by L. L. Raand
“Would you tell your Liege the Prima of the Timberwolf Pack seeks an audience,” Drake said.
“That won’t be necessary,” a cool, smoky voice said from the depths of the darkness beyond the bar. Michel whisked into view, a knife’s edge carved from obsidian—black hair, slender body draped in black silk shirt and pants. Katya, blond hair loose and tousled, stood by Michel’s side, one arm draped around her waist. Her eyes glowed gold and a hint of wild wolf prowled beneath her skin.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Drake said, “but it couldn’t wait until this evening.”
“You are always welcome here at any time,” Michel said.
“How is it you’re awake?” Drake asked. Michel must be ancient indeed and very powerful to be awake during the day.
The blonde behind the bar gasped.
“Have I breached some protocol?” Drake asked. “My apologies, then.”
Michel laughed softly and ran her fingers through Katya’s hair. Katya growled and rubbed against her. Sex pheromones clouded the air. Katya was in heat. Drake wasn’t certain how the mate bond between a Were and a Vampire would express itself, but they were mated without any question and she had no doubt Michel would fulfill Katya’s needs. Beside her, Jace and Jonathan whined and shuffled restlessly, responding to Katya’s call.
“Wait outside,” Drake said.
Jace’s eyes widened but she did not protest. She and Jonathan backed away and slipped outside. Beside her Misha was still calm. A bonded Were would not respond to another Were in heat.
“I’ll sleep later,” Michel said by way of explanation. She smiled at Katya. “Much later.”
“We won’t keep you.”
“How may I be of service?”
“We’re looking for Torren,” Drake said.
“And you need to find a Faerie Gate.”
“Yes.”
Michel stroked down Katya’s arm and cupped her breast. Katya turned into her body, straddling her hip and rubbing against her.
“I don’t know where it is,” Michel said, “but I suspect there is one nearby. When Torren escaped, we tracked her to the river before losing her.”
“If you would give us leave to explore the club, we might be able to track her scent.”
Michel hissed as Katya scraped her claws down the center of her chest, drawing blood. Katya nuzzled between Michel’s breasts and slowly licked the rapidly healing cuts. Flame eclipsed Michel’s eyes and her incisors glinted. “You have my leave.”
“Thank you.” Drake waited until Michel and Katya disappeared before nodding to Misha. “Time to hunt.”
Chapter Five
A sharp scrape of heavy wood on stone, a faint glimmer of light, and the scent of Were spurred Tamara’s wolf to attention. Footsteps approached her cell, and she steeled herself. They called it a holding cell, but it was a prison. What else could it be with silver-impregnated bars that kept her confined for days where she couldn’t smell the forest, couldn’t see the moon at night, couldn’t feel the heat of sunshine at midday? They’d fed her, hadn’t beaten her, no one had taken claw or tooth to her, but she’d been chained all the same. She might as well have been tortured. Chaining a wolf was worse than death.
Something was happening—the air vibrated with pheromones that had her belly tight and her skin slick. She wanted to fight or tangle or run. Anything to let her wolf breathe again. She hated being locked away from the Pack. She didn’t know if a battle was coming or if the Pack was going hunting. All she knew was she didn’t want to be alone and had no one she could trust. The last visitor had been the Alpha, and she still burned with shame that she had cowered in front of her. She’d thought she’d known what to expect when she confronted the Timberwolf Alpha, but Sylvan was nothing like Bernardo. He ruled with violence and fear. Sylvan didn’t shout or debase or humiliate. She didn’t beat or mount or dominate. She’d just stood outside the bars, her arms crossed, her legs spread, her wolf-touched eyes unwavering, and power beyond reckoning had lashed through the air and driven Tamara to her knees.
Sylvan exuded more force at rest than Bernardo had ever wielded with his weight upon her back. She shuddered, remembering his punishments. She’d answered the Alpha’s questions, giving her the same answers she had given the Prima earlier. She’d given the truth because the Alpha asked for it and obedience to the Alpha ran bone deep, soul deep. Besides, she owed no allegiance to the Alpha who had abandoned them.
The guard appeared, the one named Beryl, the one who usually growled at the sight of her. Gray was with him, his expression unreadable.
“Today’s your lucky day,” Beryl said and unlocked the cage. He swung the door wide and beckoned. “Out.”
Tamara looked from him to Gray, searching for the trick. If she walked out, would they club her to the ground and throw her back inside?
After a second, Gray said, “Come on. The Alpha has released you.”
Slowly, Tamara rose, ignoring the stiffness in her cramped muscles. She strode forward, refusing to cower before these two. Still, she readied herself for a blow or a kick or a bite. None came.
“The Alpha has assigned you to sentrie duty, once you are declared ready,” Gray went on, walking toward the light at the end of the hall. Stairs appeared out of the gloom.
“What does that mean—ready?”
“Fit to fight with the Timberwolves,” Beryl said. “Assuming you can be trusted.”
“We should eat,” Gray said. “You can’t start training until you’re at full strength, and your wounds are still healing.”
“I’m not hungry. And I’m fine.”
Gray snorted. “A wolf is always hungry. And your ribs are showing.”
Tamara followed up the stairs, alert to Beryl behind her, waiting for the prod of a gun barrel in her back. Beryl never touched her. When she stepped out into full daylight, her wolf prepared to run. She was free. This might be her only chance.
The Compound was huge, easily three times the size of the Blackpaw camp. The grounds were clean, the buildings in good repair, and dozens of Weres moved in orderly fashion everywhere—patrolling, training, performing routine maintenance chores. The high stockade fence was two hundred yards away. Even in pelt she’d have to be very fast to reach it before one of the guards stopped her. By the time she shifted and eluded Gray, some bigger, stronger wolf would be on her.
“The Alpha killed your Alpha,” Gray said. “You are a Timberwolf now. There’s nowhere to run.”
“Just because your Alpha—”
“The Alpha.” Gray’s voice vibrated with pride.
The sense of unity and community was heavy in the air. This Compound radiated none of the fear and anxiety that always simmered beneath the surface in the Blackpaw camp. Everyone, from the captains to the most submissive wolf, lived in fear. But they were her Pack, not these strangers.
“Where are the other Blackpaws?” Tamara said.
“Some are at your old camp, I guess. You’re the only one here right now.” Gray angled toward a long low building from which emanated the sounds and scents of food being devoured by scores of Weres. Tamara’s stomach hollowed and she kept pace. With nowhere else to go, regaining her strength at least gave her a purpose. She’d eat and train and when the time came, she’d escape. Halfway across the yard, three young Weres, two females and a male, approached them. The three spread out, one headed for her, two angling in on either side.
Tamara stiffened and prepared to fight. She was used to fighting—fighting for her position, fighting for food, fighting for a place to sleep, fighting not to tangle when she didn’t want to. Gray slowed and a rush of disappointment burned in Tamara’s belly. Gray was giving her up to them, and why shouldn’t she? She was not a friend or protector. She was just another form of jailer.
“Where’d you find the cur, Gray?” the taller female asked. Her short blond hair framed a hard-edged face with green eyes the color of summer grass. Her muscular shoulders were broad, her torso thick. A dominant fem
ale and the leader of the trio.
Tamara eyed the female and growled softly. Her canines and claws lengthened.
“Tamara is in sentrie training,” Gray said, casually bumping the smaller female aside and easing up to Tamara’s left flank, blocking her from attack. “We’re busy.”
“Oh yeah?” The male, a heavyset redhead with a scar across one cheek, narrowed his eyes. “The whelp is looking for a fight.”
The blonde bumped her shoulder against Tamara’s, hard enough to jostle her but not to knock her down. “She looks too small to do any damage.”
Testing. Trying to draw a challenge.
Tamara growled and swung her head around, meeting the green-eyed gaze of the female. She wouldn’t show her belly, not until she couldn’t draw enough breath to stand. “Touch me again and you’ll find out.”
“I’m ready whenever you are.” The female grinned and the hardness disappeared from her eyes for a second. “But maybe you’d rather tangle than fight.”
The other two Weres laughed. The blonde let her canines show. She was strong, her call potent.
“Leave her alone, Mira,” Gray said.
“Ooh,” the smaller female crooned. “Maybe Gray has already claimed her. Finally found someone you want, Gray?”
“No one claims me,” Tamara said, pushing into the face of the taunting female. The female met her gaze for a second, then dropped her chin and backed away. One less to worry about.
“She talks like a dominant,” the male said, leaning over to sniff her neck. “Smells like one too, but she”—he licked her throat—“doesn’t taste like one.”
Tamara straight-armed him in the chest, knocking him back a step. She followed close on her strike until her chest touched his. “Why don’t you try me and find out?”
He was taller than her by two inches, and his blue eyes danced with merriment. “I heard all the Blackpaws were submissives, but you aren’t, are you?”
“What do you think?” She’d played this game a thousand times before, from the moment she’d reached adolescence and had to find her place in the hierarchy. She’d fought almost every other adolescent and quite a few adults to prove she was worthy of being a warrior. Warrior rank automatically conferred dominant status, and no one questioned her. She’d kept her secret. And now she’d have to do it again.
Gray stepped up beside Tamara. The others were trying to get Tamara to fight, to force her down the hierarchy, or to get her to tangle. They’d do it to any new sentrie recruit. It had been done to her. But Mira was one of the strongest females in her squadron, and she didn’t want to see Tamara under her. The image of Tamara on her back and Mira between her legs made her belly burn. “You’re being a jerk, Aaron.”
Mira pressed shoulder to shoulder with Aaron, her canines gleaming against her lower lip. Dominance rolled off her in thick waves, overpowering Aaron’s scent and that of the other female. She smiled at Tamara, golden pelt rippling in the center of her stomach in the gap between her shirt and pants. “She’s not for you, Aaron.”
Tamara’s clitoris stirred, responding to Mira’s call. She lifted her chin. “No.”
A growl rose from the female’s throat, a challenge and an invitation. Tamara’s clitoris lengthened, the natural response to the demands of a dominant wolf. She’d fight her before she’d submit to her, no matter what her body urged. She knew what happened when she submitted—she’d seen how the submissives were treated. She held the female’s gaze while pain lanced through her. Keeping her head up while fighting the building heat in her loins was like a thousand hot irons piercing her flesh. She didn’t want her, but she’d been caged so long, kept down so long. Her wolf needed release.
Gray pushed between them. “Leave her alone. She’s a Blackpaw warrior and too dominant for you to roll.”
Tamara shuddered at the clash of power. Gray and Mira were of the same size and age, but Gray’s power had a force like that of a much older Were. Her call was a knife buried in Tamara’s depths.
Mira snarled and backed up a step. “She said no, but I can feel her need.”
“If she doesn’t want you, she doesn’t want you.”
“So she’s got a defender.” Mira laughed. “We’ll see how long that lasts. Look me up when you’re ready for a real tangle, Blackpaw.”
The three sauntered off, leaving Gray and Tamara standing alone.
“I don’t need you to defend me,” Tamara said, fighting Gray’s power. Her skin rippled with the press of pelt and her canines throbbed. She wanted her but she’d want any dominant right now.
“You better get used to being challenged. You’re new, you know how it is.”
“Oh, I know. And like I said, I don’t need you to defend me.”
“The Alpha said I was responsible for seeing you were trained. I need you in one piece for that. That’s all it is.” Gray’s lip curled. “Unless you’d rather roll over for Mira.”
Gray stalked away and Tamara hung back until she had control of her wolf. When the pressure in her loins eased, she followed. She had no choice, at least not yet.
*
Cars, tractor-trailers, and construction trucks sped by on the highway outside Nocturne as Drake jogged along with Misha loping beside her. No one in the passing vehicles paid any attention to a jogger with a big German shepherd or likely noticed how quickly they were running. Misha tracked along the river for half a mile and then sprinted across the highway during a break in traffic. Drake followed her into an alley between several deserted factories. Rubble, broken glass, and cracked bricks littered the uneven pavement. Here and there a vagrant huddled in a doorway, drawing their legs closer beneath them as if recognizing Misha was no ordinary dog. Now and then a car passed on a cross street, but none slowed. They made rapid time moving toward a bedraggled park that divided the industrial section from a working-class neighborhood of side-by-side nondescript row houses, flat faced and gray and as weary as their inhabitants.
At the edge of the park, Misha slowed and circled, whining softly in her throat.
Have you lost her? Drake asked.
I’m not sure. Her scent is confusing. Changing, somehow.
Drake looked around. A few more people occupied the streets. If Torren had come this way during daylight, she would have wanted to be invisible or at least blend in, in some way. Drake had no idea how the Master of the Hunt carried souls back to Faerie, but Torren wouldn’t have wanted to be seen on the streets in the form of a huge, leathery-skinned Hound with enormous claws and fangs as long as Drake’s forearm.
Does she have another animal to call?
Misha raised her head and sniffed. Her lips pulled back in a wolf facsimile of a grin. Hawk.
Drake grunted. Tracking a bird might prove to be impossible.
Misha circled excitedly. I can feel her in the air.
Of course. They were bonded and Misha was connected to all of Torren’s forms.
Go.
Misha trotted into the park with a determined air. Drake kept pace, moving deeper into a wooded section thick with undergrowth and crisscrossed with narrow paths where only the strongest of heart would venture even during daylight. Discarded refuse, broken needles, and used condoms decorated the ground. Wherever they were headed, it wasn’t any place one stumbled upon by accident.
Eventually, Misha slowed in front of two huge oaks whose trunks bent together twenty feet or so above the ground in a natural archway. The configuration wouldn’t be visible to anyone not looking up, and even if it was noticed, wouldn’t mean anything. But the space between the trunks and the entangled boughs above resembled a gateway.
Drake glanced at Misha. Do you sense anything?
Misha padded back and forth, sniffing the ground, the trunks of the trees, the air with an anxious whine reverberating in her chest. She shook her head.
If this was a Faerie Gate, Drake had no idea how to request access. Torren had said Weres passed into Faerie when the Fae bred with Weres to strengthen their bloodlines, but
she hadn’t explained how the Weres were chosen or if they ever returned Earthside. The Fae, Drake was learning, rarely answered a question or explained anything without leaving more questions.
Drake buried her fingers in the ruff behind Misha’s ears. If there was a way in, Misha would be the key. I’m going to let the Alpha know what we found. Reach out to Torren along your bond. She’ll know you are near.
Misha pressed close to Drake’s thigh while Drake dug her cell phone out of her cargo pants. She had no service and couldn’t even reach Sylvan’s number to leave voice mail. Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she opened herself wide to her connection to Sylvan. She could always feel her, no matter where they were. Sylvan had once told her their bond would reach beyond distance, but psychic communication was spatially limited. She couldn’t talk to her from this far away, but she might leave an impression. She wasn’t ready to quit. The Pack was under attack and the Fae might be able to identify their enemies.
She tightened her grip in Misha’s ruff. Let’s get up close to the space between the trees. Call to Torren. Let her know her mate has come. If the Gate is there, she’ll hear you.
Slowly, they stepped closer to the archway.
Nothing happened. Drake couldn’t sense anything different about the air a few inches in front of her or the ground beneath her feet. She sighed, out of ideas. “Let’s wait—”
Her vision blurred and she strode forward, although she was certain she hadn’t moved her feet. Misha growled. A light so sharp her brain recoiled surrounded her. Drake’s wolf struggled to resist as night descended and midnight carried her away.