, White Hawk," she said testily, lifting a foot and rubbing it cautiously.
Tony stared down. A deep gash on the side of her big toe oozed blood. A sliver of a pine needle protruded from a spot just above the small toe. He bent and touched her instep, which was bruised and beginning to swell. Righting himself, he untied his yellow scarf from her neck, which had long ago slipped off her face.
"Here, let me." He bent again, lifted her foot, and tied the scarf around the worst of the cuts.
"I'm all right," she said curtly, planting her foot sharply on the ground the minute he let go. Stifling a gasp at the abrupt movement, she started forward, stumbling after just a few steps. Her independence drew Tony's admiration, but he knew much of it stemmed from lack of trust. Could he blame her? He'd essentially kidnapped her, then brought her to the village where she'd been shunned and left to contemplate the outcome of her inquisition by the Tribunal.
"I'll carry you."
"I can–”
"I'll carry you," he repeated. Moving forward, he swung her into his arms.
He expected a struggle, but the minute he settled her against his bare chest, she shuddered. He felt her fatigue as acutely as if it were his own and knew that, relieved of its own weight, her body had finally succumbed to it.
Tony broke into an easy lope. Lily was feather light in his arms, and no burden at all. After a short while, she sighed and let her head fall on his shoulder.
"Thank you," she murmured. "My feet hurt so much."
"It's my honor."
How could he say otherwise? Although Lily had killed Tajaya, her courageous acts had saved Shala's life. But as he jogged along the river toward the village, he wondered just how much of the tenderness filling his heart was caused by gratitude.
Star Dancer and White Hawk had bathed Lily's battered feet, their faces mildly troubled. Now Shala held her hand, as the High Shaman gently probed the area around an imbedded pine needle.
"It's very deep," she said. "Get me the mineral mud, Shala, if you will."
Shala let go of Lily's hand, went to a low bench along one wall of White Hawk's wickiup, and picked up a wooden bowl. She brought it to Sta
r Dancer, who dipped her fingers inside for a handful, then handed the bowl to White Hawk. Singing softly in the Dawn People's language, Star Dancer slathered mud over Lily's foot. White Hawk did the same with the other foot.
She was the center of their attention and efforts. She hadn't been touched with so much tenderness since her nanny Gwen's traumatic departure heralded the arrival of the militant Mrs. Preston. A lump formed in her throat and her chest began to ache.
"This might hurt," Star Dancer warned, then gave a quick tug on the pine needle.
The pain was brief and minuscule compared to the merciless ache in Lily's heart, but it sent her over the edge. She jerked into a sitting position and doubled over.
"Lily," Shala cried, falling to her knees beside the sleeping platform and putting a hand on Lily's back.
White Hawk moved to stand behind Shala and put one hand on Lily's forehead, the other at the base of the skull. "Be at peace," he said. Star Dancer gently took her injured feet, murmuring identical words.
Lily's eyes drifted shut as, a sweet wave of calming peace flowed from their hands into her tense and battered body. Her turbulent mind slowed down. White Hawk began singing in the tribal language, his rich baritone filling the room. Soon he was joined by Star Dancer's lovely contralto and the sweet high notes of Shala's soprano. The unbearable ache in Lily's chest subsided. She felt light, in body and in soul. She felt joyous, she felt peaceful, she felt . . .
Loved. She felt loved.
Laughter bubbled in her throat and she opened her eyes to see Shala, Star Dancer, and White Hawk smiling at her. His hands were still on her head and she turned, nestling into his soothing touch. Then she glanced at Star Dancer's serene face and remembered the Tribunal. She'd given no thought to what would happen during the inquisition because she hadn't intended on staying around that long. Now she wanted to stay.
Remembering that Star Dancer had said she doubted Lily would survive, implying there was a chance she would, Lily knew she wanted to take that chance.
Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set Page 41