Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (29 page)

“All right. How do we do this?” she asked, eyeing a very disoriented but increasingly agitated John. He was temporarily distracted by the muzzle, alternately pawing at it and shaking his head.

“
I
do it,” he said, looking at the drawn-back lips of the wolf with little enthusiasm. “A modified fireman’s carry, I think.”

He kneeled down and heaved the wolf over his shoulder. In that moment, it was crystal clear to Lizzie that the wolf was still mostly John. A confused and pissed off John, but still John. Max would have been torn up, muzzle or no, if not. As it was, he had a deep furrow of claw marks on his stomach before Lizzie could grab the wolf’s hind feet and hold them still. She could see the blood already oozing through the T-shirt Max wore.

It took them another try before they finally figured out he would have to rest behind Max’s neck, front legs dangling to the right side of Max’s chest and hind legs to the left. Even then—he was just big. Max would have to work to get him as far as the gates of the property. As soon as the wolf was firmly settled, Max’s hands steadying all four limbs, he took off at a good clip. Lizzie was directly on his heels.

Chapter 32

L
izzie had no difficulty keeping up with Max—the man was carrying more than two hundred pounds of wolf—but she was trying to keep an eye out for guards, as well. She was just starting to consider giving her magic a tiny test, when she spotted two guards. She thought there had been only one guard left…which meant Worth was somewhere near. “Guards.”

She and Max had just cleared the side door leading out onto the grounds when she spotted the men, so they either had to return to the house or make a run for it through the grounds. There wasn’t much cover outside, but it was by far the better choice over being trapped in the house. And she was relatively certain Harrington had cleared any harmful wards, especially if they followed the same path back to the gate. Max must have agreed, because he kept to the same route as he headed to the gate.

Shit.
The men were catching up. But not at Lycan speed, she realized. As one drew a gun, she considered that they might be non-magical humans.

“Gun,” she warned Max.

She got a grunt in reply. He’d already increased his speed when she’d warned him of the guards. There wasn’t much else he could do with no cover.

“Don’t shoot.” The clipped command came from none other than Worth. “I want the woman alive.”

Lizzie’s foot caught on a tuft of grass when she heard Worth’s voice. Dammit. As she caught her balance, she hoped that his men wouldn’t aim at Max and John for fear of hitting her. She slowed down slightly. If she could keep herself in between Max, John and the guards, then—
uumph.
Her nose was suddenly mashed into the dirt, one of Worth’s men pinning her to the ground.
Hmm.
Perhaps she hadn’t planned that so well. If she didn’t distract the guards, they might still manage to catch or possibly shoot Max or John. That panicked her enough to make her struggles with her tackler and his buddy last an extra ten or twelve seconds.

Face pressed to the ground, arms twisted behind her, she frantically hoped that Max would keep going. She thought—hoped—that Max would get John somewhere safe. Once John had changed and was recovered, they were more than welcome to come retrieve her ass.

The thought of being stranded here and under Worth’s control made her want to bawl. She also realized a rescue might not be such a simple thing. John’s failure to change up to this point was inexplicable and deeply troubling. His injuries might be more severe than Lizzie understood. He might not be
able
to help her.

They marched her toward the house, a guard on either arm. She scanned the surroundings. The fence surrounding the property was so close, maybe 100 feet away. What would happen if she attempted a fade and her target was too far? She’d overextend aiming past the fence, no doubt. She’d deplete any magic she had left, which would be fine if she was safe from Worth. But on the other side of the fence wouldn’t give her much of a head start. And what if she attempted to fade and couldn’t? Would she still be magically tapped out? Those were chances she couldn’t take right now.

When they reached Worth, he nodded at the guards, which was apparently a signal to let her go. She stumbled on the uneven ground when the harsh hold they held on her upper arms was suddenly released. As she tried to regain her balance, she thought frantically of her options.

“Long time, no see,” she said. She tried to sound calm and confident, but it came out breathless and higher pitched than her normal tone of voice. She couldn’t help it. Making eye contact with Worth was harder than she’d imagined.

Worth backhanded her sharply across the cheek.
Son of a bitch, that hurt.
She blinked tears from her eyes and realized she’d fallen to her knees. Small pebbles from the rough path gouged at her knees. Before she had a chance to even think about standing, black spots still dancing around the outer edges of her vision, he kicked her in the ribs.
Fuck.
This wasn’t the man she remembered. She swallowed the gorge that was rising up. She
did not
need to puke on his shoes. No telling how much that would piss off this angry, volatile man. He was very different from the coldly calculating strategist she remembered.

Lying on her right side and curled in a ball, it was all she could do not to moan. But he didn’t touch her again. After about a minute, she recovered enough to look beneath her lashes at him. Gone was the cool head, polite manners, and urban attire that had been Worth. This man wore khakis, a crisp T-shirt, the beginnings of a beard, and a gun in a shoulder holster. Lizzie closed her eyes fully again. Her mind reeled. He looked human, non-magical human. Casters and Lycan didn’t usually carry guns.

“I know you can hear me, pretty little Lizzie.” His voice was the same—yet different. There was scorn and unconcealed disgust. He’d been so controlled before. “I have need of you and your tidy little supply of magic,” he spat. “Or you’d be dead.”

She felt a hard yank on her scalp. She wanted to cry out, but no sound emerged from her lips. Someone was dragging her down the path. Her muzzy, pain-filled brain tried to put the pieces together. If he was carrying a gun, he might have a very good reason to hate her. A personal reason to become emotional over her appearance at his front door. Maybe he’d lost his magic for a time. Given the wards surrounding the compound, he had it back. But if he’d lost it—even for a short while—she couldn’t imagine the level of virulent anger such impotence would generate in Worth.

The painful pulling at her scalp was joined by a steady wrenching feeling in her shoulder. She must have passed out for a moment, because suddenly she was inside the house and being pulled across a floor. She could feel the wood floor and then the rug underneath her—but it was all distant and fuzzy, like she’d just woken from a dream but wasn’t yet able to think clearly or move. She could feel even these sensations start to slip away as her thoughts became hazier. A sharp pain pierced through the darkness. Her body slamming into a wall? A doorway? She made a half-hearted attempt to grab at the doorjamb she was being yanked past, but her fingers wouldn’t move to clench the frame.

She was so tired. Even her mounting terror couldn’t keep her awake. She didn’t want to die like this. She didn’t want to die
at all
, she thought right before she lost consciousness.

She woke briefly as a guard pulled at her feet. The movement made her shoulder scream with a tearing pain, and tears were running down her face. She could just barely make out Worth speaking in the background. He was giving instructions for evacuation to one of his men. As she struggled to hear anything that might hint at their destination, the guard finished binding her feet and moved to her hands. He pulled her hands together, wrenching her damaged shoulder. She bit down on her cheek frantically as waves of pain tore through her. She didn’t want Worth to hear her scream, she thought, a fraction of a second before her mouth filled with her own blood, and she lost consciousness.

Chapter 33

J
ohn woke to blackness. God, he was tired. And sore. What the fuck had happened to him? He felt like he’d run straight into a wall, running at full speed.
Shit.
Now he remembered.
He practically had run into a wall. Or, at least, he’d been thrown into one headfirst. And as soon as he thought about his head, he felt a piercing pain shoot through his skull. Murmuring voices were getting louder in the background.

“…concussion. No bleeding in the brain and I’ve stopped the swelling…”

His brain was swelling?
What the fuck!
He tried to stand up, and that was when he first realized that a) he was still wolf. And b) someone had restrained him. Oh, and c) he was in a moving vehicle that was hauling ass down the road.

It might be time for an attempt at communication. A rumble started low in his chest and vibrated through his entire body. The sound grew louder as he struggled against his restraints and failed to break free.

“…any drugs…sedate…”

He still couldn’t see, but he recognized the voice. Harrington was speaking in that clipped, controlled tone he used so often. John tried to open his eyes. He knew being sedated right now was a bad idea—terrible, in fact—but he couldn’t remember why. He panted in agitation trying to remember. Then suddenly he knew—Lizzie. And with that thought, he snapped and snarled. His movements were blind, since his eyes still refused to open. But he didn’t care who he grabbed. Apparently, everyone in the vehicle was colluding against him. He heard his name….

“Braxton.” More firmly. “Braxton.” The second time, a hand shook his shoulder roughly. Pain, but more of an ache than the shooting pains in his head. He growled. The third time he heard his name, he recognized Harry. Harry was a healer. He quieted.

“No. No drugs. And he’s at least partially aware of what we’re saying right now. Isn’t that right, Braxton?” Harry’s voice was calm and even. Much more soothing than the hand on his shoulder.

“If you can hear me, wag your tail,” Harry said.

John thought for a moment, took a discreet sniff, did a little math, then grabbed the hand resting close to his muzzle. He didn’t bite down, just held it.
Wolves don’t wag, you bastard.
He realized they must have removed a muzzle, because he did vaguely remember the sensation across his nose and neck, and having difficulty panting. They’d tightened the thing too much.

Harry let out a low chuckle. “Told you. He can hear just fine. Can I have my hand back?”

John spit it out, like it tasted foul.

“Cute,” Harry said wryly.

John lifted his lip, showing a little canine.

“Can I touch you? Now that the swelling is reduced and you’re thinking more clearly, I’d like to get you well enough to change. All right?” Harry seemed pretty damn chipper.

John knew something wasn’t right and that there was a reason Harry shouldn’t be so damn cheerful. He was having difficulty hanging onto any one thought, and his head was still pounding terrifically. Then his thoughts slipped again to Lizzie.
Dammit. Where was she?
She should have been with him. She’d never leave him in this state unless she had to. Since Harry hadn’t begun to heal him yet and the thought of Lizzie had him slowly working himself into a panic, he thumped his tail emphatically against the seat they’d laid him on.

“I got it. Just give me a second. We’re going to remove your restraints.” Harry had toned down the chipper and was now calmly efficient.

John held himself perfectly still. Whatever moved this mess along. His restraints—melted, for lack of a better word. Those bastards had warded him somehow. He had more important things to worry about, but he wouldn’t forget that. He needed to know what they’d done and if anyone could repeat it. He tried to pull his eyes open, and this time he succeeded. But the small amount of light in the car moved straight from his eye to the back of his brain like a needle.

As he was closing his eyes, Harry said, “Sorry. Should have warned you. You’ve had a pretty good thwack on the head. You’ll be light sensitive until we get you fixed up. Hang on.”

After some shifting, Harry said, “I’m going to touch your head. Okay?”

Since his head hurt when he moved it too much, he thumped his tail again. Max would never let him live this down. And he knew Max was present. He could smell him. And blood. Max was covered in his own blood. What exactly had gone down after he’d lost awareness of his surroundings?

His attention pulled back to Harry as his head was gently but firmly grasped. He’d never been healed like this. He’d gotten a general boost from a healer before. Frank had helped him out after Worth had tried to suck him dry. But serious injuries were more quickly healed by a change. How bad had his head injury been? He could feel whatever Harry was doing take hold. The shooting pain in his head lessened, becoming a dull ache.

“Think you can change?” Harry asked.

John considered seriously before he tried. He’d been pretty seriously damaged if a change hadn’t been possible.
Was
he recovered enough to change? He tugged at his magic, expecting some resistance, but it flowed to the surface of his skin just as it always had. He gave the tiny mental push that brought about his change.

“Where’s Lizzie?” The first words out of his mouth immediately dampened what appeared to have been a moment of relief when he changed.

“He doesn’t remember.” Max stated the obvious.

“Clearly.” What little patience he had was disappearing. “Where is she?”

Pilar spoke up, eyes forward. “Caught as you were escaping. There was no way to stop it. Max had to carry you out, and Harrington and I had the tapestry—the source that we came for. And even if we hadn’t, neither of us is a match for Worth.” Leave it to the only woman in the vehicle to have enough balls to answer him.

They’d arrived at a house. “A different house?” John asked as he pulled on a pair of sweat pants Harry threw at him.