Marie’s intelligent eyes watched her carefully. Finally, after a short silence, she spoke again. “How are your parents?”
“Dead.”
Marie nodded at this. “I assumed that when I stopped hearing from Dalia.”
Ren said nothing. She did not want to talk about her mother. She watched Marie carefully.
“How?” Marie asked bluntly.
“Cancer. Father had an aneurysm a few years later.” Ren left it at that. Her jaw clenched and she knew her face had hardened into a stubborn mask.
“And which twin are you?” Marie asked next. “Luciana or Floriene?”
“Ren. I’m Ren.”
“Floriene?”
“Ren.”
“Ren Garoul it is.” Marie nodded thoughtfully.
Silence fell again, and again it was Marie who broke it.
“So, Ren Garoul. What can your family do for you?”
“I’ve been tracking my ma—” She took a deep breath. “The woman I wish for my mate. She’s in danger. Godfrey, the blond man who came with me. He and another friend were helping her. She’s beginning transmutation and she’s ill.”
“Where is Godfrey?” Marie asked.
“He’s with the dog,” one of the others answered.
“Go get him,” Marie said. She turned back to Ren. “Does your mate need medicine?”
Ren was uncertain how much she should reveal. Her trust did not run as deep as her relief. But she needed them to help her find Isabelle, and she had no idea what state she would be in when found.
She nodded.
The door opened and Godfrey came in. He looked fraught and tried.
“Are you all right, Godfrey?” Marie asked. He nodded.
“Ren saved me from some ferals, but they got Hope, and Isabelle ran after her to help and we lost her, too. Tadpole was hurt pretty bad, but Ren strapped him up until we got here.” It came out in one big rush, as if he simply wanted to get it off his chest and hand over the hopelessness and responsibility of it to someone else. He looked exhausted with the effort, and worried sick. “We need to find Hope, Marie. Jolie will go insane when she finds out. And Isabelle is ill. I think she’s about to change for the first time, and she’s out there all alone.”
Marie digested this. Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth. She stared at Ren, her look so sharp Ren felt pinned to the floorboards.
“I thank you for saving Godfrey and tending to Tadpole,” she said curtly. “Who are these ferals? Why have they taken Hope? And give me more information about this Isabelle.”
“Isabelle’s my mate.”
“You sired a mate and did not help her with her first transmutation?”
“Isabelle…left before I could help.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “You sired a mate, and she ran.”
“I did not sire her.” Ren stiffened, as if ready for a fight. Her words were met with silence. “My sister did.” Her tone was harsh. “And I stole her.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Isabelle followed the directions given by the guy with the crushed chest and headed for Lost Creek. She was maybe three miles out when her nose took over. Once she lifted wolven scents off the wind she abandoned the truck. The air was thick with scent and she became overexcited. Her mutation came almost thoughtlessly, almost painlessly. As soon as she stepped out of the truck the myriad of wolven scents slammed into her like an express train, and she found herself facedown in the dirt pulling at her clothes like they were on fire. She smacked her lips at the blood that filled her mouth while her flesh boiled and erupted. I can’t control this. It just happens. If there’s a trigger, I need to find it fast. Her rib cage cracked and popped as she took that first deep, unadulterated breath and the natural world flooded her senses. She was bombarded with information as if the forest had opened like the pages of a book. Growling softly with pure pleasure, she slid through the trees that rolled over hills and crept up the mountainsides. Dusk accentuated her senses even more. Smell became stronger, her sight keener. Before she realized it, she was crouched in the undergrowth, rubbing her flank against a tree trunk and growling contentedly as she scratched. The early evening scents were comforting. Night was drawing in, and she felt more alive than ever.
She moved fast, leaping over fallen logs and across creeks. She thundered through the forest, strong and powerful, much like in her dreams, only there was no Ren by her side. She was alone.
The springtime forest was filled with the sounds of songbird courtship and the musk of animals attracting mates. It filled her with a lust for life. It invigorated her. Her fur hummed and her teeth tingled. She belonged in this body, and in this place. Maybe she would never go back. Maybe she would always hunt alone.
Hunger made her clumsy and careless in her hunting. She scattered four young deer on their way to the higher grazing grounds, chasing wildly after their zigzag runs. Soon, winded, she sank to her haunches and watched the taunting flash of their white tails disappear. She thrashed into a small lake and sent geese and ducks flapping from her greedy claws. Her growling stomach had to make do with frogs. She squatted in the reed water, all her earlier elation deflating along with her appetite. Mushy frogs tasted bitter. She chewed little and swallowed quickly. If she was to be alone then she had to learn to hunt more proteinaceous foods. Her ears flattened and she growled in dissatisfaction. She had no idea how to do that, how to learn any of the skills she needed. Last night’s rabbit had been a lucky kill. She would be in trouble if she could not refuel soon.
Isabelle lurched to her feet and moved on. Her nose was good. She could pick up Patrick’s scent around the lake edge. The dead boy with the crushed chest had told her of this lake and the small shack tucked back on its southern side. She moved away in a southerly direction and followed the telltale odors of Patrick’s sweat and nervousness. When he changed, his wolven smell was cocky and swaggering, but there was always an underlying residue of insecurity that permeated everything he did.
She found the shack in less than an hour, and approached carefully. A truck and a few scattered tents were huddled in a makeshift camp before it. There were multiple Were scents crisscrossing. Some were older than others. She blinked and twitched her nose, intrigued. A small distressed whine vibrated in her throat. She smelled home. Far away home…to the north. And it reminded her of Ren, not that Ren was ever far away from her thoughts. Ren’s shadow forever hovered over Isabelle’s heart, keeping it dark and subdued.
She hunkered behind a tree and watched. The early evening was beginning to steal the light away, but her night vision helped her focus clearly. Nothing moved. It didn’t feel like a trap. She sniffed the air faintly, picking up a memory of Mouse and Joey. Her longing for them grew so great she was unsure if she actually smelled them or imagined it out of longing.
She drew idle designs in the dirt with a long foreclaw as she thought this over. If longing made her imagine scents, then she would smell Ren everywhere. But she didn’t, so that meant the scents were true. Mouse and Joey had been here, and recently.
She stood and circled the shack, to creep up from behind. The closer she got, the more scents and stories filled her head. Many wolven had used this place, but only one human. Her friend! Hope!
Isabelle’s heart thrilled. She had found traces of Hope. Her ears crimped back on her skull, and her lips trembled with a low, vicious growl. The scent was faint. Hope was no longer there. Isabelle’s frustration rose.
The shack was empty. She knew it as soon as she drew close. She stepped over large splashes of dried blood and pushed open the door. Broken chain links littered the floor. The place was rank with Patrick’s fear. It overrode everything else. She stood patiently for many minutes trying to decipher the story of the last few hours in this barren hut.
Hope, Mouse, and Joey were here, but had been gone almost a day. They smelled energetic and healthy. Isabelle was pleased that they were well. Patrick’s scent was shrill and panicked. And then came ano
ther scent. A sly, subtle smell that Isabelle recognized at once. It held a deep, dark undertone. A bittersweet bite. She had come across it before, in Hope’s backyard and by the body of the crushed man. This was the predator who hunted them all.
Isabelle grabbed a plate of spindly chicken bones and reeled out of the shack, greedily gulping down the free meal. She licked her lips. Her eyes darted around as she thought through the overload of messages, and her task became clearer in her head. Follow Hope, Joey, and Mouse. Patrick, and maybe this other predator, would be following them, too, so she had to race and catch them first. She might not be a good hunter, but Isabelle had faith in her nose. She was a tracker, through and through. She would find them.
Her eyes picked out a large patch of blood-soaked soil in the clearing before the shack. She had not noticed it from her hiding place in the tree line, but standing elevated on the front step it was plain to see. It stained the earth near Patrick’s abandoned truck and the few sagging tents that formed the crude camp.
Isabelle dumped her empty plate and slunk over to investigate. The dirt was black with blood, and the ground littered with fragments of human bone and tissue. The area smelled heavily of stomach bile, and feces. She peeked in the tents and checked out the truck, but found no body. With this much blood there had to be a body. Isabelle was worried—a human had died here—and her fears for Hope grew.
The raucous cry of crows in the treetops caught her attention. Up in the taller branches where the wood met the clearing, several crows fought over tatters, greedy for a free evening meal. More and more birds were descending, their clamor was deafening to her sensitive ears. Like a black blanket they fell on the treetops, screaming and flapping and clawing at each other and the human body parts that festooned the branches. Isabelle’s heart hammered in her throat as her keen eyesight scoured the trees. It was not Hope. It was Patrick. Her shoulders sagged with relief. The scent story came together and made sense now. He had been torn apart where she stood, his limbs and innards tossed in all directions into the surrounding trees to feed the carrion.
Such casual cruelty scared her. Patrick and the young man with the crushed chest had been working for this unknown pursuer. Failure was obviously not an option in that pack. Failure equaled death. An unpleasant, painful death.
A small part of Isabelle felt sorry for Patrick. The air hung heavy with his failings and his ultimate terror. He had been no better or worse than any of the young runaways Ren had helped. Though now it seemed he had never been in her pack at all, but owned by some other Were. A much deadlier master.
Isabelle shook the sadness from herself. The setting sun still warmed her fur and her trail scents. The breeze was timid tonight. It would be a fine evening for tracking. She burrowed under the scent of Patrick and his short brutal life, and found Hope, Joey, and Mouse. Good smells, den smells. The sunset glowed brighter for her because of these scents. Her heart was filled with eagerness and she bounded into the trees to follow them, always aware of the darker, deadlier scent that fell between her and friends. Their predator had a head start and was following them, too.
*
“There’s more coming in from the south. From Lost Creek direction,” Robért reported. “Amelie has been tracking them since noon.”
“How many?” Marie barked.
“Three, so far.”
Marie swung around to face Ren.
“More of yours?” Her tone was hard. It was clear her trust was wearing thin. Ren shook her head.
“I came with Godfrey. No one else.” These had to be Luc’s rogues. Maybe even Luc herself, except she’d be surprised if Luc entered this valley so openly. Her sister was stealthy. You didn’t know Luc was there until she bit.
Ren kept quiet, even though she knew her silence was aggravating.
“This valley’s like a thoroughfare today,” Marie groused at Robért. “Help Amelie corral them toward the compound. Then we’ll see what we’ve got.”
“I’ll send her some backup.” Robért excused himself.
“You think it’s your sister, don’t you?” Marie said.
Ren shrugged. “I can’t see her wanting to return here. Little Dip holds no good memories for us.”
“It holds you. And you stole from her,” Marie said. In the wolven world that was reason enough for a fight to the death.
“Tell me about Isabelle.” Marie’s demand was not to be ignored. Ren shifted uncomfortably. She did not want this. She did not need to be judged, especially by the Garouls.
“When she arrived in Bella Cool we both liked her.” She held Marie’s eye, Alpha to Alpha. “I met her through her aunt and was captivated quite quickly. It became clear that Isabelle liked me back. But Luc…Luc wanted her, too, I think because she knew Isabelle was special to me. Luc can be very competitive and she’s used to getting what she wants. When it became clear Isabelle preferred me, then Luc decided it would be fun to give me a little gift…”
“So she sired a mate for you?” Connie, Marie’s partner, spoke for the first time. Her tone was incredulous. Ren stiffened.
“I didn’t ask for this. I tried to stop it, but I was too late. Isabelle had already been infected. Luc wasn’t happy that I took her plaything away before she was finished.”
“Finished? How bad was the attack?” Marie wanted to know.
“Luc clawed her and the infection started. But later…later I bit her, and reopened the wound. I pushed her deeper into it. I made her mine.” Ren’s vice was flint hard. She dared them to challenge her claiming back her mate.
“I remember you both as cubs.” Marie’s voice was softer. “Luc was very strong-willed, very wild.”
Ren’s smile was so bitter she could almost taste it on her lips. “So was I.”
“Luc was cruel,” Marie said bluntly. “I don’t sense cruelty in you. I smell strength and loyalty, and compassion, even. You’re an Alpha, aren’t you?”
“I have a small pack. They’re very young.”
“How young?” Now Claude spoke. His face darkened. “Why are you making a pack with young people? That’s crazy.”
“More gifts?” Marie asked.
Marie had seen through her. Ren stood rigid; anger pulsed from her.
“I was in veterinary college for years after our parents died. Luc stayed at home and ran the farm. It wasn’t until I came back that I realized how feral she had become. She had moved out and taken permanently to the woods. I let her be, but over time she got it into her head that I was lonely. She began bringing me presents. Kids on the run she had found and…changed—”
“Attacked, you mean,” Connie said. “Luc is feral. She’s out of control.”
Ren fell silent. Unease rolled off her. She hated exposing herself and her sister to their scrutiny. Luc was out of control, but she did not want her hunted down like an animal. She wanted Luc to have a chance. Ren believed her ferine behavior could change. She refused to believe Luc was lost to her forever.
“Don’t judge her. You were the ones who sent us away. What did you think would happen to cubs without pack guidance?”
“My mother made the correct decision at the time.” Marie’s response was measured. “Your parents were to keep contact. There was a support network here for them. They knew that, and used it when you were younger.”
“Our parents died and Luc followed her natural inclinations. She grew weary of fighting it.”
“And her inclination is to attack humans? These young people,” Marie said. “What happened to them?”
Claude bristled and Connie glared. It was not good. Ren reasoned there would be no help for her here. She had blown her chances by telling the truth about Luc and her own sorry life. She took a deep breath. She might as well leave and look for Isabelle on her own. She had wasted enough time on this futile quest.
“I don’t need this—” Her answer was cut short by Robért’s return.
“Marie! You need to come see this. Amelie has arrived with the intruders.”
Ren moved to the front porch with the others. From the back of the small crowd she blinked in amazement at the scene before her. Godfrey joyfully swung a dark-haired woman into in his arms in a massive hug. Beside them Joey sat hunkered on the dirt, a huge shaggy pile of golden fur. He looked around with great interest, idly scratching a scab on his belly. Mouse sat curled up against him, a tight ball of nervous dissatisfaction. Her ears flattened, and her eyes darted left and right, looking for an escape.
A crowd of curious Garouls crowded around the arrivals, much to Mouse’s hissed consternation. Joey, on the other hand, loved the attention. His tongue lolled out in a friendly leer for everyone.
“Amelie. Get them some water,” Claude said.
A young woman approached with a jug of water. Mouse spat like a cat, while Joey happily gulped down the drink and burped his appreciation.
“Mouse! Joey!” Ren ran to them. They lurched to their feet, yelping in delight, and leaned into her. Mouse clung to her leg, and Joey squashed her in a joyous bear hug.
“It seems they’re yours, after all?” Marie joined her, taking a closer look at the newcomers.
“I left them in Canada. I’ve no idea how they arrived here.” Ren was mystified. She kept touching and stroking them. She ran her fingers through their fur, pressing her face into their necks and breathing them in with great big gulps of homesickness.
“Patrick’s responsible.” The woman who had arrived with them approached her. “Patrick kidnapped Mouse, and Joey came after her. He ended up rescuing us both.” She held out her hand in welcome. “Hi, you must be Ren. I’ve heard so many good things about you. I’m Hope, and these are two of the best and bravest Weres I know.”
Joey’s chest puffed, and Mouse peeped out from behind Ren’s leg to acknowledge the praise.
“Compliments indeed,” Marie told Ren. “Take them to your cabin. We’ll find them some clothes. It’s been a long and eventful journey, and I expect to hear all about it over supper.”
Indigo Moon Page 25