Healer's Choice (33 page)

If he’d had human lips, he would have smiled. The paths laid centuries upon centuries ago were joining, becoming entwined, with this daughter serving as both catalyst for change and knot binding the threads of the weave together.

As it was becoming in the shadowlands, so would it become in this world of the living, with Weres mingling freely, irrespective of type.

It had to be so.

What good was an army constantly at risk of being at war with itself?

The irony of it wasn’t lost on Torquel. The outcasts these Weres shunned so thoroughly already mixed freely in brothels and hidden cities.

Koren’s progress toward the elders was halted by the Jaguar female Melina. Torquel took flight at the sight of her, landing on a low branch close to where they stood.

Melina pulled her hand from her pocket. Opened it to reveal the Wainwright token. “She uses witchcraft on Aryck. This is why he’s become enthralled with a human. I took it from her pocket while she was bathing.”

Koren took the blackened pentacle from Melina’s palm. “Where is the healer now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find her. Keep an eye on her without her being aware of you.”

He closed his fist around the token. “Don’t speak to anyone else about this.”

Melina gave a solemn nod but as she turned away to do as the alpha ordered, a satisfied smile emerged.

She bears watching
, Torquel thought, but followed Koren to the shaman’s house, becoming a small breeze passing through the doorway as Nahuatl ushered the alpha inside. Then a mouse whose black fur blended perfectly with the dark shadow of descending dusk.

Without prelude Koren passed the token to Nahuatl. “The human healer carries this.”

Nahuatl showed no surprise at the sight of it. “Phaedra found it when she washed Rebekka’s clothing. She brought it to me then. It is nothing. A sign of alliance, no more.”

“An alliance with witches. They are our enemies.”

“Some of them. Not the ones who gave the healer this token. Or at least they are not our enemies at the moment. You have been out among humans. Their world is painted in shades of gray, not the black and white of ours.”

“You approached the ancestors after Phaedra brought you the token?”

“Yes.”

When the shaman didn’t say more, Koren turned his back as if hiding the shame of what he said next. “She’s bewitched Aryck. I assumed responsibility for her protection while she’s in our lands and ordered him to stay away from her before he ends up outcast because of her. He believes the ancestors want her among us, as his mate. He intends to speak to you about it.”

Nahuatl stepped forward and placed a hand on Koren’s shoulder. “When he comes, I will tell him the ancestors have already spoken to me on this matter. If she survives an outcast’s trial, then the pack can claim her as one of their own.”

Koren turned to face the shaman. “Do you think she will survive it?”

Nahuatl shrugged. “I know only that years ago one of the ancestors showed me the witches’ token and told me the day would come when a human arrived in Jaguar lands bearing it. And should the pack wish it, the human could be tested for worthiness and made one of us.”

Koren’s hand clenched and unclenched. “In this moment it seems like our way of life is under assault. The humans invade Coyote lands. Disease struck the Elk and they carried it to the Wolves. Aryck argues for an alliance among the Weres and the Wolf enforcer favors it as well.”

“This is news.” Nahuatl indicated chairs covered in bison fur. “Let me hear it in detail and with your permission share it with the Lion shaman. We are to meet later at the edge of the shadowlands. The pride’s grand matriarch wishes to speak with Rebekka. If you allow it, the Lion outcast and several others will come here tomorrow and take her back with them if she’s willing.”

“I’ll tell those on patrol to meet the Lions and escort them to camp.”

Good
, Torquel thought, abandoning the mouse form in a swirl of air.

Outside the shaman’s cabin he became an owl lifting in flight, leaving the Jaguar camp in search of the grim evidence left behind in Caphriel’s game.

I’VE gone too far to stop now
, Radek thought. Not that he wanted to, not when the dreams of the previous night had been filled with images of inglorious failure and servitude, of Weres overrunning the human world and subjugating mankind.

Time was nearly out. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. It felt as though some internal clock had suddenly sped up, making his pulse race and intensifying the urge to look over his shoulder.

He was hyperaware of Gregor’s eyes boring into his back. Watching, taking note. Not to carry information back to Viktor or the Ivanov patriarch, but to increase his leverage so Radek would forever be footing the bill for his sexual perversions.

Ultimately he’d have to do something about Gregor, but not now. Not now.

Radek stirred the super-virus into the bucket of feed. With no evidence of dead elk, wolves, or hyenas, he’d split the encampment’s herd of meat goats, taken those he intended to use as a weapon against the Weres, and had them placed in a separate, enclosed building.

Gregor had become necessary, at least for the moment. Someone needed to take care of the goats. They were rank creatures and
he
certainly couldn’t be expected to muck out their paddock area or see to their water and all their feeding requirements. Someone needed to guard them so they didn’t end up in the human food supply.

A shudder went through Radek as he slipped the empty liquor flask he’d smuggled the virus into the building with into his pants pocket. Sudden sweat made his shirt cling to his sides. According to the documentation he’d found with the canisters, of the three super-viruses, this one was the most volatile, the most likely to mutate. It was a trade-off the scientists accepted, greater risk offset with the benefit of being able to kill a wide range of Weres having a cat form.

Cats were survivors. They were consummate predators. According to the data chip accompanying the canister, of all the Were groups, the scientists considered jaguar, leopard, and cougar shapeshifters the most likely to be able to survive prolonged human warfare on this continent and rise to power.

Radek picked up the bucket of feed. He’d already made a show of taking measurements of the goats when he arrived earlier, then of pouring in some of the fictional growth formula kept in a bottle near the feed.

The make-believe recipe supposedly came from the safe uncovered by the workers. His stated desire to test it served well enough as an excuse for taking charge of the goats and having Gregor assigned to them.

Radek turned around and took the several steps required to reach the paddock fence. The goats crowded forward, already anticipating the feast his presence had come to represent. He lifted the bucket and poured its contents into troughs made from metal barrels.

Three more days
, he thought, holding his breath to keep from inhaling the acrid stink of goat piss as the herd consumed his offerings. In three more days they’d all be ripe, virulent, and ready to be struck down like piñatas at a party.

Releasing them wouldn’t be a problem. He’d make up some excuse, perhaps something along the lines of them needing to graze naturally as part of their accelerated growth regime. And while the herd was out of sight of the encampment, they’d escape.

The last of the feed disappeared, leaving the metal barrels licked clean. Radek looked up and saw Gregor, eyes narrowed and hard, his hand rubbing the bulge at the front of his pants in a not-so-subtle reminder he hadn’t yet been paid for disposing of the whore.

Radek suppressed a smile. Yes, he could easily see how the animals would manage to escape, how the story would be spun—of noble Gregor growing concerned and leaving them unattended while he searched for the prostitute who’d gotten lost after accompanying him in his capacity as goat herder.

She’d stay lost of course. Gregor would make sure her corpse wasn’t found.

It was a simple plan. Effective and efficient. More important, it felt
right
.

He’d give it more thought before setting it into motion, but there was no reason not to whet Gregor’s appetite, to prime the pump, so to speak.

“Three more days of waiting should do it,” Radek said. “Considering the long hours you’ve been putting in and the degrading nature of the work for an Ivanov militiaman, I don’t think anyone would question your need of a whore and a break from the confines of the encampment. As a caveat, I do reserve the right to veto your choice of female companion. Their contracts vary in terms of their worth.”

Gregor’s hand curled around his cloth-covered cock. He wet his lips in anticipation. “Three days sounds good. It’s been too long since I had the kind of fun I like.”

REBEKKA woke lying in twisted bedding and covered in a light sheen of sweat, her hand in her panties, fingers wet against her stiffened clit. She looked around, disoriented by the fevered intensity of carnal dreams, half expecting to find Aryck in the cabin, directly responsible for the wicked images and decadent sensations.

She found only quiet emptiness and realization. A validation of her fears from the evening before.

Aryck wasn’t going to seek her out. Not when she’d be gone from Jaguar lands tomorrow. Not when it would mean discord between his father and him.

She sat, crossing her arms over her bare breasts and rubbing her upper arms. Goose bumps chased away the lingering heat of dreams and remembered touch. But the cool, early-morning air only partially accounted for the chill invading her.

In the cool light of dawn she faced a hard truth. Aryck regretted what happened after they left Wolf lands.

Falling asleep Jaguar and waking up in human form, lying on top of a willing female, could be explained as a momentary lapse, a healthy male responding to physical stimuli without it being a conscious choice. But willfully engaging in such activity with a human, to smell like sex and have his father—his alpha—catch them kissing and see the shallow scars she’d raked across Aryck’s back, was different.

From the time she was a child old enough to understand what her mother and the others did to survive, she’d noticed how many of the visitors crept in and slunk away, not wanting anyone to know they’d been with a prostitute.

“It’s for the best,” Rebekka whispered, hoping that speaking the lie would make her believe it.

She rose from the bed made of fur and blankets and dressed quickly, as anxious to escape her thoughts as the unwelcome solitude of the cabin.

Phaedra was at the fire pit behind her own cabin. She smiled as Rebekka stepped from the path and into the small clearing.

“You’re up early. I thought you might sleep in this morning after reading so late into the night. I’ll start breakfast in a few minutes.”

Spread out along the length of a log was a collection of leaves, berries, roots, and bark. Rebekka studied the combination then said, “You’re making a painkiller from the journal?”

“Yes, though as a healer I can’t hope the opportunity will arise to test this particular potion.”

Rebekka laughed, understanding exactly what Phaedra meant as she’d experienced it herself more than once in the course of learning new things as a healer. She took the journal from her pocket and flipped to the page with the recipe, watched as Phaedra accurately dealt with the various ingredients.

Despite coming to understand how the oral sharing of knowledge began almost at birth among pure Weres, Rebekka was still amazed by how quickly Phaedra was able to memorize information.

“You got it exactly right,” she said.

“You doubted?” Phaedra made a clucking sound and muttered, “Youngsters.”

Rebekka felt her heart swell with affection, with a sense of belonging. She closed the journal and slipped it back in her pocket so she could help Phaedra with the last step, pouring the painkiller into clay pots then sealing it in with hot wax.