Alone in the Wild

by Kelley Armstrong

  Lane deserves my bullet more than Blaine Saratori ever did. He may even deserve it more than Val did. But I do not pull the trigger because I can control that impulse. The situation is under control, and we are in no immediate danger, and I cannot execute Lane for his crimes. That is not my place.

  I know my place. I understand it, and I will never make that mistake again.

  “Lane?” I say. “You are under arrest for the murder of Ellen and the attempted murder of Summer and Sidra and Baptiste. You will appear before a joint committee of the First and Second Settlements, who will determine your punishment—”

  He runs at Dalton. I still don’t fire. My finger moves to the trigger, and I shout at him to stop, but I don’t need to shoot. Lane is a man with a bow in his hand, the arrows still in their quiver, and he’s running at a law enforcement officer with a gun.

  Dalton doesn’t shoot either. When Lane draws near, he kicks, his foot connecting with a crack. The young man drops to one knee, and Dalton backs up, gun still aimed.

  “Shoot me,” Lane says.

  “I’m not—” Dalton begins.

  “You’re going to have to. Because I won’t stop. If you let me live, I’ll never stop. I’ll find a way to kill Baptiste, kill that baby, and if Sidra won’t come with me, then I’ll kill her, too. She’s mine. Mine. I will kill everyone who comes between me and her, and then I’ll take her and—”

  A figure rushes from the forest. It’s a blur. That’s all I see. A blur of motion, and I spin on it, my gun raised as it rushes Lane. The blur leaps on him, and only then do I see a face. A face not contorted in rage but ice-cold with it.

  It’s Felicity. Her hand flies up as I shout at her to get back, and as that hand rises, I see the blade in it. A blade already bloodstained, droplets flecking the snow.

  The blade falls again, slamming into Lane’s back, and I shout at her to stop, but I do not stop her.

  I know my place, and it is not my place to stop her.

  Only when she falls back, breathing hard, her hands clutching the bloody knife, does Dalton run over and pull her back. Lane falls face-first to the snow.

  Felicity drops the knife and then wrenches from Dalton’s grip. He lets her go. She walks over and drops to her knees beside Lane.

  “You should have killed me while you had the chance,” she says. “But that was always your mistake. You underestimated me. Underestimated Sidra. We made that mistake, too. We underestimated you.” She leans down to his ear, her voice a hoarse whisper as she says, “Not this time. I did not underestimate you this time, Lane.”

  She stays there, at his side, until he breathes his last.

  FORTY-TWO

  There’s no time to process what has happened. No time to help Felicity process it, and I know from experience that will not happen immediately. She’s done what she needed to do to protect her friend. Later, the doubts and second-guessing will come, and I don’t know whether she’ll let me help with that, but I will if I can.

  Right now, our biggest concern is Petra. She has an arrow in her chest, and we are hours from Rockton. Dalton runs ahead to bring help and motorized transport. While he’s gone, we fashion a stretcher for Petra. Storm pulls it, and Sidra and I help. While Baptiste and Felicity try to do their part, both are injured—Baptiste with a minor shoulder wound and Felicity with a head injury, inflicted when Lane found her in the forest. Their job is to walk behind the sled and make sure Petra stays awake and lucid.

  We’ve been walking for almost two hours when I hear the whine of a snowmobile and the rumble of the ATV. Dalton cuts through brush on the snowmobile and then takes over the stretcher, guiding it through to where the ATV waits on a wider path.

  Dalton sends me in the ATV with Sidra. I know why he picks her to go. He doesn’t need to say it, but I know. After he sets Petra up for the ride, he stays behind with Anders to get the rest of the group to Rockton.

  I drive the ATV as fast as I dare through the well-packed snow of the main trail. Sidra doesn’t clutch the grab handles for dear life. She stares straight ahead, her face drawn, her mind already at our destination and what waits there.

  I drive the ATV straight into town. April waits on the clinic stairs, Diana with her to help, several of the men ready to carry Petra inside. And as we pull to a halt, another figure appears from inside the clinic. Jen, holding a baby-size bundle to her chest.

  Sidra is out of the ATV before it stops. She stumbles forward, tripping over her feet and nearly falling in her scramble to get to her baby. Jen descends the stairs and meets her, holding Summer out. Sidra doesn’t take her. She wobbles there and then collapses to her knees, crying in relief, and Jen bends in front of her, letting Sidra take the baby there, kneeling in the snow.

  I turn away from the scene and help the men with Petra.

  * * *

  It’s morning. Early morning, not yet light. I’m beside Petra’s bed in the clinic. She’s stable. The arrow entered above her heart, piercing less than an inch. She’s lost a lot of blood, and she’ll need time to recover, but she’s all right, sleeping soundly as I keep watch.

  I’ve been here all night, not leaving the clinic since I arrived.

  Hiding here? Yes, I have the self-awareness to admit that. April needed me, and I wanted to be here for Petra, but it also gave me the excuse not to face the joyous parent-and- child reunion.

  I slept here, in this chair. In the night, I woke to find Dalton in a chair beside me, a blanket draped over us. When I wake again at six thirty, he’s already gone, and I feel the regret of that, but I feel something else, too. Relief. I’m not ready to face him. I need time to process this and grieve on my own. And as soon as that thought comes, another follows it, a realization that has my cheeks flaming and my ass out of that chair in a heartbeat.

  I check Petra. Then I hurry out to see Kenny walking past, and I ask him to step in and watch Petra for me.

  “Actually, I was just coming for you,” he says. “The kids are leaving soon, and they really want to see you first.”

  I hesitate, which is a shitty and selfish thing to do, and I am ashamed to admit it. I’m also snared between two sources of shame—the one that wants to flee any last moments with Summer and the one that needs to talk to Dalton.

  “I should speak to Eric first,” I say. “Is he around?”

  “He’s with the boy. Baptiste. They’re talking, and Sidra wanted to bring the baby over to speak to you alone before they go.”

  I hesitate again, that childish impulse filling me, the impulse to lie and say I cannot see her. Nope, sorry, terribly, terribly busy. I squash it and say, “Of course. Send her over to the house, and let Eric know we’re there.”

  “Before you go,” he says. “The hot tub is ready. Where—?”

  “Later,” I say. “We’ll talk later.”

  “But it’s…”

  His voice trails off as I hurry away.

  * * *

  As I walk through town, I hear carols and look over to see a group of people singing. I check my watch. Yep, it’s seven in the morning. What the hell are people—? That’s when I see the date on my watch.

  December 21.

  That’s what Kenny meant. It’s winter solstice. The biggest celebration of our year, and I could not feel less festive. I duck around the carolers and hurry to our house.

  I’m opening our front door when Sidra appears. I hold it for her, and I smile, and I hope that smile looks every bit as genuine as she deserves. Because she does deserve it. This is her baby. She was, from what I can tell, a perfect mother, despite her youth. She’s spent the ten days frantically trying to find her lost child. She confronted a killer to protect her family. And if there was any doubt about how much she loves Summer, it could not survive witnessing that heart-wrenching reunion scene last night.

  So I smile for her, and it damned well better be a good one, or I will not forgive myself for my petty jealousy. I usher her in, and I’m about to apologize for the cold when I see that Dalton
has laid the fire, in case I come back here. Thoughtful and considerate as always, which only twists the knife that reminds me I have not been the same to him these last few hours.

  I start the kettle for coffee, mostly as busywork while she settles in with the baby.

  Her baby. Not mine. Never mine.

  “I can’t thank you enough for what you did,” she says. “Even saying thank you feels like such an understatement. But I don’t know what else to say.”

  I’m not sure how to reply to that.

  It was nothing, really.

  Any decent person would have done the same.

  It was no trouble at all.

  Platitudes, and like her, I don’t want to say them. They feel empty. So I only say, “You’re welcome.”

  Then I turn, and she rises, holding out the baby, and I know she doesn’t realize what that gesture means to me, how it is a knife in my gut. She is only being kind. So I must accept that kindness and accept Summer, and sink stiffly onto the chair, holding the baby and trying not to look down at her.

  Summer fusses, and I tell myself she doesn’t know I’m not looking at her, her eyes can’t focus enough to find mine, but my gut calls me a coward, and I look down. Our eyes meet, and her lips purse, the way they do when she’s considering whether to cry, and I’m almost hoping she will.

  Whoops, ha ha, guess she wants her mommy. Better take her back.

  Summer sucks her lips twice, as if considering. Then her nostrils flare, and it is as if she catches my scent, finally realizes it’s me, and she snuggles down and my heart cracks. I feel it crack, and I feel the tears well, and I blink hard, clearing my throat.

  “Have you given any thought to what Felicity offered last night?” I say. “Spending the winter with the First Settlement. I know you left because you didn’t think they’d let you be with Baptiste, but you have a baby now. They won’t separate your new family.”

  “Thank you, and yes, we’re doing that. Only for the winter. We do want to be on our own. We could use help, though. Support and trade partners, and if either settlement will offer that, we’ll take it.”

  “If you have any problems, come back here,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own once you’re settled and the baby’s a little older, but I’d strongly advise spending this winter in the settlement. Or here if they won’t take you.”

  “And if they do take us…” She raises her eyes to mine, suddenly shy. “May we still visit?”

  “Of course.”

  The door opens. Dalton and Baptiste enter, kicking snow off their boots. I hold Summer out to Sidra, but she motions for Baptiste to take her, teasing him when Summer fusses at his cold touch. I watch the three of them, and yes, my heart cracks a little more, but it swells, too. They are in love, with each other and with their baby, and no child can truly hope for more.

  “Did you ask her?” Baptiste says to Sidra.

  Sidra shakes her head and looks at me. “We … we named her Summer as a joke. Not a very good joke either. But we’d like, if it’s all right with you, to change that. We’d like to call her Casey.”

  “I…” I swallow. “That … that’s very kind. It isn’t necessary, though, and I think she should have her own name. Summer is good.” I force a too-bright smile. “And it’d be less confusing, when you come to visit. I am honored, though. Truly honored.”

  “Eric thought you’d say that,” Baptiste says with a smile. “So Sidra and I have a backup plan. We heard you called her Abby here, after a young woman who died. May we keep calling her that?”

  I glance at Dalton. He nods.

  “Yes,” I say. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”

  “We even have a toy our Abby brought to Rockton,” Dalton says. “It’s butt-ugly, but it meant a lot to her, and there’s no family to give it back to. That and a necklace. You’re welcome to take those. You can tell her about the girl she was named after.”

  Sidra’s face glows. “Are you sure?”

  “We’re sure.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  * * *

  Sidra, Baptiste, and Abby are gone. It doesn’t matter that I never met Abbygail, the joy of handing over her toy and necklace will stay with me for a long time. They will be treasured, as they deserve to be. Giving her name to this baby is even more satisfying, not only to honor the girl who first carried it, but because, in an odd way, it helps me, as if something of the baby’s visit here remains with her, even as she leaves.

  Dalton and Storm walk with them for a bit. While they’re gone, I hurry out to tell Kenny where I want the hot tub and ask if they can set it up later while I distract Dalton. I swing by the bakery and grab two dozen holiday cookies before they open their doors to the waiting line. I hand out the first dozen to those waiting, promise I’ll see them all tonight at the big bonfire celebration. Then I go home.

  The moment Dalton walks into the house, I say, “I am so sorry.”

  “For what?” he says as he walks into the living room, where I’m waiting with coffee and cookies.

  “Being a complete and utter selfish bitch. I avoided you last night because I was dealing with Abby leaving. But I’m not the only one affected, and I ignored that. I made it all about me. It wasn’t.”

  He sinks onto the sofa and tugs me down beside him. “I understood. And I think it was harder for you. You bonded with her. Me?” He tilts his head. “I’d have kept her. Happily kept her. But for me she was more of a…”

  He purses his lips. “She was a glimpse of something else. A vision of a possibility I never really considered. Not just a baby, but a baby with you. A family that’s more than you and me. After having Abby here, yeah, I can see that for us, and I think I want it. Except…”

  He goes quiet, uncomfortably quiet, scratching at his beard.

  “Go on.”

  He sneaks a peek my way.

  “Eric? Talk. Tell me what you’re thinking. If what you want isn’t what I want, we’ll discuss that. I’d never hold it against you.”

  “I like the vision I saw,” he says. “If Abby needed a father, I’d be that for her. But since she doesn’t, I’m just … I’m in no hurry. I…” Another glance snuck my way. “I’m not sure I’m ready to share you just yet.”

  “And I am thrilled to hear that, because I’m not ready to share you either. As much as I loved seeing you with Abby, part of me wants you all to myself for a little longer.”

  He nods. It’s not the decisive nod I expect, though, and I say, “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  “Not about this. Yeah, I’d like a kid someday. But yeah, I want more time with just us. Seeing Sidra and Baptiste though…” A deep breath. “It brought back a lot of memories. They reminded me of my parents. Memories of them I didn’t even think I still had. How they looked at each other, how they looked at Jacob. How they looked at…” Another scratch of his beard as he shrugs.

  “How they looked at you.”

  He nods. “Those kids and that baby, they’re a family, and I had that kind of family.”

  “A lot of hope,” I say. “A lot of love.”

  His eyes glisten, and he blinks hard with a thick, “Yeah. I need to face that. Remember it. Deal with it.” He looks at me. “Talk about it.”

  “I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready,” he says. “Maybe not for a baby, but I’m ready for this.”

  “Then I’m ready to listen.”

  Also by Kelley Armstrong

  Rockton

  Watcher in the Woods

  This Fallen Prey

  A Darkness Absolute

  City of the Lost

  Cainsville

  Rituals

  Betrayals

  Deceptions

  Visions

  Omens

  Age of Legends

  Forest of Ruin

  Empire of Night

  Sea of Shadows

  The Blackwell Pages (co-written with Melissa Marr)

 
; Thor’s Serpents

  Odin’s Ravens

  Loki’s Wolves

  Otherworld

  Thirteen

  Spell Bound

  Waking the Witch

  Frostbitten

  Living with the Dead

  Personal Demon

  No Humans Involved

  Broken

  Haunted

  Industrial Magic

  Dime Store Magic

  Stolen

  Bitten

  Darkest Powers & Darkness Rising

  The Rising

  The Calling

  The Gathering

  The Reckoning

  The Awakening

  The Summoning

  Nadia Stafford

  Wild Justice

  Made to be Broken

  Exit Strategy

  Stand-alone novels

  Wherever She Goes

  Aftermath

  Missing

  The Masked Truth

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  KELLEY ARMSTRONG graduated with a degree in psychology and then studied computer programming. Now, she is a full-time writer and parent. She lives with her husband and three children in rural Ontario, Canada. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

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