The Wolf in His Arms (The Runes Trilogy) (23 page)

Firelight
flickered from barrels in the woods, casting an orange and yellow glow on the
trees and snow. Revelers huddled around the barrels to warm their hands. The
smoke drifted carelessly into the night. Nearby, on makeshift stages, bands
filled the woods with thunderous music, followed by cheers and outlandish
cries.

Colleen
Martin looked across the scene, smug satisfaction affixed to her face. Her
first winter music festival, Snow on the Keys, was an unabashed success. Lines
strung out from every beer truck; crowds surrounded every stage, and more
importantly, attendance exceeded her projections. Her mind was already
imagining a lineup for next year, including more bands, bigger names. The crowd
was the perfect demographic, and her merchandise had sold out. For the first
time since planning the winter music festival, she could relax. Colleen grabbed
a beer and then trudged to a barrel farthest from the stages.

She
warmed her hands, still smiling at her success. A man stood near her, seeming
to enjoy the crowd as much as the music. He wore a red hoodie pulled up against
the cold. Colleen liked his stature and eyed him discreetly. He seemed to notice
her and aimed pivoted toward her. His smile gleamed in firelight. He cocked his
head, but didn’t remove his hands from his pockets. “Great festival,” he said.

Colleen’s
face erupted in a full smile. “This is my baby,” she boasted.

“No
kidding,” he trumpeted. “Wow!” He pulled his hands from his pocket. “I’m
Vincent.”

“Colleen,”
she shook his hand, and it was warm, rough, like he worked with them. “So how
did you hear about it?”

“Online,
um, an article, I think.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m not from Chicago. I’m
here with a buddy.”

“Oh, where
are you from?”

“Portland.”

“I hear
great things about Portland.”

“It’s
the best.”

“But
you’re liking Chicago? Well, Chicagoland, anyway,” Colleen conceded, since they
were in a park outside the city.

“I’m
loving this festival,” he looked down shyly. “And the company.”

“Smooth,”
Colleen chuckled.

“What
can I say, I got game.” Red flushed his cheeks in an endearing way, and he
looked at her across the firelight. She noticed his eyes for the first time. In
the light, his eyes shone like lovely mountain pools.

“I need
another beer,” she said, tipping her empty bottle.

“I was
planning on walking to the other stage,” he nodded across the thin stretch of
woods. “Maybe I’ll see around?”

Colleen
hesitated only a moment. “I’ll walk with you.”

“What
about that beer?”

She
smiled coyly. “They have beer there too.”

He
jammed his hands back in his pockets and loped along beside her in an aloof
manner that made her feel at ease. She thought,
This is what they mean by west coast chill
. The path between stages
wound through the trees, but the moonlight filtered between the naked branches
showing the way.

Two men
and a woman passed them on the path, and Vincent noted, “That was my friend,
Griffin. Looks like he made new friends.”

“Then
you’re free for a while.”

He
stopped walking. “I’m all yours,” he said, arching an eyebrow. His laughter was
jovial, careless. Then something changed. Perhaps it was the clouds as they
drifted past the moon or he shifted weight from one foot to another, but she
realized his eyes were not pools, as she had thought, but deep, dark caverns that
emitted an eerie green glow. She took a step back as the moon reflected in his
eyes, and she even imagined she could see a skull in the reflection, and she
knew, without a doubt:
The glint of the moon in his eyes was a warning
beacon telling her she should not have come with him.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and took a step closer.

“Let’s
get to the stage,” she prompted.

“Sure
thing,” he agreed and stepped back. He flourished his arm to motion her past.
Colleen took a step, feeling that she wanted him to walk ahead of her, but
afraid to voice it. She felt him at her back, walking closer than she wanted,
making her arch her shoulders as if icy fingers brushed her spine. The path
widened and firelight danced across their faces, and music and voices washed
over them. “Are you still getting a beer?” He asked. “I’ll save you a spot by
the stage.”

Colleen
studied him, questioning her fear, but still wondering if she had escaped
something awful. “Yeah, I’ll be just a few minutes.” He vanished into the
crowd, sauntering toward the stage, his hands tucked in his pockets. She turned
for the beer truck. She avoided the massive line and helped herself. She ignored
the grumbling from patrons and flashed a quick smile at the beer truck workers
as she dashed out with two beers. She was maneuvering through the crowd when
she thought she heard a shriek pierce through the clamor. She halted like a
stop-motion figurine to train her ears over the music and chatter. She shook
her head and wove through more patrons toward the stage.

Another
scream, followed quickly by others, until a chorus of screams resounded over
the quieting crowd. Suddenly the music splintered into discordant notes as the
band stopped playing. “Is that a joke?” The lead singer asked into the
microphone, nodding toward the woods. The crowd turned in unison. Those in the
back of the crowd, closest to the woods, saw what the band questioned. More
screams rippled across the crowd.

Near
the stage, Colleen was too immersed in the crowd to see. She climbed on the
stage rigging for a better vantage. Her jaw dropped at what she saw. Three
people staggered out of the woods. A woman howled as blood poured from slashes
down her face. Shrieking, a man staggered behind her. His nearly severed arm
dangled at his side. A second man crawled along the frozen ground, his
intestines trailing behind him from a jagged hole in his guts. Colleen’s first
thought was
shooter
, but she realized
she hadn’t heard gunfire.

Then
she noticed movement in the woods. Shimmering green eyes peered out of the
darkness amid the trees. As the beast walked, the eyes vanished behind a tree,
only to reappear closer.

The
werewolf burst from the woods, tackling several people to the ground. Screaming
shook the night as people panicked. The crowd surged toward the stage, fleeing
the beast. In their hysteria, patrons pressed, shoved, elbowed, and trampled
one another. The lead singer’s screech, caught by the microphone, thundered
above the chaos. Colleen turned to see the band jumping from the stage. The
crowd pressed harder, and some people were climbing onto the stage as the
werewolf leaped into the crowd, swiping and biting anyone in reach. The crowd
split away from the beast like the parting of the Red Sea. Some people fled
from the crowd into the woods; others clambered onto the stage; most ran toward
the main stage. Mangled people crawled away from the thrashing beast. Blood
stained the snow in great, growing patches. In the tumult, the crowd knocked
over the fire barrels. Fire danced along the ground. Colleen saw someone
running, covered in flames.

Then
the rushing, panicked crowd realized that the first werewolf was herding them
to a second werewolf coming from the main stage. Suddenly, wounded people
surrounded the crowd as the beasts worked toward each other, leaving a path of
slashed skin and rendered limbs in their wake. A woman staggered into Colleen.
Her face was slashed open to the bone. Fat dangled from the slashes, and Colleen
could see the woman’s tongue through the wound. The woman stood and wailed, and
the horrid sound hissed through the hole in her cheek.

Colleen
shoved her away and dived under the stage, pulling the skirt closed behind her.
The floor rumbled above her as more and more patrons ran across the stage.
Suddenly, the stage trembled, and she realized one of the beasts had leaped onto
it. She tucked herself up inside the rigging and closed her eyes. She pressed
her hands to her ears to drown out the screams that kept echoing through the
woods.

Ilene
stood in the doorway for a moment watching Lucy translate more of the strange
pages. The mugs of tea she held grew hot against her hands and she walked in.
“I never asked where those pages came from,” Ilene said.

“I’ve
been waiting for that.”

“I
guess you’ve been waiting for me to ask about your eyes, too.” Ilene sat,
placing one mug of tea in front on Lucy.

“Mom,”
Lucy began then stopped. She sighed. “You’re smart. You seem to understand
everything far more than we ever guessed.”

“So,
the night of the fire, he bit you?”

“Scratched.”

Ilene
nodded solemnly. “Is that why you avoided us for so long?” Although she
controlled her voice, her eyes betrayed her heartache.

Lucy
felt her mother’s pain. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared of hurting you
both. Because of what I am.”

“What
you are is our daughter.”

“And
one night every month, I’m a monster.”

“How do
you—where—?”

“In the
basement of an abandoned building. It’s hard to find a place to restrain
oneself safely,” Lucy admitted.

“And
that is why Rene—” Ilene stifled her question.

Lucy
nodded, and tucked her head down in sadness.

“He
loved you immensely,” Ilene acknowledged. “We knew that. He was a good man.”

“He
was.” Lucy felt a need to change the subject. Too much was still jumbled in her
mind to deal with old anger. “What all does Dad know?”

“Next
to nothing.”

Lucy
braced herself. “How do you know so much?”

“You
saw the sheet. I was the target, part of the experiment.”

“That
doesn’t explain how you know.”

“I knew
Darius, years ago. I let him in my life, and I’ve been paying for it ever
since.”

The
words stung Lucy, and she had a vague memory of an attractive man coming to the
door when she was a child, and suddenly, the memory made sense. She felt a
bitterness pop within her, like the germination of a seed, and she took a deep
breath. “Did Dad know?”

“Yes.”

Lucy
turned her head sharply, not looking at her Ilene. She took a sharp breath, one
rasping with tears. She spread her hands on the table, trying to remain calm.
If her father had forgiven her mother, then she could too. It was not her place
to judge. And besides, she had to focus on more important—and present—dilemma.
“How do we tell Dad that Jared is alive?”

“I’ve
been thinking about that.” Ilene said tentatively, wondering if the storm had
passed. “I haven’t thought of anything.

“How
about we just show him?” Jared suggested, staggering into the room.

“You
should be in bed,” Ilene and Lucy advised at the same time.

“You
both sound like Alec. I’m tired of lying in bed.”

“You’re
still weak.”

“Give
me a few days. Then, we’ll show Jason.”

“Speaking
of,” Ilene said, standing, “I better get home, if we’re to keep this ruse up
for a few more days.” She kissed Lucy on the forehead, then Jared, and Alec as
he entered the room.

“You’re
leaving?” Alec asked.

“For
now. I’ll be back.” She left the room, and a moment later, they heard the front
door open and close.

“Any
new developments?” Alec asked.

“Some,
but it’s slow.”

“Well?”

Lucy
gave in to Alec’s prodding. “I made some headway on the Resurrection page.”

“Where
are Maxwell and Haley?” Jared interrupted.

“I sent
them to Las Vegas.”

“Just
the two of them?”

Alec
placed a gentle hand on Jared’s shoulder. “They went to Portland on their own
and did fine.”

“They’re
how we knew to go after you,” Lucy added. She turned her attention back to the
page. “I think I know why Griffin shot you.” She looked at Jared and then
pointed to a line on the page she translated. “It looks like the resurrection
is the trigger—it wakes the werewolf.”

“I felt
it. While lying in the morgue, I could feel the wolf for the first time.”

“And
Maxwell said that Vincent kicked his way out of the morgue.”

“But
what about me,” Alec questioned. “Why did I change?”

Lucy
and Jared glanced at each other uneasily, before Lucy answered, “Alec, you died
a couple of times after Darius attacked you.”

“And I
only changed now?” He pushed away from the table. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I
think that seeing Jared die was a strong emotional trigger,” Lucy explained, “that
it made the change happen.”

“What
about the night of the fire? I’d call that ‘a strong emotional trigger’.”

“Alec—”

“What,
Jared?” Alec snapped.

“Why
are you reacting like this?”