Tabor gagged and rasped for breath, certain he was going to choke to death. Garrick pushed him to the ground.
“Stay with him while I rinse off my hand,” he said with cool detachment.
Tabor no longer saw him or Zack. His eyes were closed as though shutting out the light would cause less interference to his nostrils as he wheezed in breaths. His throat was scratchy. It tightened as though the leaves had taken root upon entering his mouth and formed vines that were squeezing off oxygen before consuming him altogether.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Zack demanded after Garrick returned.
“Your turn. Go rinse off while I watch him,” Garrick answered.
“What about him?”
“With any luck he won’t be able to speak for a while, which means we can dump him here and save ourselves another day and a half of walking.”
“I thought you said he might follow us back if we left him too soon.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Garrick answered, a smile in his tone.
Silence followed, or maybe Tabor blacked out; he couldn’t tell for sure until he was jolted upright, onto his feet, and into consciousness—a state of mind he was finding highly overrated.
“Follow me,” Garrick said as flashes of light appeared over Tabor’s vision.
He blinked away the remaining haze, noticing angry red welts on Garrick’s right hand as his fingers curled in. The rash covered the brute’s wrist and spread down his arm. If only it continued south, straight down to his hairy balls and limp prick. Too bad the thing wouldn’t fall off for the buzzards to pick apart.
Zack walked behind Tabor, giving him a push when he stopped. After the first shove, Tabor didn’t stop because he didn’t want Zack’s hand on him again. As they passed the pond, Tabor looked from the water to Zack with a mind clouded in rage. Although his look wasn’t enough to cause Zack to combust on the spot, he had enough sense to lower his head and stare at the ground to avoid Tabor’s scorching glare.
The cooling shade did nothing for Tabor’s burning throat. He never imagined it could feel worse than before, but now it was like trying to breathe through a thin reed.
His wolf howled for release. Water! Food! Oxygen! The beast within would provide him with all his immediate needs.
Tabor pitched forward and took several stumbling steps away from Zack and fell to his knees. They throbbed from the earlier impact they’d taken from Wolfrik, but pain was nothing to the lack of oxygen inside Tabor’s lungs. Usually he was faster than most shifters, but that required focus. His body quivered and arm hairs rose, turning to fur.
Garrick whipped around, eyes expanding in alarm. “Pick him up! Now!”
Tabor tried to hurry, urging his face to elongate into a muzzle—imagining the easy flow of oxygen between his fangs and down his throat.
His jaw and teeth began to transform until he abruptly lost hold of the shift when Zack yanked him off the ground. Tabor’s growl was cut short—a fleeting moment of release that made Tabor twist out of Zack’s grip and land on the ground in an attempt to try again.
Garrick’s fist was on him like a lightning bolt, striking his left eye from above. This time he didn’t blackout, but it was enough to temporarily stun Tabor as the bastard loomed over him like a storm cloud edged in black.
Light faded as Tabor’s left eye swelled shut.
Garrick ground his teeth.
“Try and shift again and I’ll punch out your right eye. You want to be mute and blind?” He stuck his face inches from Tabor’s. “That what you want, boy?”
Tabor’s left eye throbbed too much to narrow. Instead, he glanced at the blazing red rash on Garrick’s hand with his good eye and smiled through the gag.
Garrick’s eyes flashed. “You little shit.” He struck Tabor again, but this time he was prepared and jerked his head sideways, taking the blow against his right temple rather than his eye. Rather than try again, Garrick scooped him up from beneath his arms. “It’s time to get rid of you once and for all.” Once Tabor was on two feet, Garrick latched his arm around his and dragged him forward.
It was one thing to get the occasional shove from Zack, another to be yanked along by Garrick—the prick’s fingers digging into Tabor’s bicep. Tabor jerked out of Garrick’s hold only to be snatched by Zack, who latched on to his other arm.
“Not much further,” Garrick said.
Light flickered over Tabor’s one good eye, sun poking at him through the branches. He should just go along with them—let them ditch him so he could shift and be on his way. His swollen throat meant no spells until it cleared, but his wolf had no use for words.
A worn trail appeared ahead through the tall grass. An area had been cleared and a fire pit dug about a foot and a half around. Charred branches sat in the bottom and five stumps were arranged around stones circling the fire pit.
As they passed the dormant fire, Tabor twisted and shoved at Garrick and Zack; it wasn’t in his nature to go along quietly.
It was while he thrashed against Zack’s hold that Garrick stopped, bringing them all to a halt. Zack’s attention flicked away from Tabor and was quickly followed by a sharp inhale. “What is that?” he asked in horror.
Two feet in front of them the ground gave way to a small, deep pit the length of two tall men. The earthen floor at the bottom had barely enough room for three humans to lay down side by side. Hundreds of claw marks lined the lower walls—they raked across Tabor’s soul. If his throat could have tightened any more, it would have. He took a step back, but Garrick still had his arm crushed in his grip.
“He won’t be following us home,” Garrick said proudly.
The sound of his arrogant, unfeeling voice and the sight of the sickening pit made Tabor’s stomach roil and twist. He felt like vomiting, but his stomach was empty, his throat closed, and his mouth gagged. With no food in his belly, he felt acid trying to rise up his blistered throat.
“We can’t leave him in there.” Zack spoke from beside him, barely audible, as though his own throat had swollen shut.
“It’s too late now,” Garrick said. “You know what would happen. Banishment. Possible death. This one would try to hunt us down. Sasha might, too.”
Hearing Sasha’s name sent a spear ripping through Tabor’s heart. He silently cursed ever falling for the proud she-wolf. Loving her had been the worst mistake of his life.
“I won’t do it; I won’t put him in there,” Zack said stubbornly.
“Then I will,” Garrick said.
The next moment Tabor was flung forward, sailing through the air . . . then he dropped like a stone. He landed feet first before falling sideways. Unable to fling his arm out with his wrists bound, he landed roughly on his right shoulder with a crushing force that made his bones shriek. Stunned, he lay on his side trying to determine if any bones were broken. He didn’t think so. A lifetime of living in the woods had trained him to protect both his human and wolf body. This wasn’t the first tumble Tabor had taken, and he’d managed to bend his knees and take the initial impact on the balls of his feet before angling his body sideways. The drop wasn’t terrible, but without a rope, he wouldn’t be climbing out on his own.
He remained on the ground, eyes closed, exhaustion and despair overtaking him. Now that the cursed journey had reached its end, he wanted Garrick and Zack to go away so he could shift and heal the wounds Garrick had inflicted over him.
“Is he okay?” Zack asked from above.
Tabor wished Zack would quit acting like he’d developed a conscience. It was too late for that. It had been too late the moment he agreed to help Garrick abduct him.
“It’s a short drop; he’s fine,” Garrick replied. “Probably playing dead to try and lure one of us down there.”
“We can’t leave him in there.”
“Buck up; it’s done.”
“H
e hasn’t had food or water.”
“The humans can take care of him.”
“The way they took care of Wolfrik?” Zack demanded.
“We don’t know that humans did that to Wolfrik.”
Zack made no response. Silence tunneled down the pit, circulating through the confines of dirt and stone. Cool, soft earth pressed against Tabor’s cheek. The floor of the pit wasn’t as compact as he would have suspected, but moist and airy, as though it had recently been dug up. In his mind, he saw the claw marks etched into the earthen walls. How many wolves had tried to escape this pit? How many had tried fruitlessly to dig their way out?
Tabor’s chest rose and fell with labored breaths. Had Garrick and Zackery finally left? Despite the silence, he sensed them still standing at the edge of the pit, staring down. He wouldn’t give Garrick the satisfaction of looking up from the depths of the shadowed pit.
Tabor waited and soon heard Zack’s voice drift down. “I won’t leave him in there.”
There was a scuffle above and a shower of clumped earth and small pebbles rained down. Garrick snarled.
“You either leave him down there or join him, but decide fast. I’m going home.”
Tabor didn’t hear Zack’s answer—if there even was one—only Garrick’s satisfied response of, “Wise choice.”
Retreating footsteps alerted Tabor they were truly leaving him behind. It wasn’t long before the scent of smoke wafted into the pit—Garrick must have started a fire to signal the humans.
Son of a bitch. Bastard. Swine.
Tabor hated Garrick with glacial force. Hunting him down wasn’t such a bad idea.
First, Tabor had to get free of the hell pit.
He rolled onto his back and pulled the gag down, rasping out a breath that provided small relief through his scratchy throat. He pulled at the dirty fabric until the tight knot reached his fingers and he was able to tug it loose enough to untie. The binding on his wrists would be easy to step out of once he shifted, but he hadn’t wanted to risk the gag biting into him any more while his body rearranged itself into a mammal.
Free of the cursed gag, Tabor shifted without further interruption—his claws sinking into the rich soil and pressing against the pads of his paws. Air flowed into his lungs. His throat and chest relaxed. He could see out of both eyes, bringing the loamy confines of the pit into sharp focus. The scent of old wolf urine and feces surrounded him. It coated the walls and mingled with the smell of fire and smoke.
The fur rose along the ridge of Tabor’s back as instinctual panic overwhelmed his wolf’s senses. No longer plagued by aches and pains, his immediate concern shifted to his earthen imprisonment. As a human, he could have laid still and tried to work on a plan, but his wolf walked in circles, growling in frustration, never stopping even as the day wore on. It wasn’t until night fell as deep and dark as the pit that Tabor shifted into human form in order to lay still. Immediately his entire head throbbed and throat ached, his breath wheezing out in scratchy rasps. He had trouble deciding which form was worse.
Definitely human.
In addition to the exhaustion, aches, pains, and respiratory problems, his mind seethed out of control—hatred consuming him for Garrick, Zackery, Wolfrik, and Sasha. Two days ago he wouldn’t have believed it possible to loathe her with such lethal passion. He would have sacrificed himself to save her—he nearly did.
Now—while he lay at the bottom of a dark pit—Sasha might very well be lying with Wolfrik.
Some rational part of his brain argued that she wouldn’t immediately lay with Wolfrik after learning Tabor had gone missing. No, she’d wait an acceptable length of time. Certainly not three years. Maybe not even three months.
Teeth gnashing, Tabor decided it was time to shift again. Better to be a wolf.
But would the wizards at Balmar Heights allow him to shift into his animal form once he joined their community? Tabor laughed mirthlessly right before beginning the shift. Trapped in that abyss there was a good chance he’d never find out.
chapter twenty-three
An owl screeched irritably from the branches above. Sasha snarled back. The bird of prey could find another tree to hunt from; this evergreen belonged to her parents and had become an anchor as her world rocked off its axis, teetering on the edge of a cliff in which half-starved vulhena screamed and waited for Sasha to fall. This time no spell could save her.
A dark cloud loomed over the hollow, making everyone uneasy. Jager had gone so far as to cancel the full moon ceremony and no one had complained—besides Camilla.
The moon hung heavy and full of false hopes in the black sky. For the first time in her adult life, Sasha had dodged her duties to guard the den during the crucial hours of procreation. She should have been mating with Tabor that night instead of skulking around the Forest of the Ancestors on four legs trading insults with owls.
After Heidi had read Tabor’s heartless farewell aloud, Sasha had avoided the pack by staying in wolf form and keeping clear of communal areas. Sasha couldn’t handle being around other shifters and had no desire to set foot—or paw—in the den ever again. After hearing of Garrick and Zackery’s return that afternoon, the glade was likewise off-limits because she had no intention of seeing Garrick’s smug face after he learned that Tabor had left her. The opinions of the pack ranged from guilt to mild relief to pity that she’d chased away another mate before she had a chance to claim him.
What a fool she’d been, gaining support for Tabor while he took off in search of Balmar Heights. He’d chosen strangers over her and all because of his damn pride. She’d seen the hurt look on his face when she ran after Wolfrik. She wished she could wash the image of those haunting green eyes from her memory forever, but even her wolf paced restlessly, mourning the loss of her would-be mate.
The owl finally took off with a shrill and waft of wings.
Her ears twitched, but it was her nose that alerted her to Wolfrik first. He prowled through a low opening in the bushes and stalked over to her with eyes reflecting in the moonlight.
Sasha watched him with disinterest, blinking once before averting her gaze to the darkened forest beyond.
Wolfrik shifted and rose to his feet slowly, eyebrows lifting when he glanced down at her.
“Sasha.”
She refused to meet his eyes.
“Sasha,” Wolfrik said more forcefully.
Her growl had Wolfrik folding his arms over his chest. He stared at her, as still and solid as a deeply rooted tree.
Slowly, Sasha shifted, remaining crouched on the ground as her head lifted and she glared at Wolfrik. “What?” she demanded.
Wolfrik shouldn’t be bothering her here of all places, so close to where he’d stormed off three years ago leaving her sobbing in the dirt. Her heart wailed at the horrors he’d suffered afterward, but he never should have left her in the first place. Males were such cowards, such infantile mongrels—such faithless curs.
Wolfrik studied her a moment longer before speaking. “I overheard some of the den mates talking earlier. Heidi doesn’t believe Tabor would leave willingly, despite the note he left behind.”
“She wasn’t at the bluff two days ago. You wounded his pride,” Sasha answered irritably.
Wolfrik sniffed indifferently. “If his feelings are that delicate, good riddance. You’re better off without that mangy half-breed.”
Sasha snarled, but Wolfrik didn’t react to it, instead leaning closer.
“Perhaps he went to cool off—same way I did. I can search for him.”
“Don’t bother,” Sasha snapped.
“If you think he truly left, you need to let go of him and move on.” Wolfrik lowered his head. “You did it once before.”
Tears blurred Sasha’s vision. She blinked rapidly, firing an accusatory look at Wolfrik. He hadn’t stayed away by choice, but she was the one who had been l
eft behind without a clue as to what had become of him.
“Sasha,” Wolfrik said sadly. His chest rose and fell. “I don’t say these things to be cruel. It is simply a fact of life.”
“I’m well aware of life’s cruelties.” Sasha cast a bitter look at the ground beneath the evergreen before snapping her attention back to Wolfrik. “Don’t go looking for him. I don’t want you disappearing again. He said his goodbyes on paper. We already know where he went and he made it clear that he doesn’t want me or anyone else going after him.” A lump formed in Sasha’s throat making it hard to swallow. “He made his choice.”
Wolfrik tapped his fingers against his biceps and stared at Sasha cryptically. She narrowed her eyes.
“I want to be alone.”
Wolfrik stood in place for a long while. Sasha wanted him gone before the first tear managed to fall. She’d been holding it in for so long that once it started, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Wolfrik gave a slight nod then relaxed his arms and bent his knees to the ground to shift. After his body turned furry, he disappeared the way he’d come—into the bushes, low-growing leaves rustling in the direction of the bluff.
Sasha listened and waited for as long as she could before sobs wracked her body. She sank to the ground and stuck her face between her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs, and thought enviously of her parents laid peacefully to rest in the earth beneath her. They’d loved one another unconditionally and been together until the very end. Perhaps their story wasn’t so very sad—not as sad as Sasha’s history of loneliness and heartache.
Sasha lifted her head and sobbed louder. She no longer wanted to hold it in. No, she wanted to rid her body of this feeling—this sadness. Tears streamed down her cheeks and flooded the ground beneath her thighs. She bathed in her sorrow; a storm below the sky with its never-ending stars clustered together—each of them so very alone in that infinite space. Sasha cried until there was no sound left in her besides the last trailing sniffles that eventually died out, leaving her empty.
Wolf Hollow (Wolf Hollow Shifters, Book 1) Page 27