Amarok (10 page)

She hesitated at the door and glanced at the wolf. A chilling thought raced into her brain. Maybe she would have to kill—if it meant saving Amarok. Emma unlocked the door, and the wounded man shoved it open, grabbing her leg.

A loud bang broke through the haze in Amarok’s head. He’d heard his master’s voice ordering the girl to let him in, and felt the air rush from his lungs as Weasel Tail squeezed the totem. Spots of lights danced in front of eyes; pain shot into his jaw. His heart sank. Even in the clutches of death he couldn’t escape the yoke of slavery. Then the pressure released and his lungs expanded. Maybe Weasel Tail had finally died. He could only hope. His head grew fuzzy as his body convulsed in shock.

Drums beat somewhere in the distance and he felt his spirit rising. In a mist, he saw a vision of his native ancestors hunting caribou and elk. A light filled with love glowed in the sky above him. Amarok tipped his nose to the radiant beam and sang. He sang for all the years he’d lost, and he sang of imprisonment, and of sorrow. Most of all he sang for the girl, for her life to be blessed and filled with his love, to carry with her for all time.

The ancient warriors drifted into nothingness as the light faded and the pain returned—horrible pain stronger than Suka’s blows. Amarok felt his spirit fall, jolting back into his body. He opened his eyes and rubbed his aching head. Hands? He had hands? He closed his eyes and opened them again. He examined the back of his hand as if it were a rare jewel. A century had passed since he’d seen his true form. Amarok stared down at his human flesh in wonder. Pain seized his chest. He struggled to take another breath. At least in death, the girl would see that he was really a man and not just a wolf. If she hurried, maybe he could manage to find the strength to say goodbye, and the courage to tell her he loved her.

Emma kicked loose from the man’s grasp and fell hard to her knees. He growled, inches from her face, his breath heavy with the rusty scent of blood. She scuttled backward and got to her feet just as he reached for her again, snatching her pant leg. She jerked away, struck him with the butt of the gun and he rolled, lifeless, onto his back. His eyes fixed in a death stare, gawking up at the sky. Emma glared at him, worn out, drained, not an ounce of emotion left—except anger. She ripped the totem from his hand and hurried inside.

Shoving the door closed, she leaned her shoulder into it to force his body out of the way and flipped the deadbolt. Emma sagged against the doorframe and examined the intricately carved item in her hand. It appeared to be ivory, yellowed with age, in the shape of a wolf. She glanced at Amarok. Her mouth flew open, the object falling from her grasp, forgotten.

A teenage boy lay curled under the blanket near the fire, his back to her and his lean body riddled with cuts and scrapes. His long, black hair fanned across the floor behind him.

What had he done with Amarok? Emma held the rifle in front of her and crept closer. “Who are you?”

The boy didn’t answer. Whoever he was, he was badly injured. He lay unresponsive and she knelt next to him, but not too close, in case it was a trick. His wounds—his wounds were the exact same injuries Amarok had suffered. Looking at the bandages, she recognized her own handiwork. What was going on? None of this made any sense.

“Who are you?” Emma whispered.

He turned his head slowly, as if even slight movement pained him, and peered at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Amarok.”

Emma blinked in stunned silence and the boy inhaled a raspy breath.

“What did you say?”

“I am Amarok. The name you gave me…”

The boy’s eyes closed and he lay very still. Her mind raced. How could he know the name she’d given the wolf? Could it be a coincidence? Or was it really Amarok? Emma shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible. The world swam around her. She was tired. She was hungry. She needed a shower. Shit, she was losing her mind. Her throat locked up. Emma struggled for air, closing her eyes to calm her frayed nerves. Finally, her muscles relaxed, and she inhaled one soothing breath after another. She stumbled to a chair, and sat down heavily as she spied a discarded wolf pelt lying next to the boy. There was no question. Somehow this teenager was the wolf she had grown to care so much about, and now he lay in the throes of death. If magic had created him, then somehow, maybe magic could save him.

She got onto her knees and cradled his head in her lap. “Tell me how I can help you.”

His eyes remained closed. She studied his face. He wasn’t much older than she was, although his skin was a sickly gray. The boy’s lips parted. “Put the totem around your neck. It will buy me a little time.”

Emma stretched out her fingers and snatched the totem from the floor. She slipped it around her neck and the boy’s ashen color warmed to an acorn brown.

“Now what?” she asked.

“There is nothing else you can do. My wounds are too great. But would you do me one favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

A spasm of pain appeared to rack his body and he grabbed at his ribs. “I want to know your name. I want to carry it on my lips when I pass to the spirit world.”

Emma swallowed a lump in her throat. She could barely speak. “Emma,” she whispered.

The boy flashed a weak smile. “Such a pretty name. Almost as pretty as your heart.”

His breath rattled in his throat. Easing his head from her lap, Emma hurried to the sink for water. She dribbled the cool liquid between his swollen lips.

“Thank you,” he said, weakly.

“It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean for the water. For letting me be your protector. Now, when I hear the drums call, I can go knowing my life had a purpose. It will be a good death.”

Emma choked back tears. “No, please, don’t talk like that. You already look better.”

“Don’t be sad, Emma. I’ve lived many years, but now my wounds are too deep. It is my time.”

“There has to be something I can do. I can go for help.”

“No. There is only one way to save me, and it’s impossible.”

“What is it? Please tell me.”

His eyes escaped her gaze and he grew quiet.

“Please!” Emma begged. “Tell me.”

“I won’t risk your life for mine. I’ve lived longer than any man should. My family is gone and it’s time for me to join them.”

“Tell me! Please, I have to know.”

“Long ago,” he said. “My family settled on land cursed by an ice-age shaman named Milak, an evil creature with an unyielding lust for destruction. He killed my folks and turned me into a wolf, a slave for the Ryan family. Weasel Tail was the last of them.”

Emma cringed. “What a perfect name for that creep.”

“There must be two totems recovered in order to save me. The first you wear around your neck. The second is hidden somewhere in the cursed land.” Amarok coughed, clutched his sides and then continued. “Milak still haunts the valley and will transform anyone who dares to trespass. That is why I cannot risk your life.”

“How much time do you have left?”

“One day, maybe two. The totem you wear will afford me more time.”

“Where exactly is the other totem? Do you know?”

“Yes. It’s somewhere on the grounds overlooking my parents’ homestead.”

“What does the other totem look like?”

“It’s a twin to the one you wear, made from the tusk of a woolly mammoth. One controls my form; the other my life essence.”

Emma fingered the totem, her distress so great that the item’s tremendous age failed to rouse her interest. She got to her feet. “How far is it?”

Amarok pressed his lips together. “I don’t want you to go.”

“Please! Tell me!”

“I am supposed to protect you,” he said, his smile weak. “I cannot ask this of you, the danger is too great. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being enslaved by that creature. It is a hell beyond your imagining, a hell that no man, woman, or beast deserves.” He took another gasping breath. “And there are wicked animals that guard that place, always on the lookout to do Milak’s bidding.”

“Look, I’m going to search for it either way. So you better tell me before we run out of time.”

Amarok looked away.

“I have no one, except you.” Emma’s voice cracked. “My family is gone, too, and you’re all I have left, so let me at least try. Please.”

He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated.

“Just tell me. If you don’t, I’m going to start walking and hope I somehow find it. Either way, I’m going.”

“All right,” Amarok said. “I’ll tell you, but you have to listen close. This isn’t going to be easy. The quickest way is by kayak. There’s a river a quarter of a mile from here. You’ll see a trail. Follow the water downstream until you see an old cabin come into view. It’s the only one near here that can be seen from the river. Promise me, Emma, that you won’t take off that totem.”

“I promise. I know that it gives you life as long as I wear it.”

“No, that’s not the only reason. If you wear it when you cross into the cursed land, Milak will not know you are there. He’ll sense its presence and think it’s Weasel Tail… unless he sees you. Take great care to stay out of his sight.” He lifted his head, taking all his strength. “Please Emma, come back. Even if you don’t save me, I want to see you again before I go… I don’t want to die alone.”

His eyes glistened with an intensity that made Emma’s pulse race. His face was carved with high cheekbones and smooth skin and she found her eyes drawn to his full lips. Unconsciously, she touched her fingers to her mouth, wondering what his would feel like. She thought of how protected he’d made her feel when he stood in wolf form, defending her. She couldn’t help but wonder how much nicer it would feel to have him offer that same protection with his human arms wrapped around her.

He touched her face and Emma closed her eyes.

“What you told me about…about your mother. It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. His fingers traced her chin and she tilted her head into his touch until she felt her cheek cupped in his hand. She opened her eyes in surprise, fighting back tears. She’d told no one how she felt—except the wolf. Now she knew for certain that all of it was true. He
was
Amarok. He struggled to raise his upper body, reaching out to hold her, but his eyes filled with agony. Breaking the moment, Emma helped him lie back down on the floor.

“Let me get you a pillow and a warmer blanket. I’m going to leave some water where you can reach it.” Emma gathered the items and placed the pillow under his head. She put the water near his hand and pulled the blankets up under his chin. She stroked his arm, and the feel of the smooth muscles made her heart leap.

He gazed at her in such a way that she felt a tightening in her chest, painful and thrilling at the same time. The way he looked at her with those piercing eyes pinned her to her spot. His eyes fluttered, and then closed. He let out a great sigh and slid into a fitful sleep.

Amarok lay in the silence, savoring the sound of Emma’s name. Such a lovely name—it suited her. Her kindness had been a light, piercing the darkness of his weary soul, and her beautiful face shone like a dream in the stark reality of his existence. Would he ever see her again? His hand went to his cheek where she’d left a tender kiss before leaving. He imagined he could still feel the warmth of her touch and it thawed the frozen core that his heart had become. Her gentle caress had been the first touch he’d received in nearly a century that hadn’t been harsh and brutal, and it was like a balm for wounds that ran deeper than his skin.