Bloodborn

by Karen Kincy

  I help Cyn to her feet before he can touch her again. “Are you okay?” I whisper.

  She nods, but her hands shake as she tugs her clothes straight.

  “Luna?” Isabella manages to look amazingly calm, despite her sharp teeth. “Who is she?”

  “The Goddess of the Moon,” Frost hisses, his eyes wide.

  Great. This guy’s bat-shit crazy, isn’t he?

  Isabella clears her throat and doesn’t back down. “I’m afraid not.”

  Jessie slides her cell phone from her purse and hits a button. At the first beep, Frost spins toward the noise and snarls.

  Jessie freezes, her green eyes staring straight into his. “I’m calling our Alpha,” she says.

  “Your machines disgust us,” he says. “Luna forbids them.”

  “Oh?” Jessie hits another button. “Well, we don’t believe in Luna, honey.”

  “Jessie,” Randall says in a low, warning voice.

  “I’ve got this,” Jessie says. “He’s got another thing coming if he thinks his little Paradise Pack should pick a fight with us Bitterroots.”

  Cyn squeezes my hand and gives me a smile that’s supposed to be brave.

  Oh, God. Frost has left Jessie in that twitchy, random way of his, and now his hungry gaze slides up and down Cyn’s curves. He nuzzles the nape of her neck and she stiffens, her nails biting my skin, as he slides a hand into her hair and brings it to his nose. He breathes in deeply, his eyes glazing over.

  “Don’t touch her.” I try to stare him down. My heart’s thudding about a billion miles an hour and I’m praying Cyn won’t get hurt.

  He’s not even looking at me, his fingers tangled in her hair. “She smells delicious.”

  Isabella and Jessie share a disgusted glance.

  Lupine, who was watching us with this smug little smile, pouts and says, “Daddy. Let’s go now. I don’t like them.”

  “Listen to Lupine,” Cyn says, her voice tight.

  “You don’t belong here, human.” Frost leans in close. “But I like dark meat.”

  Cyn glowers at him. “And I hate white trash.”

  He laughs as he slides his claws down her neck, then squeezes one of her breasts.

  A snarl rips from my throat and I pound my fist into the side of Frost’s head. The bastard goes down hard, dragging Cyn with him, and she cries out. Knocked on his back, he tugs Cyn by her hair, trying to reel her in, but she grabs a fistful of dirt and hurls it into his eyes, jumps to her feet, then kicks him right in the balls.

  Yes! I want to howl with savage triumph.

  Frost whine-growls, scrabbling at his eyes and squirming on the ground. A clump of Cyn’s hair drifts to the grass. Before Frost can react, Randall grabs him under one shoulder and hauls him to his feet. The rest of the Paradise Pack darts at Randall, their muzzles twisted in snarls, and snaps at the air inches from his flesh.

  Randall freezes. “I’m betting you’re their Alpha.” He lets Frost drop onto the dirt again.

  Blinking, the Paradise Alpha climbs to his feet. His eyes look red with rage—but that might just be the grit. He still isn’t standing up straight.

  “Fuck off,” I spit at him, choked by my own anger.

  Cyn’s hand closes around mine. “Brock, no.” But it sounds halfhearted.

  “Luna demands punishment,” Frost says.

  Jessie sneers at him. “I texted Winema,” she says to Randall.

  Sure enough, a car honks on the highway. The wolves’ ears swivel toward the sound. Winema climbs out and marches through the grass with Charles at her heels. She scans the scene, then zeroes in on Frost and stops a foot away from him.

  “You’re the Alpha of this pack?” Winema says.

  “Yes,” he says, squaring his shoulders, “I am Frost of the Paradise Pack, and—”

  “Where are the Zlatroviks?”

  “Zlatroviks?” Frost ducks a little, as if they’re spying on him. “I don’t know.”

  Winema arches an eyebrow. “You reek of faerie wine. Every werewolf within a ten-mile radius can smell you, so unless you’re stupid enough to steal from Cliff Sterling, you have a supplier. Tell us where they are.”

  I wrinkle my nose at his smell. Of course. He’s a drunk, an addict.

  Frost bares his teeth. “I have no reason to, trespassers.”

  “We outnumber you at least two to one. If you won’t give us the information we want, we will take it from you.”

  Frost stops snarling. “Zlatroviks don’t run in the wilderness. Look to a city. Denver.”

  “Fair enough.” Winema waves him away. “I would suggest hightailing it out of here before the rest of my wolves arrive.”

  Frost licks his lips, his eyes glancing back and forth, then nods at his pack.

  The Paradise werewolves slink away and disappear into the grass. All except Lupine, who stares first at Cyn, then Winema, then back again.

  “Daddy?” Lupine says.

  Winema looks at Lupine with pity in her eyes. “You need to go.”

  Frost grabs his daughter by the wrist and yanks her onward. She yelps and twists free, then runs ahead of him, crying, “I hate you!”

  With a backwards glance at Winema, Frost stoops down into wolf form and trots after Lupine, his head and tail drooping.

  When he’s out of sight, Cyn doubles over and retches.

  “Are you all right?” Still shaking from the adrenaline rush, I crouch beside her.

  Cyn straightens and rakes her hair out of her face. Her fingers graze over her chest, and she winces. “He bruised me. But I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” I rest my hand on her shoulder.

  “Yes.” Cyn backs away from me and rubs the insides of her arms. “I will be.”

  “Come on, honey.” Isabella swoops down and bundles Cyn under her arm. “We’ll find you some water and get you washed up.”

  Jessie follows them as they walk toward the convertible. “He’s never coming back.”

  I realize my hand is still outstretched. I let it drop, and stand there.

  “Move out,” Winema says. “The police aren’t far behind.”

  As the tall grass closes behind Cyn, she glances back at me. The look on her face feels like a kick in the ribs. God, I feel so useless. I should be able to protect her.

  thirteen

  By the time we make it out of Paradise Valley, thanks to the rival pack and the road construction, the sky is the black-purple of a rotting plum. My nose stays wrinkled at the stink of fresh asphalt. Alongside the new road, twelve-foot-tall rock giants shuck their orange safety vests, their granite muscles rippling. Human road workers scurry around them, looking tiny and useless next to the tons of sheer giant-power.

  “Wow,” I say. “Those are some huge-ass gic—giants.”

  “Disgusting,” Randall says.

  I stare at him. “And you’re calling me prejudiced?”

  He gives me a death glare. “It’s disgusting how those rock giants are being duped. They’re working for antifreeze.”

  “Huh?”

  “Antifreeze, not money. So their joints don’t crack when it freezes up in the mountains.”

  “Well, I guess that’s a fair trade.”

  Randall shakes his head. “If they actually got paychecks, they could afford all the antifreeze they wanted, and maybe a house to go with it. But there are no laws saying you have to pay them minimum wage. Legally speaking, they’re barely even Others. Some people think they should be treated like animals.”

  The way he says “some people” makes me think he’d love to rip their heads off.

  A rock giant crosses the road in front of us, placing his feet with careful thuds on the soft asphalt. His head swings toward our truck, and his eyes meet mine, just for a second. They smolder red like lava, and I can’t pretend like I d
on’t see a slow-moving intelligence within them. I shiver and rub the goose bumps on my arms.

  We drive onward and leave the rock giants behind.

  Thunder grumbles in the mountains, and wind shakes rain from the sky. I can’t stop thinking about Cyn and hoping she’s okay.

  She’s doesn’t belong here. How could I forget that? I need to get her out.

  Winema gives the order to stop in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness, at the northern edge of the Montana-Wyoming border. Yellowstone lies to the south, but it’s too crowded for us to spend the night in the park itself without blowing our cover. Even here, there are still some people camping off the road, but we’re going to use them as camouflage to explain away why we’re here. That’s the plan, anyway.

  After we make camp and eat a shitty dinner of canned stew and stale bread, most of the pack slips into the foothills, one by one. Left behind, I stand in the windy dark and look at the campers’ flickering lights. They drink their cheap beer and laugh over burnt marshmallows. Hollowness gnaws inside my chest.

  “Hey,” Randall says, appearing out of thin air behind me.

  I try not to look startled. “Hey. Where’s everybody going?”

  “Out for a run. The pack’s been on the road for too long. Want to come with?”

  I stare at him. “I’m guessing they’re not running around in human form.”

  Randall touches his finger to his lips and glances at the rowdy campers not too far away. “Yeah. You feel up to it tonight?”

  I glance at the sky. Retreating rainclouds whisk across the face of the moon. She looks dimmer by the light of campfires.

  I shrug. “Where’s Cyn?”

  “With Isabella and Jessie, of course.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yes.” Randall’s breath fogs the chilly air. “Are you coming or not?”

  I grit my teeth. I mean, what can I say? I’m bitten; I’m a walking time bomb.

  “Winema talked with you,” he says.

  “Yeah. Said you guys would have to kill me if I lost control.” It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Sounds like fun.”

  “Brock.” Randall’s eyes glimmer gold. “We have to do this.”

  “You think I don’t know that already?”

  “Then you’re a coward.” He says it softly, like he’s disappointed, even.

  My hands clench into fists. “If you’re trying to get me angry enough to change, it isn’t going to work. I’m not that stupid.”

  A corner of his mouth twists. “Oh? Then what’s stopping you?”

  Everything. And nothing at all. Everyone knows who—what—I am. I stand there, deaf and dumb, and try to pretend like my eyes aren’t stinging.

  “Just leave me the hell alone,” I whisper.

  “I can’t.” Randall says, his voice rough. “You know that already, too.”

  I want to hit him, to rage at him, but right now I just feel so damn tired.

  Instead, I decide to stall for time. “What’s it like, being a wolf?”

  “Jesus,” Randall says. “I’m not even going to try explaining.”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “It’s like trying to describe sex to a virgin.”

  Heat rushes into my face. “Hey, it can be done.”

  “But it’s not the same. Sooner or later, you’re just going to have to do it.”

  I nod, my jaw set. “Bite the bullet.”

  “Hey, there’s a fair chance your first time won’t be too bad. You seem to be made of tougher stuff than most people.”

  I think of Chris then, and swallow hard.

  Randall grabs my wrist and tugs me in the direction of the darkness. “Let’s go.”

  My knees lock, and I have to force myself to walk. I don’t know why I’m doing this, or even if I want to. But what else can I do? It’s a wild night. I can smell it, with the scent of lingering rain and sweat and excitement. The farther from the road we go, the brighter the moon becomes. Cold shivers trickle over my skin.

  “Rule number one,” Randall murmurs. “When you change, do it in secret.”

  We’re high in the foothills now. I feel a sharp ache inside my chest, an emptiness that needs to be filled by something I don’t want. Up here, the cold, clear air tingles in my nose and invites the wolf inside me to uncurl.

  Randall begins to unbutton his shirt. “Come on, Brock.”

  I’m standing in the shadow of a tree, but he steps boldly into the direct moonlight, his skin gleaming. I sidestep after him, and a shudder ripples through me from my neck to my toes. I gasp and take what’s supposed to be a steadying breath, but the moon isn’t helping—she’s driving me crazy. I need to get out of these clothes.

  I mutter at the moon, “Don’t think you can mess with me, bitch.”

  “Hey,” Randall says, staring sideways at me. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you call the moon a bitch?”

  I grimace, the roots of my teeth itching on the way to fangs. “Maybe I did.”

  Randall grabs my shoulder. “You can’t do that. You have to respect the moon like you would your own mother. Okay?”

  I glare at him. “That’s bull. You sound like that Frost guy, talking about Luna.”

  “Why do you have such shitty relationships with women?”

  I fold my arms tight. “That’s really bull.”

  “You can’t deny it. You can’t say—”

  “The moon isn’t a woman, okay? She’s—it’s—just a lump of rock out in space.”

  Randall stares at me sideways. “Yeah, and we’re just lumps of meat who happen to have the power to become wolves. Listen to me, bloodborn. You’re Other now. The moon has a lot of power over our kind, and you have to respect that.”

  “Fine.”

  My skin itches something fierce and I want to scratch it away in tatters. I’m shaking uncontrollably. Randall still looks calm, though his eyes burn like embers and the beginning of a silver pelt trickles down his chest.

  “How do I do this?” I say hoarsely.

  “You’ve got to let it happen. You can’t try too hard.”

  “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be trying.”

  Randall flexes his hands, his knuckles popping as they shift. “Focus on the wolf inside you, on how it feels. Then let it loose.”

  I close my eyes and turn my attention to the tingles building up pressure inside, until all my sensations merge into a sweet, sharp ache. Is that the wolf? Should I feel claws inside my fingertips, a hidden tail at the bottom of my spine? If I imagine hard enough, will it happen? On the full moon, it was all I could do not to change.

  “This is ridiculous,” I say. “And why aren’t you changing?”

  Randall cocks his head at me. “You first.”

  “Show me how.”

  He shrugs off his shirt, tosses it into the trees. “You don’t want to watch. I can tell.”

  I shake my head. “I do.”

  Randall stands on his toes. Hooked claws gleam on his hands. His hair fades to silver and flows down his skin, thickening into a ruff around his neck and shoulders. His nose, eyelids, and lips darken to black. He unzips his jeans.

  I’m staring now; I can’t blink. His pelt glistens in the moonlight. So silver.

  “Brock.” His voice has become a gravelly growl. “What are you waiting for?”

  Clammy-skinned, I unbutton my shirt. My vision wavers, my head feels light.

  Let’s do this. Let’s find out what it means to be a wolf.

  But that’s the last thing I want to do. I have no idea what I will become, or where my mind will go. What will I do when I’m not human? Will I even remember? Hell, I might not even survive the transformation. Chris didn’t.

  Randall groans and falls to h
is hands and knees. He clutches the grass in his claws.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know if I can.”

  Randall looks up at me with golden eyes. “You have to.” He slurs his words, already more wolf than man. Soon he won’t be able to speak.

  Another shudder washes over me as I bathe in moonlight. Not as insistent as the full moon’s pull, but still a harsh craving, digging at my insides like I swallowed barbed wire. Slowly, I reach for my fly, but my fingers are too clumsy for the zipper.

  “Brock.” Randall’s mouth bulges outward into a muzzle.

  I watch as he yanks off his jeans, as his limbs ripple into lean wolf legs. His tail arcs from his spine, already plumed. He shuts his eyes for the last convulsion of transformation, then opens them, staring at me as a silver wolf.

  I am only half naked. I am wholly human.

  See, I know it already. An ember of hate has been sitting inside me, smoldering, lodged somewhere near my rib cage. Because I know this silver wolf is the one who bit me, turned me, and the one who killed my brother.

  It’s easier to forget when he has a human face. But I still know who he is.

  Randall pads to me, his head held low as if he’s going to nudge my hand with his nose. I yank back. Bile rises in my throat as I remember the blood on his muzzle. He tore into my flesh with those teeth. I grab the scar on my biceps.

  Get away from me, gick.

  Randall whines softly, urgently, his eyes locked on mine.

  “No.” I force out the words. “I can’t.”

  Before he can try to touch me again, I whirl from him and run. I know he can run faster than me—I don’t care—I’m getting out of here, just try to stop me. My breath comes ragged from my burning throat. My legs feel liquid. I stumble and fall and roll, spitting dirt from my mouth, then scramble to my feet and keep running. He’s going to chase me—bite me—and this seizes me with a new terror.

  Even though I’m already bitten. Already bloodborn.

  The burning in my throat infects my eyes, and I blink hard so I can see. Still, I’m as good as blind. I can’t see in the night. Not like him.

  Behind me, I hear a long, low howl that sends lightning down my spine.

  Come back. Run with me.