The Wild Rites Saga Omnibus 01 to 04

by Anna McIlwraith

  Fern, he’ll attack. He might be a horse, but he thinks he’s got fangs just like the rest of you. Speaking of the rest of them, Emma finally noticed the other reason why Sefu was going crazy; far off to the left, a golden jaguar slunk along the ridge of the dustbowl, just a low shadow in the intermittent pale wash of lightning.

  Fern gathered his thoughts; it was harder for him to form coherent sentences when he took the shape of his beast. What will he do if I flash back?

  He meant change. Does it matter? It can’t be as bad as what he’ll do to you in about four seconds if you keep hanging around like something out of The Hobbit.

  Fern’s mind rolled with confusion. That another movie reference? You know I have trouble with those. Any reply Emma might have made was lost to the brilliant arc of light that sucked the shape of the tarantula out of the night and turned it into Fern’s skinny human body, crouching on the edge of the ridge, gasping for air.

  Sefu’s hooves hit the ground. He snorted in consternation.

  Both Emma and the stallion watched the jaguar pad heavily over to Fern. Is that Ricky?

  Fern clambered down the slope, slowly, and Emma made sure not to look anywhere but his face. Yeah. Fern straightened and Emma had to look away, but she saw the second flash of white light out of the corner of her eye, and then there were two naked men for her to not look at.

  Sefu grumbled and squealed, but he wouldn’t hurt them, he knew their scent. Emma crawled back into her hole, suddenly knowing exactly how Rain must feel every time he tried to get the hell away from everybody and they all just came on after him.

  She closed her eyes, but she’d lowered her mental shields, so she felt Fern’s presence anyway. He hesitated at the entrance to the hollow, and Ricky’s footsteps came to a halt beside him. They were silent a while. Then Fern murmured something she didn’t catch, and she heard movement, the sound of skin scraping against dirt and rocks and roots.

  But it was Ricky’s scent that filled the cramped space. He crawled up beside her, just a darker blot of shadow in the black. His bare knees brushed hers, the solid curve of his shoulder against her arm, so much body heat. He laid his cheek on her arm, hair strangely dry.

  She felt Fern patting the ground ahead of him as he tried to find her in the dark; his night vision wasn’t as good. His hand found the sodden cuff of her sweatpants and slid upward, finding its way to her side, her elbow, her hand. He wedged himself in next to her, breath warm on her face, skinny body cooler than Ricky’s and bonier, but just as solid.

  “We’re not gonna tell you it’s all right,” Fern said. “I really don’t know that it is.”

  Ricky’s hair tickled her arm as he tilted his head back. He could probably see her clear as day, and all she could see was a dark blur. His breath was hot on her chilled skin.

  “Let us hold you, Em.” He moved so his body was curled around hers. “Just let us hold you.”

  Fern put an arm around her chest, and managed to fit his chin onto the top of her head. They both breathed their warmth into her, as though willing her to live, to feel whatever it was she didn’t want to feel, and she fell apart.

  11

  Emma spent the next day and a half putting herself back together with hot showers and hot chocolate and a lot of preparation for the Russia trip. There were extra training sessions to make up for the one she’d missed, and Anton made them so grueling she could barely speak, let alone talk to him about what happened that night in the moments before Red came out of the house with Telly — and to be honest, she was glad of it. If she had to talk about it, she would, because she didn’t believe in pretending shit like that hadn’t happened, but if ever there was a time she wished desperately to shirk the responsibility of being an adult, this was it.

  When they weren’t training, Anton was busy planning security with Horne and Andres and Raul — a convenient excuse to avoid her. Everyone else stuck to her like glue, with the exception of Red, who maintained a careful distance even when he had to talk to her. Probably afraid of getting punched in the groin. Emma didn’t quite believe he didn’t know where Telly had gone, and it was in her eyes every time she looked at him, she could feel it. An accusation, a judgment and a sentence all rolled into one poison stare. She couldn’t help it, so she tried not to look at him.

  Emma woke up a few minutes before the alarm in the small hours of Friday morning. The darkness of her bedroom had a pure quality to it; she would have known without a clock that the night was hours away from dawn.

  She blinked into the black, listening to the concert of breath sighing around her, adjusting to the myriad scents of fur and male and sleep, and the nighttime smell of cool grass and clean air breezing in through the open window. Something heavy on her feet, probably a maiden with its small, hard human shape. The covers either side of Emma’s body were taut, and warmth cocooned her, dust and fur on one side, cotton and clean human skin on the other. Ricky and Fern.

  She edged her mental shields down and felt the lazy flicker of Fern’s dreams, swirling against the surface of his mind like oil on water. She didn’t like to eavesdrop — especially since doing so might wake him up — but she couldn’t help catching a glimpse of dark jungle, leathery leaves, shapes moving with the pinwheeling grace of eight legs. A dark human eye blinked slowly and dissolved; somebody walked out of the mists of Fern’s mind, female body barely clad, arm coming up and gun booming silently with orange fire. Emma recognized herself not just by her image, but by the emotion pulsing through the membrane of Fern’s dream.

  She jerked her mind away, holding her breath. Fern didn’t wake. Last time she did that.

  It was rare she woke before he did, anyway, but then she’d slept lightly these past couple of nights — since Telly left.

  She flexed her right hand, curled against her breastbone. The mark was cool, quiet. Would it still respond when her fear called to it? It didn’t respond when she thought of Telly, thought of never seeing him again, when her heart clenched with panic, terror sending spears of ice through her guts.

  The alarm went off and Emma jumped, more surprised than if she’d been asleep. Fern made a muffled sound beside her, and Ricky echoed it with a deep cough, making the bed vibrate.

  A maiden groaned. “Sweet Coatlique, somebody cut that thing off.” Emma felt Fern groping at the bedside table and then blessed silence filled the room once more.

  Fern groaned and sucked a deep breath back. “You were awake already.”

  Emma turned toward the sound of his voice. “How do you know?”

  Ricky stood, and Emma rocked involuntarily as his weight canted the mattress to and fro. She heard linen ripping. “Ricky, cut it out! This is the third set of sheets we’ve had to replace.” She shoved blindly at him, met a huge wall of sleek furred muscle. A lamp clicked on, and she was looking at a huge wall of sleek furred muscle, before Ricky said good morning with a headbutt and almost broke her nose. Claws flexed inches from her face and she slapped him on the flank. “Get off the bed, bad cat. Go on, scoot.”

  He coughed again and thumped to the floor, tail twitching, then leaned back into a long feline stretch. His tail knocked a can of deodorant off Emma’s vanity and she sighed, sitting up.

  “Holy…” The exclamation died away as Emma took in the sight of nearly a dozen bodies stirring on her bedroom floor. All maidens: a look around confirmed the only one not there was Rish. “What are you guys doing in here?”

  Tarissa unfolded to her feet, clad in an old white t-shirt with frayed, moth-eaten edges. It hung to her shins. “We only wanted to comfort you, my lady.” She shrugged. “It has been difficult time for you.” She glanced at Fern, an odd expression in her eyes, almost guilty. But why, Emma didn’t know.

  “Well, that’s sweet, but it can’t be comfortable sleeping down there on the floor. You should have dragged some blankets in or something, if you were that determined.” Emma rubbed her eyes; Tarissa’s shoulders relaxed, but her expression was still weird. Then Emma realized who the
oversized t-shirt belonged to — and who Tarissa couldn’t take her eyes off.

  A sidelong glance at Fern revealed his dark eyes were hooded and fixed on the maiden — and the sheets were pooled in his lap, the waistband of his shorts riding way low. His abs, his ribs, the pale hardness of his chest and wiry shoulders, all caressed by lamplight and the warm haze of sleep; his face was still soft with it, his hair mussed, and his eyes were black enough to hold stars.

  For the first time in a long time, Emma saw something worth not taking your eyes off.

  A pang of something Emma told herself was absolutely not jealousy sparked in her chest, tugged at something primitive and animal at the base of her brain, and thank God she shielded in time for none of it to hit Fern — but that thing coiled tighter nonetheless, and Emma had to fight not to narrow her eyes and hiss.

  Mine. The thought dropped like a bowling ball in the titanium-shielded drum of her mind. Fern frowned and glanced at her, and she shot out of bed, nearly falling over Ricky where he’d lain down and dozed off again. He grumbled and rolled over on his back, paws in the air.

  Emma felt a stab of guilt as she ignored his proffered underside and snatched up her towel. “I’m heading for a shower.” White light flickered against the walls, and as she made it through the door, she heard Ricky voice a question but didn’t catch the words.

  Almost running, she made it three steps down the hall before she ran into a big solid wall of somebody. When the heat hit her stomach a second later and crawled down into her groin, she knew who it was without needing to be able to see him.

  Red Sun cleared his throat. “Bathroom’s free.”

  But he didn’t move. Emma wished for pants so hard her brain hurt, but they did not magically appear, and she was still clad only in her oversize Metallica t-shirt and less than flattering fluorescent green underpants. In her defense, all her good clothes had gone into the suitcases.

  “Thanks.” She edged past him, naked thigh brushing warm leather, the velvety feel of it sending jagged hot licks of arousal up her legs and straight into her core.

  Sweet Jesus.

  If this was how the day was starting out, what was the rest of it going to be like?

  She fled the hallway with the scent of pine and leather and male musk teasing at her, lingering on the back of her tongue.

  Thankfully she made it through a whole shower before anyone bothered her. By the time she got back to her bedroom, everyone had cleared out — except for Felani, who, despite having woken up less than half an hour ago looked fresh and incredible in a pair of denim cutoff shorts and a royal blue spaghetti-strap tank. Her hair was bound back with two long chopsticks, and strands hung down artfully in ways Emma would never be able to replicate.

  Zach was going to have a heart attack when he saw Felani this morning. The tank top was new, and the maiden hardly ever pulled her hair back from her face. It showed off the delicate cheekbones and long sweep of her neck to perfection.

  Felani was the only person whom Emma was downright happy being jealous of.

  The maiden had laid several outfits on the neatly made bed. “You can’t put any of these on yet, Ricky’s in the kitchen making breakfast. These are all dry clean only. You can’t eat pancakes with maple syrup in dry clean only.” She scowled.

  Emma closed the door behind her. “One day, Felani, when I don’t need you to take care of me, you’re gonna find a lot of satisfaction doing something that involves a lot more clothes and a lot less bodyguarding.”

  Felani looked scandalized. “Nonsense! The clothing part is merely a pleasurable bonus.” Her expression hardened to something scary and professional that Emma associated exclusively with being made to wear things she really didn’t want to. “Besides,” said Felani, “In this, the clothes are a part of the bodyguarding. And the accessories, they are important too.”

  Emma came to the bed and eyed the outfits. Nothing too outlandish, thank goodness. As for accessories, Emma was at a loss. The most coordinated her outfits ever got were when her bra matched her underwear. She hardly had anything fancy, nothing worthy of the stuff Felani had set on the bed…although there was one thing she’d found a few weeks back when she’d unpacked a bunch of stuff from her old apartment.

  Emma frowned. “Hang on. I’m not sure what you mean about the clothes being part of the bodyguarding, Felani.”

  The maiden put her hands on her hips, consternation drawing her golden brows down. “You are visiting a foreign country. You must do many things without words: assert your dominance, your status, make the enemy desire you but put yourself out of reach…”

  Emma interrupted. “But they’re not our enemies, Felani. We don’t even know them.”

  The hardness in Felani’s dark eyes turned to obsidian, and the lines of her little face got tight. It made her look old, reminded Emma that Felani was not actually the merry little elfin creature she appeared to be.

  “Until we know them, they are our enemies, always.” Felani’s voice was gentle. “Please my lady, do not think otherwise. I beg of you.” The obsidian of Felani’s eyes glinted with starry fear.

  Emma tightened her towel beneath her arms, feeling silly. “You’re right.” She sighed. “And I’m sorry for excluding you by making you stay here, I just don’t know what else to —”

  “Hush,” Felani held a hand up, and it fluttered down to rest on Emma’s arm. “I do not question. I merely worry.” She patted Emma’s arm. “Now, we must decide what you are to wear — I have already gone through your things and found all the jewelry worth looking at, plus there are the pieces I brought back from Central America — and then I believe you must brace yourself for breakfast. Ricky made it clear you are not leaving until you have eaten at least two stacks, with bacon.”

  Moscow was ten hours ahead of California, and the plane trip took just as long, plus a stop for fuel, so it was almost six Saturday morning when Emma and her many, many guards touched down at Myachkovo, a private airport roughly eighteen miles out from Moscow. The trip had been long and tense; three jaguar guards, eight maidens, plus Fern, Anton, Red Sun and Emma herself, all crammed onto Seshua’s private jet did not a relaxing journey make.

  Horne and Andres had spoken to Seshua several times via phone during the trip, coordinating their pick up. Seshua was confident of the airport security, and didn’t seem to suspect the Russka wawkalaki of anything duplicitous, but they were still taking the added precaution of driving from Myachkovo to the wolf king’s sanctuary instead of chartering a more direct flight. Less chance of ambush that way. Aside from that, the jaguar king had sounded positively peachy on speaker — so much so that Emma’s insides had been simmering with suspicion ever since the last time he’d spoken to them. Seshua was hiding something, and whether it would mean good or ill for her, she wouldn’t find out until he wanted her to.

  Knowing Seshua, though, it probably wasn’t good.

  The plane had come to a halt, but Horne was still waiting on Seshua’s all clear, so Emma was shuffled into place between a suffocating sea of guards and maidens. Somebody’s elbow jostled her, and the Beretta in its shoulder holster slid a little to press on her ribs. She wriggled and dislodged it — but how the hell was she supposed to draw it if everyone intended to plaster themselves to her the whole trip? Damn it.

  The idea was, they’d form a wall blocking Emma from view as they alighted — also blocking her from potential attack. What they expected, Emma had no idea — she just knew she hated the notion of others guarding her body with theirs, or hampering her own ability to protect herself.

  Don’t bother arguing, they’ll just ignore you. Fern tried not to crowd her too badly, and smiled down with an air of sad resignation as Red bumped into him. They’re bodyguards. It’s their job to risk taking bullets for you.

  Emma bit back a frustrated sound. What could possibly happen? Nobody knows I’m here. And besides, the only people they really knew for sure would even be interested hadn’t been heard of, or even seen, in month
s.

  Alan. Emma shielded the thought for some reason she couldn’t define — superstition maybe, not wanting Fern to start thinking about that, not out loud anyway. Fern had been a constant presence, skimming the surface of her mind for the past two days, and Emma was starting to feel a little claustrophobic about it.

  She touched the pendant at her throat, the one Alan had given her a lifetime ago, when she still thought he was human and he didn’t know she was the only human ever prophesied to save a species most humans didn’t know existed.

  The extravagant black diamond still felt strange and cold there, nestled in the hollow of her throat, and she was beginning to feel she shouldn’t have worn it. But Felani had thrust it on her at the last minute — in front of everyone — and she’d had two choices: accept it without a word, or try to explain why she didn’t want to wear the thing and risk freaking out and crying, in front of everyone. She’d already done enough of that to last a lifetime, so she went with the first choice. Besides, the black diamond matched the black leather jacket, the gray silk knit sweater and the tight black jeans. She’d managed to talk Felani down from leather skirt to tight jeans, and from stilettos to vintage cherry red Doc Martens for the boots.

  She had not, however, been able to talk Felani out of doing her hair and makeup, so her usually messy dark brown waves were presently behaving themselves courtesy of some hot rollers and a lot of smoothing serum, and her plain brown eyes were enhanced with artful black and gray eye shadow, liner and mascara. Emma refused lipstick: no matter the shade, it made her look like a clown.

  How do you think I feel? Fern cut into her thoughts; she’d loosened her shields, distracted. She really had to watch that. She looked at him. He was better groomed than she had seen him look in forever — black jeans, black combat boots, a gray thermal shirt beneath a black blazer that broadened his shoulders as well as hiding the gun in its holster. His hair had even been moussed into thick, graceful spikes, defying gravity — it had grown a lot since she first met him.