At the insistence of his animals, he whispered the key.
The self-imposed spell cracked open and fell away, leaving him feeling light as a feather, and truly alive. Cold melted away.
He’d been chained so long he’d forgotten how it felt to be free. His sharpened senses took in the detailed shape of the gnarled tree, the sound of Rayne’s rapid breathing, and the scent of blood. His blood.
Beside him, Rayne gasped and shivered. “That is some spell. Now can you shift?”
He nodded. “Let me see the damage.”
She helped him sit, then pulled a heavy-duty flashlight out of her winter jacket pocket and shined the bright light on his leg. He made a mental note to ask her about her astonishing ability to materialize clothes and other things.
The offending branch pierced his calf through and through. Torn leather from his pants infiltrated the wound at the entry point. Nasty. He could feel his innate magic working on the cracked bone. He’d have to re-break the bone later if it healed crooked, or he’d be permanently maimed. True shifters didn’t have that problem.
She pointed to the tree trunk. “I took advantage of your nap to roll you and it over so I could free your leg.” She blew out a quick breath. “I can cut your clothes off and cast a painkiller spell, but it’s still going to hurt like a stinkin’ son of a bitch.”
“I can take care of my clothes. Save the spell for later. I can’t shift if I’m numb.”
She nodded. “Okay. Sorry in advance.”
With quick, ruthless efficiency, she pulled him off the branch. He yelled as pain exploded in his leg.
Her human eyes glowed dire-wolf orange. “Shift.”
Steely alpha commands usually had little effect on him, but his inner wolf used it to overpower his human reticence. He barely had time to siphon the shift magic to save his clothes.
Thirty seconds later, he stood in oversized timber wolf form. The renewal magic took care of his aches and pains, and remade his leg bones.
It was the first time he’d stood on four paws in close to a year. He shook all over, loose fur flying, just because he could.
The smells had his nose working overtime, taking in everything. Rayne’s ever-changing scent fascinated him, along with everything else about her. He took several steps closer to her.
She crouched and held out her hand to him. “Impressive. Let me see your leg.”
Arvik-the-wild-wolf dove toward her feet in a barrel roll, exposing his belly.
Laughing, she ran her hand over his back leg, plunging her fingers into his fur. “I see this beast of yours is as shameless as mine.”
She slid her hand up toward his head to scratch behind his ear. “It’ll be easier to find the town in wolf form, but we’ll have to shift back once we get to the border, so we can ring the doorbell.” Her tone sounded practical, but his superb ears detected threads of sadness and regret.
He wanted to talk to her, find out what was wrong, and hold her until she felt better, but that was just selfishness. Considering their careers and the current troubles with their respective employers, neither of them would be free to consider a relationship anytime soon, much less a mating. And that was child’s play compared to the likely insurmountable problem of his heritage.
He respected Rayne too much to let her get involved with someone both shifter clans and the First Peoples tribes of the north considered a supernatural enemy.
He rolled to his feet and shook his fur again. Talking could wait. He wasn’t going to pass up what might be his only chance to run with his mate through the snow on a moonlit night.
9
Rayne shifted to her dire wolf, glad for the chance to heal the painful bruises she’d suffered from their freefall into a mountainside. She decided against restoring her maned wolf illusion until after she had food. Dire wolves could go days without eating, but it tended to make them consider people as potential appetizers instead of potential allies.
The constant wind ruffled her outer fur but couldn’t touch her thick undercoat. She was built for much colder climates than mid-autumn snow in the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming.
Díaz’s noble timber wolf looked proud and untamable. Gray and white fur, wide head, brilliantly intelligent gold eyes. Almost as big as she was, and he smelled intriguingly, divinely complex, of wolf, fresh snow, and sea salt. The darker animal in him, hidden well below the surface, felt almost alien, though she couldn’t say why she thought so. She knew practically nothing about him. Hell, she didn’t even know his real name. Not that it mattered. As an older shifter and a field agent, he probably had dozens.
She made herself ignore the compelling mystery of the shifter who could be her mate and pointed her nose downhill.
Over open tundra, wolves ran far and fast. Picking their way down an unfamiliar mountainside in the weak moonlight took considerably more time. Even so, the open air and freedom to be a wolf again made it worthwhile. Running with a pack mate made it perfect, though her stubborn human side warned her not to get used to it.
Three hours later found them approaching the Kotoyeesinay border, marked by a winding two-lane road illuminated by a single, dim pole light. The invisible shield felt almost electrified, with a phantom smell of ozone. Díaz sat and shifted into human form, wearing his thin gray silk shirt, torn leather pants, and heavy work boots. Even tired and disheveled, he was a devilishly handsome human.
She considered her inventory of clothes, then shifted into hiking shoes, flannel-lined jeans, a turtleneck, and a hooded winter parka. This time, she remembered to bring a heavy-duty charmed knife along with the flashlight.
She hid a frown as she walked with Díaz down the slope to the road. He still favoring his left leg.
It had been a mistake to throw herself into his arms for the emergency portal jump, because now, she couldn’t forget how perfectly the hard planes of his body aligned with hers. His magic revved her engines, leaving her with a constant flush of desire. And worries about him being hurt or cold stole her focus from planning how to get into Kotoyeesinay, report to her boss, then crash and burn. Well, eat first, then crash and burn.
She caught up with him at the edge of the asphalt. “The border wasn’t this tight the last time I was here, but that was thirty years ago.”
Three more steps, and the barrier became a visible shimmer of magical power.
“Stay,” he said, not looking at her as he barred her way with his arm. “I’ll test it.”
Exasperation ran through her. “Son of an alpha.” She muttered it like the curse it was.
He dropped his arm and turned to look at her. “What?”
And this was the cave-dweller that her inner wolf wanted to mate. “This isn’t obedience school.”
From the look on his face, he was replaying his actions in his mind. He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and closed it. His expression closed with it. “Try going in without me.” A thread of bleakness laced his tone.
“Not happening.” She didn’t need her wolf’s urging to reject his suggestion. She owed him her life three times over, even if he was thick-skulled. “If they won’t let us both in, we can walk to the next town.” She pointed a thumb in the direction of the mountains behind them. “Roads always lead somewhere.”
He snorted. “To hell, usually.”
“Been there, got the stinky T-shirt and sweatpants.” A memory from years before surfaced. “I think it’s a matter of asking.”
She crossed the road and touched fingers to the lamppost. “I am Rayne Chekal, wolf shifter. I hereby ask for sanctuary for me and guest status for my companion, a wizard called Díaz.”
After long seconds, a mid-range voice seemed to emanate from everywhere. “One moment.”
Flashy sorcery flared, bathing her in the soothing comfort of a cozy home. Underneath, a subtler elven spell probed at her secrets, but she fended it off. They could damn well ask her in person instead of being sneaky about it.
Díaz’s face was back to stony, but his shiel
d tickled her like a caress before it subsided.
“Provisional sanctuary granted for you both,” said the voice. “Please proceed to the sheriff’s station. Do you need assistance or medical attention?”
The border barrier raised an archway over the road. An image of a map formed in the air, with a route marked to the sheriff’s station.
She caught Díaz’s eye. “In, or the open road?”
Surprise flitted across his face. “In.” His mouth twitched. “They have cookies.”
She laughed, delighted at the reappearance of his humor. “And steaks.”
She touched the lamppost again. “Could we get a ride into town? Díaz had a disagreement with a tree.”
The voice replied after a long moment. “Yes. Look for the magic carpet.”
The well-lit lobby of the Kotoyeesinay sheriff station looked well designed and surprisingly inviting, but sadly, offered no cookies, much less steaks. The big railroad-style clock said it was a few minutes before five. Rayne was too tired to guess how long until dawn.
At the long, standing-height desk, a uniformed deputy handed Rayne a tablet that displayed a brief form. “Sorry, we’re down to one working tablet right now, so give it to him when you’re finished registering.” She tilted her head toward Díaz.
Rayne took the tablet and filled in her name, email, checked a box for requesting sanctuary, and clicked the submit button. Brief charm magic flashed.
She handed the tablet to Díaz, who had retreated into watchful silence. His face gave nothing away as he completed the form.
With his abundant magic and indeterminate heritage, he probably excelled at going unnoticed in the mundane human world. Maybe even in the magical world.
She, on the other hand, had to consciously work to keep her eyes from straying to him, or her feet from inching closer, or brushing against him, all aided and abetted by her inner wolf. None of which was even close to professional agent behavior.
She turned to Deputy Hammond, who smelled like a feline shifter. “Any restaurants open yet? We need...” She trailed off when two tall men stepped out of the back hallway. One was a ruggedly handsome, brown-skinned man with strong native cheekbones and jaw. He wore his raven-black hair pulled back and a sheriff’s star on his wide, muscular chest.
The other man was the same height and of East Indian descent, and pretty enough to be on magazine covers. He wore tailored, gray slacks and a subtly embellished oxford shirt in flamingo pink. He stepped forward and nodded to both her and Díaz.
“You’re late.” He nodded respectfully to Díaz. “Impressive work in the auction house takedown.”
Rayne sighed. “Brooker, meet Díaz, with the Wizard Imperium. He stopped the hellfrog from eating your strike team. Díaz, meet Florinel Brooker, Investigation Division Chief for the Shifter Tribunal, and my boss. What am I late for? And how did you know I’d be here?”
“Oracle.” Brooker made a beckoning gesture that indicated the hallway behind him. “Come with me. I have a project for you. Both of you, if you’re interested, Díaz.”
Rayne’s temper snapped. “Go to hell.”
Brooker looked startled. Díaz made a noise that could have been choked laughter. Hammond busied herself with something behind the desk.
Rayne narrowed her eyes. “I just spent two months in underground hell, got beaten to death, got resurrected, lost my sister, fought off a hellfrog, bounced off a mountain, and haven’t eaten in five days.” She tilted her head toward Díaz. “Recruit the wizard. He’s clever. Recruit the fucking hellfrog, for all I care. They’re indestructible. I’m on leave starting now. You’ll get my operation report when I get around to it, because you obviously don’t need it.”
She whirled and strode toward the entrance. She’d seen several restaurants on the carpet ride into town. One was bound to—
“I’ll order a pizza,” Brooker said loudly.
Rayne thrust her middle finger in the air and kept walking.
“Ma’am,” said the other man, his voice low and resonant as thunder. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Sheriff Tanner Stands In River. Call me Tanner. Want me to shoot Flory? Might teach him some manners.”
She turned and stopped, amusement bubbling up despite her annoyance. “Nah, he just bleeds and swears.”
Díaz’s mouth started to curve upward. He turned it into a cough.
Brooker waved impatiently. “Fine. I’ll get a luxury suite at the casino and order room service. You can eat while you listen.”
She liked and respected her boss, but he was still a work in progress as far as people skills. He’d lived for centuries as his beast, and it showed.
“Food first, and Díaz gets a suite, too. He saved a lot of shifters. And some of those words better be ‘well done, Rayne’ and ‘we’ll find your sister,’ or I’ll shoot you again myself.” She put her fists on her hips and glared.
Brooker, seeing all eyes on him, threw up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” He slid his phone out of his pocket as he turned to Tanner. “I won’t be needing your conference room after all, but you’re welcome to come with us.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Tanner shook his head. “I’ve got the aftermath of the Fort LeBlanc skirmish to deal with, plus fourteen newly-freed hyenas requesting sanctuary.” He snorted. “That’s on top of Rorabek throwing orders around like he’s the Fairy War Leader of the Western Hemisphere.”
“Fort LeBlanc?” asked Díaz.
“Sanctuary town in Canada,” replied Tanner. “Vanished in the nineteen-thirties, suddenly reappeared five days ago. Kotoyeesinay honored the original treaty and helped them fight off an attacking army with pillaging on their agenda.”
Brooker glanced at Díaz. “An army of wizards.” His tone invited a response.
Díaz simply nodded and said nothing.
She didn’t blame him for not trusting strangers. Tanner was an enigma. Brooker’s personal integrity was rock solid, but she couldn’t say the same about some in the Shifter Tribunal, or the organization itself.
She peered down the hall. “Public bathrooms?”
“They’re just past my office. I’ll show you.” Tanner’s gesture invited her to follow.
On her way past Brooker, she caught his eye. “If you want Díaz to listen, order some cookies.”
10
Arvik’s calf ached and his clothes stank, but the world seemed a better place on a stomach full of good food.
He would never have guessed the small mountain town boasted an exclusive casino and hotel. The concierge didn’t bat an eye when Brooker ordered dinner and breakfast for a party of six to be sent to the tastefully appointed Grand Teton penthouse suite.
To Arvik’s expert senses, the facility glowed with powerful, subtle magic. Which made sense, since it appeared to cater to monied players of any species. That included normal humans who had no idea some of their fellow gamblers were creatures of myth, legend, and nightmare. The casino’s magic hid the truth from the wealthy humans, and deterred the non-humans from using their own magic to cheat the humans or the house.
Arvik savored his tender rack of lamb, when he wasn’t rebuilding his layered illusion of being a human wizard, or being riveted by Rayne’s ever-changing scent. Her natural charisma and unwillingness to take disrespect from anyone—including him—left him constantly aware of her. Constantly wanting her.
To Brooker’s credit, he relaxed and enjoyed his breakfast. His considerable free magic hid whatever animal shared his soul. Undoubtedly why he’d risen so high in the Shifter Tribunal.
Rayne relented her prohibition against talking business once she’d plowed through most of her plate of prime rib and side dishes. She gave Brooker the executive version of what had happened in the underground facility after the strike team left. Interestingly, she didn’t mention the auctioneer’s tablet she’d found, and didn’t correct Brooker’s assumption that he was merely a talented human wizard.
Brooker took his empty plate to the tray on the si
deboard, then sat back down at the table. “Magister Díaz, I must ask you for a pledge of discretion in what I’m about to disclose.”
Arvik straightened his unused silverware with Arturo Díaz-like precision. He considered refusing and walking away, but he was reluctant to leave Rayne, and curiosity won out over his bone-deep weariness. “I so pledge, unless I think it puts the Imperium or anyone I care about in jeopardy.”
Brooker frowned, but nodded. “Fair enough. I don’t know you, but Rayne trusts you, and I trust her judgment. The Shifter Tribunal has been infiltrated, for lack of a better word, by a faction that believes modern, born shifters are threatened by those that don’t fit their criteria.” His lips thinned. “After Rayne deliberately got caught, I uncovered strong circumstantial evidence they’ve been betraying ‘impure’ shifters to the auction-house hunters to get them out of the gene pool.”
Rayne’s expression hardened. “Impure, as in changed? Mythics? Latents?”
Brooker’s expression turned sour. “Yes, plus those with too much free magic, which I take to mean, more free magic than they have. Even humans with shifter-mate potential.”
Arvik raised an eyebrow. “That would explain the high percentage of shifters being offered.” He’d wondered about that.
“Let me guess.” Rayne’s expression hardened. “One of them is Smith, also known as Lingram.”
“Yes.” Brooker focused on Arvik. “Any idea why he went after you?”
Arvik shrugged. “Opportunity, maybe. I think he was improvising after his original plan failed.” He debated mentioning the dart still in his possession, but decided he wanted a sample of its contents first. The magic felt familiar.
Rayne slathered more sour cream on her baked potato. “What about Wong?” She tilted her head toward Arvik. “When she accused him of bespelling me, she complained to Myelle that I’m an ‘unregistered’ mythic.”
Brooker made a disgusted sound. “She doesn’t want to kill you, she wants to count you. She leads an international committee that advocates for a formal census and registration of all shifters, especially the rarities. They also want cross-genomic samples.”
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