Wolf Queen (Wolves of New York #3)

by Bella Jacobs

  Though I’m praying harder than I’ve ever prayed for anything that we find our way to a city before then. If we’re still out here tonight, the chances that Bane’s soldiers will find us is surely close to one hundred percent.

  The only way we’ve gotten this far is the element of surprise. As soon as they realize we’re gone, we’ll be the easiest of prey—one nearly lame wolf and an out of shape woman already trembling all over from exertion a mere ten minutes into her escape attempt.

  I break the surface of the river with a soft gasp and scan the water around me, heart thumping hard with relief as I see Maxim slowly paddling toward the shore. The current is dragging him downstream as he swims and his snout is barely out of the water, but he’s moving on his own. It’s a good sign and gives me hope that he wasn’t as damaged as he appeared to be when I first dropped down into that wretched room.

  As long as none of his wounds are life-threatening, shifting back and forth between his wolf form—staying wolf for at least a few hours each time—should help him recover fairly quickly.

  His body, at least.

  I’m not sure about his mind or heart.

  If you’d asked me a few days ago if I would ever see Maxim Thorn so broken he couldn’t tell reality from fantasy or stop tears from streaming down his face, I would have snorted with laughter and called you a crazy person.

  No matter how much Maxim needed to learn a lesson about empathy and respecting other people’s free will, he didn’t deserve anything close to what happened to him back there. No living thing deserves that.

  Just thinking about it and that man who so calmly chatted with my sister after breaking a man’s bones, makes my skin burn with rage all over again as I climb up the bank and jog to help Maxim out of the river several yards down shore.

  Good. Rage is good.

  Rage gives me the strength to hoist a now even heavier, water-drenched Maxim onto my shoulders and stagger toward the road. “If we hear a car coming, can you shift?” I ask, my voice thin from locking my abdominal muscles as tight as I can. If I let them go for a second, I’m afraid the weight of Maxim will crush my spine.

  He nods his head weakly in my peripheral vision.

  “Good,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “I have a couple thin blankets in the bag I can throw over us. They’re soaking wet, but they’ll hide enough to hopefully convince someone to stop and help us. We’ll tell them we were skinny dipping and got caught up in the current and dragged through some rapids.” I suck in a breath. “That should explain your injuries.”

  Maxim whines dubiously low in his throat.

  “Right. Probably not all your injuries, but you can keep your hands hidden beneath the blanket if the nails haven’t grown back yet,” I reply, wincing as I step on an especially sharp stone by the edge of the road. “Shoes would be nice right about now. Or paws. Once you can walk on your own, I’ll shift too, and we’ll be able to move faster.”

  He doesn’t respond to that and after a beat I look over to see that he’s out cold again, his pretty amber eyes closed and his tongue hanging out of his damp muzzle. But he’s still breathing—I can feel his ribs moving in and out against my shoulders—so I try not to worry too much.

  He’s probably still in terrible pain. Better for him to sleep, at least until there’s a reason for him to be awake.

  Five or so miles and several dozen sharp stones jabbed into my already bleeding feet later, there’s still no reason to rouse my unconscious Alpha. There hasn’t been a sign of life at all so far—not a car or a house or a campsite, not so much as an empty beer bottle tossed carelessly into the ditch—and I’m back to fighting tears.

  I can’t keep going like this. I’m just not strong enough.

  The muscles in my shoulders are on fire, my spine is screaming, and my knees are insisting that if I don’t give them a rest soon, they’re going to snap in half in protest to these insane working conditions.

  But I can’t stop. Surely Kelley has realized that I’m gone by now, and sent someone to look for me. Clearly, she and Bane are secretly at odds and working toward two different end games, but she has allies within the camp that she could send to drag us back without Bane being any the wiser.

  Of course, even if that happens, it sounded like she’ll need a certain amount of cooperation from me to bring her plan to fruition. But I know better than to think I can simply refuse to go along with torturing Maxim and that will be that.

  Kelley is clever, determined, and desperate to stop her insane mate from taking control of our world. I have no doubt she will use every tool at her disposal to force me to do what she believes is right, even if she has to threaten innocent people to do so.

  And she has Diana right there, under her thumb.

  I fight tears again—and a wave of dread and panic—and force myself to keep walking. I can’t help Diana now. The best I can do for my friend is to get back to the North Star pack, get help, and find a way out of this mess that doesn’t involve death, violence, torture, or dark rituals performed under the full moon.

  Good luck with that…

  I ignore the inner voice. It’s probably right—I don’t see a way to peace that doesn’t involve violence of some kind—but I can’t carry that load right now.

  Right now, Maxim is all the weight I can bear, and he’s worth bearing. No matter what happened between us before, hearing him cry out in his delirium for me to leave him and run, knowing his thoughts were fixed on my safety even in the midst of his own torture…

  That changed things.

  As did his tears and his apology and the wonder and love in his eyes when he finally realized I wasn’t a dream. He’s a complicated man, but he’s mine. Mine to care for and protect and challenge when I disagree with him. And someday, mine to laugh with and celebrate with because we will come out on the other side of this.

  I have to believe that, or I won’t be able to take another step.

  My world narrows to the shuffle of my feet and the rhythm of my breath, to the stubborn force of will pulsing through my veins, refusing to stop, no matter how my muscles are trembling.

  I can’t stop, and I won’t.

  I will not stop.

  I will not stop.

  I will not…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Willow

  I wake on the ground I don’t know how many minutes—hours?—later to a feminine voice asking, “Honey? Honey can you hear me?”

  I drag my eyes open, struggling to make sense of the form leaning over me.

  It’s a woman, I can tell that much, but it takes time to drag her blue jean overalls, messy blond bun, and worried brown eyes into focus.

  “Hey, there,” she says, hope lightening her tone as she takes a careful step closer. “Good to see you awake. I’m Fern. Any idea what happened to you? You and your…pet?”

  The question in her voice and the cautious look in her eyes makes me suspect Maxim is still in wolf form.

  Maxim. Is he—

  I sit up fast, swaying as the world reels around me.

  “Easy there,” Fern says, crouching beside me. “You’ve clearly been through something. Just take it slow and I’ll help you however I can.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble thickly as I turn to see Maxim, still in his big black wolf form, sleeping on the grass beside the road. Exhaling with relief, I turn back to Fern. “I was camping, and I thought I’d…” I trail off, the story I prepared seeming ridiculous now.

  Why would anyone go skinny dipping in October?

  It’s ludicrous and Fern doesn’t look stupid.

  She doesn’t look dangerous, either. She actually looks very kind and concerned and like the sort of person who wouldn’t hesitate to help a fellow creature in need.

  Swallowing hard, I lift my chin, meeting her clear gaze. “I was taken by some bad people. Very bad people. They took my wolf, too. He’s hurt and we’re both in danger. We just barely escaped, and I’m sure they’re out looking for us. I’d appreciate a
ride to the closest city and some clothes so much, but I can’t promise it’s safe for you to help us, so if you—”

  Fern cuts me off with a shake of her head. “Say no more. Can you help me get your animal into the back of the truck?” I nod and rise, ignoring the pain flashing through the torn flesh on the bottoms of my feet as Fern drops the tailgate on her pickup. “Sounds like we need to move now and chat later.” She circles around to Maxim’s rear flank, arching a brow my way. “Is it safe for me to touch him? He’s not going to bite my head off if he wakes up while we’re moving him, is he?”

  “He shouldn’t, but I’ll watch his mouth just in case.” I move to Maxim’s front, keeping a close eye on his face as we carry him around to the back of the truck and slide him into the bed.

  But he doesn’t wake, a fact that’s troubling though probably best with regard to his healing. The more he can sleep and rest, the better.

  I hurry back to the place where I collapsed, grabbing the still-damp bag full of North Star relics. That dampness gives me hope Maxim and I weren’t out for long and haven’t given our enemies too much time to catch up.

  “Just shove the groceries out of the way,” Fern says as I open the passenger’s door to find the seat full of brightly colored re-useable shopping bags. “I was coming back from the store when I saw you fall over and kept driving up here to see what happened.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, shifting the bags onto the floor and perching gingerly on the seat, suddenly aware of my nakedness in a new way now that I’m in human company. “I’m sorry I have to sit on your seat without clothes on. I have a damp blanket in my bag if you think—”

  “Stop.” Fern shoots me a stern, compassionate look and fires up the truck. “After what you’ve been through, don’t you dare apologize for a damned thing. I’m just sorry I don’t have anything for you to wear in here.” She glances in her rearview and pulls out, quickly picking up speed. “We could swing into my place if you want. It’s about a mile up ahead. I could run in and grab you something of mine. You’re shorter, but otherwise I think we’re close to the same size.”

  I pull in a breath, fighting tears again as I shake my head. “Thank you, but no. I’d never forgive myself if they caught up with us and…hurt you. It’s better to keep going. Fast.”

  She sits back in her seat, squaring her thin shoulders as she nods. “Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do.” She reaches out, grabbing an older model cell phone from the cup holder between us. “Let me call my boyfriend and warn him I won’t be back for a while.”

  “Of course,” I say, listening as she places the call, quickly explains the situation, then warns the voice on the other end, “so keep the doors locked and your gun close, baby. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, fighting to control the trembling starting in my weary muscles. “Thank you again. Your boyfriend should be fine. The people after us don’t want to attract attention. They shouldn’t bother him, not unless they smelled our trail leading up to your house or something.”

  Fern glances my way out of the corners of her eyes. “Smelled? They have tracking dogs?”

  “Something like that,” I say, not wanting to lie to this woman.

  I’m so sick of lies, so sick of pretending to be something I’m not—pretending to be human the rare times I’ve been out and about in their world, pretending to be Beta because that’s what my pack told me I had to be, pretending to respect people who haven’t earned it because I’m too afraid to fight back.

  I don’t want to pretend anymore, so when Fern asks, “Any chance you’d feel comfortable telling me what happened to you?” I say, “I would, but I’m not sure you’ll believe it.”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in these woods the past few years. Things that aren’t quite…normal if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I know exactly what you mean.” And then I proceed to tell her all about the shifter army assembling not fifteen miles from her property and the psychopath leading them and the sister who betrayed me. I finish the tale by expressing how vital it is for me to get back to Maxim’s pack before it’s too late to save both our worlds from being thrown into a state of existential chaos modern physics isn’t prepared to explain or correct.

  When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time, but I’m not worried.

  If Fern decides I’m insane, she’s the kind to gently deliver me to the nearest psych ward, not kick me out on the side of the road.

  But surprisingly, she only says, “So, it would be a waste of time to take you to the police, then?”

  “Yes. I need to get to New York as quickly as possible. I initially thought I could go by train, but if my friend can’t shift back into his human form, I may have to rent a car or something.” I wince. “Or steal a car. I don’t have any money.”

  She nods over her shoulder. “So, he’s a…man? Sometimes?”

  “Yes.” I study her still calm face. “You’re taking this really well.”

  Her lips quirk. “About a year ago, I was out hiking with some friends and stepped off the trail to use the bathroom. I had a view out across the valley below, and I swear I saw two naked men turn into wolves and go chasing after a couple of rabbits they’d stirred up in the grass. I told my friends when I got back on the trail, but we’d been drinking moonshine while we walked. They thought I was kidding. Or drunk.” She shakes her head. “But I wasn’t, and I haven’t gone hiking without my sidearm since. Real wolves, I know how to handle. Whatever those two were…I wasn’t sure about.”

  “Shifters are like people,” I say. “Some good. Some bad. Most too lazy to bother making an effort either way.” I cross my arms tighter over my chest. “I’ve never harmed a human—in case you’re wondering. I actually haven’t spent much time in the human world or outside the neighborhood where I was born. My pack was very controlling.”

  “My father was very controlling,” she says. “Kicked me out of the house at fifteen, but it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. I met some amazing women at a halfway house in Gregston. They helped me learn to believe in myself. I got my GED, then a degree in sustainable agriculture, and worked as a consultant all over the northeast. Couple of years ago, I finally saved up enough to buy my own farm with my sweet hippy boyfriend my father would have hated for being so gentle and good to me.”

  My brow furrows. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad you were able to build a life you love.”

  “I did,” she says. “And you can, too, with a little help. That part is important. When we’re at our lowest, we need good people—or wolves,” she adds with a smile, “to lift us up.”

  “Yeah, we do,” I say, returning her smile.

  She nods. “Good. I’m glad you agree. Because I know where we can get you a car and some clothes, and I don’t want to hear a word about you bringing them back or paying off any debts. This isn’t a loan, it’s a hand up when you need it so you can go save the world.”

  I pull in a deep breath, fighting another wave of tears. But this time, they’re grateful, happy tears. “Thank you. And I’ll do my best. I swear I will, though I can’t promise it will be enough.”

  “Your best is all you can do,” she says, sobering. “The best any of us can do.”

  Ninety minutes later, behind the halfway house in Gregston where Fern got her fresh start, I’m standing in a parking lot dressed in jeans and a soft pink sweater, with a small duffel of extra clothes and supplies by my feet.

  Two older women in matching tie-dyed dresses give me a brief overview of my new car’s driving quirks, then hand over the keys to an ancient station wagon with a trunk big enough to fit a sleeping Maxim in either of his forms—as long as I fold down the rear seats first.

  “And here’s some travelling money.” Felicia, the taller woman with honey brown skin and graying dreads, presses a wad of bills into my hand. “It should cover gas and food and maybe a hotel if you can find a
cheap place off the highway. I know you’re eager to get back to the city, but you look like a strong wind would blow you right over. Even a few hours’ sleep would probably do you good.”

  “And your man, too,” Colette, the shorter, wider of the pair says, wrapping an arm around Felicia’s waist and leaning her graying blond head on her friend’s shoulder. “Poor thing was so beat he could barely speak while I was kitting him out. Or maybe he was just so appalled by our pitiful selection of men’s clothing he didn’t know how to respond.”

  “He’s just exhausted,” I assure her. “He’s been through a lot.”

  “And now we’ve gone and put him in clothes three sizes too small,” Colette tuts. “Though in my defense we don’t see many men that tall and broad around here. They must grow ’em big in the city, huh?”

  “Not really, Maxim’s kind of in a league of his own,” I say, glancing over her shoulder as Maxim emerges from the back of the halfway house and makes his way gingerly down the stairs.

  Even in jeans so short they reveal three inches of his ankle and a faded gray Bass Fishing Competition sweatshirt that’s strained to accommodate his broad shoulders, the sight of him sends a rush of gratitude and relief rushing through me.

  “Looking good,” I say, forcing a smile as he makes his way slowly across the graying asphalt. “I like you in sportswear.”

  His lips twitch. “I’ll throw out all my designer suits as soon as we get home.” He stands beside me, looping an arm over my shoulder. But he doesn’t lean against me for support the way he did before, when we stopped just outside of town for him to shift and then climb into the cab of the truck with us.

  He’s clearly still in pain, but he’s getting stronger with every passing minute.

  Thank the stars.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat and wrap an arm around his waist, giving him a gentle hug. “Feeling a little better?”

  He tips his head down to meet my gaze. “Much. Feel like I could sleep for a hundred years or so, but much, much better.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Thanks to you. You saved my life. In more ways than one.”