Beast of All Page 8

  “Back off the almonds.”

  Wick smirked and held his hands up in mock surrender.

  I scowled at him and bent to lift one of the bodies. “Let’s get this done.”

  We worked in silence to dump the bodies off a nearby abandoned dock, the night peacefully silent. If anyone saw us, they wisely kept their mouths shut.

  This time when we approached the hotel, nothing significant happened, and we walked through the side entrance without incident.

  “That’s you.” Wick nodded at my door. He hesitated. “Will you be okay?”

  Normally, I’d fling an insult at anyone who dared suggest I couldn’t be alone, but Wick had already woken to my screaming nightmares. My limbs shook from the overexertion, despite having only hauled one body to the water while Wick juggled the remaining four.

  “I think so,” I lied.

  His nose flared, but he didn’t comment.

  “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  His brows pinched in. “Do what?”

  “Be nice to me.”

  “Andy,” he said in warning.

  “I’m serious. You’re not responsible for me. I’m not your problem.”

  Wick stiffened, and his chocolate gaze turned cold. “Do you always spit in the face of kindness?”

  My shoulders dropped. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I know this can’t be easy for you. I’m trying to let you off the hook.”

  “Well, stop.” Wick swiped his card, and the lock clicked open. He turned the handle and pushed in the door. He paused and turned stiffly toward me. “If you need me, you know where I am.”

  I nodded numbly. My limbs grew heavy at my sides. The world around us seemed to slow down as unsaid words hung between us. “Goodnight, Wick.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I copied Wick’s actions and stepped into the stale air of my hotel room. The silence weighed down on my shoulders. I hesitated and turned back. Back to what? Where would I go? With a deep breath, I forced my muscles to relax and let the solid door close behind me, trapping me in a quiet tomb. With the room so still, the air seemed to buzz around as I got ready for bed. Meditation did little to settle my nerves.

  After staring at the ceiling, and tossing my sheets this way and that as I sought a more comfortable position, I gave up and bolted from the bed. Pacing back and forth on an imaginary fifteen-foot runway, I bit my lip as my mind raced around with empty thoughts. If Wick hadn’t been with me, the retrieval team would’ve kicked my ass. Fatigued muscles still ached. I would’ve lost and ended up in another SRD compound, or worse, in the Pharaoh’s control.

  I shuddered.

  The hair on the back of my neck remained stiff and uncomfortable, sending chills and unease.

  Vulnerable.

  I was vulnerable. Not safe. No feras in my head. No Tristan beside me. Alone.

  My stomach rolled, and I picked up my pace. What was I doing here? I should be out looking for Ben. Or figuring out what the Pharaoh planned.

  I paused.

  Or killing shit.

  I certainly shouldn’t be pacing in a three-star hotel room.

  A sharp knock on my door stopped me in my tracks. I held my breath and waited. The knocking stopped after three taps. Rosemary and sugar squeezed through the less than stellar seals of the hotel door.

  Wick.

  What did he want?

  He knocked again.

  I turned toward the entrance and paused by the door.

  “Andy.” Wick spoke softly. No need for him to shout with my Shifter hearing, and bad seals.

  “Yes?”

  “I hear you pacing. Can I come in?”

  What the hell could he do about it? I swallowed my cutting words. He was trying to be nice, to be a friend when I had few.

  I sighed, unlatched the door, and swung it open.

  Wick shifted back on his heels.

  I waited.

  He ran his hand through his blond hair.

  “I didn’t realize I was stomping that loudly,” I muttered and moved to the side.

  Wick stepped in, and I closed the door behind him.

  “In your defense, the walls are paper thin.” He offered a half smile. “The couple in the room on the other side of mine are having a lot more fun than either of us.”

  Thin walls and Were hearing meant little privacy.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Wick’s brows pinched together.

  What the heck? We’d barely been in our rooms long enough for me to attempt sleep. “Thought a bit of pacing would tire me out.”

  “Andy.”

  Geez. He said my name like that a lot. As if my name activated an internal truth serum. I stared at my feet.

  “You’ve been pacing for hours.”

  “Hours? Bullshit.” My head snapped up and met Wick’s serious gaze. Well, dang. I yanked my phone from my pocket and checked the screen. No shit. I’d wasted almost three hours of sleeping time.

  I sighed and plunked my butt heavily on the edge of the bed. Wick sat beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He folded his hands on his lap. “You haven’t slept well since we got you out.”

  “It’s so quiet. So empty.”

  “The room?”

  “My head.”

  Wick paused as he contemplated my words. “You miss your feras?”

  “I feel weak and vulnerable and alone without them.” Instead of my body running into a hyper drive of wariness, my tired muscles slackened and my arms hung loose. My pulse slowed to a healthy, normal pace.

  “You’re not alone, Andy.”

  I started to protest, to explain what I meant, but Wick turned to me and the seriousness of his gaze trapped my words in my throat.

  “I know it may feel that way,” he said. “But you’ll get your feras back, and you have friends, people who care about you. You’re never truly alone.”

  He hesitated before reaching out and placing his palm on my chest, over my heart, not in a sexual way, but in a tender and sincere gesture.

  “You will always hold those you’ve loved and lost here.” He tapped my chest. “They will always be with you.”

  Tristan will always be with you.

  I blinked rapidly and squeezed my eyes shut. No crying. I will not cry. I’d already lost it once around Wick. Keep it together.

  Wick removed his warm hand and stood. “Come on. Get into bed.”

  My mouth opened, but he growled.

  Growled. Going all Alpha on me, and not allowing any protest. My wolf would’ve loved this.

  I snarled but did as he said. He pulled the blanket to my chin and walked around the room, flicking off the lights before locking the door and shucking off his shoes. The bed dipped again as he climbed on to rest beside me, on top of the sheets, a giant Werewolf paperweight. The familiarity of the moment pinged a distant memory, one from a lifetime ago, one from the moment when I started to fall for the Alpha Werewolf who lay beside me. He rested on his back with his head on his folded arms. So close, yet so far away.

  “Go to sleep,” his whiskey and cream voice vibrated the air. “You’re not alone.”

  His safe, protective presence reassured the part inside of me twitching with uncertainty and anxiety. My lids grew heavy, and the energy leached from my limbs as I sank into the mattress.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dáa

  “Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero.”

  ~Marc Brown

  The mist parted as the ferry pulled into the bay toward Skidegate Landing, the water so still the surface appeared smooth as glass. A recording blared through the speakers, and the announcer asked everyone to return to their vehicles on the car decks below for disembarking. I wasn’t ready.

  With the crisp ocean air slicing past my cheeks and whipping through my hair, I closed my eyes and inhaled the salty atmosphere, relishing the welcoming smell where forest met ocean—heavy scents of Sitka spruce, red cedar, shore pine, hemlock, and alder mixed with
water-logged sand, rich soil, and dense moss—the signature smell of the untamed North Coast of British Columbia.

  Home.

  I shook my head at the random thought. My mind played tricks on me, drawing its own conclusion because a brother roamed around these old growth forests somewhere.

  It.

  Like my brain was a separate entity. When I’d shared the vacuous space with three nut-job feras, it certainly felt that way. They all wanted different things and pulled in opposing directions.

  But now… Now, I had no excuse.

  The ocean lapped against the sides of the ferry. Cloaked in the earthy scents, foreign, yet familiar, I couldn’t completely disregard the suggestion of home. As streams of mist curled around the vessel, and the cold air sank into my bones, the restless part of me—the one on edge from the loss of my feras and the constant feelings of vulnerability—settled. A wave of calm lathed my nerves with each drag of air. My shoulders sank and the stiffness flowed from my tense muscles.

  “We should head down.” Wick’s raspy voice sounded behind me.

  He’d silently stood behind me this entire time, like a stone guardian keeping vigil, and protecting me from potential danger. Or maybe he worried I’d jump.

  The only real danger on this trip so far had been the falling missiles from the seagulls. My falcon would’ve loved teaching them a lesson. She hated seagulls. My stomach twisted. Falcon would’ve screeched at the birds and demanded release. My mind, however, remained quiet, and I found my head not nearly as entertaining or comforting.

  The attack at the hotel had amounted to little more than a few sore muscles and one nasty bruise on my forearm. If Wick hadn’t been there, the damage would’ve been more formidable.

  “Andy?” Wick leaned in.

  I turned and faced him. His chocolate gaze searched my face. For what? Hopefully not answers, because I had none. I nodded anyway, walked past him, and headed toward the car deck.

  ****

  The Haida Gwaii. The land of the Haida. As the dominant First Nations in the area, they were known for their nautical prowess in canoes, beautifully told myths, and artfully constructed totem poles. Historically, they raided villages along the coast so proficiently the other groups feared the sound of their war drums.

  An influx of small pox and other diseases from foreigners in the 1800s brought their success to a tragic end. Now abandoned and desolate villages lined the coasts, virtually reclaimed by the harsh elements and wild nature of the forest.

  Some called the Haida the “Vikings of the Pacific Northwest.” Most knew they needed no other title, no other name, nor someone else’s worn label. They were, and are, Haida. A fierce and proud nation with a rich heritage.

  I had always been drawn to the Haida culture, and explained the baffling allure as simply craving a connection. Though the adoption papers never specified the origins of my mixed-race appearance, the possibility of belonging somewhere tempted even the coldest recesses of my soul. Now, knowing the location of my brother, the appeal of this place and culture made more sense.

  Driving north along the highway, with the windows up and the heat cranked to combat the damp cold, I soaked up the wild nature. As we drove, miles of untamed forests and ocean bordered the two lane road. Two bald eagles soared above, as if tailing our truck’s progress. My chest expanded, opening to warmth for the first time since Tristan’s death.

  After pulling out of the drugged daze in the lab, clarity spanned my memory, piecing together the lost time, and filling in the two months spent under the SRD’s control. But though time had passed, sometimes the loss of the Wereleopard Alpha cut like it occurred days ago.

  Wick’s gaze sometimes flicked to me as he drove, but he remained silent, as if he sensed my need for solitude, for reconnecting with a place I didn’t know I had any real link with until now.

  A section of my mind cried out. I should be looking for Ben. Scooping up the bad Witches, and bopping them on their heads. My skin prickled.

  No. Without my animal familiars, I couldn’t do much right now, even if we knew the location of Ben and the boys. The Witches, Stan, and Kayne Security searched for them. They had better resources and contacts in the Witch world than I could ever hope to have. I needed to trust them to get the job done. In the meantime, I had to recover my feras and beast. Reclaim my badass skills. Until then, I was useless. Vulnerable.

  When the road tapered off and ended with the Naikoon Provincial Park, Wick pulled the truck to the side of the road and parked. I hopped out and tore off my shoes. Even with the cold, damp soil beneath my feet, energy zinged through my body. I tilted my head back and opened my senses. The salt-laden air from the nearby beach rushed to me. Wind clawed at my skin and whipped my hair. Unease of the unknown should’ve stabbed its way along my spine, but instead, despite the cold, a comforting warmth engulfed my body.

  Home.

  An eagle screeched above and circled along with another before they took off farther east.

  “Bit chilly,” Wick mumbled. He yanked the zipper of his winter jacket to his chin, pulled his head down and crossed his arms.

  “Is it?” I barely noticed. My veins pumped with liquid heat and urged me forward. The darkening forest called to me. Staring into its depths provided no answers, but the darkness pulled at my soul.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Wick. He nodded slightly. Without a second look, I ran.

  Twigs snapped under my feet, sharp jagged rocks cut my soles, and branches reached out to snag my flowing hair, loose down my back. The wind and I wove as one around large trunks of old growth forest. All the while, the harsh elements of the Pacific Northwest beat at my body and burned my lungs.

  Home.

  Rushing along a broken path, I pushed to go faster, farther. The cold air continued to burn my throat, sweat broke across my face and my skin grew numb.

  Faster. Farther.

  Home.

  A cabin sat in a protective cocoon of trees with smoke puffing out of the chimney. The soft lapping of the ocean trickled through the woods. I stumbled on the frost-hardened soil and fell to my hands and knees. My breath came in raspy gasps, burning my trachea, and puffing out in little plumes of condensed air.

  Something blocked the moonlight and cast shadows across the clearing. The ground around the side of the cabin crunched, and clothing rustled.

  I lifted my head, and froze.

  A strong, shirtless man stood tall before me. His bronze skin shone under the soft moonlight. Hair, dark as midnight, fell straight to his waist. Broad nose, high cheekbones and a wide, soft mouth gave away his Haida heritage. His pine and sea scent gave away his eagle Shifter nature. Was this Sonny, my brother? Excitement vibrated along my body at the same time dread tried to squash the reaction. Would he accept me, or hate me?

  With a dark obsidian gaze, the man assessed me in turn.

  Would we stay frozen like this? Forever watching each other? What did he plan to do?

  The man dropped his head back and spread his arms wide for the moon to bathe him in its glow.

  “Háw’aa,” he spoke softly.

  When his head dipped down, he refocused on me and dropped his arms. An eagle swooped down and landed on the man’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch or stagger. The bird’s talons didn’t sink into his flesh; instead, the large predator perched precariously, yet comfortably, in an act that must’ve been practiced time after time. The man glanced at his fera and took a step forward.

  A growl vibrated from the trees to my left seconds before a large black Werewolf leapt into the clearing. With a white-tipped snout, white socks and mitts, Wick’s Werewolf form would’ve been adorable as a cub, but now, he was the most intimidating Werewolf Alpha I’d ever seen. Which said a lot.

  He might’ve always been on the sweet side with me, but if he lost his shit…

  Wick lunged to insert his large presence between the man and me. Spinning to face the eagle man, Wick’s hackles stood on end. Saliva dripped from his snarling mo
uth and barred fangs. His protectiveness pulled at something inside me.

  The eagle fera launched off the man’s shoulders and moved to a safer perch on a nearby tree limb.

  I clambered to my feet, as Wick continued to growl. Warmth spread out to my limbs and tingled my toes.

  Wolf? I called to my fera.

  Silence met me where my wolf would’ve howled in answer, before I sent her away, before I lost her.

  The man on the other side of Wick pulled up short and held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture.

  “Easy.” The man spoke with a deep voice, rich like spiced sandalwood.

  Wick’s growl deepened.

  The man sighed. His shoulders dropped. He looked upward again as if asking for divine intervention. He crouched in front of Wick, and muttered, “Weres.”

  Wick’s snarl faltered. His head tilted and his black ears pinged forward.

  “I’m not here to hurt your woman, wolfman.”

  I bristled and ignored my racing pulse. I was no one’s property.

  Wick’s fangs gleamed under the moonlight.

  “I am her blood.” His obsidian gaze flicked to me.

  I stiffened, and held my breath.

  “No harm will come to her so long as she walks the way of our people and does no harm.” The man watched me as he spoke.

  No harm. These two words echoed in my mind. Too many times I’d heard these exact words uttered, only to have them danced around. But the truth in his words and the sincerity of his gaze gave me hope.

  Wick plunked his butt down and watched the man.

  The eagle Shifter stood from his crouch and walked around Wick’s large form. He stopped a few feet short of me and hesitated for the first time. His brows furrowed as he studied my face.

  The sour tang of all our nerves spiraled in the air. He said no harm but would he welcome me or send me away?

  After what seemed like hours, it appeared the man wouldn’t make any move at all. I held out my hand. “Andy.”

  The man glanced at my stiffly jutted out arm and open palm. He shook his head, his long hair flowing back and forth to shroud his handsome features. With two large steps, he closed the distance between us and enveloped me in a tight hug. The warmth of his skin shielded me from the cold wind and his long hair flowed around me as a fragrant blanket of pine and sea.