Mungo set a fast pace, the trail easy to follow since she kenned the direction to the coast. The moonglow aided her too. Still, it would take her much of the blacklight to catch the strangers. And if she didn’t discover them this eve, she’d need to follow them until the next blacklight. Aye, her brother would note she was missing, but he’d forgive her when she returned. She imagined her father’s words of praise and smiled.
Her breathing hitched, her breaths became harsher the longer she traveled. Her lungs burned with fatigue, yet determinedly, she kept her pace, crossing the moorland and following the trail through the trees on the other side. Now, far from the keep, she turned on her lamp and searched for signs of her cattle.
“Oy,” she muttered as she skidded on a coo pat. Mayhap she didn’t require her lamp. She was on the correct path. Mungo skirted another pile of manure, her mind full of victory as she pictured her father’s reaction. He might even reward her with coin so she could purchase more coos from a neighboring clan. She aimed to grow her herd and purchase land, eventually.
While Reilynn spoke of her marriage, Mungo disliked the idea. Not one man of her acquaintance attracted her or vice versa. At least at the keep, she had freedom. Mungo frowned as she thought back over the last cycles. She’d had few restrictions, but gradually her father had stripped her independence.
The change niggled at her. The why of it.
Taking her coos and selling them had robbed her of a future. It had taken her rotations to build up her herd to thirty beasts. Even if she started again…
Helplessness caused her to falter, her steps slowing. Without her coos, she had nothing. She was reliant on her father and the clan, and her future lay ahead—a barren wasteland.
Reilynn had taught her to stitch and how to run the keep. She kenned how to butcher a chicken and how to heal a festering boil. But while she possessed the skills, she didn’t practice them unless forced to, simply because the typical woman’s path bored her rigid.
Despite her fatigue, Mungo increased her speed. She must regather her coos. There was no alternative.
She entered yet another stand of trees. It was much darker here, and Mungo caught her foot on an exposed root. She fell heavily on her hands and knees. As she took a sec to regather her wits, the heavy silence struck her. Gooseflesh prickled over her arms and legs, her torso. She climbed to her feet. In the distance, a howl sounded. An instant later, a second wolfish call answered.
“Wolves,” Mungo whispered.
No one had sighted wolves in the region for decades. Not since her father and the neighboring clans had hunted them to extinction. How could this be?
Mungo hesitated, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth. Should she return to the keep? Return to her chamber and safety? Indecision held her rigid until, finally, the tension slid away. She’d already left the keep against her brother’s orders. Given his weird behavior of late, he might have already noted her absence. If she returned without her coos, she’d never get another chance to regather her herd. She must press onward.
Another howl echoed amongst the craggy peaks of the mountains. It sounded closer, and Mungo wrapped her cloak more firmly around her shoulders. She inhaled and pulled out her lamp to light the way since the moon glow had deserted her. Instead of confidence, fear writhed through her.
Consequences.
The word popped into her mind as she forced her trembling legs to keep moving. Reilynn always spoke of cause and effect, how she should weigh her actions against the possible results. Her father and brothers couched it in different terms. Follow our orders or else.
The wolf calls came intermittently, and worse, her path took her toward them. Mungo kept going while focusing on even breaths. The wolves’ presence not only meant danger to her, but to her coos.
It was that thought that kept her on her chosen course. While her brain told her to flee to the keep and safety, her heart propelled her in the direction of her coos. Although confident of stealing and controlling her herd, the extra element of danger from the wolves might be her undoing.
The back of Mungo’s neck prickled. A stick cracked. Instantly, she switched off her lamp and ducked behind the nearest tree, her heart hammering in her ears.
“Clot-heid,” a rough voice whispered. “Where did the lad go?”
Mungo peered from her hiding spot. The moon glow had appeared again and in the dappled glow that pierced the tree canopy, she spotted two men trotting along the track. One led a steed. A striped steed. Mungo pursed her lips in surprise. The Grantlach clan bred and raised the chargers, seldom selling them, despite the demand for the rare mounts. Which meant this one was likely stolen.
Mungo considered her options. It was obvious they meant to harm her, and she couldnae advance until she evaded the men. At this rate, whitelight would arrive before she caught up with her coos.
But if she stole the striped steed…
She had ridden a mount but once. In a rare treat, a Grantlach visitor had allowed her a short ride as a youngster. She’d impressed him with her handling of his steed. If she could steal this one, her journey through the Highlands would proceed much quicker.
Another howl echoed through the mountain peaks.
Mungo slid from hiding and cautiously followed the two men.
“The lad came from the keep,” one of the men insisted.
“So ya said,” the other replied. “I didnae see him exit.”
“That’s wot I be telling ya,” the first said. “I think there be a secret way into the Caimbeulach keep. If we learn the way, we could sell that valuable information to the Gregorlach clan. Think of the price they wid pay.”
“Aye.” The man scratched his bushy black beard. “But we have the steed. We’ll receive a tidy sum for that.”
“And I still say stealing the steed placed a target on our backs. The steed is too noticeable. Despite yer confidence, ye ken the steeds take a dislike to many folks. The beast loathes us. Ye must’ve kenned that after she bucked ye off for the fifth time.”
Mungo had heard that about steeds. Witnessed it too. Her brothers had wished a ride also, but the Grantlach mount had bucked off each of them, much to her brothers’ annoyance. The Grantlach had told her the steeds were verra particular of who they let ride them, and they seldom changed their mind. Either the beasts took to ye or they hated ye for life. If the men had stolen the steed, it might prefer to return to its owner. Still, the steed could accept her.
It was worth the risk.
Mungo closed the distance between her and the thieves. Imagine the surprise on her father’s face if she arrived back at the keep with not only her coos but a striped steed too. Of course, she’d need to return the steed to the rightful owner. He might offer a reward.
It appeared as if one thief led the steed on a long lead. The mount wore a saddle and reins draped over the saddle horn. Assuming the steed accepted her, if she rushed the thieves and leaped onto the steed’s back, the surprise attack might free both her and the captured animal. If she failed, she might fall into the hands of the thieves. Once they discovered she was a lass rather than a lad…
Those thoughts of consequences slid into her mind again.
If she considered this a lucky break… Mungo grimaced. The entire plan was foolhardy and she kenned it.
“’Tis going ta rain,” one thief declared. “The signs are floating on the air.”
“We should find shelter. Forget the lad. He must’ve heard us coming. Not surprising given yer weighty steps.”
“Aye,” the other man agreed. “We’re far enough away from the Grantlach keep now. They willnae find us easily. How about staying over there? We’ll go off the path, grab a few winks of sleep.”
Mungo watched the two thieves set up camp in a sheltered spot, far enough away to escape notice from other travelers. They tethered the striped steed, allowing the animal to graze. Mungo hid herself close by and waited for the men to settle.
* * * * *
Joe frowned as the w
olf howls continued. Their cattle massed in one corner of the makeshift pen, uneasy at the mournful cries. The animals stomped their hooves and interspersed snorts with anxious grunts.
“The wolves are coming closer,” Sam said.
Joe agreed. “I guess we won’t get much sleep tonight.”
“We’ll be lucky if the cattle don’t stampede, lucky if we can hold them in a tight cluster.” Duncan grunted when Joe elbowed him in the ribs.
“We will not lose our cattle,” Joe snapped. “Sly is counting on me. On us.”
His cousins rolled their eyes at Joe’s catlike snarl.
“Sorry.” Joe forced his feline to recede, his claws to retract. “These cattle are important to us. After all our struggles and Sly’s blindness, I can’t fail.”
“Which is why we’re here, helping you.” Sam checked on his owl, which he’d tucked in a tree hole.
Joe smiled since the bird was making cute snorts in its sleep.
Sam returned his gaze to the surrounding mountain peaks. “The howling has stopped.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not heading in our direction,” Duncan commented.
“I’m thinking we should meet them in fur,” Joe said. “If they attack, shifting now will make us less vulnerable.”
“Agreed,” Sam said and stripped. “Where are we going to stash our clothes? At least one of us needs to be in human form.”
“Dump our clothes by the tree,” Joe said. “We’ll come back to collect them once the threat is over.”
Each of Joe’s cousins and friends stripped, dumped their clothes near a tree and shifted to a black leopard.
Duncan nudged Joe without warning and jerked his head at the hillside. Three wolves stood above them.
Along with his cousins, Joe stared up at them. Their shaggy russet coats caught the glow of the moon and shimmered—the sole attractive thing about the wolves. They were immense, their yellow gazes fierce and cold. The wolf standing in the middle took two steps forward and to Joe’s surprise, shifted. A russet-haired man stood before them, confidence and arrogance oozing from him. His broad shoulders carried faded scars, the remnants of fierce battles. Killing blows. They had to be for the scars to still mark a shifter’s skin.
Joe growled, and Sam and Duncan stepped up beside him. Flanked by his cousins, Joe approached the wolves, taking care not to make any sudden moves that might invoke a violent confrontation.
The shifted werewolf inclined his head in silent greeting, and Joe relaxed a fraction.
Joe hadn’t realized werewolves inhabited the planet. They’d met some of the locals on Ione Island, their new home, and through them had encountered most of those species on their side of mainland Tiraq.
Joe and his cousins mirrored the actions of the werewolves. His cousins stood on either side of Joe, and Joe shifted. Given the gravity of the situation, he forced an impassive expression, despite the urge to grin. His younger sister’s fault. He could imagine Scarlett’s reaction to this male posturing, and she’d point out the ridiculous picture they made, given he and the werewolf were naked.
“Can we help you?” Joe asked.
“I am Callander. My enforcers.” He indicated the silent werewolves beside him. “We’re searching for an escaped prisoner. His ship crashed two cycles ago in the Highlands north of here. The trail led this way before it disappeared.”
Bounty hunters or soldiers? Strength and determination glinted in their hard visages, and Joe was glad he wasn’t that escaped prisoner. “I wish we could help you,” Joe said. “We hail from Ione Island, off the mainland. We came to purchase cattle and are now driving them to the coast and home to Ione.”
“You traded with whom?” the werewolf asked.
“The Caimbeulach clan.” Joe maintained an even tone despite his dislike of the interrogation.
“And you have seen no one?”
Joe maintained eye contact with the spokesman for the werewolves. “We concluded our deal with Adair Caimbeulach this morning and started our journey immediately. We have passed no one on the trail between the Caimbeulach keep and here.”
The werewolf inclined his head. “This is your entire party. Five shifters?”
They’d know this already. “Yes,” Joe replied.
“The Caimbeulach clan are not trustworthy,” Callander said. “Take care for they will try to steal back the coos at the first opportunity.”
“Thank you for the warning. Is the escapee dangerous?”
“He’s accused of the rape and murder of a high-standing politician on planet Ragus. You will recognize him if you meet him. He is tall and solid. Bald. His skin is a pale blue with darker blue tattoos. He has yellow eyes, and we think he has stolen clothes to replace the prison uniform.” Callander peeled a watch from his wrist and handed it to Joe. “This is an alarm. The technology allows it to remain intact despite a shift. If you encounter our prisoner, please push the side button. That will alert us and we will come.”
“It will also allow you to track us,” Joe said, his tone cool. He had only their word they were searching for a prisoner, and he’d never heard of the planet Ragus.
“That is true,” Callander said without hesitation. “But it could ensure your safety too. All we want is to recapture our prisoner. We do not wish you harm.”
“Why did you announce your presence?” Joe asked. “Why not use stealth?”
“A strategy to flush out the man. Our reputation is sometimes enough to strike fear into prisoners and force them into rash decisions. This prisoner is wilier than most.”
“All right,” Joe said, going with his gut reaction and accepting the alarm from Callander.
“The alarm is single use.”
“What will you do now?” Joe asked.
“We will return to the lake where we lost the trail and explore each alternative until we find the prisoner’s scent again.”
“I wish you luck,” Joe said.
“Thank you for listening to us. Many would’ve attacked first and asked questions later.”
With that said, Callander shifted and he and his companions retreated until the cover of darkness hid their presence.
Sam and Duncan shifted.
“What do you make of that?” Joe asked.
“He seemed sincere,” Sam said. “I’d never heard of this planet or the fact there were werewolves around.”
“No, something to tell Saber and add to our catalog of knowledge,” Joe said. “I—” He broke off as the warble of a bird drifted on the air. It repeated almost instantly, and a cow bellowed in welcome.
“A signal,” Duncan said, his tone grim.
“Let’s go.” Joe shifted and sped toward the cattle, his two cousins at his side.
When they arrived at their pen of cattle, Max and Kenan were alert, their green gazes studying the darkness. Without a word, his companions spread out so one feline covered each side of the pen. Joe slinked in the direction the birdcall had come from, and gradually, he became aware of an approach from the forest trail they’d traveled earlier.
The bird warble repeated and several of the cows called in return. They recognized this person. Irritation rippled through Joe. He’d purchased the cattle, paying a fair price. No way did he intend to lose both cattle and money.
The interloper edged near enough for Joe to make out a horse and rider. He blinked because the horse bore distinctive black stripes that reminded him of a zebra. The rider slid off the horse and tethered it to a tree. Joe’s gaze slid past, seeking others, but it appeared this confident thief came on his own. The man crept past Joe without even sensing Joe’s presence. Joe breathed in the man’s scent and blinked in confusion. He inhaled again, and his loins tightened. Instant denial sprang into Joe’s mind, yet this man’s scent attracted his feline.
Joe shook the stupor from his thoughts as the man neared the pen of cattle. A low growl of inquiry came, seconds after the man trilled more birdsong. The tuneful sound seemed to quieten the restless cattle while Joe dithered
in uncharacteristic indecision.
He grumbled and pawed the ground. The fickle breeze blew the man’s scent in the other direction, allowing Joe to snap from his trance. He’d let the thief open the pen first, so there was no doubt as to his intentions.
Joe crept in the intruder’s footsteps. His cousins and friends waited in position. Since this thief seemed to be on his own, Joe increased his speed, prowling forward with greater confidence. They would triumph this night.
One cow called. The man spoke in a low, soothing tone and the cattle pushed in his direction. He tugged at the brush barrier, his intentions clear, and Joe sprang. At the last moment, he sheathed his claws. The man wasn’t as big as he’d appeared and he struck the ground hard under Joe’s weight.
The man’s fragrance curled into Joe’s lungs, fogging his formerly purposeful thoughts and turning what functioning brain cells he had left to mush. Shock filled Joe even as he stilled the other man’s struggles. He didn’t understand. He wasn’t gay. Not that he had anything against those who chose a less traditional route during their search for love and a mate. Several of his ancestors had mated with other males.
His mind drifted yet again, and he leaned closer, horror and fascination warring in him. He didn’t… He had never… How could this be?
The man struggled and fought, thrashing beneath Joe in a desperate attempt for freedom. Joe subdued the man without effort although the thief did not take capture easily.
Joe expelled a harsh sigh. Not only was his mate a male, but he was a thief.
He wasn’t sure which concerned him most.
3 – Captured By The Cat-Men
Mungo dinnae hear the cat coming. One moment triumph curled through her belly at finding her coos and seeing them safe and well-cared for and the next, the creature attacked her from behind. It flattened her with its immense power and strength, smacking her into the unforgiving ground, stealing her breath.
Shock pilfered her thoughts for an instant, then she wheezed for air and struggled, wriggling for freedom. The creature on her back never budged.
Journey with Joe (Middlemarch Capture Book 5) Page 3