Amarok (2 page)

“Please, help me!”

A sinister cackle echoed in the belly of the night.

The car’s headlights winked and faded out. Engulfed in darkness, Emma scrambled to roll the window up. It wouldn’t budge.
No, not now!

“Hello?”

Footsteps sounded at her side.

“Is someone there?”

Silence.

A heavy scent of booze polluted the air, astringent in her nostrils. Emma froze, her ears attuned to every sound.

A voice, low and threatening, carried on the wind. “I can smell your fear.”

She started to disconnect, to spiral away, to disappear from this moment where danger lurked.

“I can hear your heart beating.”

Emma’s head jerked up. A dark face hovered over her, like the moon’s evil twin.

A wooden club flashed.

The world exploded in brilliant pinpricks of light.

Friday, 5:00 a.m
.

Three winters had passed since his master had last taken a victim. The memory of her blood sang in his head and, unconsciously, he salivated. By the time they’d reached the cabin, her icy flesh had bled no more. Tok cringed, remembering his master’s anger at her death, and the beating he’d suffered for it.

The woman’s disappearance had brought strangers into the woods, men with badges and guns. He remembered the gunshots on the day he’d gotten too close, and the strange smells of oil and smoke which lingered in the air long after they’d gone. He recalled the night sky lit with flashing lights and flying machines, but the forest and snow had hidden him and his master well, and eventually the strangers had left and never returned. His enslaver had bided his time, waiting patiently until now to risk another kidnapping. Finding a woman alone and trapped in the woods provided the perfect opportunity.

Tok wanted to stop him, to lash out and tear him with his sharp fangs, but he knew it would do little good. Somewhere, hidden carefully away, the Ryan family possessed the totem that controlled him.

This particular master was much worse than the last. Young, resentful, and cruel, with a seething hatred for anyone he encountered on the trail. His nickname—Weasel Tail—came from the vermin tassels that decorated his sealskin boots, and it suited him well.

Tok sat on a frost heave, watching his master pull the young girl from the car. He’d need his rest for the long trip through the woods and up the steep mountain to the hateful place he called home. His stomach ached; he hadn’t eaten in two days. Thankfully, more snow would follow and slow the caribou. Hunting alone—without a pack to wear down his prey—was difficult. Maybe he’d sniff out a rabbit in a mossy den, or a juicy ptarmigan nesting in the snow.

Metal squealed and Tok’s scoop-like ears swiveled. Weasel Tail wrenched open the passenger side door and lifted the girl from the wreckage. Her arms dangled at her sides. Long thick hair, red as moss berries, swung below her shoulders. Her chin tilted upward. The moon peeked from behind the clouds and illuminated her smooth jaw line. She appeared young and thin. This worried him; if she wasn’t strong, she’d never survive. Had she been badly wounded in the crash? Perhaps not—he would’ve smelled more blood. His sensitive nose could detect it even a couple of miles away. The presence of the moon and the autumnal bite of the wind soothed his concern. That meant it was still early fall, though snow tumbled from the sky.

The past few nights, stars had shone with uncommon brilliance, a phenomenon that often meant the bitter north wind would bring winter whipping at their backs. With shorter days and colder nights, he’d noticed changes within the forest creatures, animals and plants preparing for a long, hard season. Squirrels chattered while they cut pinecones and stashed them in grass-lined caches, flocks of birds left for warmer climates and the plants of the tundra were already turning dormant. Maybe they’d have time to get the girl to shelter before it was too late.

Tok rose to his feet, sniffing at her long limp fingers, memorizing her scent. She smelled pleasant, like the cotton grass blooming across the tundra in the spring—lush nourishment for snow geese and caribou calves, a healing substance to soothe his aching belly when he chewed the mineral-rich stems.

Like all wolves, Tok could see in dim light, and what he saw made him uneasy. He didn’t like the way Weasel Tail eyed the girl. Tok peered into the ice fog. He remembered a cabin somewhere in this area, possibly just a few yards ahead. Maybe if he made enough noise, someone would come for her and interrupt his master’s terrible plan. He lowered his haunches, threw back his head and howled. His gully-deep voice resonated through the arctic dawn.

A hard boot to his ribs quickly shut him up. Pain seared into Tok’s chest. He whirled to sink his teeth into the man’s thigh, but his oxygen-starved lungs made him gasp for air instead. Weasel Tail growled, heaved the young girl up on his wide shoulder, and headed into the dark. Tok held his muzzle low and trotted to catch up, ignoring the burn in his ribcage. He didn’t want to lose sight of the girl. Maybe he could protect her—unlike the last one, who had died so quickly.

A polar wind blew across his ruff, carrying a musky scent that made him pause. He opened his jaws slightly, lifted his nose and tasted the air.
Needles of fear prickled his spine.
Danger.

Friday, 6:00 a.m
.

A blinding throb hammered Emma’s temples. She couldn’t open her eyes—not yet—easier to slip back into the haze. But as she sank into a sea of unconsciousness, her mother’s pale face rose from the murky depths, hands plastered against the driver’s side window, mouth open, eyes wide with fright. The air squeezed from Emma’s lungs. She let the water slide down her throat, drowning in the same river that’d cradled her mother in its chilly embrace. This was the price she deserved to pay for causing her mother’s death.

She jolted awake, gasping for breath. A chill stabbed deep into her bones like an ice pick. Someone carried her slung over a shoulder with a viselike grip on her legs.
Where am I?
She opened her mouth to speak, struggling to regain full consciousness.
Fight! Kick! Do something!
Cloaked figures slipped past.
Who are they? What do they want?
The blur in her eyes cleared and she saw the dark figures were trees.

How had she gotten here? Images flickered through her mind. The icy roads. The moose. The blurry outline of the steering wheel and the white glare of snow pressed against her headlights. She’d heard the crunch of footsteps and then someone,
something
, had hit her, until darkness swallowed all. Was it Stan? No it couldn’t be Stan, he’d be too drunk to carry her anywhere and he’d never beaten her unconscious—he’d never dared. She’d always fought back with such fury, biting, clawing, kicking—whatever it took to get him off her. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, sending a rush of blood throbbing into her ears. Emma lifted her head, the pain of the movement threatening to bring the darkness again. She kicked and pounded her fists on the wide back until the abductor slammed her to the ground in a heap.

A pair of buckskin-clad legs straddled her, cutting off any chance of escape. A man’s face, partially concealed behind a heavy hood, leaned in close.

“Who are you?” Emma demanded. “What do you want?”

He seized her bruised wrist, pain flashed, and a scream ripped from Emma’s throat. He drew back and slapped her hard, bringing tears to her eyes.

“Shut up!” he growled. “You’re hurtin’ my ears.”

The hood made of animal skins fell away and cold, dark eyes penetrated hers. Emma searched his rugged features, her face stinging from the slap.
Who is he?
A thick scar ran the entire length of one cheek and disappeared into a scruffy beard.

The dirt-caked edges of his mouth stretched into a sly smile. “You can fuss all you want. Ain’t nobody gonna save you.”

Emma wormed her way from between his legs, scrambling to her feet. Her shattered mind raced.
Run! Move!
She bolted for the tree line, but he lashed out, catching her ankle. She fell to the ground, frozen pine needles poking into her palms as she scrabbled upright. He grabbed her parka, hauled her backward, and caught her around the waist. Emma jabbed with her elbow, connecting with his throat. Wheezing, he smashed his fist into her side. Emma stopped struggling, mouth open, gasping for air. Waves of pain, as sharp and stunning as a blade through the ribs, stabbed at her insides. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, until the darkness washed over her.

Finally. Thank God. She would die.

Snatching her clear up off her feet, he shook her hard, forcing her back from the darkness. He whirled her around, clamping his arms around her. She sucked in what air she could, forcing her suffering limbs to move, kicking, punching, and twisting to be free, fighting with everything she had. He held her easily with one arm, whipped out a knife, and pressed it against her throat. The cold blade kissed her skin as he leaned in, growling in her ear. “Try running again and I’ll slice your ankles. Got it?”

She clutched her ribs and nodded, her vision blurry, her mind reeling. He pushed her away with a disgusted grunt and narrowed his gaze into the trees, scowling. He slipped two grimy fingertips into his mouth and let out a low whistle.

Emma caught vapor-like glimpses of a huge wolf weaving between trees and shrubs. The creature’s fur shone like sterling silver against a fresh layer of snowfall. A large leather pack burdened its back as it burst from the brush. The muscular rhythms in the wolf’s powerful neck and shoulders made its movements appear almost effortless. The creature circled, moving in closer, glaring at her with ferocious yellow eyes. Emma stared at the predator, her pulse quickening. Although it belonged to the man, the animal appeared wild, and she realized the weight of the stranger’s threat. If he didn’t slice her ankles, this creature was certainly capable of doing it, and any glimmer of hope she might’ve held withered under the harsh amber glare.

For a second the wolf’s eyes seemed to soften, transforming into an almost human expression, and in that instant Emma recognized something she knew all too well—a sadness so deep, a wound so painful, it was unreachable, untreatable, hopeless.

The expression left the creature’s eyes almost before it registered, and she wondered if she’d imagined it in her desperate need of a friend. Hesitantly, she reached out her hand. The wolf leapt back in surprise, lips retracting into a snarl.

Emma stared at the animal’s fangs. Her blood turned to ice. The wolf lowered its muzzle, stalking closer, the ruff on its neck rising. Emma swayed, her vision fading again. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers into her temples, slipping away, disappearing inside her own skin.
No, not now, Em. Come on!
She had a bad habit of losing it in stressful situations—disconnecting from the world when things got tough. It’d started the night her mother died, when the coroner had given her the terrible news. Blood had rushed in her ears and she’d felt herself floating away, giving in to the blessed relief from the shock and pain. Better to drift away than to stay and endure such overwhelming grief. It was happening more and more often these days, making her fear that one day she might drift too far and never return. Better to be dead than a nut job.
Come on! Snap out of it!

Emma rubbed her face with her freezing hands, forcing herself back into reality. She narrowed her eyes at the man. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Never mind! Do what I say, or I’ll kill you.”

For some strange reason, this struck her as funny and she started to giggle, tears streaming down her face. She always laughed when she was nervous, but never like this. She laughed out loud, uncontrollably. The poor, stupid bastard had managed to kidnap the only teenager in the world who didn’t give a shit whether she lived or died. And what was he going to do? Hold her for ransom? Who would pay for her safe return? No one. And for some reason, that made her laugh even harder. Then the laughter turned to sorrow, laced with fear. She’d screwed up everyone and everything she’d ever cared about. She deserved this.

The man scowled. “What’s so funny?”