The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (13 page)

Chapter sixteen

Distant rumbling pulled
Daeryn from sleep. He squirmed into a better position under the sickroom’s blankets, and sank back to his half doze. The pain had all but gone. If not for the ache in his foot, he’d drop off easily. Maybe Miriam had left him some willow bark…

Click, click, click.

Daeryn froze, jerked fully awake by the warning call and the scent of agitation. His eyes flashed open.

Rivley stood at the window, the curtain pushed back. Outside, the tractor engines’ even drones cut off one by one, leaving the avian’s soft clicking the only sound.

No, not the only one. Muted grumbles came through the glass, the cadence and tones familiar even if the words were lost.

His teammates. And the nervous voices included Jac’s.

He pushed himself up and swung his legs out of bed, wincing at the stab through his ankle. He rose on his good foot all the same. Damned awkward.

The clicking stopped. Rivley half-turned to meet his gaze.

“What’s happening?” Daeryn asked, then realized Rivley had stepped aside so he could see the ’cambires standing outside the window under the porch. Their backs were to the house, but Daeryn recognized Jac and Zar.

“You’d think an upcoming funeral,” answered Rivley, “rather than meeting the temporary hires on the way in with Mistress Gere. Someone needs to tell those beasts to cut the spineless milling.”

Daeryn frowned. Jac didn’t think she could boss around a couple of temporary workers? He grabbed the top blanket and wrapped his middle. Half-hopping, he crossed the room, biting his lip at the shooting pain. He fell to one knee in the wing chair Annmar had used earlier and with his good foot, angled the chair sideways to the window.

Rivley caught his intent and shoved up the sash of the large window. At the sound, the two outside turned and stepped closer. Their high-strung tension wafted in to join Rivley’s irritation. Jac tapped his non-bandaged shoulder in greeting.

“Daeryn.” Zar lifted his chin, subtly scenting him. “Feeling better?”

“I suppose. Slept the afternoon thanks to Miriam’s herbs.” He scanned his arms and bare chest. The welts had faded, leaving just scabs under the salve. He gestured to the red slash down Jac’s forearm. “Get some for your arm. It’ll heal faster.”

She grimaced. “It stinks, and I don’t want my fur matted. If this isn’t better in the morning, I’ll use it then.”

Rivley scanned the yard. “So where are the temporary hires?”

Zar tilted his head toward town. “Comin’ up the road now. Miz Gere met ’em at Smitty’s, where the two will be boarding.”

Daeryn’s hopes sagged. Only two? No wonder Jac and Zar smelled of fear. He didn’t dare show anything but encouragement. “Four of you guarding tonight, then.” He nodded to Jac. “Spare, but doable. Divide the sections as you see fit for their skills.”

She eyed him. “Maraquin should be out by tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” Daeryn said, ignoring the rise of Rivley’s brow to watch Jac’s reaction to an idea he had. “Depending on how capable these hires look, I may call on James to add in.”

Jac blinked in surprise. “Owen never would have done that.”

He knew. James, Wellspring’s manager, was the only other nocturnal predator on the farm. To ask for his help was admitting they couldn’t handle their duties. “Hell, we’re beyond protecting our pride when Wellspring is at stake.”

Jac didn’t scoff, so it looked like she’d agree. Instead, her head snapped around. Jac tipped her nose and sniffed. “Crossing behind the kitchen.”

The breeze carried the scent of stale musk and guano. His scalp prickled. What the heck were these hires? His gaze shot to Zar and Jac—they’d seen them. Daeryn opened his mouth to ask, but his inhalation drew in Jac’s nervous scent.

No. She could not let the others smell her fear. Not now. He reached out with his unbandaged arm and tapped her shoulder. “Go meet them,” he said. “Be sure they know you’re in charge.”

Chin up, Jac spun on her heel and stalked off. Zar followed a step behind her. Daeryn leaned out the window, but their straight backs disappeared around the corner of the building before Jac called a greeting.

Damn. He wanted to see the new hires. But he’d look pretty stupid hanging out the window. Daeryn shifted position to sit in the chair, draping his sore foot over an arm to elevate it, and arranged the blanket to cover his lap.

Rivley also straightened and crossed his arms. “You actually turned your lead position over to Jac.”

What? His gaze darted after her again. “Not exactly. You don’t smell them, but the hires’ scent is strange. How else would I stoke her ego for tonight?”

Rivley rolled his eyes. “As if Jac needs even half that coaxing.” Both their gazes returned to the window, and he added, “At least it wasn’t because you thought she’d do a better job.”

Sticking up for their own had more to do with it. Before Daeryn could explain, a few deep words drifted around the kitchen. He strained to hear more, but the windlass started up at the bunkhouse.

Daeryn glanced across the farmyard. The diurnal team’s three rangy figures passed the growers unloading the wagons, walking in from the changing shelter at the far end. “Here comes your old team, Riv.”

The broad-shouldered Gunther—far taller than his buzzard’s four-foot wingspan—appeared as unconcerned as usual. Their leader, Famil, looked beat, her blond braids showing a bit of eagle feather beneath her felt hat. Wyatt had his thumbs hooked in his worn leather braces, but his intent look beyond the farmhouse was far from normal.

“Wyatt sees them,” Rivley confirmed, and a moment later added, “Doesn’t look good.”

And Riv would know, after hunting with this team for a few seasons before Master Brightwell asked him to help in the workshop full time.

The day guards didn’t falter in their steps, but a nudge of Wyatt’s elbow to Famil caused her to look up. Her eyes narrowed, and her arms wrapped her leather vest tighter over her faded plaid shirt. Another pace and a slight turn of the head to Gunther, and all three slowed their steps.

Daeryn’s spine crawled with the urge to change. Naked, a foot he couldn’t walk on, unseen predators—his deficiencies sought some fix. “Call them over,” he whispered to Rivley.

The avian pitched a long, low whistle, the sound of the wind through the pines. Three heads tilted, and the day guards veered to the farmhouse. Wyatt and Famil came to stand by the window, still turned half toward the kitchen. Gunther leaned casually against one of the porch posts, making a show of inspecting his nails.

Great. Designated watch. Coupled with their wary actions, the tension in Daeryn’s shoulders ratcheted up another notch.

“Big, dark.” Famil answered their unasked question in a low, stiff voice. “Mammalian, as we expected for night workers, but…not quite. They’re different.”

Different? Famil and Wyatt had traveled the wildest corners of the Basin and encountered many species along the way. If they considered these hires unusual…

Wyatt muttered, “Chiroptera.
Mega
chiroptera, by the looks of them.”

“Species?” Daeryn looked from Wyatt to Famil. “In plain words.”

“Ropen is the common name,” Wyatt said. “An obscure flying mammal. Related to bats and flying foxes. Only bigger.”

“Much bigger.” Famil shook her head. “Think cougar.”

“No, canine.” Wyatt tipped back his hat and frowned. “I heard sometime back that they crossbred with wolves.”

The hairs on the back of Daeryn’s neck pricked. Either a cougar or a wolf was big. And something that size flew? Every worry Rivley had persuaded him to dismiss regarding his small ’cambire form taking the lead position returned in a rush of churning to Daeryn’s gut. Nerves gripped the others, too: Famil and Wyatt glared at each other.

“I might not have recognized their human form right off,” Famil said, “but I’ve heard as much as you. We Westenders aren’t entirely isolated, you know.”

Wyatt snorted. “Beg your pardon, but all you’ve got is hearsay. I saw a week of fly-by terror one summer at Cliffdrops.”

She rolled her eyes. “And just when was that?”

He darted his gaze upward, too. “I remember it well enough.”

Famil snorted. “Your mum did
not
let a boy barely on the wing out to fight.”

Gunther cleared his throat. Loudly. Their argument cut off, just as Jac appeared around the corner of the kitchen. Mistress Gere and Zar brought up the rear, and between them strode two men in identical black duster coats over black trousers and shirts.

Big and dark, as Famil said, but not because of skin coloring. Their shade was lighter than Gunther’s and browner than Daeryn’s, but intensified by their unkempt, brownish-red hair. Long strands blended with beards that haloed their faces, one older, one young. Daeryn couldn’t quite tell from this angle, but it appeared the less craggy of the two had his gaze on Jac’s ass.

She stopped and pointed to the line of peach trees. “The split-rail fence divides Wellspring’s property from the cemetery next door. It extends north to the woodlot.” Jac waved and pivoted. “The orchard and the berry bushes west of them make up section one.”

The older of the two sliced a hand in a cutting motion. “We’ll just hunt where we find the vermin.”

Jac’s jaw tightened. “We’re focusing on the northern fields because of the damage the growers report. However, we cannot leave any section unattended for an extended time. Section assignment and reporting allow adjustments to the rounds for the best coverage.”

In answer, the ropen shoved his hands into the duster’s pockets and spat on the ground.

“Maxillon?” Mistress Gere stepped forward to stand beside Jac. “My teams have a system in place for complete coverage.”

“Stupid one, if you ask me,” said the younger man. “You want us to kill these creatures or not?”

Mistress Gere’s brow shot up, but before she could say anything, Maxillon backhanded the other ropen’s mouth.

Daeryn blinked. His canines jutted to his lip, and his skin buzzed at the display of temper. Next to him, Rivley flinched. Wyatt and Gunter were halfway across the farmyard, but Jac and Zar had sprung between the ropens and Mistress Gere.

“Shut yer trap,” Maxillon snapped. “If the lady gives you a direction, you follow it.”

After a brief pause, the younger man dipped his head to Mistress Gere. “My apologies,” he muttered.

Jac stepped forward. “I don’t care if Paet is your son,” she said, her tone hard. “Physical reprimands are not allowed on this property. Understand?” The last word rolled out on a growl, and Jac’s canines showed white against her decidedly dark face.

Wyatt and Gunther stopped yards back, though their bodies looked ready to spring. This time the pause stretched out. Jac held the gaze of the ropen without wavering.

Daeryn leaned forward, willing her ironic demand to work. These ’cambires needed stiffer rules than Wellspring usually laid out. Nasty in human form translated to a vicious temperament in ’cambire form.

Maxillon finally nodded. “I do,” he said, and Paet echoed him. Maxillon shifted his gaze around to all those in the farmyard. “You need our help, but we also need the work. We will do as she”—he gestured to Jac—“directs. Despite this disruption, we are good at following orders.”

Mistress Gere raised a finger. “One infraction, and you are gone.” She nodded to Jac and strode back the way they had come. Both ropens turned, giving Daeryn and those at the farmhouse a full-on view of their faces. Their mismatched yellow and green eyes shone like beacons, keenly tracking the owner until she disappeared around the kitchen addition.

“Going to reset her property barriers,” Rivley said quietly.

Damn, they were stuck with the bastards, and with keeping them in line. Jac set the rules, and by the Creator, he’d make sure the ropens stuck to them. Daeryn crossed his arms on the windowsill, the feel of his fur-covered skin flooding him with three-year-old pack memories. Like the teeth, it was a show of alpha. A second later, Paet’s gaze landed on him. Daeryn stared back and the ropen’s gaze flitted off. To Rivley and then Famil. To Wyatt and Gunther. Good. The bastard knew a number of them had witnessed the clash.

Jac cleared her throat. “We’ll walk the property to view the section divisions.” She gestured westward across the farmyard and waited until the ropens stepped forward with her.

Rivley rolled his back to the window frame. “I apologize for my earlier comment. You did Wellspring a favor granting Jac your position.”

Daeryn started to sink back into his chair, then stiffened his spine. By the Path, he would not show any of them how grateful he was for his own decision. “Authority,” he corrected.

“Nocturnal lead in your absence?” Famil asked, and he nodded. “If they are as intense while hunting, their skills should solve the problem,” she said, a hopeful note to her words. “Mistress Gere doesn’t want this to drag out, so she’s gotten the best available. Or the worst, I should say.” A nervous twitter slipped out. “Hate to say it, but they give me the willies.”

Hell, yes, but Daeryn tightened his jaw to keep that to himself.

“And Wyatt witnessed an aerial battle with creatures as rough as these two?” Rivley whistled. “Can you imagine?”