Coveted (31 page)

“I need time to realize that things like this happen that I can’t control. But I took this a lot better than I thought I would.” My voice began to shake. I wasn’t fooling myself. I wasn’t okay. This disguise of surviving was a facade. Nick reached for my hand and gripped it.

“And now I have to leave.”

“Leave?” He rubbed my wrists, absorbing my pain.

“Yes, the Long Island werewolves are planning an all-out attack in great numbers.” I finally looked at his face. His midnight eyes peered down at me with sincere concern. I refused to tell him about the pack banishing me, since I couldn’t bear his pity.

“Well, with your home like this, you should find a safe place to stay.”

Leaving home would be the safest thing for me to do, but it wasn’t the option I wanted. Poor Aggie was at my aunt Olga’s while I stayed behind, protecting a shattered home. But I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave my home or family behind.

“You could stay at my place until you find something,” he offered.

I snorted and managed a smile. “Yeah, maybe the water sprite wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d figure out a way to hide a lot of the stuff. I could clear away some space in one of the rooms.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Yeah, you
are
a wizard, after all. But there’s no need. One of my uncles owns some furnished rooms in the city where I can stay if necessary.”

He nodded. Another wave of reassurance flowed from him. “You know I’ve always wanted to be there for you.”

It took me a moment to realize I stood at a crossroads. I had a man standing here who wanted to take care of me. The easy route would be for me to turn him away and wait for Thorn. Hell, I’d waited for five years without a word from him. But why should I wait more if he was meant to be with Erica?

Instead of turning Nick away, I whispered, “Thanks. It’ll be nice to have someone in New York.” I squeezed his hand gently. “I have to pack my things this afternoon before it gets dark. This time tomorrow I’ll be in the big city.”

How do you pack for a trip out of town from which you may never return?
I rubbed the tense spot on my forehead at the thought as I rummaged through the few ornament boxes that hadn’t gotten wet. I guess you pack thoroughly and make sure no treasures are left behind. In the middle of my packing, Aggie called to see how I was doing.

“I heard from your aunt that you’re just planning to skip town without a fight.”

“Yeah, my dad called me earlier to make arrangements for an apartment, after Thorn told me I shouldn’t stay.”

“Well, you’re not leaving by yourself.”

I laughed. Aggie was the ever-present sidekick. But she shouldn’t be traveling. “You need to rest. My mother was really worried about how tired you looked this morning.”

Aggie groaned into the phone. “Seriously, Nat. I’m not heading to Vegas anymore. I have to stay here to watch your back. I think I can survive a trip back to New York to keep you company.”

“Yes, and you’ll pass out while we’re driving into the city. When you fall unconscious in the front seat, I’ll have to perform mouth-to-mouth.”

“I hope you won’t be driving while you’re giving me some on-the-road action.”

“You’re not my type. Due to this double X chromosome problem you’ve got going.”

We fell silent for a moment, unable to find words to express the feelings that exist between friends.

I sighed. “Aggie, my aunts will keep an eye on you while you recover. When things cool down, you can stay with me until you’re finally ready to head west.”

“I thought you’d say as much. Even I know I’m messed up. No matter how many pills or heated blankets they pass my way, I still feel like horseshit.”

We ended the conversation, and I finished packing my car. By the end of thirty minutes, I’d filled it to the hilt—with the ornaments. I shrugged.
Clothes are overrated
. Who needed them anyway? I could always buy more in the East Village.

A single box remained in the driver’s seat. With a forceful shove, I crammed it into a spot in the back. My father had dropped off the keys earlier for my sublet. It was time to depart. After one last glance back at my old home, I headed out, although part of me wanted to stay. After all, this was my
home
. Why should I let Old Farley turn me away from it?

I tried to hold on to my grandmother’s words. This was a temporary setback. Werewolves live for hundreds of years. I’d return someday. I still owned this house and the property.

With resolve and silent tears, I pulled out of the driveway. But the sadness during the drive north to New York City turned into anxiousness. The buds of doubt bit at my fingers, begging me to turn around.

Many hours later, I found someone waiting for me by the curb in front of my new apartment in New York. Nick.

“How did you find out where I live?”

He grabbed a box and stuffed it under his coat. “I spoke with your father and told him I was part of your therapy group.” I watched in amazement as three more boxes disappeared into the folds of his coat. Where could I get one of those?

“That was sweet of you, but right now I’m not feeling social.”

He continued taking my boxes. “I completely understand. But you still shouldn’t leave a car crammed full of boxes out here on the street.” He paused to add a sixth box to his coat. “And, werewolf or not, you can’t carry all these upstairs by yourself quickly.”

I gingerly touched the outside of his coat. “How do you do that?”

He laughed. “I enchanted the coat. Standard wizard spell from the good ol’ days. Back then most folks had to cart their belongings around.”

Ten minutes later, true to his word, all my things were stacked in the corner of my matchbox living room. I wanted to plop down on the couch but instead I paced. A quick peek outside revealed the night sky and the bright lights of the Upper East Side. But in the darkness I couldn’t forget that I had left everyone behind. And I had no idea if Thorn or my family was hurt—or even worse, dead.

Everything I’d been through had culminated in this moment. The attack from the Long Island werewolves,
Alex’s kidnapping, my grandmother’s transformation—all of it had led to the moment when my pack would strike back.

Nick reached out to touch me, but I backed away. “I can’t stay here. I have to go to my family.” Panic rose in my gut and my words came out in a growl. How dare this
wizard
try to placate me?

“Nat, you need to calm down. Your father told me it was best you stay here tonight.”

“Best for whom? I know I’m not pack. But I do have my honor. I love my family, and even if the pack turned me away, I can’t sit here and wait for a
phone call
from them to tell me who didn’t make it.” I bit my lower lip, and my hands trembled. The air in my lungs felt strained, as if I were breathing through a straw. “I refuse to believe that I can’t make a difference. I am not the weakest link.”

With a soft voice he said, “You’re not. Matter of fact, I see strength in you that even the werewolves can’t see. A fire in your essence sits here.” He used only his fingertips to touch my heart but a wave of calm drenched me.

I emitted a deep sigh that turned into a grateful hum.

“In the old days, wizards prepared the soldiers for battle. My great-grandfather worked in such a manner. He taught me a great spell that I’ve never used before—until now.” He touched my eyelids with his fingers. “Close your eyes. Imagine that you’re heading into battle and your enemies will soon be under your feet—”

I
n
wolf form, I burst through a jump point and sprinted through the forest to the main country road.

Lindell Park was ten miles outside South Toms River. When I was younger my father would often take Alex and me there to fish in the creeks for young catfish. After we’d caught a few my father would remove the skins and cook them over a fire. The succulent scent of fish made my mouth water in remembrance. Those were the good ol’ days. The pleasant memories lightened my feet and propelled me forward.

As I raced up to the parking lot, I noticed rows and rows of vehicles. Trucks, SUVs, and even campers lined the space. In the darkness, I could make out my brother’s and father’s trucks.

Nick had told me the battle would take place here. But was I too late to help them? The branches didn’t bother me as I sprinted toward the battlefield. I could taste violence in the air, the sweat on the werewolves’ backs.

When I entered the clearing, I was met with an awesome sight: the pack defending its territory from a swarm of Long Island werewolves running toward them in the distance. For every wolf in my pack—we were fifty strong—many more adversaries raced to meet them.

I swallowed my fear even though the numbers seemed too great for us.

I thought my beating heart would break through my rib cage, but Nick’s spell held true. I had no fear—or doubts—when I jumped into the fray. These wolves would fear me, and I would end them with a single bite—or two.

The first wolf didn’t know what hit him when I rammed him in the chest. The Long Island wolf tumbled a few feet after I pounced on him.

The bloodlust sank into my flesh and I welcomed it. No one, whether they moved as a beast or a man, would stand in my way tonight. I tore at them—at anyone who came my way. Their fear flooded the air, and the wolf within relished the glow of battle. I could see myself in the reflection of their eyes. Teeth snapping. Eyes dark yellow with rage. I’d been in this state before, but the dark thoughts of the past flew away with the wind. In the heat of the battle I could ignore the needs of the human—of the fragile woman who cowered from blood, from death and dying.

With fire flowing through my veins, I jumped into a fight between Erica’s best friend, Becky, and one of the Long Island werewolves. The moonlight cast a glow against her attacker’s burnt-orange coat, making him an easy target. I pounced on his back, and, after a vicious bite to his neck, I expected him to flee. But when he instead lunged for Becky again, I surged forward, ready to just end it. I didn’t retreat even when he yipped in pain. Nor did I show mercy when Becky joined me at his neck.

Tonight death would prevail for those who wanted to take out the South Toms River pack.

My victories were small and insignificant. As the bodies began to pile up for the Long Island pack, I had
a constant reminder that our pack was outnumbered. Dark forms continued to fill the fields. The shadows surrounded and overwhelmed us. Our luck had run out.

A wolf rushed in to bite one of my legs while another tried to claw at my snout. Hot pain, slick and startling, sliced up my leg. Another wolf chomped down on my paw and pulled backward. I hoped for a moment that perhaps my father or brother would come to my rescue—but no one came. I had to get out of this fight on my own.

I twisted around and nipped at the wolf on my leg, freeing it so I could attack the other wolf, but he pounced on my back and bit through the fur. Everything around me turned into a blur. All that mattered was this moment, this chance to prove myself worthy to take down another enemy. But yet another attacker joined the wolf on my back. I held strong, not even crying out from the impact.

My attackers’ crushing weight pushed me to the ground. I didn’t want to give up. I still had the fire from Nick’s spell. But even magic had its limits, and I could feel my life leaking away as the wolves snapped at me, growling and hissing.

I surrendered to the feeling, and prepared myself to join my grandfather, who roamed in the great forests with God.

But then the stench of death blanketed the field. Grubby hands reached across my body, yanking and pulling at the wolves on my back.

“Get off!” a gravelly voice grunted.

One of my attackers left me to strike at this new presence, while the other one, far more stubborn, still clung to me. Until one moaning voice turned into many. One pair of hands turned into several. They
clawed at the wolf, ripping and shredding without abandon.

I stumbled away and watched in horror as Quinton’s zombie horde descended on the invading pack. Just like before, a strange mist slithered through the trees after the zombies, enough to cover the battlefield like a tattered death shroud.

The zombies, with their limbs haphazardly stapled, clipped, or however the hell Quinton had stitched them back together, flopped about trying to catch the invaders. Surprisingly, Quinton’s minions were able to tell which wolves didn’t run with our pack. Their slow, staggering gait made them easy targets to overwhelm, but when a group of them managed to surrounded one of the enemy werewolves, it wasn’t pretty.

From my perspective on the ground, chaos continued to swirl around me. While the South Toms River pack scrambled with the Long Island pack at one end of the field, the Burlington werewolves regrouped to outwit the zombies. This pack had speed as its advantage, and now the swarm of dark-brown wolves used it to herd the zombies into a vulnerable position. They were about to be slaughtered.

But Quinton hadn’t allowed his children to march into battle alone. Among the surrounded zombies stood their master, wielding a massive club, and wearing a suit that wouldn’t be out of place at a funeral. The Bends’ janitor swung his weapon at any enemy who ventured too close into the inner circle of zombies. He had impossible odds, but he continued to fight.

The battlefield swam in and out of focus. My wounds continued to bleed. But it was no time to pass out yet. I had work to do. I shook my dizziness away and reentered the fray.

One werewolf wrenched the club from Quinton’s hands, so he whipped out a shotgun from his back holster. Gunshots filled the air as I leapt on a werewolf on the outer ring of the zombies’ attackers. My move was foolhardy to say the least, but by this point I was already bleeding from too many places to count, and every invader was on my shit list.

The wolf I pounced on yelped when my claws pierced its coat. I could almost sense its pain, since I had plenty of my own to deal with. By the time I snapped its neck, with one vicious bite, its cohorts surrounded me. Ten of them. Ten sets of yellow eyes. Ten sets of bared teeth.