Heir To The Pack (The Cursed Pack Book 1) (21 page)

She looked back and forth
from one note to another, and the gears in her mind turned, hard. “Holy shit.”

“You figured something
out?” He sat up. “Aren’t you supposed to say Eureka?”

“A werewolf, in wolf form,
tore out the Oracle’s throat. Someone hit Michael with a shovel. Have you ever
seen a wolf use a shovel?”

“Heh, no. But what’s the
big deal? You said it yourself, the place is full of werewolves. So the killer
shifted.” He shrugged. “They must have done it quick, but there’s plenty here
that can. Cuts the list down, though.”

“You don’t understand.” She
jumped to her feet. “I have to warn Dash.”

“Warn him of what?”

She put her fear into
words. “He’s off on a wild goose chase. He thinks Shura is responsible for the
Oracle’s death, and that she’s a wolf spirit, without human form. But the
person who did this can turn into a human, or has allies that can. Dash is going
out there to hunt for a stranger, but the enemy could be anyone hunting
alongside him.” Each word dropped like a cold stone into her belly, as if
speaking made them real.

“Do you really think
someone would attack him in front of all the packs?”

“I don’t know, but what if
he got separated from them?” Her hands shook as she put her notes down on the
table, knowing the risk she had to take. “I have to warn him.” She went to the
window again. “Turn off the light. I’m going out on the balcony.”

Gaelan flicked off the
reading lamp at his side. “How are you going to warn him from up there?”

She opened the door and
stepped out. Dash stood near where he’d been last night, but given the
solemnity of the occasion, someone had set up a dais for him to stand on. As she
came out, she heard him speaking in a language she didn’t understand. The
vowels were long, and the consonants growled. Some kind of werewolf language. Probably
the same language that
lunaa
came
from.

She had to get his attention
before they all turned into wolves and ran off. She gripped the railing, wishing,
in this land of irrational fantasy, that she could talk to him with telepathy. Or
magic. Or something.

Maybe she had time to get
down there.

Everyone’s eyes were on
Dash. He finished speaking, and threw his head back in the moonlight. The first
Call. Surplus to requirements, tonight, because everyone seemed to be present
already.

He howled again. The Call
to Change. She felt a surge of heat through her veins, bringing adrenaline,
lust, and a wave of recklessness. Below, bodies shifted and changed.

She was running out of
time. She gripped the railing harder, and had an idea. Looking down, she
calculated the distance from the balcony to the ground. Easy, and the fastest
way to get to Dash. Probably easier if she weren’t wearing this dress, but
she’d cope. She swung a leg over the rail.

“What the hell are you
doing?” Gaelan said from behind her, his voice strained from fighting the
change. “Don’t—”

Before he could make a
grab for her she swung her other leg over and lowered herself down. Hand over
hand down the rails until she held the edge of the balcony itself by her
fingertips. She glanced down. Not too far. Thank God she’d kicked off her shoes
when she came in from dinner.

She looked up and saw Gale
looking down at her, mouth open. “Are you insane?”

“Yes.” Occam’s Razor. She
smiled, and let go.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

Dash lowered his head from
the call to begin his own change, and as he did so a flash of scarlet
plummeting from the balcony of his suite caught his eye.

It could only be one
thing. “Annie,” he breathed, and broke from a standing start to a flat out run
across the courtyard. He shoved his way past wolves who jostled at him as he
moved, caught as they were in the middle of their own shuddering changes. He
traveled through a sea of growls and groans, of flesh and fur, knowing only
that he had to get to her before the packs finished changing. They didn’t hunt
humans, but humans didn’t usually appear in the middle of the pack during the
change, either.

He couldn’t see her in the
crowd, but finally he fought his way free of the last line of shifting bodies,
and found her standing on the edge of the courtyard. She stood still as a
pillar, still in her hooded cloak and that amazing dress, like an erotic
re-imagining of Little Red Riding Hood.

He grabbed her by the
arms. “Are you all right? What were you thinking?”

She pulled him into a
close embrace. His body responded instantly, with his rational mind repeating
over and over that this was neither the time nor place. She stood on tiptoe,
put her mouth to his ear. The tickle of her lips drove him wild with
excitement, and he wanted to take her
now
.

“Michael was attacked by
someone in human form,” she said. “If it was Shura, she has a human form. Or an
ally who does. Be careful. And good hunting.”

She released him, caught
his eye in a silent stare, and turned and ran into the house, slamming the
outside door behind her. His thoughts worked frantically, trying to understand
what she’d said.

From above, Gaelan dropped
down beside him like a cat, having taken the same route down as she had.

“Can you go after her? I
can’t...” Dash gestured with his head at the pack of now-wolves behind him.

“On it, boss,” Gaelan
said. “I’d spank her for it, if I didn’t think you’d kill me.”

“Leave her be. Just keep
her safe,” Dash said, and reached for his wolf spirit. There was no time to
waste. He pushed the change through, feeling the burn of exhaustion wash over
him as his skin shimmered into fur.

G nodded and was gone through
the door behind her. Dash wished more than anything that he was the one
following Annie back to her room, but he had business to attend to.

And now, apparently, he’d
have to spend the whole hunt looking over his shoulder, even if he was
surrounded by pack. He didn’t know who he could trust.

His wolf’s eyes, so much
better in the dark than his human ones, looked out across the courtyard, across
the heaving mass of furry bodies, almost done changing. He threw back his head
in the last Call, the Call to Hunt. Every wolf with a voice responded to him. Dash
turned tail and ran out into the wilderness.

A surge of happiness
rolled over him. Despite the danger, despite not having his best friend or his
woman with him, this was what he lived for, what he was born to do. He ran flat
out across the pastures until he reached the edge of the woods.

Pausing, he turned and
looked back across the pack. Now, rather than separate packs, they were united
as one in the hunt. This part of the Gathering solved problems, relieved
tensions, made hunt brothers out of enemies.

Most of the others lagged
behind him, and he felt a touch smug. His legs were fast, his body strong. He
would lead the hunt, and if he was lucky, find a killer.

Coming up at the front of
the field was Michael, his dark grey fur and large size making him
unmistakable. Obviously he’d recovered from his injuries, or at least felt some
obligation to come to this post-memorial hunt. Dash acknowledged him with a
glance and continued into the woods.

He scented the air as he
trotted through the trees, looping and circling, hoping for the scent of deer. Rabbits,
yes, and a beaver. They were close to the stream. He’d go that way as it was
usually a sure-fire location for game.

He headed downhill through
the trees, slowing as the slope became rocky scree. The last thing he needed
was to go ass over teakettle in front of this large an audience. Four legs were
definitely better than two. There was no way he’d be able to run down this
slope at all in human form.

Arriving at the creek, he
jumped down from the bank into the cool, dark water, knowing from experience
that it was only paw-deep here. He lowered his head to lap at the water,
enjoying the invigorating cold of it on his pads and tongue.

A rustle in the bushes on the
far side of the creek caught his attention. Lifting his muzzle, he caught
movement, and scented deer. He had two options. Stalk out of the water as
quietly as he could or make a flat dash for it. He chose the former, knowing
most deer could outrun him with such a head start.

Quietly as he could, he
stepped through the water, the ripples from his paws spreading out in the pale
moonlight. When he got to the bank he coiled himself and sprang up, landing
lightly on a bed of moss.

A quick glance over his
shoulder showed him other wolves coming down the scree. They’d be loud, and the
prey would be gone. He should stalk it while he could. The others would follow.

Footstep by silent
footstep, he moved into the undergrowth, filling his nose with the scents of
the woods. The scent of deer was hot and fresh in front of him. Multiple does,
he thought, and perhaps that musky scent was a stag.

He arrived at a clearing,
lit by a mosaic of moonlight, and saw the herd. Several does grazed, while two
looked in his direction, stock-still, perhaps having heard his approach or that
of the pack.

On the far side of the
clearing, looking directly at him, was a large stag. Dash admired his antlers,
knowing on a human level that the number of points meant the stag was in his
prime, and not to be trifled with.

His wolf’s stomach
growled, and he leapt into the clearing, scattering does in front of him. The
stag stared at him and jumped into the woods.

Dash followed in a
headlong flight, following the sound and sight of the stag flickering through
the trees ahead of him. Sometimes the moonlight illuminated him, other times
Dash followed only the crashing sounds ahead.

He ran until his heart
pounded so loud in his ears he could no longer hear the deer ahead. Coming to a
clearing, he saw nothing ahead of him. He stopped, sat on his haunches, and
scented the air. Nothing.

He lay down, disgusted
with himself. He’d gotten so overexcited by the chase, that he must have missed
the stag taking a turn somewhere. Letting his tongue loll out, he panted, and
rubbed his nose on the damp grass to cool it.

Sitting up, he cocked his
head, and listened for the rest of the pack. Howling in the far distance. A
long way away, over a couple of valleys. Chances were the pack had gone in the
opposite direction, and he was miles from them and from home. Gods damn it. How
much else could go wrong today?

A pale, pale wolf entered
the clearing across from him, and Dash remembered why he tried never to ask
himself that question.

Irina. Just what he
needed.

She sat and lowered her
head to him, ears pinned, all submissive wolf. Out of character, but okay. He
trotted over and gave her a friendly sniff. He wasn’t going to marry her, but
that was no reason to be an asshole to her. Assholery was strictly Ivan’s turf.

As he stepped back, she
shimmered. He watched with clinical interest. She changed fast and gracefully. Plenty
of power there. He appreciated her submissive gesture more for that. She’d
acknowledged and accepted his leadership.

The human part of him,
buried deep inside his wolf mind, jostled for his attention. Danger, it said,
be careful.

In this body and the heat
of the chase he’d forgotten himself; the day of politics and stress driven out
by the purity of his paws on the forest floor. But Annie had warned him, and he
must stay safe to make her happy.

If Irina was changing, she
wanted to talk. He needed to change, too. He felt reluctant to do so, suddenly
conscious of the fact that he was alone in the woods with her, and knowing he
would be more vulnerable in his human body.

He slid through the change
as quickly as he could. Once in human form, he stood alert, straining his
weaker human senses, searching for trouble.

“What’s up?” he said as
soon as he could speak.

She stepped toward him,
her white skin and curvaceous body glowing in the moonlight. The ends of her
long blonde hair drifted at nipple height, drawing his attention to the
roundness of her firm breasts. He had no doubt it was deliberate, but he had no
interest.

“Surely there’s no need to
be so abrupt,” she said. “We have been friendly for a long time, and I’d hoped
it would be more.”

Torn between guilt, pity,
and irritation at her obvious come-on, he fumbled for words. “I’m sorry, Irina.
My father was a fool, and made promises on my behalf which I have no intent to
keep.”

“I thought royal sons had
less say in their own destinies.” She looked up at him, her pale green eyes
blinking at him through the long white lashes, still playing the flirt.

“As I said, I’m sorry. I
hadn’t planned for things to work out like this, but things don’t always play
out the way you want them to.” He folded his arms.

She stepped closer again. “I
heard the boy is ill. I’m sure that makes you feel you have an obligation to
him and his mother. But you’re not going to marry her, are you? You’re not in a
relationship with her.”

As she spoke her voice
grew stronger and more confident. She had come close enough now that Dash could
scent her body. Patchouli, ugh. What werewolf wore perfume? He sneezed, once,
twice, and a third time, and finally she took a step back.

He drew a deep breath. “I
don’t have to explain my personal life to you.” To be truthful, he’d been not thinking
about his relationship with Annie as hard as he could. He wanted her. He liked
her. He wanted to spend time with her and Jack, as a family.

He’d love to be with her. If
she’d have him, and that was very much the question.

“I wonder what’s going on
in your head,” Irina said. “Deep in thought, Dash? Reconsidering your decision
to reject me?”

She raised her hand toward
his face, and he recoiled physically, as though she’d been about to slap him.

Irina laughed, but when he
looked at her face he saw the glimmer of tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This
is embarrassing for both of us.”

“When the boy dies,” she
said, her accent thickening with emotion, “And you are left with nothing but
that woman, you’ll be sorry you walked away from me.”

He thought about slapping
her, the closest he’d ever come to hitting a woman. But he would not give up
his principles in any form, especially not for Irina.

“That may be,” he said
instead. “But I doubt any of those things are going to happen.”

As he turned to walk away
from her, an idea burst up from the depths of his subconscious. A Russian
woman, who hated Jack and Annie. A woman with both a wolf and human form. A
woman who wore perfume to cover her scent.

Could she be Shura?

In mid-step he turned back
to look at her, and saw the humiliation and rage in her face as she ran at him,
her fingers shifting into claws as she moved into the change.

She whipped him across the
cheek with her claws, but he caught her wrist in his still-human hand before
she could do any more damage.

“What the hell do you
think you’re doing?” he said. She completed her change—fast, effortless—caught
in his grasp, and as soon as she was done, she snarled and fought to reach his
throat.

He wanted to change but he
couldn't take the risk with her so close. He wrestled her away, holding her at
arms’ length with both hands, while her wolfish teeth snapped at him.

She doubled her efforts to
fight him, and he continued to hold her back, but his arms grew tired, and her
snapping jaws came ever closer to his face.

He kicked up, hard. His
foot caught her in the stomach. At that moment he let go of her, and kicked her
as far away from him as he could. He’d rarely wished for clothes when naked,
but this time he could really have done with a pair of boots.

As her body flew backwards
through the air, he began his change. He forced it through as fast as he could,
focusing on speed, not elegance. Bones cracked, muscles ripped, tendons snapped.

He roared his pain out
into the night, and then he was wolf, and never gladder of it.

Coiling his haunches, he
leaped on her as she gathered herself back to her feet, panting for air.

She was powerful, but he
had a size and strength advantage. He had to take her down quickly, and not
give her the chance to use magic on him.