Witch Wolf (27 page)

I shook my head, biting my lower lip in pain. "I'm fine," I said and then nodded toward Rosalin's brother. "Help him."

She went and helped him to his feet. He stumbled and I took a step forward. "Is he hurt?"

He looked at me with bleary eyes, eyes that were such a mirror of his sister's it was eerie. "A few scratches," he managed to croak in a raw voice. I wondered how long he'd tried screaming the last few days. He turned to look up at Lenorre. "My sister?" he asked. "Where is she?"

Carver sat near the door, licking at a wound in his side. He stopped to look up at me briefly, and with a sharp nod told me that it was over. The cinnamon-colored wolf limped toward Henry on all four of her paws. Her voice sounded so strange, so distorted. "Here," she said, and I wondered if I sounded like that. I shook the thought away.

Henry Walker looked down at his sister and slid helplessly to his knees. "Rosalin," he whispered, reaching out with shaking fingers to touch the tip of her ear. Rosalin ducked her wolfish head and leaned into him.

He wrapped his arms around her. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

She looked up at her brother and smiled with a wolfish grin, licking his face. His honey-colored eyes glistened with tears.

I met Lenorre's silvery gaze and said, "I need to call the cops."

She inclined her head. "I understand."

"You'll have to go," I said. "I won't risk exposing those who saved my life."

"What will you tell them?" she asked.

"That I was wearing a red cloak and taking a hike through the woods." I gave a quick smile.

"Don't worry about me." I clicked the safety back on and holstered the Mark III, nodding toward the door. "Take them and go."

She reached into the pocket of her coat and held something out to me. I looked down to see my cell phone. "You might need this," she said and her red lips curved into a seductively amused smile that made my heart pound.

I met her stormy eyes. "Thank you, for everything."

She touched my cheek with cool fingers. "Your safety is thanks enough." She went to Henry, helping him to stand.

Lenorre's black coat fanned out behind her. The two wolves trailed side by side, following at her heels.

"Lenorre," I said.

She stopped in the doorway.

"Would you mind if I came over later?"

Her lips curved into a beautiful smile that made the breath catch in my throat. "No, Kassandra,"

she said, "I would like very much to see you after you attend to your health."

I drew a shallow breath. "I will."

I watched as she left with Henry Walker at her side and the two wolves trailing behind her like loyal and imposing guardians.

Arthur and a few cops that I didn't know leaned over the dead werewolf.

"Why is he all clawed up?" Arthur gave me a look.

I shrugged and winced again, wrapping an arm around my stomach like that would help protect me from the pain in my ribs.

"Kassandra. . . "

I held my hand up. The best excuse I could think of was. . . "There were other wolves," I said, blinking. "They saved me."

"Where did they go?" he asked.

"I don't know."

One of the EMTs came in and looked at me. He dropped his little bag by the chair that I was sitting in. The leather straps and the blindfold that had been used on Henry Walker were shoved into the pockets of my leather jacket, which I'd found on the floor in the corner of the room. I really didn't want to know how it got there.

"It looks like he was tortured with a spray of bullets," the only female cop in the room spoke.

She looked at me with eyes that were crystal blue. Her long red hair fell in a braid down her back.

"Tortured?" I asked. "If I was going to torture him, I wouldn't have used a gun."

Her eyes went a little wide around the edges.

I crossed my arms. "When you're fighting a werewolf, keeping them from coming at you is a necessity."

"Wrap it, folks." Arthur stood, stepping away from the body. He carefully took the gloves off his hands. They had to examine the body so they could put all those spiffy little notes in their file.

"I'm glad you did what you did." Arthur stepped up to me as the EMT started cutting my shirt. I'd already taken off the holster. The leather jacket was on the floor with it by my feet.

"It's my job," I said. The EMT's cold gloved hands prodded at my ribs. "Ow!" I yelled.

Arthur chuckled. The EMT shook his head. "You have two broken ribs that are going to heal improperly if I do not reset them," he said, and I was glad that he hadn't noticed the fact that they were probably already beginning to heal.

I said, "Just do it."

Which I learned was a complete mistake, because he did.

I think it was the first time Arthur had ever heard me scream.

Once I could breathe again, I turned to look at Arthur. "The wolf's name," I said, "is Lukas Morris. He used to live in Denver, Colorado."

"What about Carver?" he asked.

"Innocent," I said. "It was Lukas the whole time."

"Is Carver a. . . ?"

I shook my head. "I don't know," I lied. "I don't care. I just know he's innocent. You should contact the police in Denver. There were three killings there that match the ones here. It looks like his handiwork."

He wrote it down. When he was done he gave me a long look. "You need a ride?"

I smiled. "That would be nice."

I stepped outside of the small shack and into the blue-and-red haze of the police lights. The shack was a few miles away from the clearing where the pack met. That much, I'd figured out on my own. How else could Lenorre, Rosalin, and Carver have found me? They'd traced my scent through the woods.

*

It is not an easy thing to take another's life, no matter how many crimes they have committed. No matter how many people they have killed. Ridding the world of some small evil does not ensure a good night's sleep. Neither justice nor vengeance comes with a guarantee that you will not doubt yourself.

What helps is that I know I did what I could for the victims and their families. That I ensured Lukas Morris would never again hurt anyone else.

There wasn't anything I could do about Sheila Morris. I didn't like her, but since Lukas was trying to dethrone her, she hadn't been involved in his little murder escapades. I still didn't trust her, though. There was something about her that I saw in her brother. Not the insanity bit, as Sheila didn't seem like a complete whack-job like her brother, but there was a darkness there that I don't think either of them dealt with in healthy ways. I thought about giving the name to Arthur.

That way, he could take her in for questioning. But then I decided that in the future I would keep watch on her myself. If she was innocent, why expose that she's a lycanthrope? It could potentially ruin her life. I only ruin the lives of those that deserve it, when I'm sure they deserve it.

It was the night of the autumnal equinox, a time to prepare for the cold winter months ahead. I would pay my respects to the waning sunlight and honor the moon lady. Soon, her cold fingers would coax the leaves off the trees. The ground would fall asleep under her cloak of frost.

For tonight, everything was in balance.

Arthur pulled up by the gate. "Nice," he said. "I'm starting to see what you see in Vampira." He grinned.

"Arthur," I unbuckled my seat belt, "shut up."

I got out of the car. My entire body felt like I'd been hit by a semi truck. It was a dull ache, which was good, because it meant that the damage done to my body was healing properly. Werewolf or no, I was exhausted, but some exhaustions are of the mind rather than the body. I forced myself to keep my carriage straight as I went to the keypad.

Lenorre had saved my life. Rosalin and Carver had helped her, but I knew without a doubt that she had been the mastermind of my rescue.

The gate opened and I stumbled over a rock. It was a small rock, but one of those little jagged rocks that slip beneath your heel. Usually, I'd notice something like that. I cursed under my breath.

I made it as far as the driveway when the front door opened. Lenorre was suddenly beside me, slipping an arm around my waist.

A muscle in my back spasmed. Sometimes, healing so quickly can be uncomfortable.

"You just did it again," I said.

"Did what?"

"You remember the poof thing we talked about?"

Lenorre shook her head. "I come to help you, and you are more worried about me poofing to your aid than the actual aid itself. Are you truly complaining?" she asked.

I looked up into her misty gray eyes and smiled softly. "No," I said, "I appreciate the aid, whether you poofed to give it or not."

The ground moved out from under my feet. Lenorre cradled me in her arms, holding my body against hers.

"I didn't say you had to carry me."

She gave a slow blink that showed off the richness of her eyelashes. As if that was her response, she began walking toward the house. I let out a deep breath and relaxed. If she hadn't saved my life, I would've gone apeshit for being picked up without warning, for feeling like I was being coddled like a child.

The Countess of Oklahoma carried me into her home, and I knew she wasn't coddling me. She held me not because she wanted to bend me to her will or keep me as a pet.

I looked at her and knew that she held me because she cared.

I rested my head against her shoulder and inhaled the sweet scent of cinnamon and cloves and the smell of crisp night air.

"It is like your detective friend said," she mumbled and I felt her lips moving against the top of my head.

"What is?" My voice was a tired whisper.

"Mmm," she said, "something about doughnuts." I looked up into her shining face. The corner of her red mouth twitched.

I gave a short laugh. "That from a woman who could probably pick up a truck and throw it."

"You are amazingly light compared to a truck."

"That's good to know."

I sank back into the feel of her.

"How did you know?" I asked.

"That you were missing?"

I nodded, not bothering to look at her.

"Rosalin informed me. I told her to search the area. She found your phone."

"What about Carver?" I asked. "He was my suspect."

"He offered to help," Lenorre said. "Mayhap, to prove a point. Who is to know? The fact of the matter is that he did help."

"True," I said. "I owe him an apology."

"You do," she said at length. "Though I do not blame you."

"I do, a little," I said.

"Why?"

"I knew when I met Lukas something was off about him. I just didn't pay attention to it."

Lenorre helped me to my feet before opening the door that led to the basement levels. "Mistakes are a part of life," she said, slipping an arm around my waist as we descended the stairs. "Be grateful your mistake helped you to find and save Henry Walker."

"I am," I said, and meant it.

Lenorre laid me down on the bed and I sighed as I sank into the deep silk bedding. I watched her get undressed. She slid into bed next to me and curled her body around mine.

My muscles eased and my skin warmed where her cold body touched it. Ironic, I thought as I drifted to sleep. I would still have to deal with the crazy shit going on in my life. But for now, I was right where I wanted to be.

About the Author

Winter Pennington is an author, poet, artist, and closeted musician. She is an avid practitioner of nature-based spirituality and enjoys spending her spare time studying mythology from around the world. The Celtic path is very close to her heart. She has an uncanny fascination with swords and daggers and a fondness for feeding loud and obnoxious corvids. Winter currently resides in Oklahoma with her partner.

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