Tides of Spring: A Dark Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy (Echoes of the Past Book 3)

by H B Lyne

  'So this is your big secret?' Rhys cupped her face in his warm hands. She nodded and looked into his dark eyes. 'It's a great one, you're really special. You know that, right?'

  'Yeah, I do. Only a few people have ever known about this. I want to keep it that way.'

  'Who would I tell?' he asked, incredulous.

  She kissed him, desperately needing to feel connected. She felt the relief flooding her senses when he kissed her back. She hadn't lost him.

  The evening rushed past in a dizzying blur. Stalker lost her worries in Rhys's warmth, and she let her passion for him drown everything else out. If work was her foot in the human world, Rhys was her solace away from every obligation. Maybe one day, he would be the source of her honouring her ancestors with the ultimate offering, a child. But for now, he was her escape.

  They fell asleep in each other's arms, the waning crescent moon just visible through the skylight in Rhys's bedroom. In three days it would be a new moon, Stalker's birth moon, and a mere four months since her first change. How had she come so far in so short a time?

  She drifted in and out of sleep, something clawing at her subconscious and flitting in and out of her dreams. Suddenly yanked from her sleep, Stalker sat bolt upright in bed and glanced around the room, her breathing ragged, as if she had been running. Her last dream came back to her, she had been running. She had been chasing Pursuit-of-Midnight-Solitude. A shadow twitched in the corner of the room, the shadowy demon inviting her out to play. Rhys slept soundly at her side, his breathing soft and untroubled.

  Stalker slipped from the bed and gathered her clothes. It was nearly 4am, she had time to fit in a run before sunrise. She dressed and left the house silently. Taking fox form, Stalker darted off into the quiet, empty city streets. Her guide led her through Burnside, and she followed without hesitation.

  I will protect you, a voice whispered in her mind. She trusted it.

  The Glass Wolves' territory was neat and orderly, with no trace of activity at this hour. The chase took her out into Fenstoke, territory of The Hand of God. First Strike flitted into her vague and inhuman thoughts, barely a memory. Pursuit-of-Midnight-Solitude led her north, and disappeared over the border into Fenwick. Stalker skidded to a halt, her paws sliding on the tarmac in the middle of the road.

  A car appeared around the corner, its lights blinding her. She stood motionless for a moment, dazzled by them, then came to her senses and darted across the road and into the shadows at the edge of the Witches' territory. Her guide teased her, urging her on, deeper into the enemy's turf. She followed cautiously, sniffing her way forward. The boundary was heavily scented by multiple shifters, all female, of course. One was familiar. The one who had bitten Weaver before she was abducted. That scent was forever etched in Stalker's memory.

  Stalker crept through gardens and along alleys. Her guide wasn't leading her any more, though she was still there, protecting her from discovery. She was familiarising herself with the streets and landmarks, building a mental map of the place, so that she could easily flee if necessary.

  The first rays of sunlight touched the horizon and Stalker looked up at the purple sky. She let out a small bark and turned tail, running swiftly out of danger.

  She entered the house the same way she had that night, through the skylight. Rhys had rolled over in his sleep and was across the middle of the bed. Stalker shed her clothes and eased back in beside him, lifting his arm to settle underneath. He stirred and pulled her tightly against him, and she smiled, content at last.

  Chapter Thirty

  Fights-Eyes-Open

  Eyes scoured every inch of the local newspaper. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but assumed he would know it if he saw it. Accidents, deaths, disappearances, mentions of familiar names, anything like that would be a red flag. There were, of course, many incidents that could get his attention in a big city like Caerton, but nothing leaped out at him as being of interest to the shifter community. He closed the paper and neatly folded it, then added it to the pile of daily papers he had been collecting. The box by the back door was getting full. Chloe had trained him to recycle, it was habit now. He felt grief threaten to bubble to the surface and firmly pushed it back under.

  Wind Talker and Claws were asleep in the living room, he could just hear their gentle snores. Weaver was out patrolling. Artemis only knew where Stalker was. He sighed. He didn't know how other packs conducted themselves, but had always thought that the Lightning Lords seemed different. They were a collective of individuals, far more so than a unified force. They seemed to be putting their differences behind them now, which gave him hope, and he suspected that the way he would get the best out of Stalker was to continue to give her a relatively loose rein. He wondered if it was her birth moon's influence, or whatever it was that made her unique among shifters. Perhaps it was having been adopted. Something gave her that fierce independence, or was it defiance? He thought about the night that they had snuck out of the betting shop to go and keep watch over his family. Stalker had taken the most convincing. Had he corrupted her?

  The front door opened softly, and he leaned back in his chair, expecting to see Weaver, but Stalker entered and closed the door almost silently behind her. She looked up and saw him. He smiled and she tiptoed past the living room to join him.

  'Hi,' he whispered. 'It's barely still the weekend.' He glanced at his watch, it was gone midnight. 'Scratch that, it's now Monday morning. Where've you been?'

  'Scouting,' she replied softly. She sat down and pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. She unfolded it and pressed it flat onto the table in front of him. He looked down at the hand-drawn map.

  'Is this Fenwick?' he asked in alarm, his gaze darting to her eyes.

  'Yes,' she replied. She reached into her pocket again and pulled out a cereal bar.

  'What are you doing going into Witch territory without telling me first? What if something had happened to you? We wouldn't have known where you were.' He kept his voice low so as not to wake the others, but his anger hissed out in his hushed voice.

  'I'm sure the Witches would have let you know one way or another, sent you bits of my body or something.' She spoke through a mouthful of the cereal bar.

  'I'm serious,' he snapped, not bothering to keep his voice down. 'Don't do it again. I give you a lot of leeway, and I am perfectly happy for you to scout Fenwick, but tell me you're going beforehand. Understood?'

  'Yeah,' she replied, looking suitably chastised. Eyes felt a small swell of guilt, but shrugged it off. He was right. He shouldn't have to treat her like a child.

  He turned his full attention to the map, it was quite well detailed.

  'How long have you been working on this?'

  'Just three nights. I came in early tonight, caught fresh scents and didn't want to take too big of a risk staying out there with them active.'

  'Good, thank you.' Eyes glanced at her and gave her an appreciative smile. 'This is valuable work.'

  'They're not based at the shop,' she said, slowly chewing her food. 'We thought they were, remember? But they're hardly there. Maybe they ran out of pack mates to staff the place.' A dark expression crossed her face and Eyes nodded solemnly. 'I haven't found their base yet.'

  'It's a big territory,' Eyes said softly. 'You'll find it.'

  'Thanks.'

  'This isn't all you've been doing. But I don't suppose you're going to tell me what else you've been up to.'

  'I had work yesterday,' she replied, a little defensively. Eyes smirked and patted her shoulder.

  'I know, I'm teasing. What you do with your time is your business, mostly. But look, if it's something dangerous, or that could cause a conflict of interests I do need to know. It would take a hell of a lot to prompt me to stop you, but a heads up would be appreciated. Like the scouting.'

  'I'm absolutely certain I'm not endangering the pack, or anyone else. It's just personal, that's all.'

  Eyes looked at her carefully, he wasn't sure if he
could believe her or not. His family matters were personal, but look at the trouble that had brought on everyone. Maybe Stalker believed what she was saying, or maybe she was covering herself. He didn't have Claws' gift. He had to trust her, and when it came to it, there was no one he trusted more.

  'Get some rest, especially if you haven't been getting much sleep with all of this scouting and working, and whatever.' He left the implication of her having a sex life hanging unspoken.

  'I will. You too.' Stalker didn't rise to the bait, and she stood and drifted away upstairs. Eyes sat in the quiet and listened to her moving around upstairs. He thought he heard her go up to the attic, but couldn't be sure. He studied the map and tried to picture the bits of Fenwick that he knew, until Stalker came back downstairs and went into the living room to settle down.

  Eyes rubbed his hands over his weary face. He had intended to wait up for Weaver, but exhaustion was setting in, and he followed Stalker to the living room to sleep.

  Dawn broke and the pack gradually woke up. Weaver was the last to rise, and Eyes took her to one side as the others went about getting ready.

  'Any news?' he asked.

  'All quiet. The border is marked more strongly, but no incursions.'

  'What about our northern border?'

  'With the Wrecking Crew?' Weaver asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  'Yes.'

  'Quiet. Why?'

  'I want to meet with them. I've had an idea and need their assistance.'

  'Okay. Sounds intriguing.'

  'What do you know about pack alliances? Besides that they're really rare?'

  'They're usually short lived and difficult arrangements, forged out of necessity. You saw what happened at the Danegeld. That's typical of shifter society; someone calls others to arms and someone else shoots it down. Small scale alliances work better. Crimson Dawn's Blood and The Hand of God have been cooperative for a long time, decades I think. They've stayed close throughout changes in Alphas and all sorts of turmoil. They can usually be counted on to take similar views on things.'

  'Being on good terms isn't the same as going into battle together though,' Eyes said.

  'They've done that too. There was a big fight with some Furies about fifty years ago. There are songs about it. The pack that used to claim Shalebrook was wiped out in the battle, the Factory Boys rose out of the ashes a few years later. The Hand of God and Crimson Dawn's Blood defended the city against the incursion and took out a whole pack of Furies in retribution.'

  'We have a lot of ground to make up with the Wrecking Crew. The Blue Moon were on hostile terms with them for a long time, and now they're angry with us for the fear demons. But we need to cooperate if we're going to stand a hope against the Witches.'

  'Did Stalker talk to you about her parents?' Weaver asked, her voice low. Eyes glanced past her to the others eating breakfast and chatting loudly.

  'No. What about them?'

  'I should probably keep her confidence,' Weaver said, looking warily at Stalker. 'But it might go some way to explaining the animosity between the Wrecking Crew and Blue Moon, maybe. I don't know.'

  Eyes narrowed his eyes. He was sick and tired of secrets.

  'I'll ask her about it.'

  'Okay. You'll need to find what Rust needs and sell it to him, he's motivated by greed, pure and simple.'

  'Okay, good. Thank you. I'm glad you're back.' Eyes drew Weaver into a brotherly embrace. She had the most level head of any of them, and she knew how to get the best out of people. She might make a formidable Alpha one day. But for now, she was his most valuable advisor.

  They re-joined the others in the kitchen for breakfast, and Eyes rushed his food. He had a meeting to get to.

  He arrived at Free River Tower early, before many of the human workers. Theodore was waiting in his office, the door wide open. His assistant hadn't arrived yet and the whole floor was quiet.

  'Martin, come on in,' Theodore said, rising from his wide chair. Eyes closed the door behind him and took an uneasy seat on the opposite side of the desk. 'How can I help?'

  'I wanted to thank you for looking after Weaver.'

  'Not at all,' Theodore said with a wave of his hand. 'But that's not all.'

  'No,' Eyes said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 'I understand your position on uniting against the Furies, I understand your scepticism. However, we do have a situation with the Witches. As you share a border with them, I would have thought you would share at least some of my concern.'

  'I do, Martin, believe me.' Theodore steepled his fingers in front of his face and narrowed his eyes through his rimless glasses. 'They seem quiet for the moment though. What makes you think there is anything significant to worry about at this time?'

  'That's just it, they are quiet. Too quiet. Ever since I changed they have been pushing boundaries, snatching members of my pack, breeching our border, attacking us. But since the attack on my family, there has been nothing.'

  'Perhaps their losses in that attack warded them off?'

  'They lost one. No. I think they're preparing for something big.'

  'They surely weren't anticipating your alliance with the Wrecking Crew. Facing far greater numbers than they expected must have given them pause for thought.'

  'Yes, I believe so. But I believe they are preparing for a full assault and are working on bolstering their numbers.'

  Theodore drew a long breath and watched Eyes calmly. Eyes held his gaze steady, careful not to betray his measured demeanour, though inside his chest his heart was racing. The rage he felt about the Witches wouldn't be placated by words and politics. Whether the Witches really were coming back for them or not, he would have his revenge for his family. He needed the firepower of the Glass Wolves on his side if he was going to succeed.

  'You're going to attack them anyway, whatever happens,' Theodore stated bluntly, his face unreadable.

  'Yes,' Eyes admitted. 'We need to end this.'

  'You realise that this could incite the very thing that Red Scythe is worried about? Full scale war with the Furies?'

  'Possibly. I agree with him that it's coming anyway. Taking out the Witches now will help our side in the long run.' All of his cards were on the table now. Theodore would either laugh him out of his office, or agree. He waited with baited breath for a response.

  'But if you're wrong, if the Furies aren't preparing for war, and you do this,' he paused and shook his head slowly. 'You could provoke an attack that was never coming otherwise. We have a strong border and have had no trouble with the Witches in years. It would be suicide for me to agree to participate.'

  'Think of it this way, my pack will be taking them on, whether you agree to help or not. If we fail, the Witches may well start looking to their southern border for another toy to play with. If we succeed, the Furies will come sooner rather than later. Either way, you will be first in the firing line. Isn't it in your best interests to help us ensure we succeed and weaken the Furies?'

  Theodore let out a rough bark of laughter. He tilted his head to one side and smirked.

  'You cocky son of a bitch. Are you certain I can't persuade you out of this rash action?'

  'I'm afraid so.' Eyes waited, his breath held.

  'Fine,' Theodore said, pushing his chair back away from the desk and raising his hands in defeat. 'Fine. We'll help you. I'll have my people prepare. Spark will be in touch with Wind Talker to discuss joint ritual aid. Vengeance can speak to Claws about gearing up. I'll have Terrance and Word Spider do reconnaissance and research.'

  'Let me be clear,' said Eyes, getting to his feet. 'This is my mission, I'm asking for support, not for you to lead.' His pulse pounded in his veins, but his voice held true and no hint of apprehension showed. Theodore narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.

  'Very well, let me know when you're ready to go.'

  'I will. Thank you for your cooperation.' Eyes thrust his hand out and Theodore slowly got to his feet and shook it firmly.

  Eyes swe
pt from the office with the upper hand. He allowed himself a satisfied grin as he rode in the lift back down to the lobby. Now he just needed to work similar magic on Rust.

  Back at Grove Street, the rest of the pack was busy making plans. Eyes swept through the house checking on each of them and nearly bumped into Claws on the landing.

  'Sorry,' he said, stepping out of the way. Claws was clutching a roll of paper and had a glint in his eyes that Eyes couldn't ignore. 'What is it?'

  'I've been working on something that I think you might like.'

  'Oh?'

  'Well, you know how we've taken your car across the veil? How about trying to take something a little bigger?'

  'Okay.' Eyes was intrigued, and raised an eyebrow as he waited for Claws to continue.

  'When the Wrecking Crew turned up at your house in their van I was kind of inspired. What if we got a van like that and tooled it up with weaponry? We could take it across the veil to attack in Hepethia.' He unrolled the paper and held it out to Eyes. On it was a sketch of a van kitted out with spikes on the front, a machine gun mounted on the roof and protective bars along the sides.

  'A battle van?' Eyes asked, glancing at Claws' eager face. 'Nice. But where on earth would we get a machine gun?'

  'Wind Talker says he knows a guy.'

  'Of course he does. Okay, go for it. The Wrecking Crew can probably help with this. In fact, it might just be the thing to inspire them to ally with us.'

  'Great,' Claws said with a grin. He ran off down the stairs. Eyes hadn't seen Stalker yet, and heard scraping noises in the attic, so he climbed the narrow staircase to find her. She was hunched over, examining the map that they had pinned to a cork board. The attic was almost bare these days, the Witches having stolen the boxes of notes that were up here. Dust had gathered on the wooden floorboards, and just a few folders of recreated notes now sat in a pile to one side. It didn't bear thinking about, what the Witches now knew about the Blue Moon.