She wouldn’t survive the shattering pain of heartbreak when the men realized that they wanted to be free of her. No, she’d follow Amara’s suggestion. She’d take control over her own fate.
As soon as she’d towelled off, she threw on some clothing and raced towards the staircase. The sooner she did it, the better.
26
Dear Brigg,
Dear Cillian,
Last night was…well, it was incredible. I don’t need to tell you that, of course. It was an amazing night, and one that I’ll never forget as long as I live. But you know as well as I do that it can’t last, this strange, passionate relationship of ours. It will fade and wilt like a flower’s petals. It will die.
So I’m leaving before that happens. I want us to remember it for what it was. I want to remember the best of all of us.
I’m sorry if my departure gets you into trouble. That was never my intention. I never wanted to be a burden to you or anyone.
But here’s one good thing that’s come of all this mayhem: we’ve bonded now. Yours is the blood of the most powerful Dire Wolves. You can negotiate with the Grizzlies, and perhaps the future will be a little brighter for that.
You have a part of me, and you always will. In a way I’ll always be yours,
Sinead
It was Cillian who read the note out loud, even as Brigg sat stone-faced at the kitchen table.
“I knew this would happen,” he said. “I saw it in her face last night. I felt it inside her.”
“As did I,” Cillian replied, laying the note down. He turned to face his friend. “Brigg, why did you never tell me about your past? Why didn’t you tell me why you didn’t like to be touched?”
“Ah,” said Brigg. “You know. Yes, of course you do. Last night would have shown you everything, I suppose.”
Cilian nodded. “I could see it. I could feel your strange power inside me. At first I thought it was the Ritual, giving me some sort of clarity, allowing me to read you both. But I realized afterwards that it must have come from you.”
“It did, yes. I’m sorry for it. I’m afraid you’ve inherited something of my curse.”
“I don’t mind,” Cillian replied. “I’ll find a way to control it, or to use it for good, like you do. Besides, the way I see it, it can come in handy. If I want to know something about someone, I just reach out and grab them by the neck, and voilà, problem solved.”
“Jesus, you really do see the glass as half full, don’t you?” Brigg smirked. “I really don’t know how you can be so sodding chipper on a day like today.”
“I need to.” Cillian eyed the note once again. “What do we do about this? I mean, I suppose leaving is what she wants, but it’s sure as hell not what I want.”
“We have to find her,” Brigg said. “Otherwise they will. They’ll kill her.”
“She might be able to keep out of sight. She knows what to look for, how to lay low. She’ll stay out of sight. Shouldn’t we just give her a few days to get her head on straight? Who knows, maybe she’ll come back of her own volition.”
Brigg’s eyes met his, ice lining their irises. Cillian could see that his friend’s Dire Wolf was on high alert, ready to spring into action. “We don’t have a few days. She still has the tracking chip in her neck. It’s only a matter of time before the task force figures out that she’s no longer in our care.” His voice began to crack. “Fuck, Cill, we can’t lose her. Not yet. She needs us as much as we need her.”
“We won’t lose her.”
Cillian lay a hand on Brigg’s shoulder. The moment he did so, a violent surge of sorrow passed over his heart. For the first time, he truly understood what it was to feel others’ pain as acutely as his own, like an echo of agony. “We’ll find her,” he said. “Even if it bloody kills us. Come on, then. Let’s find her trail.”
The road that led towards the village of Claring was a long, narrow serpentine, hedgerows springing up on either side at close intervals. It made for a nice walk, and Sinead was almost grateful for the beauty of the landscape that was leading her to God knows where.
But the farther she went, the more she could feel a new sensation tearing at her insides. Some strange, unseen presence reminding her that she was no longer the woman she’d been a few days earlier. What had once been a thread pulling her gently towards two potential lovers now felt like a rope made of braided iron, tight and strong. With each step away from them, some invisible force tugged on the rope, dragging her backwards, telling her to go back to them.
To go home.
There was a part of her that wanted to give in, to run back to her lovers, throw her arms around them and exclaim that her doubts and fears had vanished. That they would find a way to make their lives work in spite of her neurotic fear of commitment.
But while the Ritual may have made her stronger, it hadn’t entirely managed to rid her of the stubbornness that had been a part of her all her life.
You’re better off alone, she kept repeating under her breath. Better off far away from love and hurt, and the prospect of two men who could shatter your heart. And they’re better off without you.
The only problem was that her argument was severely flawed. She was doing a fine job of breaking her own heart. With every step, she hurt a little more, doubted her choice a little more. With every step, her Lioness let out a quiet moan of sadness. The great cat inside her knew that what she was doing was so, so wrong.
Yet it was her human side that pushed forward, ever increasing the distance between herself and the men she cared about so deeply.
Fighting off her déor, she closed her eyes and put one foot in front of the other. In her mind she saw Cillian and Brigg, their worried faces, their expressions of hurt.
Their expressions of love.
Her eyes popped open again.
Love. The word roamed around her mind, a lost soul trying to find a home. She’d never told a living being that she loved them. She’d convinced herself long ago that she and her déor were all she needed, a powerhouse of feminine independence. A cold, distant loner, a selfish thing who refused to give her heart away.
Brigg and Cillian deserved better than her. They deserved better than what she’d given them, better than a quickly-scrawled note and a desertion. Those two men deserved a real mate; one who would devote herself to them as Amara was devoted to Minach, and as he was to her. They deserved someone who wasn’t such a fucking head case.
When she made her way over the crest of a hill, she spotted the small village in the distance, a charming church steeple calling out to her. Rolling hills guided her eyes; lush, green pastures coated with fluffy sheep told her that she was walking into a new life, one where she would be surrounded by the sort of beauty that she’d so enjoyed at Brigg’s country house. Minus the beauty of her two men, of course.
But as she advanced, something about her destination began to feel frightening, foreboding. The landscape started to seem like the devil in a pretty costume. Alluring yet dangerous.
She reminded herself that the town that had looked so charming at first glance was filled with humans. She’d almost forgotten that England was now a country at war, and she was a fugitive. An escaped prisoner, fleeing from men who would torture her as soon as look at her.
Just as the thought streamed through her consciousness, a small grey car made its way towards her from the direction of of the village. Two male faces scrutinized her for a moment as it drove past, and then it seemed to disappear.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to have to explain who she was or where she’d come from.
She kept walking, shoulders hunched, the realization slamming her in the gut of how poor her choices had been ever since she’d crawled out of Brigg’s bed that morning. As afraid as she’d been that her three-way relationship might not succeed, she was far more afraid now that she was striding into a world of enemies. Alone, penniless, and completely unprepared for what might
come.
A few seconds later as if to confirm her fears, the menacing roar of an engine crescendoed from somewhere behind her.
To her right was a tall, dense hedge as high as her chin. On the left side of the road was the same. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. All she could do was hope that the car in question wasn’t coming for her. The sound of the engine came to a halt, but Sinead kept walking, her head down.
A door opened.
“Miss!” yelled a man’s voice.
For a moment she paused, but she didn’t turn back. Keep walking, she told herself. Never stop.
“Miss! I strongly suggest that you halt!”
Halt?
Fuck.
She stopped in her tracks. Halt was a word people used for criminals and horses, not for young women out for a walk in the country.
She spun around and stared at the person who was yelling, all too aware of how starkly visible the Lioness must be in her eyes.
Two men were flanking the grey car that she’d seen a minute earlier. They seemed to be examining her intently. After a moment they exchanged a quick look and a nod.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” she yelled, not daring to make a move in either direction.
Now the car’s driver and passenger were making their way towards her. Each was dressed in nondescript clothing; jeans, sweaters, jackets. No uniforms. No indication that they were police or military. If they were members of the task force, these two were concealing it from public eyes.
“There are some dangerous folk about these days,” the driver told her, a sneer on his face as he looked her up and down. She couldn’t quite tell if he found her desirable or repugnant. “We wanted to ask you if you’ve seen anyone who doesn’t seem to…fit in.”
She shook her head as they moved closer. “No one who doesn’t fit in,” she said. “Everyone I know belongs exactly where they are.” Except, of course, for me. I’m entirely in the wrong place, as it turns out.
“I see,” the man replied. Without further warning, he stepped forward aggressively, reached his right hand out and grabbed her chin, quickly lifting a small flashlight to her eyes.
“What the hell?” she cried, trying to jerk away, but the other man had already darted behind her. He wrapped his fingers around her arms, wrenching them backwards.
“We’re learning the telltale signs,” the driver said as he stared into her left eye, then her right. “The strange colouring. Mostly it’s the eyes, but there’s something in the way you walk that gave you away, too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protested. Part of her wanted to unleash the beast inside her, to shred them with her claws. But if she killed them, she’d definitely find herself staring at the walls of a cell for the rest of her life. Right now all she wanted was to get back to Brigg and Cillian. To rewind the morning, crawl back into bed with them and spend the rest of her days there, in her happy place.
“She’s one of ‘em,” the driver said nonchalantly to his partner. “Cuff her.”
In an instant her hands were locked behind her back, metal cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The man behind her shoved her towards the car.
“She’s pretty, this one,” he said, “and she smells fucking good, too.”
“Yeah she does, but don’t get any ideas. I want the reward, not a quick shag.”
“Reward?” Sinead croaked out from her miserable vocal cords.
“For every capture,” the man said, nodding, “a couple of thousand quid. Look, it’s nothing personal, love. If we didn’t round you up, someone else would.” He opened the back door and his partner shoved her inside. “We’ll be taking you to the boss now. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“No,” she moaned, “you don’t understand. They torture us. They drug us…”
“Not my problem,” the man said. “A few thousand quid’s a few thousand quids, if you catch my meaning.”
She’d just managed to pull herself up to a sitting position when she spotted a black Peugeot tearing over the hill in the distance.
In all her life, Sinead had never been so happy to see a sodding car.
27
There she is!” shouted Cillian, pointing into the distance.
He didn’t need to say it, of course. Brigg had already pressed his foot into the gas, the small car charging towards their prey.
The man who had crammed their lover into the back seat had a small handgun tucked into the back of his trousers. Both shifters could see it from a mile away, but neither could afford to care much about the danger. There was no way in hell they were letting the grey car move an inch, as long as their mate was inside.
When they were a hundred metres out, Brigg slammed on the brakes, throwing the Peugeot into a deliberate skid. They came to a stop inches from the other vehicle, threw the doors open, and before they’d so much as stepped out into the cold air, Brigg and Cillian had shifted into their enormous Wolves.
“Sweet mother!” one of the men yelled. “Jaysus!” He reached for his gun, grasping it with trembling hands, and pointed it directly at Brigg’s large, dark Wolf, who was stepping towards him. But the beast didn’t flinch, didn’t cower. He accelerated, charging straight at his victim, teeth bared, and leapt into the air.
A shot echoed through the countryside, sending birds into flight.
The Dire Wolf crashed to the ground, his body limp.
“Brigg! No!”
It was Sinead’s voice that met Cillian’s ears. But he didn’t have time to worry about her or their partner; his only option now was to disarm Brigg’s shooter. Lunging forward, he went for the hand that had pulled the trigger. In a flash he’d sunken his fangs into the man’s wrist.
The gun rattled to the ground below, skidding off into the thick hedge wall, where it disappeared from sight.
Cillian’s Wolf threw himself against the man, pressing him into the side of the car. His victim cried out in pain and horror. “I’m sorry!” he yelled. “I didn’t mean to kill him! I’m sorry!”
The other human had thrust himself into the front seat of the car and, with shaking hands, had managed to get the key into the ignition. Thinking fast, Cillian shifted, reaching a long arm through the open door and grabbing hold of the man’s neck. He clamped down hard with his fingers. “Don’t even think about it,” he growled. “Drop the keys, let your passenger go, or I’ll fucking kill you and your friend both.”
The driver issued a weak nod, turning the engine off and let the keys fall to the floor.
Cillian looked into Sinead’s eyes for the first time to see if she was all right. She looked frightened, but he could see that it wasn’t all that she was feeling. He reached for her, slipping a hand gently over her neck.
In that moment he was grateful for the Ritual. Grateful for what Brigg had given him. He could see inside Sinead’s mind; feel her emotions in a sea of ebbing colours. He saw her pain, her sorrow. Her heartbreak, her regret. And he saw at last why she’d fled from them that morning.
“Come,” he said softly, backing away, a hand reaching for the man who still stood frozen outside the car. “Undo her cuffs, you bastard,” he snarled, and the man obliged, pulling a small key out of his pocket.
As soon as she was free, Sinead ran to the Wolf who lay on the ground, his sides heaving. A single red wound marred his chest, a patch of blood on the gravel in front of him.
“Is he okay?” Cillian asked.
Sinead responded with a whimper. “I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s breathing, at least.”
Cillian turned back to the shooter. “Who do you work for?” he asked. The bastard shrugged. The shifter grabbed him by the throat, lifting him in the air so that his feet dangled limp as a rag doll’s. “Who do you fucking work for?” he shouted.
The driver emerged from the car, his hands raised.
“His name’s Collins! The man’s name is Collins!” he shouted. “Please—that’s my brother you’ve got there. I’m sure he didn’t mean
to kill your friend. P—please—put him down.”
Cillian obliged, setting the man down on his feet. “You say you work for Collins,” he snarled. “Does that mean you’re in the task force?”
“Task force? What? I don’t know nothin’ about no task force. There was a man came to the village last week. Told us about rewards. Said they was hirin’ mercenaries around London.”
“Mercenaries?” Cillian said. “You mean to say you’re not police or military?”
The men shook their heads. “No, no. We’re just farmers. He told us he’s roundin’ up the shifters. Said they—you—was dangerous.” His lip was trembling, his expression sheepish.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” said Cillian, turning for a moment to assess Brigg’s status. The Wolf was still breathing hard, but at least he was breathing. “Listen—you two, just go back to your fucking lives. Tell your man Collins that we’re coming for him. Tell him that if I so much as see another of your kind illegally trying to capture one of ours, I’ll serve his head to his children for dinner. Don’t go after shifters, unless you want your entrails ripped out. Oh—and if my friend here dies, I’ll be coming for you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver. He nodded to his brother, and they jumped into the car. When they’d started up the engine they navigated gingerly around the Peugeot then sped off towards the small village.
Cillian hurried over to Sinead and Brigg. He stared at his lover’s face for a moment before reaching out to wipe away a tear.
“He hasn’t shifted,” she said, her voice choked with grief. “Why isn’t he shifting?”
“It’s okay. He’s staying inside his Wolf because he’ll heal faster,” he said. “But the truth is, we need a doctor. We must get him back to the house. I know someone who can get to us quickly.” He held a hand out. “Come, Sinead, let’s take you home.”
“Home,” she echoed. She pulled her eyes up to Cillian’s. “I feel him, Cill,” she said. “I can feel how it hurts him.”
Dire Wolves of London Page 15