Touch the Sky

by Kari Cole

  As he drove through a corridor of full, green trees, he had to agree. There was room to run here in the forest. Places to rest and hunt on the mountains. Every season brought change and a beauty all its own.

  “My grandfather loved it here, too,” he said. “Whenever I’d come to visit, he’d take me on a new adventure. There was always a cave to explore, another ridge to climb.”

  “You didn’t grow up here?”

  Vaughn signaled another turn and eased off the road onto a dirt trail. “Partly. My father died when I was a kid. My mom was from Arizona and we lived there for a while.” Until they weren’t welcome anymore.

  Voice soft as a pup’s fur, she said, “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t want to think about those memories. His wolf was nudging him again to touch Cassandra. To hold her hand or to wrap his arm around her shoulders, until the scent of her sadness for the boy he was faded. That would have been strange enough, but his eagle didn’t like her grief either. He sent Vaughn the image of his grandfather beaming at him and pushing the warm copper onto his arm.

  “Um, my grandfather gave me the cuff when I graduated from the police academy,” he said. “He knew I liked it.” Liked hearing the story of his grandfather hurrying over the unforgiving forest floor on his bare feet, trying to distract the injured boy from his pain with lame jokes, and the panicked parents from realizing their savior was half-naked.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And he said he wanted me to wear it and remember to always do the right thing. Even when it’s hard.”

  Between the engine noise and the clatter of the truck bouncing over potholes, he almost missed her say, “Sometimes it’s really hard.”

  “Why? What’s so hard, Cassandra?”

  “What? Nothing. I—”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m not stupid. You’re in some kind of trouble. Tell me and maybe I can help.”

  A bitter, complex mix of anger and fear filled the cab. “I don’t need your help, Sheriff.”

  “That’s a lie,” he said. “I’m not some human you can fool.”

  Cassandra’s blue eyes blazed. “Fine. How about this? I don’t want your help, Sheriff. My business has nothing to do with you. Despite what you seem to think, I don’t have to tell you everything about me.”

  Vaughn felt like an ass. That was about as clumsy an interrogation as he’d ever run. Probably the worst. Since she’d arrived in Black Robe, she’d been attacked twice, and he kept treating her like a suspect. What reason had he given her to confide in him? “I’m sorry.” When she didn’t respond or even move, he held out his hand. “Hey, I’m serious. You’re right. You don’t know me. Sorry for pushing like that.”

  A few seconds passed and he didn’t think she was going to ever speak to him again—a thought that gave him a strange pang in his chest—but then she squeezed his fingers. She let him go just as quickly, but the gesture made it seem like the sun was shining bright in the sky instead of settling down for the night.

  The truck bounced over the weather-beaten path. He saw a line of other vehicles parked ahead. “Cassandra, one more thing.”

  She sucked in a resigned breath. “What?”

  “Call me Vaughn.”

  Her eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. As a shy smile bloomed on her face, the color of her eyes brightened to a blue as deep as the turquoise his mother loved.

  “Vaughn,” she agreed. “Like friends.”

  Friends. Now there was a concept that had him sitting upright. Both his wolf and eagle peered out at her, more curious than ever about this strange female who never did what they were expecting. After a few seconds, they all agreed.

  “Friends.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Subject 622 lay as still as the dead on the floor of his cage. They were back, Dr. Hermann and his special assistant, the one 622 thought of as the Black Widow. She wasn’t actually a spider. No, this one was human. It was her cold, black eyes that first made him think of arachnids, but then he’d had the misfortune and torture of getting to know her. That solidified his opinion. She liked to play with her food—uh, experiments.

  He’d learned very quickly to not show anything around her—interest, fear, defiance, life. Sometimes it worked and she passed him by. Those days, he and his cougar silently sighed in relief. But when the sound of another cage door rattling open reached them, he had to swallow down his bile. They may have been spared for the moment, but another of their brethren wasn’t.

  That was how he thought of the other lycanthrope captives in this hell, as his brothers and sisters. It shamed him that he might escape when another wouldn’t. Still, he didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe.

  Today, Dr. Hermann and the Widow passed him by without pause. Their footsteps stopped a few feet away at the metal desk that sat in the middle of the unit. Papers rustled and a rolling chair squeaked.

  “The newest batch of samples show promise,” Hermann said, his voice as cold and dry as the snake he was.

  “Yes, I’m happy with the results so far,” the Widow said. “I’d like to introduce the latest iteration of the serum into the population as soon as possible.”

  Every muscle in 622’s body tightened in preparation to run. But where? To the other corner of his cage two yards away? If Hermann and the Widow were happy, it meant more nasty shit for the captives. Calm down, do not let them see you react. Don’t let them know you’re listening. You’re a stone. Cold, hard.

  “Hmm,” Hermann said. Keys clicked on a keyboard. “I think a segmented rollout with increased observation would be best. The side effects in the field have been troublesome. I had to actually justify myself to Caine and Kroll. Can you believe it? As if those Neanderthals could possibly understand the intricacies of our processes.”

  The wheels of the chair squeaked over the tile. The Widow tsked. “I did warn you it was too soon. We hadn’t finished beta testing it on the captive subjects.”

  “Yes, yes. Thus, why I’d like to pursue a more conservative approach this time. We’re getting close to perfecting the serum and concentration levels. I don’t want to jeopardize our work.”

  “I’ll speak to Holt if you want,” the Widow said.

  “I hardly think that will be necessary, Dr. Salma. I am the lead researcher on this project. The briefings to the senior staff should come from me.”

  The chair moved again, creaked and clacked as if someone had risen and pushed it into its space under the desk. “Of course. You’re right,” the Widow said.

  Hermann hummed his stupid little pleased sound again. Didn’t he hear the condescension in her voice? Didn’t he realize she was weaving her web right around him?

  More tapping on the keyboard. “Ah, yes,” Hermann said. “This subject is ripe for the next phase.”

  622’s stomach roiled. All he could do was breathe as slowly and quietly as possible, and pray. Pray that he didn’t puke his guts up all over the cage. Pray they didn’t choose one of the weaker shifters. Pray they didn’t choose him.

  A minute passed. The only sounds in the unit were the tap, tap, tapping of computer keys, the hum of the ventilation system, the infuriating whine of the florescent lights, and the wheezing breaths of some poor captive.

  The door into the unit buzzed open and heavy footsteps preceded the scent of lion. “Yes, doctors?” a deep voice said.

  622 hated this guard. He hated all the guards, but this one was the Widow’s favorite. She always called for him when she needed one of the subjects moved or strapped down.

  “Bring Subject 617 into the injection room,” Hermann said. “Have her prepped as usual.”

  622 barely restrained a groan.

  “Yes, Doctor,” the guard said with pleasure in his voice. He liked the female captives. Liked hurting them. Filthy fucking lion.

 
The guard’s heavy tread stopped across from his cage. He sniffed and rattled the door of 622’s prison. “Your turn’ll come soon enough, housecat.”

  622 didn’t move, except for his eyes. Those he rolled up to glare at the guard. The bastard laughed, then turned and opened the cage across from 622’s.

  He couldn’t stand it, the sight of 617’s thin, nude body being pulled from her cage by one arm, her long black hair hanging limp in her face. So he closed his eyes again. But not before the Widow looked in at him and smiled. Her black eyes followed him into the darkness. Seared on his retinas.

  As the sound of passing feet faded and the door hissed shut once more, one hot tear rolled down 622’s cheek.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The mark of a good guest was someone who arrived on time, appropriately attired, provided stimulating conversation without monopolizing it, and was most definitely not unattractively perspiring. Yet here Hannah was, running late, wearing Jessie’s too-small castoffs—albeit much nicer items than anything she had in her current collection—tongue-tied, and drowning in flop sweat. Mama would be appalled.

  “All right?” Vaughn asked. “You look a little green.”

  She liked thinking of him by his first name. It made it less Holy crap, he’s a cop! and more just an outing with a handsome male.

  “Oh,” she said with a little laugh and wave of her hand, “I’m fine. Just nervous to meet so many new people.”

  “Didn’t take you for shy.”

  Hannah beamed at him. She’d found smiling to be a surefire method of alleviating tension. Be the person you wish to be, Mama always said. Besides, it was nice when a gorgeous male paid you a compliment.

  But then he continued, “Evasive, yes. Shy, no.”

  She slid him a narrowed-eye look. So much for the flattery.

  A cleared chunk of forest opened before them, revealing a makeshift parking area, jam-packed with vehicles. Vaughn edged off the track and squeezed his Chevy in between a pair of towering pines. As soon as he cut the engine, the dancing butterflies in her stomach set up a mosh pit.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Get it together, Hannah.

  Why was she so nervous? She’d run with other packs before. Lots of times.

  Maybe because you’ve never been a wanted fugitive before?

  Wonderful. Now all she could think about was the reason for running. A prickling sensation raced through her hands, fingertip to forearm. She tried stretching and flexing them, as if she were warming up to practice piano. Sweat slicked her palms and she pulled the openings of her gloves away from her wrists and blew air into them. It didn’t help. Despite the elevation and dropping sun, it was still almost eighty degrees out. The jade green, spaghetti-strapped tank top she’d borrowed couldn’t make up for the heavy leather or her fretting.

  “Want to tell me about those?” Vaughn asked, nodding at her gloved hands.

  “No, thank you,” she said brightly.

  He sighed. “Let’s go.”

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Before she could open her door, he opened it for her, hand held up to assist her like a gentleman. She paused, eyeing his large, masculine palm as if it might bite. Direct physical contact could be a very bad idea. She already wanted to snuggle up to him and trace all the angles and planes that made up his stoic face. Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

  She gave herself a mental slap. Oh yeah, touching was going to be a problem. But good manners overruled her caution and she laid her hand in his, thankful for the added protection of the leather glove. As soon as both feet were firmly on the ground, she let go of him, though she really didn’t want to.

  For sanity’s sake, she took a step away from him and sniffed the mountain air. The pine resin-rich scent filled her lungs and settled on her skin like a caress. In response, her wolf shook out her fur, excited at the prospect of coming out to play. Hannah loved her life in Atlanta and all that a thriving cosmopolitan city like it could offer: five-star meals, twenty-four hour takeout, glamorous bars and clubs, and the shopping—oh, the shopping. But all that didn’t seem so important when she could have the wind in her fur and earth beneath her paws. When every part of her could be free.

  A light breeze danced through the trees, carrying the sound of laughter and the scents of a large number of lycanthropes.

  “Come on,” Vaughn said.

  “Wait, please.” Thanks to her outsider-at-a-pack-only-run status and the events of the last two days, she was bound to face intense scrutiny. You only have one chance to make a first impression. Make it count. Another one of Mama’s favorite adages. Hannah may have blown her chance to control the narrative with the sheriff, but she could do better than damsel in distress for the rest of the pack.

  One more deep breath brought the calm of a clean, healthy forest. She smoothed her windblown hair, squared her shoulders, and put on her game face. She could do this. She was made for this. A run was an outdoor party in fur, and parties were her forte. Hell, she’d learned to mingle before she could walk.

  “Okay. I’m ready,” she said, and stepped into the trees. Despite the many people who had passed through here recently, there wasn’t a beaten path to follow. Werewolves were too careful for that. One of the first lessons a shifter learned was to not lead humans to their safe places.

  Even though she’d never been here before, she didn’t need a trail or the sheriff to lead her. She just followed her nose. Vaughn became a silent shadow at her back. Dirt and pine needles crunched beneath her feet, but he made no sound. If it weren’t for his amazing sunshine and cedar scent, she wouldn’t even know he was there. Maybe he wasn’t? Maybe—

  She stopped short and spun around, only to gasp when his warm hands grabbed her hips. The butterflies in her stomach took flight and raced over her skin. Chest to chest, she and Vaughn stared at one another.

  “I—I thought—” Words fled, because her brain had totally and completely fritzed, gone on vacation, rolled over and tapped out. One and only one thought drummed in her head: kiss him, kiss him, kiss him.

  His nostrils flared and rings of gold pulsed around his pupils. The scent of wolf grew stronger while her own preened and pressed against the inside of her skin. Vaughn’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into the upper curve of her behind. A soft, low growl built in his chest and she nearly moaned at the delicious friction it generated against her breasts. His head lowered toward her and—

  “Ms. Cassandra!”

  They shot apart as if a stick of dynamite had been dropped between them.

  The high-pitched voice shouted her name again, and hand clasped to her pounding heart, she turned just in time to catch Justin as he launched himself at her legs. “Ms. Cassandra,” he shouted in triumph. “Uncle Luke said you were coming. Mommy said it was time to leave, but I didn’t wanna. Said I wanted to wait for you.”

  Nate came to a skidding stop in front of her, too, wild blond curls bouncing. He peered up at her with a shy smile. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said back, still unable to gather more words than that.

  In concert, two noses sniffed. Then two pairs of mossy green eyes narrowed and focused on Vaughn. Both boys scowled.

  A booming laugh startled the hell out of her, and she would have fallen if not for the strong, burning-hot hand that wrapped around her biceps and kept her on her feet. Despite the heat of the day and the warmth pulsing from Vaughn at her side, she shivered. The boys noticed—of course—and intensified their glares. The laugh echoed through the trees again, and she finally looked up to find the hulking deputy from this morning, the healer with him. Hannah blinked, trying to gather her wits. They had to be around here somewhere. A non-kiss couldn’t have scattered them that far.

  Then she remembered. Sarah’s mate. The boys’ father. And—

  “You remember the Beta, don’t you, Cassandra?” Vaughn said, his
fingers gliding down her bare arm before he broke contact. Goose bumps broke out on her skin, and she locked her legs so she wouldn’t step into his touch again.

  She nodded hello to Sarah and managed to say, “Dean, right?” to the pack’s second in command.

  “Right,” he said, holding out a hand to her. She shook it, feeling like a child as his giant mitt engulfed hers. “As you can see, the boys were anxious to see you again.”

  Her discombobulation fled under the assault of the boys’ enthusiastic faces. Nate and Justin bounced from foot to foot, and there wasn’t a force on the Earth that could have restrained her smile. “How are you, my darlin’s? All right after our adventure this morning?” She knelt down and was swept up in their embraces. She laughed as they kissed her cheeks and Vaughn stood over them, a perplexed look on his face.

  “You’ve won some admirers,” he said.

  “Aren’t they just the sweetest?”

  “Where’s Frost?” Justin, the younger of the two, asked. Well, demanded actually, complete with another little scowl.

  “He had to stay behind and rest.”

  Nate, expression serious, cuddled up to her side. “Is he okay? Mommy said he had a cut and sore head.”

  Aww, her heart turned into a gooey puddle right in her chest. “Don’t worry, honey. Thanks to your mama, he’ll be right as rain in a day or so.”

  “Our mommy is the best healer in the whole world,” Justin declared solemnly, making his mother blush.

  “I believe you,” Hannah said, hand over her heart. “Are you two joining the run?” They were so young. Maybe this run would be different from others she’d attended. She’d never seen such young wolves who could shift already.

  “Oh, no,” Sarah said. “They just wanted to say hello. Dean is here to help kick off the festivities, but then we’re all heading out.”

  “Aww, Mommy!” Justin said. “We want to run and howl, too.”

  Dean groaned. “You two are going to be the death of me.”

  “When you’re older,” Sarah said to her son. “This is for the adults.”