Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 13
A woman passes by me, a cordial smile on her lips as I step out of the way for her and her portly dog to walk by. I paste one on as well and take a look at my surroundings. I'm not sure of my location but dread the thought of calling Atticus to come to fetch me.
As if galvanized by my thoughts, the streetlights begin to flicker on. Each dark steel post boasts three orbs, and their warm glow makes the street look calm and enchanting. I relinquish my worries in a long-winded sigh and pull out my phone. The map app kindly shows me I'm a little less than a mile from downtown.
I stride onward. My pace matching that of the passersby I cross. Our intent is all the same: to be out of the cold.
Halfway into my expedition, I'm drawn back to my somewhat rushed pace. I'm not usually one to hurry my wintertime strolls, which begged the question of why I'm driving forward at such a speed.
A frown settles over my brow and tilts my lips downward. The wolf inside me takes note and draws back its ears as its hackles rise in cautious warning.
Something is off.
A twinge of doubt accompanies the goose bumps that run along my arms and chest. Tucking my coat around me tighter, I cast surreptitious looks over either shoulder. The wolf is still on edge, and my heightened senses agree. But where is the threat?
I continue walking so as not to draw attention to myself while I keep my lycan senses on high alert. No definable scents catch on the strong wind attempting to blow me off course. I cast my frown to the sky and cringe at the incoming grim clouds that encroach upon the last rays of the sun.
A short scan up ahead reveals a more concentrated population of shoppers and people milling about. The first batch of local shops just behind them.
Good. Because I now know precisely what provoked my current state: a wolf. And if I had to place my bets on what pack it belonged to, I'd go with my gut and say not the Adolphus pack. Its gaze is too penetrating and heavy, pinned as it is between my shoulder blades.
My stride lengthens.
By the time I reach the outskirts of what is considered downtown, most of the foot traffic I spied earlier is gone. The street is vacant except for two girls who walk on the opposite sidewalk. They huddle close together, then break apart with raucous laughter that bleats down the deserted street. The two are quick to link arms once again as their laughter dies off on the wind.
Then, there is the wolf.
He appears from nowhere. One instant my path is clear. The next he fills the space with his larger-than-life frame. His outfit is inconspicuous—leather jacket, scarf, skull cap, and dark wash jeans. They do nothing to lessen the severity of his size or features. A large Roman nose, its slopping curve heavily scarred and eyes framed with dark circles beneath them.
The stranger's full lips are drawn into a flat line, and his unnaturally dark eyes are half covered by the harsh tilt of his thick eyebrows. I stop in my tracks, picking up the flecks of gold teeming from his glare. My earlier assumption is correct. This wolf is not part of the Adolphus pack.
But this isn't the wolf whose eyes were on my back.
Pinpricks dot up my calves and thighs before converging up my back and down my arms. The pair of eyes between my shoulder blades remains steadfast.
One on one, my odds are better. Two on one, I will need to play it safer and smarter. If I can just get someplace—
"Well, well, what do we have here?" A seedy male voice rumbles from behind me. I stiffen in response, unwilling to turn around and take my eyes off the wolf still several feet in front of me. "Out all by your lonesome, little wolf?"
His footsteps near, until I have no choice but to turn and face him. He's young. Eighteen. Maybe nineteen. He's too young to have such menace in his voice or cruelty in his goading smile.
"What do you say we have a chat someplace quiet?" Unmistakable gold flashes like lightning in the younger one's eyes.
"Who are you?" I demand, keeping my voice firm and low, while I inch back a step. The boy grins widely.
"My name isn't that important," he says. I ready to retort, but a movement from my peripheral vision catches my eye. Across the street and leaning against a lamppost is another towering male. He is tall and thin—wiry, with dirty blond hair that falls in knotted waves to his shoulders. A gust of wind tosses his hair across his face, but his focus on us doesn't waver.
Three wolves to one....
"But you might know the name of my pack," the youth continues.
My odds might as well be nonexistent.
Inside me, I reach for what pack bonds I have with the Adolphus pack but find the pathways somehow blocked. My eyes flick back to the boy as I hide my spike of fear. His smile promises violence, one that I am solely unprepared to meet. I was not been raised to fight. To misdirect and deceive with half-truths, yes.
To be paraded and play hostess, yes.
To risk myself or family honor, never.
I'm sure they can hear the wild canter of my heartbeat. "The Wselfwulf pack."
"Very good, Mrs. Hayes." I flinch at the use of my new name. "Our car is parked a couple of streets back. Why don't you come with us so we can have that chat?"
"No."
My curt response garners a frown from the youth. He takes a step forward, invading my personal space. "It wasn't a request."
"You're not ranked nearly high enough in the Wselfwulf to try and order me around. Only an alpha's will can trump my own," I snarl quietly back, my body angling toward the corner of the street and inadvertently to the wolf in the leather jacket.
There is no place for me to run that is unobstructed by the Wselfwulf lycans unless I count the small alleyway at my back. My heart continues to hammer hard against my chest, thundering in my ears as I stare down the self-imposed leader of their triage.
"Not even two weeks into their precious pack and you've adopted their willful arrogance," he spits, the gold seeping back into his eyes.
"How did you make it past the border?"
He arches a brow at my tone, leaning back on the heels of his feet as he considers me with a growing sneer. "Arrogant and ignorant. You truly are an Adolphus bitch."
"How, Wselfwulf?"
"The crystal was compromised months ago," he says, walking around me in a circle and lingering at my back where I am most vulnerable. I stand my ground, unwilling to bend. "Broken crystal equals broken border."
He stops in front of me once more, his hands stuffed into his coat's pockets. The smile he wears is one of relaxed confidence. It's meant to make me falter, but my experience with men and women who wear the same self-assurance is vast, and I know that kind of bluster happens to be one of their greatest weaknesses.
The boy casts a lazy look over his shoulder at the third wolf still loitering across the street. As his mouth opens to call something out, I take my chance and run.
Overconfident fool.
I flee down the skinny alley, with both elbows and hips bumping into the brick walls on either side of me and random garbage cans. A foul curse follows my dramatic exit. The sound of feet in swift pursuit matches the cadence of my own. Almost.
With each obstacle I maneuver past with nimble footwork, my arm thrusts out to knock them behind me and clog the alleyway. The clatter ricochets off the rough red stone, but it's the lycans’ heavy curses and my harried breath that sounds like bombs in my ears.
The alleyway ends as it meets another. I hang a tight left to catapult myself down the next lane, only to run face-first into a different type of wall, one made of muscle and wearing the face of the devil. The leather-clad lycan stares down at me impassively as I stumble back, arms windmilling when I teeter back a step too far.
His hands strike like vipers, his fingers stealing around my upper arms before I can stop him. I hiss in anger, but even that is cut short by the massive man.
No sooner does my breath leave me then I am thrust back against the brick wall. My body is racked with pain as my head bounces off the stone with a dull thud. The lycan removes his hands from my arms, only to ram his forearm against my chest and lock the other around my neck. His fingers squeeze the delicate column almost tenderly.
I stare at him wide-eyed, my hands reaching up to claw at his wrist and fingers to loosen their hold. He stares back with the same impassive regard. There is nothing in his dark eyes. He's more beast than man, I realize hazily.
"Did you really think you could outrun us?"
I turn my gaze reluctantly back toward the boy who plays at being a man. "She-wolves are far lighter on their feet than their male counterparts," I say calmly, ceasing my attempts against my attacker. I will not beat him.
Why I don an act of composure, I'm not entirely sure. Can it be my years in the Blanc pack proving useful? How many times over the years has my position in the pack been challenged and questioned? The women of the Blanc pack didn't stoop to brawls to earn their rank. They manipulated and schemed. They maneuvered one another into impossible scenarios, forcing the other to concede to their will and command.
This is just another game of chicken, I tell myself and force myself to relax further against the brute’s hold. The last lycan joins us. I can smell him on the wind that passes through. A mixture of tobacco and lead and earth. The one who holds me, with his severe haircut and dead eyes, is no doubt the most significant physical threat I face, but the other is a close second.
How did the boy in front of me gain rank over them?
The boy, with his pretty brown hair, spiked up stylishly, leans forward. His chocolate eyes are filled with loathing.
"We'll keep this short," he promises, a pocketknife appearing in his hand. He twirls it between his fingers before gripping it securely and bringing it to my cheek. I stiffen. My wolf barrels to the surface of my mind with a vicious growl as my eyes bleed to gold. How dare—
"Tell your alpha we've been counting. We know he's been adding to his numbers. Growing the pack." He spits out the last sentence as if his rage isn't palpable enough. The wolf blocking the other entrance lets out an agreeing growl, but the one holding me remains impassive as ever.
"Tell him yourself," I snap back.
The boy chuckles and presses the knife into my skin. It cuts as he does, and the scent of my blood overpowers all others in the alley.
"Tell him he's not the only one." The chirp of a cell phone saves me from any further taunting and message-bearing. With a scowl and sigh, the boy in front of me answers his phone. "What?" he asks, his voice cracking like a whip.
"Head out," a voice rumbles from the other end, and then the line goes dead.
"Consider yourself lucky." I'm told as the blade retreats from my flesh. "Move out. Company is on its way."
I don't witness the third lycan leaving, but his quick exit echoes in my ear. The boy in front follows suit, darting down the same direction as the third. The giant, however, remains.
His fingers curl around my neck, squeezing with practiced ease. I hit and claw at his offending arm once more as my eyes well with tears. It's of little use. The lycan inches me into the air, letting my toes scrap the icy ground beneath us, and then I am slammed back against the brick wall.
Stars burst before my eyes at the impact, but at least the hand about my neck is gone. I crumble to the ground, and my knees smash into the cement as I gulp in the cold winter air. A chill permeates my body, and by the time I have the good sense to scan my surroundings to better see what direction they fled, I am the only one left in sight.
But not for long.
What little of the Adolphus pack bonds tie to me are filled with adrenaline and one burning torch of fear. Why I have been unable to feel any of this before is a mystery to me, but it doesn't matter. My eyes stop on the figure of a man at the other end of the narrow alley, and my stomach gives a nervous flutter as my heart bursts with gratitude. Atticus is here.
++
"I'm fine," I try insisting for the hundredth time. The cut on my cheek is mended thanks to my lycan healing. The only evidence of the assault is a light pinkness to my left cheek that is not mirrored by the other.
"They attacked you," Atticus seethes.
He’s paced the alpha's study for the past ten minutes, while said alpha leans stoically against his desk, his arms folded over his chest. The expression on his face is unreadable, but being so near to him I can feel his emotions clear as day through the pack bonds.
Xander is furious, but his stout anger is directed mostly at himself.
"It was just a scratch."
Atticus stops in his tracks and pins me with a mutinous glare. "And the bruises around your neck? The scratches on your back? There's still blood in your hair!"
Unconsciously, my fingers pat the back of my head. The matting there is less than comforting, but the skin is healed, as have the far more superficial scratches on my back, thanks to the protective barrier of my coat and clothing. My neck, on the other hand, still holds the impression of the beastly lycan's touch, though it fades with each passing minute.
"They could have done far worse, Atticus," I tell him plainly, ignoring the angry growl that tumbles past his lips. He turns his growl to the floor, unable to direct his full anger at me in my state. My fingers curl into fists at my side, and I step forward in his direction. "But they didn't. I'll be completely healed within the hour, so we should stop focusing on what they did to me and onto other things."
"Like what?"
I straighten my spine and flick my gaze to the alpha. "Like how they were able to cross your magical border in the first place. And why I couldn't signal for help using the pack bonds."
"It was a coordinated attack." Xander rolls his shoulders back. Before he continues on, he pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. As both hand and shoulders fall, he meets my gaze again. With Xander's composure back in place and on display, I find my own soon after. Even Atticus releases a short sigh of relief with the alpha taking charge.
Xander gives us each a short nod. "Ever since the attack at the end of summer, when the Wardens of Starlight broke the crystal, we've encountered tears in the border. They're not easy to find, and we keep a tight patrol to monitor the shifting openings—"
"Shifting openings?" I interrupt as my mouth falls open. "They move?"
Xander responds with a much curter nod before going on. "They do. The Trinity Coven is working on making them stationary and mending the Crystal of Dan Furth, but the process has been... limited, even with Luna providing extra amplification to the crystals remaining power. As for why you were unable to access the pack bonds, it seems the Wselfwulfs have made friends with magical means."
"Witches?" Atticus asks, finally finding his voice. I glance at him, but his eyes are steady on Xander, as if by looking at the alpha alone he can anchor his chaotic emotions.
My own turbulent feelings are pushed far away. I'm unwilling to show how shaken the ordeal left me, and how the new information equally does so.
"Maybe sorcerers." The two men share a meaningful look before the alpha breaks their standoff with a heavy-laden sigh. "I'll send word to Irina, see what she might know. After all, Vrana and his family have a history with meddling with the Wselfwulfs."
Atticus softens his posture in a gesture of submission. "That's in the past, man. Things have changed. Even if they don't know anything, I'm sure they'll help us poke around more discreetly than even Ryatt can manage with all his technology."
"And what about their message? They said they've been watching you. The Wselfwulfs are counting how many new wolves you let into your pack," I say. I shift my weight from one foot to the other when I get no immediate response. "They're growing their pack in response to yours," I continue, my voice rising. "That can only mean they're gearing up for something. Something big, Xander. What are we—"
Xander raises a hand. His face is a blank canvas, and I swallow with unease at the hardness in his eyes. Submissively, I duck my chin to my chest and avert my eyes to the floor.
"We'll do better," he says. "An incident like this won't happen again. I swear it."
I nod in response, still unable to meet the alpha's eye. "I only want to do what's best for the pack."
"I know," Xander laments, his voice smoothing out to something low and amiable. I chance a glance at him and find his shoulders hunched forward with a beseeching look in his eyes as he gazes back at me. "You're the beta. Those instincts to protect and care run high in your blood. But it's my job to take care of you too. I want you to take it easy the rest of the day, all right? We'll regroup in a day or two. Keep a low profile until then."
Atticus crosses the room to stand next to me at Xander's orders. His palm finds the middle of my back, rubbing small circles of comfort there that loosens the tension knotted between my shoulders.
"We will," he answers for us. Then we say our goodbyes and go.
++
I don't know what to say to Atticus that hasn't been hashed out a dozen times at the alpha's house, but it seems, for once, Atticus is of the same mind. We say not a word to each other as we make the journey home, though at times I swear I catch his mouth opening to say something, out from the corner of my eye. Nothing comes out until we are safely inside the house.
"Do you need anything?" he asks, a frown heavy on his brow, his blue eyes shining with concern.
"I think I might lie down for a bit," I say, turning my back to him and shrugging off my coat. Exhaustion hits me like a ton of bricks as soon as my coat rests on its hook. "Actually, I might take a shower. A very long and hot shower. I really want this blood out of my hair."
When I turn back to him, a touch of hurt is added to his expression. He shuffles back to allow me access to the staircase. "I'll make dinner?"
I spare him a thankful smile. "That would be wonderful. Thank you."
For a moment we linger, unsure how to proceed though we've defined our next moves. I notice this happening more between us. This lingering, it's as if we can't help but fall into each other's orbits again and again.
