Thrown To The Wolf (Pack Heat Book 3)

by Sam Hall

  They talked about how best to utilise what we had tomorrow, but I didn’t pay too much attention to it. Rather, I crawled over to where Jack and Hawk sat up against the wall and nestled down between them. They stroked my hair as the guys planned until my eyes fell to half-mast. Then Sylvan got to his feet.

  “I need to get in touch with some of my contacts, find out what’s happening within the city.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, because what could we say? We were on his turf now, and we had to trust someone who’d shown himself to be pretty untrustworthy. So Finn nodded, and when the door closed, everyone settled down to rest and doze as best we could.

  23

  “Keep your eyes down, your cap pulled low, and for fuck’s sake, don’t make eye contact.”

  Sylvan hissed the instructions as we joined the long line of servants making their way into Leifgart proper. His mother had offered us tea again in the morning and some food, but going by her gaunt cheeks, I wasn’t entirely sure she had sufficient goods to share. It wouldn’t have mattered, since my guts felt like I’d swallowed live eels whole, something twisting and squirming within them as we shuffled forward.

  “We are meant for the kitchen. Don’t let them send you—”

  “Anywhere else but there. And the password is ‘leaping wolf.’ We know, Sylvan. We’ve got it down,” Aaron said.

  “The plan’s much more likely to work if you started looking a lot less squirrelly,” Jack drawled.

  Sylvan shot him a dark look, but it didn’t change the fact we all saw how pale he looked. That was…reassuring. We didn’t get to say much more as the first Volken I’d seen in the flesh marched over to our group.

  I watched the leather clad man through the corner of my eye as he came over, saw the way the armour had been tailored to fit his body well, a bow in a quiver strapped to his back. Like the boys of Sanctuary, he had the same supremely muscular frame and high cheekbones, but his mane of hair was tied back into a neat queue.

  “Password?” he said.

  “Leaping wolf, sir,” Finn said.

  “Excellent,” the man said, his hands held behind his back as he eyed the lot of us. “The six of you men will come with me. We need extras setting up tables for the Great Rite, and you look up to the task.”

  “But, sir.” The words were out of Sylvan’s mouth before he’d thought about it, and I saw him blanch even paler as the Volken’s attention transferred to him.

  “Yes?”

  Imperious grey eyes burned into the side of Sylvan’s face as he waited for an answer, his feet tapping on the stone flagstones. The servants that were clustered around us started to pull away, instinctively wanting to put distance between them and the target of the Volken’s ire.

  “Sir, we’re due to help out Adam in the kitchens, for the banquet.”

  We all heard the waver in Sylvan’s voice, saw his fists ball, the knuckles white from the effort. The Volken nodded, as if this was only appropriate.

  “The kitchen, hmm?” The man looked curiously patient, which of course made you aware of what was being held back. “Well, far be it for me to get in the way of…who was it again? Adam? Adam’s plans must take precedence.”

  Yep, we’d fucked up.

  People stopped edging away and quite openly struggled to get clear of us. The reddish tinged crystals studding the man’s gauntlet began to glow brighter and brighter. I watched in horror as his hand closed into a fist, as some kind of horrible facsimile of the power we’d wielded with the Great Wolf’s help appeared to be activated.

  “Tell me again what you must do, other than what I tell you?”

  Evidently the question was rhetorical. Sylvan got no such words out as his face transformed into a mask of pain. He collapsed to the ground curling in on himself, obviously not wanting the Volken to see him, but we helplessly stood by as Sylvan’s body twitched and spasmed in pain so intensely, he couldn’t even cry out.

  “Now,” the Volken said in an eminently reasonable tone. “Tell me what you must do today.”

  Holy fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck. We’d no such power in the brief vision we’d gotten before leaving, and when my eyes darted to Aaron, his face was white and drawn as he considered what we were now up against. We scanned the other Volken from the sides of our eyes, some milling around or assigning jobs to servants. Those crystals seemed to be everywhere—on uniforms, on primitive guns and long batons. Mine hummed in my pocket, so I closed my fingers around it to mute its glare.

  “Begging your pardon, sir.”

  Everyone’s eyes whipped around to see a man had come forward. His hat was in his hands and was being fairly mangled as he edged towards us, but came he did. He was an older man, his hair thinning on top, his white shirt no longer so white.

  “Yes.” The word was bitten out.

  “These men and the woman, Adam has asked especially for them. Y’see, he’s got those big alathas on the spit today, and he needs the extra bodies to turn—”

  “Spare me the details,” the Volken snapped. His eyes scanned the crowd for a moment, then he sighed. “Fine, take them. But you tell Adam he will need to have all personnel requests approved through the correct channels next time, or I won't be held accountable for my actions, understood?”

  “Of course, sir. Many apologies, sir,” the balding man said.

  “And make sure I get slices from the haunches during the banquet,” the Volken said. “I’m sick of being left with stringy pieces from the forelegs.”

  “Of course, sir.” The man bobbed his head. “I’ll see to it personally.”

  “See that you do.”

  “C’mon, you lot,” the man said, his obsequious manner instantly dropping as he turned to face us. “Adam’s been waiting.” He gestured we were to follow him with a quick jerk of his head, so we helped Sylvan to his feet and hurried after him.

  We wormed our way through the crowd, and people turned to check us out as we squeezed past. My eyes scanned the massive carved archway as we walked underneath it, black wolves running along its length, causing mayhem and destruction. Sylvan shot me a sharp look. Rubbernecking wasn’t a good way to pretend we’d been serving here for some time, so I jerked my gaze down. Instead, I focussed on trying to remember the path we were taking to get to the kitchens.

  The architecture here reflected a hierarchy within the Volken. The buildings nearest the gate were well made, carved, and featured decorative finials, but were considerably smaller than those we saw as we walked further in. I watched servants fan off, going down the narrow streets to knock on various doors they’d obviously been assigned to. As we got deeper, the buildings got bigger, and there were even gardens around the houses. There were more Volken here too. We stopped each time one crossed our path, dropping our heads in respect, though they paid us little mind. I admit, invisibility settled something within me. This might be a monolithic culture intent on mowing down everything in its path, but it also had some blind spots.

  The building we were to work in was massive, obviously something more than a mere residence. It soared above as we approached, a multi-storey sprawling place, complete with a broad set of steps at the front with several carved obsidian Tirian crouching on thick stone posts, watching all that entered.

  But not us.

  “Down here,” the man said, directing us to the alleyway down the side of the building.

  “Thanks, Donal,” Sylvan said when we came to a rustic looking door.

  “It’s alright, lad,” the man said, placing a hand on Sylvan’s shoulder, but he removed it quickly when he flinched. “Just get it done, yeah?”

  Get what done? I watched Donal nod to us as he passed, walking off to god knew where, and found most of my pack had done the same. We stared at the seer, wanting answers, but Sylvan didn’t bother with that. He just put his hand on the door and pulled it open.

  We walked into a hot swirling mass of chaos. It was the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen. I’d worked in restaurants and diners, but they
were nothing compared to this. Massive wooden workbenches spanned the room, covered in piles of ingredients, explosions of flour, red hunks of meat, and sprays of herbs, but that was only a small part of the whole set up. People rushed around, cooking, chopping, adding ingredients to bubbling pots and mixing while others frantically washed great pans in big stone sinks of water. And the smell, that was the thing that hit me hardest. I regretted now not eating because the smells of freshly baked bread, rich stews, and roasting meat hit me like a truck.

  “You’ve arrived,” said a big man wearing a stained apron as he marched up to us. “C’mon, we should have started turning the meat an hour ago.”

  Adam? Finn mouthed at Sylvan, who just replied with a quick nod. We wove our way through the busy kitchen to a room out the back, following the broad back of our contact, but Sylvan’s gaze darted about, and he tugged his hat down further in response. It wasn’t until the door was closed behind us, a wall of heat hitting as we stepped inside, that Adam appeared to relax.

  “You’re back, son,” he said, putting a meaty hand on Sylvan’s shoulder, and this time, the seer didn’t flinch. “To do as you said?” Adam’s eyes flicked over to us, giving us a quick once over as he waited for Sylvan’s reply.

  “I hope so. Things…they’re clouded.” Sylvan looked at me for a second. “These are the White Wolf’s pack.”

  “But no Branwen?”

  Adam’s voice rose a little.

  “No, I… These are the one we need, I’m as sure as I can be.”

  “Well, you’ve come at a good time. The muck-a-mucks have a celebration going. They’re going to perform that Great Rite, so they’ll be distracted but…”

  If I thought Sylvan was pale before, I’d seen nothing yet. His eyes went wide at that, some kind of primal, visceral fear showing in his expression. That did little to allay our fears. I noted the shuffle of my pack’s feet as they kept themselves from moving, questioning, or shoving Sylvan up against the wall and pounding some answers out of him.

  “But less predictable,” Sylvan finished the sentence finally. “I know. I would’ve avoided this if possible, but… We’ll have to do our best, hope the gods are on our side.”

  “Except this one,” Adam said, pointing to the floor. “He’s been restive.”

  “Yeah, we know. That was us yesterday.”

  “Was it indeed?” The man’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Well, time for introductions then. The White Wolf’s pack. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  Sylvan introduced us in turn, the man’s brown eyes warm as he took each one of our hands, his grasp firm, the floury surface somehow reassuring.

  “So, you’re the ones to take these fuckers down?” Adam said with a broad grin. “We’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

  We turned as one to stare at Sylvan, that broad brimmed cap tugged so low we couldn’t see his eyes, but the set of his shoulders spoke eloquently enough.

  “Of course,” Finn said, saying the right thing at the right time, like always. My hand whipped out to take Slade’s hand when he started to move, his brows drawn down hard.

  “Good, good, couldn’t come at a better time with all the… Well, you’ll see to that soon enough. Now, I’m going to need you to work the spits until then. Big banquet today. Start of the Longest Night festival and all, and it's the only job I could come up with that’d keep you away from the rest of the staff. Hot, but easy to manage. Just keep the meat turning.” He demonstrated working the handle of the spit where another one of those lavender pelted beasts seemed to have been skinned and set on the bar over the fire. “Keep the coals burning, don’t let them flare up, nor get too low. Use this sauce.” He picked up a bucket of something that smelled a helluva lot like barbeque sauce and swished a broad brush around in it. “Perhaps your lady could take care of that?”

  I smiled and stepped forward to take it from him. “This smells amazing.”

  He beamed at that, then brought me over to the nearest beast and showed me how to apply it. He watched all of us move through the motions of turning the spit and basting, made sure we were clear about how to lay the extra firewood on, then he nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “Nothing’s happening today that will interfere with the feast?” Adam asked before he turned to go.

  “I don’t think so. We’ll need to take the meals down to the cells at the end of the day though,” Sylvan replied.

  “No one will fight you for that job,” he said with a shudder. “Alright then, stay put, and come and get me if there're any problems.” Then, he left.

  Oh, there were problems alright.

  “What the fuck do you have planned, Sylvan?” Brandon said, moving to close the gap between the two of them. Sylvan was broader in the chest, heavier built than him, but that didn’t make much of a difference.

  “Nothing,” he said, pushing past my mate and taking up position by the spit. “I had to get the support of the servant classes somehow. They are the most plentiful and the most loyal, plus they have access to almost everywhere. A Volken seer pronouncing visions of their emancipation was the best way I could do that.” He turned the spit with practised ease. “I also hoped that it would be true, that you’d lead me to Branwen, that she would end…this.” He shook his head and then focussed back on the meat. “We need to get on the spits, do rotations to rest everyone’s arms. We’ll wait things out in the spit room until the day is over, then head down to the cells to see where everyone’s being kept. This is an intel gathering day only, remember, so let's not blow our cover.”

  So, wait it out we did.

  “Longest Night festival,” Aaron hissed to Finn as I passed by, slathering on more sauce. “There’s more and more shit going down, and somehow, we know less than when we walked in here.”

  “Still got the car batteries and pliers?”

  “We can’t torture him,” Aaron said, but he eyed the Volken seer as he sat down for a break. “But we do need to consider if this is just an intel mission. Get back behind the gate, report back, bring in a larger force.”

  I watched Finn stiffen at that, the spit slowing, then stopping for a moment, and Slade looked at him from the other end. Finally, he nodded.

  “That’ll be for you to decide.”

  24

  It was a quiet, but not peaceful several hours as we worked. I kept slathering the meat with the sauce each time it threatened to dry out while the guys kept it turning. It was strangely anticlimactic, as some of the guys sat around and smoked to pass the time as the others turned.

  “Well, now, let's take a look,” Adam said, looking much redder as he strode into the room. “Mmm…you’ve done a good job.” He pulled a knife off his belt and sliced off a sliver, taking a bite. “Mmhmm, that’s good. Here,” he proffered a piece to me, “take a bite.”

  I moved in almost shyly. The guys’ eyes were on me, as food was somehow tied up with mating rituals with Tirian men, but I took a polite bite. My eyes widened as the taste exploded in my mouth. It was like rotisserie chicken and barbeque ribs and some other tangy awesomeness all rolled into one. My stomach rumbled at that, thinking this was a damn fine start, and could I please have some more.

  “The sauce seals in the moisture in the meat, keeping it tender, and the herbs bring out the flavour,” Adam said proudly. “This is why the Volken have never replaced me as cook. Come, you must eat. We get our meals in shifts around the different courses. The entrees are going out now along with the drinks, so come and eat while the serving staff are out.”

  “What about the spits?” Slade said.

  “The back ones are close, these others can be brought in to rest. If half of you stay to finish off the meat, the others will eat and then swap. No more sauce is needed,” Adam said.

  “Aaron, Brandon, and Slade will go with Jules,” Finn said. “Stick by her side. We’ll stay here and finish off the meat. Maybe we should take our meals in here.”

  “Yeah?” Slade said, eyeing the thin slot of windows high
up on the walls. “Be good to get away from this heat.”

  “Yeah, but to anyone who works here, we’re obviously strangers. Let’s keep a low profile, even if it's a hot one.”

  That settled, Adam steered me out into the kitchen as the guys brought in the massive skewers of meat, and deposited them on the workbench before going back for more.

  “Through here,” he said, ushering me into what looked like a break room. There was a large table surrounded by stools, a couple of young kids in there, hunched protectively over their plates, and an older woman dozing in the corner. “Sit, sit,” he said. “I’ll bring you a plate. Help yourself to some water.”

  I smiled at the kids as I reached for the pitcher, poured the water into a rough earthenware cup, and took a sip. God, it was cool and tasted faintly of lemons, which was bloody lovely after the spit room. I settled back against the wall, and my muscles relaxed as I watched the guys ferry the meat in. I took a deep breath, feeling really tired after all the excitement of the last few days, and closed my eyes for a second.

  “What are you doing sitting down on the job?” They flicked open just as fast to see an irritated looking woman standing in the doorway staring down at me. “Well?”

  “Adam told me to—”

  “Don’t try to palm this off on Adam. You must be new here, otherwise you’d know no one sits down on feast days. We need everybody we’ve got to get the meals out. The bloody crows have staked out a couple of my best girls on the main table to have their way with, but no more coming to supply the bastards with food. Come along now.” She pulled me to my feet, then paused for a second by an internal door in the kitchen, listening to the dull roar coming from beyond it. “If we don’t get the food out there fast, there’ll be a bloody riot.”

  “But my clothes…” I said, looking down at the sauce stained shirt I was wearing.

  “Don’t think that’ll be enough to excuse you. Here now.” She reached over to unhook a voluminous white pinafore from beside the door. “Now tie your hair up neater than that and put one of these on.” She passed me something that looked like a cloth bathing cap but with an extensive frill that fell in my eyes when I pulled it on. “Very good, now come on.”