Instinct (7 page)

His jaw set
into a rigid jut, and his shoulders tensed. I braced for another
attack, but he merely said, “Whilst you are a member of my pack,
you will live by the rules.”

I should have
stood up to him, told him that, as Alpha, he had the power to alter
those rules, but the still-smarting flesh from his contact forced
me into silence. Allowing him to believe his ‘lesson’ had been
received, I trailed him back to the house.

Giles and
Philip occupied the table, as we entered the kitchen, and their
expressions told me they’d known James had been waiting for me.
Philip’s gaze held disappointment, whilst Giles’s offered pity—yet
only for a second, lest James understand his part played in it
all.

As I tried to
relay to Giles he need not worry, James tossed a cloth to me.

“Clean yourself
up, Sean, before you spill blood on the table.”

His stare
turned hard, his audience and reputation requiring he live up to
the scorn. “Then you will prepare dinner.”

I did not meet
his eyes as I pressed the cloth to my seeping lip—another fight
would only waylay my thoughts. After our dispute, getting out to
see Jem would be nigh on impossible, as it was.

With only a
week to find a way around it, I continued as my Alpha demanded of
me, yet that did not stop my mind from chasing the formulation of a
plan before I had even cleared the blood from my face.

My heart left
me no choice.

Throughout the week that followed, if a job needed
doing, James passed it to me. Wood chopping for a fire we wouldn’t
need for months. Tending to a lawn none had ever taken pride in.
Laundering for clothes that did not belong to me. Those, and many
more, kept me occupied.

At least the
tasks could be done without thought, leaving my mind free to
plot.

Not that it did
any good. Giles refused to help any longer, understandably so—which
meant, as Tuesday morning dawned, I still had no plausible excuse
to offer for leaving the house.

From the moment
I woke, James’s attention greeted me—I found him standing in the
doorway to my room when I lifted my lids.

No smile coated
his lips, nor did warmth meet his eyes. “Good morning.”

I nodded once
and swung my feet to the floor.

“You have
breakfast duties,” he said.

I had prepared
breakfast every morning for the past six. I rubbed at my face. “I
will be down shortly.”

“I will wait.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest.

After hauling
myself from the bed, I tugged clothes on beneath the watchful eye
of my brother, only to be tailed by him when I headed
downstairs.

Getting out, I
suspected, would not be easy.

By nine, the
other pack members had arrived from our second property, giving us
a full house, and James’s relentless scrutiny extended to the rest
of the pack. I walked to the kitchen; they watched. I sat; they
watched. I toileted; they watched. Ten eyes observed my every move,
with a tenacity of which they should have been proud.

At nine thirty,
more than ready to be rid of the staring, I offered to tidy the
barn.

The narrowing
of his eyes gave away James’s distrust, but he nodded for me to
go.

I pushed back
my chair and got only as far as the door before he stalled me.

“Edward will
accompany you,” he said.

At sixty-four
years of age, the last surviving older-generation pack member,
Edward stood little chance against me.

Leashing my
smile to conceal it, I nodded.

***

Not much
actually needed to be done in the barn. A handful of tools littered
the floor, which I tidied under Edward’s observation, and we had a
few bales of hay left from the time we kept livestock. The goats
had lasted only until Philip ventured too near the house on his
first full change. None had been permitted to live once he had
tasted the initial spillage of blood. The bales had remained ever
since, though, and often got kicked around from one side of the
barn to the other, away from whatever they happened to be
blocking.

I nodded to
Edward, where he sat propped beside the open door. “Climb up to the
loft, so I can pass these to you.”

Suspicion
clouded his hard stare.

Ignoring it, I
lifted the first bale, stood ready beneath the overhang, and urged
him toward the ladders with another nod.

His attention
remained on me, as he pushed away and climbed up the ladder. At the
top, he took the bale from my uplifted hands. When he turned to
place it near the rear, I reached for a second, and he smiled on
his return.

I handed him
the second bale, followed by a third.

Before he had
opportunity to deposit the fourth with the others, I took advantage
of the diversion and shot for the door.

The trees
accepted my arrival before I heard his first call of confusion.
Picking up speed, I burst through brush and ducked beneath
branches. To throw them off my trail, I took a circuitous route
through the forest, ending my flight at the east, where the river
entered.

Zigzagging, I
located a narrower stretch and, drawing a deep breath, took a run
up and leaped to the far side, landing with a small grunt.

From there, I
raced in a pattern of insanity, before retracing my steps and
diving into the cool water to swim along with the current.

When I climbed
from the river at the northeast, none of them had intercepted me in
my escape, making me wonder just how long Edward had paused before
breaking the news that he had lost me.

Bent over at
the waist, I rested my hands on my knees as I recaptured my breath,
eyes scouring the forest for approach. My saturated shirt, once
wrung out, became a makeshift cloth for drying my exposed body,
before I lay it across the fallen trunk to dry aside my soaked, and
quite possibly ruined, boots and stockings.

Although warm
on the inside, only coolness emanated from the surface of my body.
The moisture from my hair weaved through the downy ones of my neck
to my shoulders, and a good shake of my head sent droplets flying.
After being cooped up indoors for so many days, the action felt
liberating, helped by being surrounded by natural vastness, body
coated by air.

After a final
check for the pack, I took the first step toward finding Jem,
eagerness soon broadening my strides, whilst smugness widened my
victorious smile.

My palms rubbed
across knotted bark, as I passed trunks. Fallen leaves and bracken
crinkled underfoot, scratching at my soles, whilst the light breeze
refreshed the naked flesh of my torso.

I walked only
half of the usual journey before I caught Jem’s scent. I thought it
had carried in as a tease until I captured the flutter of pale
blonde.

She halted,
fingers pressed to her lips below her widening eyes. “
Mr
Hollo
way.”

The expressive
whisper of her voice brought me up short. Following her shocked
stare, I rubbed a palm across my damp hair and gave a small laugh.
“My shirt and boots became wet in the river. I did not think.” I
tried to sound apologetic, but her reaction filled me with too much
amusement.

Her hand
lowered to clasp the other at her waist, and she took a couple of
steps to the side. “Why were you in the river?”

“It looked
inviting.” I leaned back against a trunk and folded my arms.

Chin dipping,
she took another step, again to the side. “It looks rather cold to
me.” Her gaze met mine, but appeared to struggle to remain
there.

I chuckled. “It
was.” I searched beyond her to the forest she had passed through.
“Are you sure your mother does not follow?”

She nodded as
she toyed with a locket she wore on a chain around her neck. I had
not seen her adorned by jewellery before, and it seemed out of
place.

“How do you
know?” I discreetly inhaled, checking for an unexpected advance but
finding none.

“She told me I
would soon understand the mistake I am making. That some of the
best lessons learned are the ones which we learn for
ourselves.”

I tried to hide
my frown but fell short of the effort. “Unusual words.”

“Mother can
never be accused of being conventional.” She smiled. “This is good
news for us, though, is it not? That I come here today, without a
fight?”

“It is, yes.”
My lips twitched. “Yet, you refuse to come closer.” When she turned
to take a few more steps to the side, I added, “Or maybe it is
reluctance?”

“Could you, at
least, replace your shirt?”

“I could ...
except I left it beside the river.”

Another dip of
her head preceded a few more sidesteps. Had she noticed each
movement brought her nearer? When she turned back to me, I curled
my finger and beckoned to her. She shook her head but not before
her cheeks heated and a small smile appeared.

With a chuckle,
I pushed away from the trunk, taking a few paces forward.

Her face
lifted. “Why do I suddenly feel so small beside you?”

“You are no
smaller than you were Tuesday last, nor I any bigger.”

With a slight
coyness, she reached out. My hand stretched to greet hers, and
fingers, dainty and slender, entwined with mine. When I gave a
gentle tug, she breathed out a laugh at her inelegant step forward,
tilting her head to the side, as though to allow my inhalation of
her scent. She seemed accepting of my behaviour—maybe she presumed
it a quirk of mine—and no longer questioned my reasoning.

Nose to her
throat, I drew her scent deep into my sinuses. Detecting the alien
scent at the same moment that it located me, I pushed away with an
aggression I did not intend.

Her eyes
widened, as mine skimmed over her, searching for the source. It had
to be upon her—the tingling that darted from my fingertips and
toes, through my forearms and shins, told me as such.

“Mr Holloway?”
Her voice sounded unsure.

“Where is it?”
I demanded, still scouring her body. “Where did your mother put
it?”

“Put it?” She
stared at me. “Put what?” When her hand lifted to unconsciously
twist at her pendant, I suspected I had my answer.

“Your
locket—where did you get it?” The tingling spread upward toward my
shoulders and thighs, joined by a prickle at the base of my skull
that worked into my first vertebra.

Her forehead
creased into a frown. “It was a gift from Mother. Why—?”

“You must
remove it, Jem.” The needle-like sensation bled into my chest as
the first ripple showed.

Eyes blinking,
she stepped away. “I will not.”

“Jem, you
must.”

I took two
strides toward her, and she stumbled back, as I wrapped my fingers
around the offending locket.

She grasped at
the chain when I tried snapping it away, tugging back with more
strength than she should have been able. “No, Mr Holloway,” she
said with determination. “It was a gift.”

“Please, Jem.”
The tightening of muscles worked against my vocal chords, and my
voice came out deeper than planned.

I should have
walked away then, given her the damn necklace and run, or yanked
the blasted trinket from her hand and been done with it.

Yet, I could
not bring myself to use force against her, and one final tussle
achieved the worst possible outcome.

Jem’s hand
slipped from her pendant, and as it broke apart in our hands, she
flew backward with a cry, landing on her rear—leaving me holding
the necklace.

However, the
breaking of the clasp split the locket open, allowing a liquid to
escape. Although a tiny amount, it trickled onto my hand, sifting
through my pores. It took less than a second to locate my
bloodstream, where my panicked heart pumped it through my body at a
speed that brought immediate consequences and unbearable pain.

Wolfsbane as a
liquid—I had never heard of it before.

I knew how fast
my change came, could see it reflected in the terror in Jem’s eyes.
My cries at the poison shooting through my veins did not sound
human for long.

Jem did not
move—perhaps her body refused to—but her rapidly moving chest
portrayed her fear.

My limbs
struggled to provide support during the excruciating
transformation. The tearing of fabric broke through the roaring in
my ears, both sounds uniting with the splitting of my skull.

Through those,
I distinguished the small sobs that accompanied each rise of Jem’s
chest. Each thudded beat of her heart.

I desperately
wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that I wouldn’t hurt her, but
I knew how we looked during a change and understood her justified
reaction. I also knew it would be an unguaranteed assurance.

When my
features shifted and hair pushed forth, she appeared to grasp will
power from somewhere, and her feet finally scrambled her backward,
kicking up dust that clouded my vision. Thick bramble stalled her
crawled escape long enough that, with the final stretch of
repositioning, realigning, restructuring behind me, I growled from
my change and stood before her.

As wolf.

Gaze on hers, I
gave a low whimper.

As though her
cue to leave, she clambered to her feet, but fell, then pushed up
again. She only looked away from me when her feet broke into a
run.

Her flight, her
fear-drenched scent, immediately categorised her as prey to my
wolf’s mind, and as the predator within urged me to hunt, my head
whirled to follow her escape as my paws took steps, my lips pulling
back to reveal my excitement.

Just as fast,
something within—like a plea for her safety—dominated my natural
instincts, and I screamed at myself to halt.

My chest
lurched forward, my claws grinding into the compacted dirt. A small
growl of frustration—confusion, too—escaped from me, but I quickly
reined it back in.