“Mesha has a respectful fear of me, but the truth is, she can come and go as she pleases. The same is true of you, or anyone else in the pack. She is right, there are certain things she would be better off not doing, but even if you were infected I wouldn’t be able to punish you like I do everyone else.”
“You wouldn’t be able to treat me as you do the others?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It is very…complicated.”
“Does that mean I wouldn’t be welcome in the pack?”
“Of course you would.”
Tyson was as evasive as ever and Clara let the matter rest, knowing he would never give something up by persuasion. “Does this mean we’re going to find Jothram soon?”
He laughed. “You’ve been very patient. I planned to leave before, but the blizzard came and spoiled everything. It’s supposed to be clear the next few days, how does leaving tomorrow sound?”
Her face brightened. “Really?”
“As long as nothing changes.”
“Good! I was beginning to think you would never say yes.”
“A promise is a promise,” he said bluntly.
“Thank you!” she said while beaming.
“Wait until tomorrow to thank me, it’s freezing out there.”
“I don’t care. How many days will it take us to get to him?”
“Only a couple, but that is still a night in the freezing elements, not to mention the return journey.”
“It doesn’t matter, I will be fine,” she promised quickly before he could change his mind. Part of her was relieved just to be getting out of the house. Another part of her was anxious about finally meeting Jothram. Tyson nodded and glanced at the bookshelf.
“Have you found anything you like?” he asked, indicating the books.
“I don’t know, my mind won’t focus on them.” She ran a hand over the spines of the books. “Reading usually offers me an escape, but I haven’t been able to focus.”
“I know you have been cooped up and I understand it’s not easy, especially when the snow blocks the sun. You’ve been handling it very well.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m going to scream,” Clara whispered. “It’s so quiet here when most of you are gone.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“You seem calmer than the others,” she observed. “And you go on the fewest outings. Don’t you feel trapped too?”
“Yes. They can’t protect you the way I can, so I stay as long as possible.”
Her heart seemed to stop. Whether it was from fear or elation, she couldn’t tell. “Do you think Parker or Mark will find us here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it never hurts to be on our guard.”
“We switched so many flights—I thought you shook them off our trail for awhile.”
“They always find us eventually.”
“It’s a good thing we’re going to find Jothram tomorrow, we can finally put all these ideas to rest.”
His jaw tensed and his teeth ground. “Don’t be too sure.”
But Clara knew she had to be sure, otherwise she would go insane.
That night, Clara was too excited and had to count werewolves in her head until she dozed off. The freezing elements came sooner than Tyson warned. She woke in the middle of the night to find her window wide open. The second she opened her eyes she knew something wasn’t right. Her blankets had been kicked off and she shivered. Unfamiliar dark eyes appeared over her when she moved to sit up. The strange man pressed a rag to her nose and mouth so quickly she could only claw at his hand while her consciousness slipped.
Mind numbing pain woke her from the drug induced slumber. She screamed, and tried to lash out at her captor, but he was no longer in sight. Her hands were bound in front of her with harsh cord. Blue sky smiled down and the hard wood beneath her back rocked when she moved to sit up.
“Stay down!” a voice hissed and a hand shoved her to the curved walls of the small boat. It rocked on waves made by the motion. The man wore thick, white snow gear that covered every inch of his body except his face. A few bits of random, dark, wavy hair stuck from his fur trimmed hat and his warm, hazel eyes didn’t match the frosty tone of his voice.
The bitter cold air was what had originally forced her awake when the breeze stung her skin. She wore nothing more than her pajamas and shivered somewhat violently. “W-w-w-who a-are y-y-y-you?” she asked through chattering teeth while subtly trying to work the ropes off.
His laugh was jovial and he leaned down, causing the boat to rock again. “Haven’t they told you about me?” His breath crystallized in the air before her.
“P-Parker?”
“Yes, indeed! One and the same! Although, only my enemies refer to me as Parker. My name is James.” He bent to rummage through a backpack that sat in the bough and produced a blanket. Once located, he tossed it carelessly over her. “You and I are going to be dealing with one another for a very long time, I would hate for us to start out enemies.”
“W-w-w-where—”
“Where are we going? Or, perhaps you are wondering where we are? I am at a bit of a loss. My companion was supposed to meet me here on the shoreline, but he took too long and I started without him. He is also my guide and it will be a long journey without him. I’m afraid you aren’t dressed for a long journey, are you?”
There was no response to such a question. Even if there had been, she wasn’t given a chance when an earth rocking boom erupted from somewhere beyond the water. She fought to sit up once more, but he pushed her down again.
“Keep still.”
“W-w-w-what w-w-was—”
“Don’t worry, they are only fighting.”
“F-f-fight-t-t-ting?”
“Yes, that is why I lost Mark. He doubled back with the others to keep your pack at bay.”
“M-M-Mark?”
“Hmm,” Parker said and nodded as way of response. He dropped to one knee over the backpack and began searching within once more. He produced a length of canvas tightly rolled together. Placing it on the bench, he slowly unrolled it. “I wish you had not ignored my emails,” he said and his teeth flashed when he smiled.
“You c-c-cannot t-t-trick me th-th-that easily, m-m-my m-mother is d-d-d-d-ead.” Her teeth clicked as she spoke.
His grin did not falter and he lifted the flap of the pouch. In it were small glass tubes with deep red contents and two capped syringes. He scooted a vile from its place and held it between his forefinger and thumb, giving it a shake. “Are you sure about that? This is her blood.”
Her eyes followed the tiny bottle. “You’re l-l-l-lying!” she yelled with a shake of her head. Her focus wavered however. Her fingers and toes felt solid. Parker shrugged and took the syringe, filling it with the thick red contents. She sat up and the blanket fell away. He did not stop her, too preoccupied by the needle in his hands.
“This will be easier if you don’t fight it,” he said informatively, as if he was a doctor and she had come in for her yearly visit. He shifted toward her and the boat bobbed again, but a shout drew their attention.
“CLARA!”
Callan was barely discernable, but it was he standing with his hands cupped over his mouth to call her name. The hope that surged in her chest washed to the wayside when Parker moved toward her again. She kicked from his reach, but he shook his head in frustration and scooted closer. He was so near that he was suddenly all she could see, hear and smell. He breathed quickly in anticipation and his eyes lit with evil wonder. His suit smelled of plastic and heavy cologne.
“You’re m-making a m-m-m-mistake!” she managed to get the words out, but he would not listen. He reached toward her again and there was nowhere left to retreat as they drifted on the icy lake. The moment before he pressed the needle to her skin, wintry fear spurred her into action. She kicked as hard as she could, leaning to one side and half rising. The boat rocked and Parker grabbed the sides in effort to steady it. She lea
ned hard to her left and the boat capsized, slipping out from under them. James Parker gave an angry bellow, but it was cut off when they hit the surface. The icy water immediately constricted her chest and she fought for awareness as she forced her legs to kick against the current that pulled her deeper into the endless abyss.
The sun glowed through the water and bits of light flickered in the enveloping black, like lightning striking in slow motion. She realized her fight was a losing one, even with her hands free she would not have made it. She stopped kicking. The further she sank, the less pain she felt. She was just starting to imagine she even felt warm when the rush of water filled her ears and a huge black bulk rose under her. The wolf’s mouth took a hold of the ropes binding her hands and pulled her toward the light. She heard swooshing as they broke through ice and the surface. Her body began trying to gasp for air, but she could not swallow. She tried to cough, but nothing seemed to work air down her throat. The black wolf worked his body under her and pulled her toward shore. She struggled to breathe one last time before her vision went bleary, then faded.
Callan sensed his sister struggling for life and failing. He also felt when her body gave up breathing altogether. He paddled hard to the shoreline, tearing through large chunks of ice drifting serenely by. Jack took her in his arms when they reached land. The sickening shade of pale blue she was turning caused their stomachs to turn to rot. Her lips were deep maroon in color and lifeless. Jack laid her in the snow and pumped her heart, his eyes filled with varying degrees of fear. What if he crushed her body in his attempts to save her? What if they’d come too late? He offered her breath, but her body would not receive it. Too emotional to even attempt morphing, Callan watched and whimpered. He stood rigid as each artificial pump of her heart seemed to call a frost deeper than winter upon her.
A sudden gush of wind announced another’s arrival and Tyson came to a stop in the midst of the panicked two. The smell hanging over him was thick with blood, which made sense when he saw the fresh gaping wounds on his arm. The wounds had not had a chance to heal in the time it took him to run to them and they sealed even as his breath caught in his throat at the sight of Clara’s limp form.
“She’s not coming back!” Jack growled desperately. “Ty, she’s not coming back!”
Tyson was next to her the next moment and jerked her body upright, causing her head to loll frighteningly. He pounded her back and her body moved roughly. She wheezed, then coughed as water spilled from her lips. Callan’s tail wagged once when she inhaled deeply and leaned forward to expel more water, but her body instantly was wracked with tremors as if she were having a fit.
“We have to get her warm,” Tyson said and laced his fingers through the cord binding her hands, breaking them with a jerking motion.
“Warm water is the quickest way to raise her temperature,” Jack said.
“She will not survive the journey back to the house,” Tyson denied with a shake of his head as he held onto Clara, keeping her from the snow. Callan whined again and went carefully to his sister’s side. His large body caused the snow to crunch when he lay down. Tyson knew immediately what he meant and changed shape after placing her carefully in Callan’s fur and off the icy ground. He lay next to Callan, covering as much of her as he dared without actually crushing her, all while ensuring she did not fall or touch the ground. Mesha approached, arriving in a silver flash and offering the heat of her body as well. Their thoughts were conjoined and they did not need to explain. Dawn was not far behind. Jack was the last to spread his wolf body over the dog pile and they acted as a living incubator for the trembling mortal.
Clara heard the pack’s voices in her head. “She jumped out of the boat,” Callan kept saying, only he didn’t speak with words and she was unsure of how she understood. “She must be crazy to leap out of a boat in the middle of that lake.”
“Or terrified,” Jack’s voice was a whisper.
Mesha’s words were driven by worry. “Is she alright? Is she alright?” The question repeated over and over in a quiet, steady undertone and continued no matter how they assured her.
Dawn’s voice didn’t sound as frequently, but her burning concern could not be ignored. “That poor child,” she would say. “How could Parker be so calloused?”
Tyson did not seem to hear any of them and his voice was loudest. “I must keep her safe…I must keep her safe…I MUST KEEP HER SAFE…I MUST KEEP HER SAFE…” The words growled in her mind.
All of their expressions ran together until Clara could hardly tell them one from another. She forgot the dream when she opened her eyes and the reality of pain encompassed her every thought. Breathing hurt, thinking hurt, trying to move hurt, even holding still hurt. On the bright side, the deep, disturbing, black cold had lifted from her bones and she was warm. Her fist closed around fur and she stared at the dense coat of a black wolf, and not utter darkness as she’d first assumed. Fur surrounded her on all sides. The silver she recognized as Mesha’s and the black she assumed was Tyson’s. Bits of a rusty-brown color peaked through above. She reached her arm out and touched the big, black head of what she thought was Tyson until his eyes shot open to reveal emerald green irises peering at her.
“Callan!” she exclaimed in a whisper, her voice croaking. Her toes curled around more fur at the joy of seeing her brother unhurt. Callan’s eye smiled and he huffed. She noted his fur was tipped with white as if he’d stayed out in a winter storm too long, but ice could not affect a werewolf and she knew it was his coloring. When she looked more closely, she noticed it differed greatly from the pitch black of Tyson’s coat. “Thank you,” she whispered with her hand still on his cheek and she did not mean to only thank him. As it was, her body proved too exhausted to attempt explanation and she fell back to sleep while listening to the rhythm of their breathing. It was music to her ears.
She did not wake until many hours later when she heard their words again. This time they argued. Callan’s words were not very clear. She more sensed than heard his rage, which hindered his communication. “We have to get her back,” Jack said, and Dawn readily agreed with him.
“She will need nourishment.”
Callan’s words dissipated as they were replaced with images of Parker.
“We must kill him,” Tyson breathed out the threat and Callan growled his support. “He will not hurt her again…we must kill him!”
“Yes!” Callan snarled.
“She needs to go back,” Mesha said, although the images of Parker enraged her as well. “Hunting him now will not help her get well.”
“It will help me feel better,” Callan growled.
“They are right…we need to get her back and she needs our protection,” Tyson pointed out. “We will move as soon as she’s able. Maybe when she is relocated we can hunt them down, but we must keep her safe.”
Tyson’s words calmed Callan some. Clara could feel him huffing and panting to keep control of his emotions. “I want to kill him.”
“We ALL want to kill him!” Mesha snapped.
Clara shuddered and they fell still.
“Is she cold?” Mesha asked.
“Perhaps she is getting sick again!” Dawn exclaimed and a fountain of worry flooded from Callan as he was lost to his emotions again. Clara sensed he’d stayed still too long and needed to stretch his legs to cool his head.
“She is fine,” Jack assured them. “But we should get her back.”
“Can she be moved?” Mesha and Dawn wondered the same thing at once.
“I can make it,” Clara muttered without opening her eyes and their words stopped altogether as if they were holding their breaths. When they spoke again, all their words melded as if echoing off canyon walls.
“Can she hear us?” a few asked at once.
“How can she hear us?” still more queried.
“STOP!” Tyson roared. His voice was the loudest, he was always the loudest. She heard her name, but her senses dimmed and she rested again. The next she opened her eye
s, the smell of wolf was gone, and in its place was the unmistakable scent of a clean car. She lay on her side with her head in someone’s lap and a seatbelt digging her hip. She’d been dressed in warm clothing and draped with blankets. Someone’s hands rested on her shoulder and hair.
“Tyson?” she asked before she’d fully come from her sleep.
“No, it’s me,” Mesha responded as her fingers moved to touch her forehead.
“Where…”
“He’s here, sis,” Callan said from the front passenger seat.
“I don’t understand,” she said and struggled against the sway of the car. The blankets fell when she leaned to see Tyson as best she could from the angle she sat. “What about Jothram? You promised…”
“I was wrong, Clara,” Tyson responded without taking his eyes from the road. His fingers tightened on the wheel when she leaned between their seats. “He’s moved.”
“Where has he moved to?” she asked, her brow knitting.
“I don’t know for sure.”
“You have an idea though, don’t you?”
“Take it easy, Clare,” Callan said, twisting in his seat until he faced her.
“He’s right,” Mesha confirmed and grasped Clara’s shoulders to pull her back. “You nearly lost your fingers you know.”
“And your toes,” Callan added.
“I did?”
Mesha nodded.
“Where are Jack and Dawn?” she asked as she glanced around the vehicle while rubbing her hands together. Her fingers did feel thick and stiff, as did her joints and toes.
“They’re running,” Callan nodded out the window.
Clara shut her eyes as images of glass tubes filled with blood flashed in her mind. “Callan,” she gasped, leaning forward suddenly, “he said it was mom’s blood.”
“What?”
“Parker, he was going to inject me with blood…he said it was mom’s.”
Callan’s face fell and his brow furrowed. Tyson’s arms tensed further and his knuckles turned white on the wheel. “You can’t let him get in your head,” Tyson said. “He only said it to hurt you.”
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