First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series) (23 page)

A panicked yelp sounded behind her, followed by a frustrated howl. Her wolf slowed at last and pranced—actually
pranced
—obviously pleased with itself. It came to a welcome stop by a spring that bubbled up through some twisted tree roots.

Good trick.

The creature sounded downright smug, and Neva was forced to agree.
Helluva good trick.

Like wolf now?

Neva was taken aback by the question. In all her attempts to reject the creature she was becoming, even destroy it, she never once considered how
it
felt. Before she’d made her first Change, she remembered Travis trying to reassure her inner wolf, and telling her not to scare it. She’d thought he was nuts at the time. It didn’t seem so crazy now.
Er, good wolf. Very good wolf. Nice going.

A pleased sensation spread through her like good whiskey.

She took her time slaking her thirst at the spring as angry howls continued to echo through the forest. Finally they subsided, and she ambled back toward the ravine, sides still heaving and tongue lolling as she panted to cool herself.
Let’s see if Baker’s willing to listen to reason now.

The first thing she noticed was that the ravine wasn’t really a ravine at all. It was a sinkhole about thirty feet across and just as deep, a place where the roof of a cave had collapsed in the distant past. There was no meandering creek at the bottom of it, just a ton of rocky debris and a small, stagnant pool. And Baker. His chin rested on his paws as he lay on a slab of rock that looked to be the size of a Buick.

Hey, you all right?

He started and stared up at her.
What the fuck do
you
care?

Look, I’m not my sister, okay? I was trying to tell you that when you went all Cujo on me. I don’t work for her, I don’t like her, and I’m trying to get away from her.

You’re a werewolf just like she is!

Duh. So are
you,
smart guy. I didn’t want to be a werewolf, but she only cares about what she wants. I got forced into it, and I’m betting you did, too.

The gray wolf looked down at his feet and sighed.
Yeah. We both did, me and Riley. He didn’t get away. He’s—he’s still there, but I don’t know if…

His voice in her head trailed away, and Neva sighed, too. He didn’t know if his friend was still alive.
So maybe we should get you out of that hole.

I can’t jump it, not straight up. I haven’t got the distance to get up enough momentum.

You’ll have to Change so you have hands to climb with.

I don’t know how.

Man, did she ever understand that problem! Only Travis wasn’t here to deliver instructions. Could she remember enough of what he’d said to be able to explain it to Baker? Sure, she could shift her form now, but being able to
do
something and being able to
describe
what you’re doing were two very different things. She looked down at the big wolf that had threatened and chased
her. He looked small and kind of forlorn now. Yet there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t attack her the moment he was free.
Crap.
She couldn’t just leave him. She didn’t know where the hell Travis had gone, she didn’t know the phone numbers of any superheroes, and she was the only coach available to help Baker.

Look, I’m not really good at it myself, but I’ll try to help, okay?

Yeah?
The gray wolf scrambled to his feet. That was when she saw that he was favoring one of his front legs.

Jesus, you’re hurt.

It’s a sprain. Maybe an ankle, at least I think that’s what it is. A wolf leg doesn’t quite match up with a human one, or even a horse leg—the joints are in the wrong places.

Her wolf’s voice interjected in her mind:
All right places!

It sounded indignant, and Neva rolled her eyes, not an easy feat in a lupine body.
Hush
, she said to her alter ego, then turned her attention back to Baker.
Look, if we can get you to shift, your leg’ll probably heal up in the transition. I don’t know how it works, but it does.
She was
so
looking forward to her own punctured hide getting fixed when she Changed.
Picture your human self in your mind…

I’m sure getting the frickin’ grand tour here.
Travis had drifted in and out of consciousness while being dragged through the luxurious mansion once again, getting glimpses of its elegant rooms and lavish decor as he passed. He couldn’t say that he liked
this
room much. The first thing he’d noticed, before he’d even opened his eyes, was the cloying stink. The air was thick with blood and death, the same scents that he had detected on his shackles, but amplified to nauseating levels. The windowless room was dark, and he sensed he was deep underground. His
natural night vision adjusted to show that the space was enormous, almost ballroom-size, and perfectly round. Cold as a wine cellar, too—or a morgue. He wasn’t usually bothered by the cold, what with his high body temp and all, but he shivered just the same. Of course, it didn’t help that he was currently shirtless and hanging upside down from his shackles against a polished marble wall. Or that his head pounded with every heartbeat.

Hundreds of candles stood ready all around the perimeter of the room, and every one of them flamed to glorious life when Meredith came in hours later.
Some people just like to make an entrance.

The white marble floor was vividly illuminated then—and what he saw there made his skin crawl. Signs and symbols were carefully drawn with black and gray powders, as well as strange words in languages no longer spoken. Many were drizzled with blood in complicated patterns. A fresh corpse with its chest torn open lay at the foot of a marble dais, upon which was the only furniture in the entire room: a throne-like chair.

As before, Meredith casually ordered the guards to remove the body as if it was simply trash.
Christ, where does she put them all?
It hit him like a punch to the heart then—the powder that formed all the creepy drawings on the floor was actually made of ashes, and the ashes weren’t from anything innocent like wood. It accounted for both the god-awful smell and the oily feel of evil that clung to it.

As soon as the guards left, Meredith casually stepped out of her clothes, revealing a lithe figure that was breathtaking in its perfection. Her only ornament was a silvery chain with a black stone pendant on it that swung between her full, round breasts. She faced him, making sure to display herself as fully as possible as she twisted her long blonde hair over her head and bound it with a jeweled clasp. “I like to work sky clad,” she announced with a sly smile.

Travis didn’t give a damn what she liked. He had a throbbing headache, and his body felt like it had been worked over with a baseball bat. That could easily have happened while he was out, but it was more likely the aftereffects of being in close proximity to a powerful werewolf when she shifted form.
Werewolf.
That’s what she was, a devouring monster beneath an appealing human exterior. He wouldn’t grace the insane bitch with the word
Changeling
. He had taken lives himself, and he lived with the regret every day, but this woman killed casually, whimsically—and goddamn frequently.

With a word, she doused all the candles but one, a squat black one the size of a coffee can that stood in the midst of the mysterious artwork on the marble floor. The candle had three wicks, and the flames burned at least a foot tall, yet its light was all but lost in the vast, cavern-like expanse. Thick black shadows veiled much of the room even from Travis’s Changeling sight. Meredith appeared unconcerned, and he assumed she had enough night vision for whatever task she planned. She knelt at one side of the room amid a variety of small clay pots and urns and struck a red spark from a pair of stones. Instead of fizzling out, the spark grew larger, rising from the marble floor until it hovered a couple of feet over her head. In its ominous crimson light, Meredith began to add her ghastly powder to the drawings, only pausing to make notes in a leather-bound book. Wholly focused on her work, she ignored Travis completely. Whatever words she uttered now were in a language he didn’t recognize. Sometimes she sang, but the notes were discordant, in a strange minor key that raised the hair on the back of his neck.

He could swear that unnatural things writhed in the shadows.

Years ago, at a ceremonial sand painting in a Navajo community, Travis had watched the
Hatałii
, the medicine man, create
beautiful colored drawings on the floor of large hogan. The man had sung intricate blessings and chants for hours as he worked. His purpose was to heal, to restore balance and harmony. If there was a polar opposite to that ritual, Travis thought, it was happening in this room right now. His bones felt like ice, and this time it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Maybe this is karma come calling.
Perhaps the universe was finally balancing the scales and Travis would pay for what he had done in his younger days. He couldn’t take his own life—it was the first thing he’d thought to do after his wolf had killed the hunters, but of course, the damn wolf wouldn’t allow it. Chances were good, however, that his life was soon to be taken from him.
Maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
And for once, his wolf probably couldn’t save him.

He still didn’t know where the hell his alter ego had disappeared to. The bitch had probably worked some weird-ass hoodoo that separated him from his wolf. However it had happened, he’d never felt so naked in his life. Taking stock of what he had left to work with against Meredith and her foul magic, he was forced to admit things didn’t look promising for him.

The only good thing in all of this was that Neva must have escaped. Aware of his relationship with her, Meredith would surely have taunted him with her by now if she had her. He hoped he’d taught Neva enough to manage her new life as a Changeling. He hoped, too, that she’d remember him. Maybe she’d remember him as a pain in the ass. Or maybe, he hoped most of all, she’d remember what she told him: “You can be a real jerk sometimes, but you’re
decent
.”

As epitaphs went, it wasn’t bad.

If ever there was anyone who didn’t have an aptitude for shape-shifting, Baker figured it was him. Geneva had done her level best to coach him—although she claimed it was a case of the blind leading the blind—and still, it took most of the fucking afternoon before he finally sensed something different, something faint and elusive floating just at the edge of his perception. Mentally, he reached for it with everything he had.

And stood on two feet.

Stunned, he looked down at himself. Geneva had promised him it wouldn’t hurt, but he hadn’t expected that to be true, not after the hell he’d been through turning into a wolf in the first place. And he was downright amazed at how
fast
he had Changed—well, if you excluded the hours of mental exertion that preceded it.

He gave himself the once-over, flexing his fingers and then his toes. Whatever part of his leg he’d strained as an animal seemed to be just fine now. In fact, everything seemed fine—except he was buck-assed naked. Hastily glancing upward, he was relieved to see that the dark wolf, Geneva, was politely sitting with her back to him.

Turning his attention to the sheer sides of the sinkhole, Baker studied the limestone walls until he found a route he liked. He didn’t have gloves and climbing shoes, but he didn’t seem to notice the lack at all. Not only was he somehow tougher and stronger, his balance was heightened and he was surer of himself, confidently reaching for handholds that were mere pockmarks. Baker scaled the rock face in record time.

Still, when he hauled himself over the edge and got to his feet, the dark wolf had already been replaced by a pretty woman with thick dark hair that tumbled over her slim shoulders in waves. She stood just out of arm’s reach and turned as he stood up, thankfully keeping her golden-brown eyes strictly on his face.
He could almost count the freckles on her nose and cheekbones and—