“I’m not sure you should have that out. It’s too tempting. Don’t you think? I know you’d be upset if someone else had it. Why don’t you go play with the rest with that ball?”
He used both paws to dig so savagely at the rucksack he dragged it across the grass. I was afraid he would tear it.
“All right—stop it.” I opened the zipper and gave him the wool ball.
Down the slope and far off to my left, there was another wolf pile as they struggled over the yellow ball. Then searched. It seemed it had rolled down a ridge in the confusion.
Jed shoved the wool ball into my face.
“No, I told you. I don’t think you should be playing with that tonight.”
He dropped the ball in my lap and retreated several steps, watching it.
“It will start a fight. Someone else will want it and you’ll be upset. Maybe I should keep it tonight.”
Jed hurried forward, nudged the ball with his nose, and retreated again, ready to run.
I sighed. The others were far away. Someone had just found the wayward ball and was starting another figure eight chase. No one nearby aside from Isaac—twenty yards up the slope at my back, lying with his head down, turned away from the merriment. He’d been there ever since he’d changed. Had been keeping a good distance between himself and the rest of us, especially me, as much as possible all afternoon and evening.
“Stay over here with it,” I told Jed and tossed the ball down the slope, along the edge of the gorse.
Jed ran after it, getting extra distance from the downhill, and soon brought it back while I watched the others chasing each other in the dark.
After a few throws, Andrew streaked across the grass to me, leaving the others far behind, and shoved the smaller ball at me as well. He’d seen Jed’s game.
I tossed the yellow ball down the slope and off to the left, away from Jed’s path, and Andrew shot after it with the rest intercepting him and all again trying to get the ball at once. It was more minutes of keep-away before Zar brought it to me.
Then Jason returned with it. Eager as he was for the chance to chase the little prey object, I held back.
“Jason? I’m sure you’re very resilient, and so on. But you might be just a bit overdoing again. Why don’t you lay down with me?”
He was, in fact, panting, heaving, trembling so violently I could see it in moonlight. He did not seem to be aware of this, though—trifling details like raging fevers and being poisoned by dead things not weighing on a mind distracted by the prospect of playing fetch.
“Just for a bit?” I prompted when he hesitated. “I’d appreciate it. My feet are freezing. Then, if you feel like it, run around some more.”
Almost staggering, he made his way to me. I stroked his face and tossed the ball to Zar, who jumped and caught it in the air, then bounded away.
Jason eased down shakily against my shins just as Jed was trotting back up with his latest capture.
His ears pricked at Jason’s unwelcome arrival and he stopped.
“Come on.” I held my hand out to him. “We should put that up anyway. Don’t you think? You don’t want to keep it with you or you’ll worry about it out here.”
Jed hesitated, then, making a show of going out of his way to avoid Jason—as if something contagious—he circled to my back and gave me the ball.
I zipped it into his rucksack. “Safe and sound.”
He wagged his tail.
“You can still go run with the others.”
He only watched them, panting from his workout.
Jason trembled against my legs. He must have been able to tell he had a problem by then because he relaxed with his head draped over my knees, not showing any sign of meaning to return to the game.
I tucked my feet below his fur and started to lie back, having to shove Jed to move, then glanced up behind us.
“Isaac?”
He did not stir.
“Won’t you come down here? I’m not properly outfitted for this and I was counting on a couple wolves to keep me warm to be able to stay out.”
The white wolf did not look around. Didn’t even turn an ear. He might as well have been a mini snow drift.
Jed nosed and pawed a couple of bags out of the way and flopped against my right shoulder as I lay back. Jason was at my left leg so it was the best Jed could do for distance.
As the game petered out, the three participants drifted back toward us.
Jason lifted his head and whined. I suppose he was trying to show Kage where he was. Instead of leaving it at that, though, the whining lifted to a low moaning sound.
Jed raised his head.
A soft answering, “Wooooo,” came from the group wandering over to us.
Jason tipped his nose back to the sky and had just started a howl that he’d been warming up to when I sat up and grabbed his muzzle in both hands.
“Are you out of your mind?” I hissed.
The noise was cut off, not only from him, but the others who’d started lead-ins of their own.
Jed had been whining beside me. At my words, he dropped his chin on his paws. The lockdown that I’d let him break was because of singing in fur.
They all knew perfectly well they weren’t allowed to sing. Sing in skin: make music with the various instruments they owned and played. Never in fur. The only time I’d ever heard them howl were a few stifled, cut off sounds from nights out, like in Germany in the mountains. Had they ever had a good howl in their lives?
Jed had told me, with usual hostility, how brutal restrictions on singing in the pack were. Even so, I’d never thought about it. Now, I saw in an instant how painful this was: how perfectly natural, communal, joyful, and bonding a song might be. But … no.
When I grabbed Jason’s face they stopped—quit even the whining—and one or two flinched away from me in the dark like Jed dropping his head.
I looked around just in time to see the white wolf also lowering his head. Even he had looked, wanted to join.
They paced back to us in silence and I lay down again with a tightness in my chest not unlike the pain of discovering Kage’s blindness.
Like Isaac, Kage kept apart, avoiding Jason and myself.
After a leisurely roll in the grass, Andrew curled up beside Jason and my feet.
Zar stretched out along my left side, where I’d expected Isaac to be.
In this way, I was warm enough, grateful for a clear night, if still achingly uncomfortable. A very small price to pay for the wellbeing of my pack—eased muscles and relaxed breathing as they drifted off around me.
I, however, could not sleep. Not only the discomfort. Not only regrets for the past and fears for the future.
What had happened that morning with Isaac? Was it only normal fighting about me, and Isaac thought I was mad at him? That he needed to give me space because I would be so upset about what happened with Andrew?
Of course, I found the idea of one of them strangling another because of a disagreement about me deeply upsetting. But I wasn’t mad at him. Andrew was okay—and had, apparently, gone out of his way to provoke Isaac when Isaac had only been going to tell him off. That was what was getting to me: not knowing what had happened. It seemed far more likely that Isaac was behaving this way for more complex reasons. Which meant reasons I didn’t know. Nearly everyone in my pack knew what had been said between them. I did not. If Isaac stayed like this, though, I would have to find out.
So I was the only one awake—ironically the one with the sharpest senses—when I saw them.
What is a faie? I used to ask Nana. I liked to know things for sure. I liked to have answers. I liked to understand. Who, what, where, why, and when?
My grandmother, on the other hand, had been the sort of person who wouldn’t have batted an eye if a translucent spirit sat down unannounced to dinner with her. She’d just have brought an extra plate.
I blamed our difference in personality for my own lack of comprehensive understanding in certain areas o
f my magical education.
A faie was a magical being, a fairy, an elemental spirit bound to Mother Earth and imbibing one or more of the elements earth, air, fire, and water. Visible to very few, and very rarely, choosy about their contact even with wild animals in this day and age, although they used to be far more active and numerous. They dwell in wild places, avoid human beings, and, when they do appear, manifest in various forms that help account for dozens of human myths from fairies and leprechauns to dragons and unicorns—even angels and demons. And they are fading.
These days, they were so used to hiding I was unsurprised that they did not manifest with little fairy bodies or butterfly wings, or as great, impressive elementals looming from the ground. They looked nothing like the peculiar creatures of light and color I’d seen in my scry. In fact, I would not have known them at all if not for the company they kept, and for their enormous eyes, three times the size they should have been for the creatures they represented.
A fox, a rabbit, a red squirrel, a robin, and a snake crept to a ridge no more than ten feet from us, to my left and slightly up the slope. Their enormous, caricature eyes glowed with a faint, pale light like stars.
I lifted my head, looking over Zar’s ruff, and a couple of the wolves stirred.
The fox pricked its ears, sniffing. The squirrel climbed swiftly to the top of its head for a better view. The rabbit hopped forward, then back in alarm, peering at us instead from between the fox’s forelegs. The snake coiled beside them, head lifted. The robin flew away, then back, then away again as if unable to decide if this was a good idea.
Jed twitched and raised his head beside my own. Zar’s breathing quickened. I couldn’t see his face as he lay with his back and side against me, but presumably watching without moving.
Good evening. I spoke the way I did in a scry. Thank you for visiting us. Are you in trouble? Can you tell us how to help you?
They looked at one another, blinking their glowing eyes which seemed to take up most of their faces.
The snake slipped forward through the grass—and vanished.
I blinked and there was a sprite sitting on a rock, like a perfectly formed, thin human, about six inches high and with a faint glow emanating from her.
At my feet, Andrew lifted his head.
Only a yard from Zar and myself then, the sprite raised a minuscule finger in the air, then covered the finger with her other hand.
You are being snuffed out? I asked.
She nodded and held a hand over her eyes, drawing it quickly across her face.
Someone is taking your light? Killing you?
She dropped her face in both hands, covering her eyes as if to hide. Then drew down her hands to her twig of a chest and flipped them out toward me with a little puff of light.
I felt a warm surge in my own chest and remembered the light heart, the gift they had given me in my scry in which they’d come forward and asked for my help. A scry in which those huge eyes had suddenly been streaming with blood. And, the next time I’d seen them, they’d all been dead.
Thank you for your blessings. For coming to us at all. Please, tell me how we can help you. Show me what to do.
She held out both hands to me, as Isaac had used one that morning: stop.
Stop trying to help you? I don’t understand.
She held out her arms to the sky.
Them? Stop them? I see. But I don’t know who is hurting you. Do your people know?
She covered her eyes again, hunched on her stone. Her tiny shoulders shook and tears like silver pearls dropped from her fingers to the ground—where they continued to glow.
I’m sorry. We’ll do all we can. If there’s any way we can help you, we will. We’re already trying to find a murderer. We’re on your side. I promise.
The fox padded forward, noiseless, not disturbing the grass with its steps. Both the squirrel and robin perched on its head. The rabbit hopped close against its paws. It lowered its head to take the sprite into its mouth, swallowing her. Then the whole form, all five, rippled and blurred and merged into a great red deer.
The huge antlers glinted like steel in moonlight as the stag regarded us with massive, glowing eyes, looming above us on the ground so he seemed tall as a giraffe.
He inclined his magnificent head, then strolled away, moving again without sound, leaving nothing behind but the two glowing silver drops in the grass.
Chapter 27
We took our time on the way back to Brighton. Only Kage still couldn’t drive, and he didn’t have his own bike anyway. He rode with Andrew. I shifted among them after stops, but mostly stayed with Zar.
Isaac and Jason were still sick, hardly eating anything, but Jason’s fever had died down and he seemed much improved. Kage still avoided both myself and Jason. The one acting especially off, though, was Isaac.
I couldn’t discuss the matter in a Saucy’s burger joint or at a petrol station. Instead, we made the seven hour trip—with a few long breaks—mostly in silence. The only long conversation came from Isaac getting a call back from Leum. She and her sister were indeed in London for the week and would be happy to see him.
Good news, of course. Just like the gift of a visit by faie is good news. Funny, then, how I wasn’t feeling very good.
We drove out of newly returned cloud cover in the north and back to perfect blue skies by the time we reached Surrey. After a last stop and picking up packs of cold cuts, we made it back to the mobile home park in the early evening with the town worm servants also mostly starting to get home.
As always, my pack was mobbed by eager pups who heard the roars of their bikes. Although all were greeted with enthusiasm, Andrew, Jason, and Kage were particularly popular. Jason was short of breath again, and had trouble following the wild motions of the young ones, but all smiled and asked how things were and saved themselves from being drawn into games of chase, or spinning pups by their ankles, by distributing the packages of smoked turkey.
The appearance of individual turkey prizes sent the whole mob into screaming delight, leaping, snatching, shoving each other, until Andrew yelled at them to think like a pack. They settled down to form an eager, waiting circle. As turkey was handed out, pups passed the packets on to the next in line.
“Good teamwork,” Andrew told them. “All right, sod off.”
They scattered, back to leaping and yelling, all tearing off to eat.
Bikes parked and everyone pulling on shoulder straps for their overnight bags, my pack also prepared to disperse. We weren’t the only adults around the bikes but there wasn’t much in the way of greetings from others and no one was lingering.
It was Andrew who spoke again before everyone left. “So, you’re going to London tomorrow?”
I glanced at Isaac. “I suppose so. And anyone who wants to come along.” I wanted to add that some of them should be doing no such thing. They had pack members who tended to ill or wounded. That was who they needed. Jed’s arm seemed better, but Isaac, Jason, and, mostly, Kage needed to see someone. I said no such things.
“Breakfast?” Andrew asked.
“You all don’t even normally eat breakfast.”
“We should eat before going into the city. Come over whenever you’re up in the morning, darling, and you can give us a plan. Anyone else who fancies a visit come by also. Afternoon in London?” Looking at me.
I nodded. I didn’t care. I just wanted them to be all right, and Kage and Isaac to be back to normal.
“Sure,” I said. “See you in the morning. And thank you all. I’ll inform Atarah of our latest … information. I hope you get some rest. We don’t all need to go to London. In fact, it might be better to have a small group to approach these shifters. Everyone who needs some downtime or to catch up on work, please do so.”
Zar followed me as I started off toward Atarah’s place—hardly registering that, although Kage was heading home, Jason was going off with Andrew for his parents’ home at the back of the property.
“Cass?
We’ll be down in the field later, after dinner. Join us? You don’t have to play anything.” He smiled. “You can just listen.”
He’d tried before to teach me his flute or drum.
“I … okay, Zar. Why don’t you stop by Atarah’s on your way later and, if I’m not already asleep, I’ll come out with you.”
He smiled more. “I’ll see you later.”
After a sleepless night and the journey here, I didn’t want to eat dinner or sit in the singing circle, much less debrief their silvers. But it was too early to stare at a wall for the rest of the evening.
Zar walked me to Atarah’s door amidst other members of the Sable Pack hurrying out of sight, whispering to one another at a distance, or glaring as we passed.
Atarah was home, along with two other females who I knew only by sight. These turned out to be Hannah, a top core member, and Bethany, an elder who was some sort of healer, nurse, or actual doctor—I wasn’t sure. They’d been sitting at the kitchen table when Atarah stood to let us in at Zar’s knock and the conversation died.
Atarah smiled warmly at us, welcoming us back, while Zar kissed her hand. The other two did not. Their smiles were tight-lipped, never reaching their eyes.
I was grateful to Zar for staying with me to tell the three females what had happened in Yorkshire with the vampires, allowing my own retreat to be quicker. Though Atarah offered me a drink or dinner, I bowed out, retreating to my guest bedroom, as Zar departed.
She would fill in Diana and Zacharias, though I would still need a meeting with Diana to discuss this shifter-seeking development. Isaac had this one contact that it certainly seemed worth meeting. After that? Diana had contacts in France, Germany, and elsewhere as far as I could tell. Kage’s family, which was also Diana’s family, had roots with Germanic and Scandinavian wolves. Plus Isaac’s connection to northern packs. Surely it would be easier to find shifters to question than it had been vampires. Yet, I also happened to know they did not make a habit of keeping close ties. Even Diana may know of a pack but that didn’t mean she could call them up on the phone. If they even had phones.
After a late lunch on the road, what I needed far more than dinner was a shower. Overnight on the dirt in the cold under the stars hadn’t been that bad for the trade off. I would do it again for them in a heartbeat. But a shower after still helped.
Moonlight Betrayal: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 5) Page 16