Then his weight was off her. He barked to his men, “String her up.”
Hands of steel gripped her from all sides and carried her toward a tree. They pushed her back against it and tied her wrists to the tree.
“Get off me, you pointy-eared beasts!” She kicked out.
But they only laughed and dodged. Excitement rolled off them as much as fear convoluted inside Clarke. One of them struck her across the cheek until her eyes blurred. Pain numbed her mind and she retched, nauseated.
More cruel laughter.
Thaddeus, seemingly their leader, stalked up to her with a curious glint in his eye. His bone sword dragged lazily in the snow behind him. He used its tip to lift the tattered hem of her shirt and dipped his gaze to take a cheeky look beneath. Then the sword lifted, shredding her shirt in two, exposing her dirty bra.
That bone was sharp. It would cut deep.
Whistles of encouragement spurred Thaddeus on and he puffed out his chest. He grazed the sword tip up to her chin, then gently pushed her hair out of the way to inspect her ear again. For a moment, his eyes narrowed and turned thoughtful.
“Red hair,” he murmured softly. “Red wasn’t on the list. That means you’re mine.”
The point of his blade caught on her earring, and he ripped it from her lobe. Agony exploded. Gulping, she repeated a mantra in her head. Don’t show weakness. You are not a victim. You are a survivor.
At her lack of reaction, he gave a disappointed sigh. “And to think I was going to keep you for my own pleasure. With your face, I almost mistook you for an elf. Almost. Oh well. I guess all that is left to do with your kind is use you for sport.” He leaned in close, his stale breath on her cheek. “My crew have been hunting for days. We’re not allowed to play with the other humans we found, but you’re not on the list. It means you’re mine.”
Clarke spat in his face.
A backhand to her cheek sent her face careening to the side. The rope tugged sharply at her wrists, keeping her upright.
But then something odd happened. Through blurred eyes, she saw a tall, well-built stranger casually wander into the group and lean against a tree. One of them, but… not. Where the others triggered sickly vibrations in her chest, this one provoked good tingles. Fluttering. There was no other way to explain it. All the pain, fear, and terror in her body emptied as she locked eyes with the golden-eyed man. No… not man. Male. Like the others, he was the male of some new species. Silver shoulder-length hair was pulled back to reveal fur-tipped and pointed ears. A short beard peppered a sharp jaw. Unbridled curiosity played across his handsome face. The fact he took no part in her ridicule showed he had nothing to prove. He was already aware of his own strength.
Just as tall as Thaddeus, just as muscular, but a world apart in sophistication.
“Help,” she croaked.
Dark brows lifted, and he checked over his shoulder, as if she spoke to someone else.
Her attackers continued to paw at her. The forced removal of her shoe demanded her attention, but she refused to accept what it meant. Already she felt her consciousness try to leave the physical constraints of her body, to distance herself from what was about to happen, but she wouldn’t take her eyes from the golden-eyed stranger. He pushed off the tree and prowled toward her, wending through the male bodies watching the show, intense eyes always on Clarke. No one else saw him, but they shifted out of the way as though they felt the wind and parted for the storm.
There was power in that man. It licked against her skin.
The others made no move to suggest they knew of his presence. They continued to rib and pat each other on the back for their delicious find, a bonus considering they weren’t allowed to play with their earlier hunt.
“You can see me,” the stranger stated, voice deep like rolling thunder.
“Am I not supposed to?”
Another shoe came off. More raucous male laughter. And then a ram-horned man came up with a lascivious look on his face. His thick, stubby fingers dug into her jeans and tugged down. He had hair on his knuckles.
Clarke let out a cry of resistance and kicked out. But they liked that. Another took hold of an ankle, and a third took the other. Someone sucked her toe. There were too many hands. Too many faces. Four, five of them? Thaddeus watched from a few paces back, enjoying every moment as he picked his nails with a knife.
“Come on!” Tears burned Clarke’s eyes as she turned to the stranger. Why wouldn’t he help? “Don’t be an ass. Do something.”
“Oh yes, you’ll beg,” Thaddeus laughed. “You’ll beg right up until the end. Humans always do.” He turned to his crew, rested a boot on a rock, and then leaned on his knee. “Isn’t that right? Humans and their disgusting mana-less lives. You’d think they’d love to end their pitiful existence sooner, but they always want to be spared. And for what?”
His men stopped pawing her to grumble, scrunching their faces in confusion.
“Humans have nothing,” Thaddeus elaborated. “It’s why they want our land. The land we earned through blood, sweat and tears. The land we fostered back to life, now so full of plenty and magic. While they live between cold walls, we have this!” He gestured at the greenery bursting from beneath the snow.
Clarke looked too. Truth be told, it was greener than she’d expected wildlife to be in a cold territory. When the nuclear winter had settled, Vegas heat made way for ice. All plant-life had suffered. Nothing much grew as bountiful as it did here.
The men shouted their agreement to something Thaddeus had declared. Clarke tuned into the tail end of it.
“… it’s why I’m the alpha of Crescent Hollow. Your Lord. I’m the only Nightstalk who can protect you from both fae and human threats. I’m the only one who can play both sides of the game and win. I’m the only Nightstalk who will reward you like this.” He gestured at Clarke, to the three touching and groping her.
They cheered.
A look of disgust ghosted the stranger’s features. He met Clarke’s eyes coolly.
“I’ll help you.”
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Thaddeus laughed. “Thank you? Are you insane? Never say thank you to a fae. It means you are in our debt.”
Clarke slid her eyes back to the stranger. Was this true?
He gave a curt nod. “I need something in return. A bargain.”
Are you fucking kidding me? “Fine. Whatever. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her attackers broke out into glee-filled laughter.
“Hear that? Line up, fae,” one of them said. “No need to turn into heathens. We can share.”
A long, peaked tongue ran up the side of her face and she shuddered in revulsion. Another wet tongue hit the skin of her stomach.
“What,” she whispered. “What do you need me to say?”
“Say you want more, wench,” one of her attackers said and then laughed.
She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t they see the stranger? Or hear him?
The stranger tossed one side of his cape over a shoulder and then rolled up his sleeve to reveal a corded forearm covered in blue glowing glyphs.
“You can be heard when I cannot,” he explained. “So you will be my voice where I cannot speak. You will be my hands, where I cannot touch. Do you understand?”
“Yes. For crying out loud,” she shouted at him. “Just do it already.” Whatever he was about to do. Do it now.
The men surrounding her started to look oddly at each other.
“Never had a willing participant before, boss,” noted a ram-horned one.
Thaddeus, still picking his nails with the tip of a small bone knife, only shrugged. “You learn something new every day.”
Clarke scowled at the handsome stranger.
“I need you to do these things for me,” he added. “Do you accept?”
“I already said yes.”
“Just making sure.” His lips curved in a slow, wicked smile. Clarke’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she thought
the good vibrations she’d picked up from him were wrong, but he slammed his palm onto hers. A deep electric shock made her fingers spasm and shot heat down her arm.
His eyes widened. “I can touch you.”
So intimately close, his lashes lowered on her with awe. A strange blue teardrop tattoo glittered under his eye. Clarke had no time to wonder what it meant, and then the electricity intensified at their conjoined hands. Energy and light rippled between their touch, casting the area into blue relief.
“Then we are bound,” he rasped, letting go.
The light flared only for a moment, just long enough for Clarke’s attackers to jump back with shock.
“Witch,” someone shouted.
Thaddeus answered calmly, “Impossible. She’s human. She’s forsaken by the Well.”
“Hurry!” Clarke shouted at her supposed savior. The idiot still stared at his palm, proud as punch.
Snapping out of his daze, he winked at her—the bastard winked!—and then let loose a shrill whistle. Wincing, Clarke shut her eyes and turned to the side, waiting for something to happen. Nothing.
She opened her eyes to see her attackers gathering themselves. They hadn’t heard the whistle. Not one of them. Maybe this was all a dream, a delusion. Maybe she still lay in the frozen yard in Vegas, and she’d seen that sign before she’d passed out. It made better sense than the evidence she’d been presented with… that she had awoken in a time long since past hers.
But then the first haunting howl of a wolf sounded in the distance.
And then another.
And another.
Each time, the sound grew louder.
“Damn it,” spat Thaddeus. He pointed his knife to the stag-antlered man. “Take the left.” He pointed at the rams. “To the right.” Then to the remaining men, “You wolves with me.”
Wolves? They looked like normal men with unusual ears. Clarke glanced at her savior. His ears perked as though he’d caught the mouse, and then he flashed her a grin. He had the kind of smile that transformed a face. It created double brackets next to his mouth, crinkles besides his eyes and infectious mirth in Clarke’s own body. Words vacated her mind.
Only for an instant.
Then shock slammed everything out as a pack of snarling wolves emerged from the trees. One by one, the wild animals prowled closer, baring teeth beneath trembling lips. A gray wolf locked onto Thaddeus with single-minded focus.
Thaddeus strode into the center of the small clearing and tossed a placating look at his crew. Something like, I got this. And then he crouched into an attack stance and snarled back at the gray wolf.
Energy burst in the clearing. It made Clarke feel like she should turn tail and run for the trees, but the gray wolf wouldn’t back down. It stepped toward Thaddeus, strengthening the power of its snarl.
Shocked, and a little confused, Thaddeus blinked. He gave a short, impotent laugh, and then seemed to gather himself. Cracking his neck, he refocused on the wolf and shook out his fists. This time when he snarled, it transformed his body. Energy rippled from him. Claws protruded from his fingers. His nose elongated. His canines lengthened over his bottom lip, and the deep alpha snarl that came from the base of his throat froze every movement within Clarke’s body. He was more wolf than man. Every inclination within wanted her to lie on the floor and submit.
The gray wolf paused. It stopped snarling and whined. It too felt the driving force of the alpha’s growl.
With a smug toothy smile, Thaddeus advanced.
“Gray,” her savior warned.
But the wolf rolled to show its belly.
A curse ripped out of her savior’s mouth. He tossed a concerned glance at Clarke, clearly grappling with a decision he didn’t want to make. Then he refocused on the wolves.
“Attack,” he ordered, voice as gravelly as Thaddeus’s had been during the change. Power exploded from him. Clarke could feel it against her skin as though she’d come too close to a fire.
The pack of wolves changed. Submission gave way to dominance. They launched at Clarke’s attackers, ferociously biting down on whatever piece of skin they could find. The stench of fresh blood filled the air, and she swooned. Memories from her past hit her squarely between the eyes. Stumbling into an alley to find Bishop and his men executing someone. A gunshot. Blood. Brains. The blurry video of a man watching it all from a smart phone. The sour burn of a Tequila Sunrise as it regurgitated up her throat.
A wave of dizziness drove Clarke to the side to puke. Something like mud came out again. She groaned. So gross. Heat and sweat prickled her skin. She only had time to register Thaddeus give the order to retreat when blackness crowded her vision.
Everything went fuzzy. No.
No no no.
Not now. Don’t—
Chapter Four
Thrashing in sleep, Clarke’s dreams took her back to her past.
She shivered as she ducked inside the Bellagio lobby. She lifted her chin and pretended she had the right to be there, despite the rain drenched outfit she wore. Squelching along the tiled lobby, she headed straight toward the casino. The electronic pings and ca-chings covered her grumbling stomach. Those sounds meant food. They meant survival.
Armed security eyed her as she entered, but she pushed past as though she had somewhere to be. For all they knew, she was on her way through the casino, to the hotel access on the other side. This was the third casino she’d tried today. Each time security had strongly encouraged her to leave. Word must be getting around about her card reading skills. Still… a girl had to eat.
Knowing her face was most likely on a watchlist wall somewhere, Clarke decided today she would try her luck at the slot machines. She squeezed water from her ponytail and wiped her face as she trolled the slot machine aisles, listening to that little feeling in her chest that fluttered when she neared a lucky machine. It took a few laps. When an old man wearing a Baker Boy cap vacated a quarter slot machine, she took his place.
The seat was still warm.
He sat down next to her with a frown cast her way. Probably wasn’t a polite thing to do when he’d been working the machine for hours. But she was hungry. She put a quarter in, and pulled the lever. Tension rode her body as she waited for the slots to line up. Two stars and a cherry. Not this time. She popped another quarter in, and held her breath as she pulled the lever. It shouldn’t be long now. The fluttering was worse.
The slots whirled in a dizzying blur of motion. Then slowly… each slot stopped with a blip.
Cherry.
Cherry.
Cherry.
The alarm bell went off and money poured from the collection tray. Shit, she’d forgotten to get a cup. Next to her, the old man pulled his cap off and handed it to her. “Got more luck than me, girl.”
Her heart tugged. “Thank you.”
She collected the coins, took out enough for a meal, and then handed the cap back to the man with a smile. “You warmed the machine up for me,” she said.
His mouth opened in protest, but she didn’t stick around. She turned and left. Just as she approached the exit, she bumped face-first into a security guard. The big beefy guy glared at her and then at the coins in her hands.
“I know you did something to fix the machine.”
She lifted her chin. “You can’t prove anything.”
“We’ve been watching you, red. Give the coins back, or you’re done in this town.”
Begrudgingly, she handed him the money she was going to use for dinner. There was no way to prove she’d cheated, but she didn’t want to draw attention. Not if she wanted to keep using this town as her paycheck. She’d have to lay low for a while until her face came down from the watchlist.
Cold and shivering, she trumped out of the casino and went to stand before the fountain. The jets burst and danced to a Celine Dion tune. She wanted to hate it, but couldn’t. Vegas was home.
A man sidled up next to her.
“Beat it,” she snapped. “I got no money.”
> “Neat trick you did in there,” he replied.
Fuck. She groaned and turned, but it wasn’t security. It was a man in his thirties, smiling at her all charming and winsome as the breeze lifted his short brown hair.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She looked away.
“Sure you do.” He held out his hand. “The name’s Bishop.”
“As if I care.”
His laugh was hearty and infectious. “You might if you hear what I have to say.”
“What?”
“My boss will pay top dollar for someone like you. Come work with me and I’ll show you how to use that gift to earn more than a few quarters. I’ll make sure you’re never taken for granted again.”
His hand still hovered between them. She eyed it warily.
And she wasn’t sure why she did it. Maybe Celine Dion knew how to serenade. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she was sick of living day to day. It certainly wasn’t the fluttering in her chest because that had made way for the harsh buzzing premonition of dread. But when she put her hand in his, she found she didn’t care.
He took her hand and, thinking about her hungry stomach, she let him. But it wasn’t a restaurant he took her to. It was through a void.
The dream became a nightmare.
Fire and death surrounded her. Wails and screams compounded in her ears. Thunder shook the ground and she thought she might fall through.
Smoke.
Blood.
Brimstone.
Was this hell?
No.
This was the end.
Clarke screamed awake. Her eyes stung with the remnants of the nightmare still making her heart gallop. The fire. The terror. She cried out again, but her voice lost power as it carried away.
Breathing deep lungfuls of air, it took her a moment to get the charred smell out, but eventually the scent of cedar and bergamot filled her nose. Calmer, she shut her eyes. The nightmares were back. Strangely, hope flared in her chest. Maybe it was all a dream—the lake, the pointed-eared men who attacked her, the other wolfish man who’d saved her—she opened her eyes.
The Longing of Lone Wolves Page 2