Ashes To Ashes (Wolf Guard Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter 5

Blood red rivers ran freely across the trail. A clear pathway he’d left in his wake. I ran that red path just as quickly, with just as much nonchalance, as he did. I would not be distracted by the dead he’d thrown at my oncoming steps - he should know I was the wrong wolf for that kind of play.

Had he always been the enemy?

Always been this betrayer?

How long had he lived this lie? Fooling so many of us, fooling me. The man I called brother.

I imagine it was supposed to hurt more than it did. Perhaps sink into my soul and leave a heavy, aching lump to swallow around. Instead I felt rather empty, a little bit hollow in the space that he used to fill - that space originally made for a family I didn’t remember. It seemed odd that the man that smiled so much, as if everything amused him, could be hiding such villainy. Hiding behind that wide smile he threw at everyone around him. I’ll not trust such a consistently happy persona again.

I chased him further through the blooming trees. Ancient oaks and wild flowers only just beginning their cycle for the changing season.Wolf caught sight of his prey every so often, little flickers of red hair clashing with the budding green around him. Large shoulders at nearly seven foot in height swerving unnaturally fluidly around the staggered trunks. He was rather good at this game - he played at being the rabbit while Wolf hunted him down.

He’d distracted my original plans of meeting the pack first. Run across my path in wolf form until I’d dismissed the belongings I’d been carrying and fell head first into instinct. I probably should have stilled for a moment, taken more time to think about his motives. But Wolf had decided we were chasing, and that was the end of the discussion. I allowed him more control than usual, simply because the animal felt more betrayed than I did. I felt rage for his actions, anger the moment I saw Sam’s body lifeless on his bedroom floor. Seething hate for the man who had taken my demons and given them Arya to destroy. Those feelings were momentary though, a whistle on the wind compared to this emptiness I now felt. It was as if he’d been ripped from my memories as quickly as he took a life, forgotten as friend and replaced by a driving urge to slay, to put him down like any other dog that had bitten it’s master. Maybe this was my malfunction - some misfire in the brain that caused such lack of conscience, or perhaps it was just the semblance of trust he’d inspired - not quite enough to truly fool the animal that made up half of my soul.

Duncan moved faster ahead of me, his feet a blur between the smaller, younger saplings. I followed his burst of speed with one of my own, Wolf hungry with the idea of the final catch, a little ferocious in his growl of excitement. We were nearing the town, the forest slowly melting away to grass and tiny shrubs, the moon more clearly shown as her face beat down to highlight the traitor. How she moves to ensure his capture, how she lights the darkness to show me the way.

I grinned into the gloomy evening, baring my teeth should he think to look behind him, confident I’d catch him soon enough. He was a fast wolf, a strong wolf - I’d outmatched him years ago.

Soon enough he hit the breaching light of streetlamps, a hazy yellow that turned the inky night to a grey dawn. Houses lined the opposite side of the sectioning road, terraced dwellings that showed age in their crumbling brickwork. The street seemed sleepy - only lit from within in one or two rooms at the end of the long stretch of buildings. I rumbled to Wolf to put on another burst of speed, increase that pace until he was within grabbing distance - I’d had enough dead bodies thrown at me this evening, it had become somewhat irritating.

“Duncan.” I growled out his name as he slowed beside one house in the middle of the row. Steadily decreasing my own speed until I came to stop within feet of his disheveled appearance. He’d let himself go a little in the weeks he’d spent on his own. I was oddly amused by the fact.

He smiled that wide smile, teeth glaringly white beneath the moon’s glow. “Hello, lad. Enjoyed our little chase.”

I grunted back at him, I found I had no words to continue a conversation I wasn’t all that interested in.

He frowned slightly, creases in the corner of his eyes becoming more prominent with the motion, that weather beaten skin from hundreds of years living in Scotland’s harsh climate. “You not going ta talk ta me, Lane? Nothing ta say?”

Not really. Perhaps he thought himself more important to me than what he was. “Nothing to talk...about.”

He grinned again and I found that smirk almost as irritating as the flying bodies. “Ach, there’s plenty ta talk about. You might find you’ll be very interested.”

He stepped a little further away, inline with the front gate that opened to a small porch for the house he stood beside. I matched his footsteps with one of my own, unwilling to lose any ground against him. “Not much you can...say anymore. Lost my attention...weeks ago.”

“No need ta be like that now, I’ve a plan for you and me, laddie.”

I shook my head and let Wolf drop his claws to my fingertips, scratching the skin from the inside and finding that tear in the deeper tissue he always used. He bashed against the cage I kept him in, low rumbling roars as each strike only forced him back into containment. I’d have to let him out pretty soon or he’d take action against his human house to get at this wolf that had turned on his family. I wondered on Duncan’s wolf for a moment, if the animal was just as manic as the Scot or if he fought against his cage just as hard as mine did. “Why are you here?”

He looked towards the darkened building, curtains drawn and windows shut tight. “I got you a present.”

I narrowed my eyes his way, I was pretty sure It wouldn’t be a present I wanted. “What’s in the...house, Duncan?”

Another grin. One that made Wolf wanted to claw the smirk off his face. “Go have a look, lad. I’ll wait right here for you.”

It was a silly idea. I was above such meaningless curiosity.

Wolf raised his nose in the air. Long, chest expanding breaths pulled the night air deep into our lungs. Smoke and petrol and sewerage soon followed, little hints of decomposing flesh from the forest, the tiniest hint of fresh coppery blood chased the pollution away. Wolf’s attention became instantly refocused on the house that Duncan guarded. I sighed - I’d be taking that look after all.

He backed away, arms spread to the side in universal surrender. I grumbled at the animal pushing me forward, insistent in his adamant need to seek the source of that blood. I turned my back on Duncan - letting him see just how threatening I found him. The gate squeaked as I moved it further ajar, so loud in such a quiet night. The door was unlocked and I walked quickly through, already following that scent that became so much more overwhelming as it permeated through the house. Wolf shoved violently against the skin of my chest, talons visible poking at the t-shirt I wore with the strength of his push. I took the path he wanted, through to the living room and a sight I already knew would greet me.

Blood stained every available surface, streaks against the furniture, the walls, the floor. Two bodies lay haphazardly together on one sodden sofa. The faces were unknown to me, a male and female I don’t remember meeting. Long gashes across both their chests advertised sharp wolf claws had done the damage. The bones of their ribs sticking prominently through the large, gaping holes.

Why am I looking at this?

I sniffed the air once and found that faint trace of oil.
Empaths.
I growled without the need of the animal to voice it. He thinks this is a gift? Wolf rumbled in displeasure and I gripped the door frame in a fist that ached to meet his face.

I don’t remember these faces, they weren’t at that village.

I swung around and flew back towards the front door, the faint taste of disgust in my mouth. He stood exactly where I’d left him, that smile still plastered on his face. Annoyance ripped a path through my veins - that this was what he thought I was, this is what he believed I’d become. I may not have retained my sanity but I was not this crazed killer. I was mildly insulted.

A frown descended on his face, finally replacing that irritating grin. My arm curled of its own accord, bunching the muscle until my shoulder strained with the need to unleash. Wolf pressed firmly against my chest and this time, I allowed his forward momentum. My fist hit his face long before he’d even thought to put up a defense. First blood splattered instantly against my cheek and I grinned at the burn that ran over my knuckles with each hit I landed in a solid punch. Bone shattered against bone, fracturing the cartilage in my hands, knitting together only to be re-broken against his skull. He was no better off - his face was heavily covered in crimson before he got the chance to regain his guard. Within minutes we were both saturated in each other’s blood - It was quite the enjoyable fight.

We stumbled back towards the forest, attempting to hide ourselves from curious onlookers. Struggling to maintain a human form when all the animal wanted to do was breach that surface and take a bite out of his throat. I stood and took a step to the side, changing the flow of direction, using his own lessons against him. He smiled as soon as he saw me re-position my feet.

“Can’t beat the master, lad.”

I shook my head. “Surpassed you a century...ago.”

He scowled and swiped a claw at me, the wolf breaking his restraints for a moment. He’d answered my question at least - his wolf was just as manic as Duncan now was.

“Can’t stick around to finish, have other things to do today.”

He looked almost regretful - perhaps he missed our sparring sessions and was realising just what he’d lost.

“Don’t run...finish this.”

He shrugged and took another step back. “Wish I could.”

He was gone before I even worked up to the words stuck in my throat. His figure a blur racing through the trees, back the way I’d already chased him. I growled at his fleeing figure, irritation rising to take over reason. Wanker. I had been nowhere near finished with him.

Chapter 6

We followed Conall through the moonlit forest. That glow bathing the ancient trees and leaf buried floor in a silvery cast of shadowed light. His steps were perfectly placed between hidden dips in the covered soil and he whistled quietly as he walked, an old tune that seemed very much a drinking song. Oddly, at times, he would take a detour around a mound of soil encased by trees or shrubs, a circle of dirt that banked a large but shallow crater. I watched him for some time, attempting to figure out his rather confusing pattern of movement. When the front door of the pack house loomed ominously ahead I decided to give in and satisfy my curiosity. "Conall?"

His whistling ceased and he glanced around in question.

"What's with the little sidesteps around the dirt?"

A scowl dropped over his face and my eyebrows shot up in surprise. The complete change from calm to almost rabidity in nature was blindingly ferocious and unnerving.

"Faeries." He spat.

I stopped walking and tried very hard to keep a straight face. Ty wasn't so worried about upsetting the wolf and his snort was loud in the otherwise silent forest. He slyly turned his back on Conall to glance around the wood at our back and turned wide eyes to me. I looked at his face, one eyebrow arched and his mouth open as he mouthed 'faeries?!' to me and I struggled with my straight face once more.

"Laugh all yer want lad. Those mounds are faery forts. Bastard creatures they are wit' their mind tricks." His face turned slightly wolf, darkening the structure of bone and ligament until his every contour seemed cut hard in crystal rock and polished in soot. "I doan't step on their land and they doan't step on mine. The wolf wants tae claw their pretty eyes out, rip their lying hearts from their chests." He turned his furious gaze to one of the mounds of dirt sat innocently between barren trees. "Dirty fae," he hissed. "I'll burn yer house down, yer step one foot out." The words nearly spat themselves out from mouth twisted in such abnormal anger.

Conall shook his head and forcibly loosened his fists, he turned back to the house and we stood immobile, slightly stunned behind him. "Come on, I've a need tae get shite-faced."

I nodded in agreement as Ty leaned close and whispered low in my ear, "seems your new friend is a wee bit crazed."

Crazed maybe. Probably a little too invested in his faery stories and superstitions but then again I had a feeling that the man was a good few centuries older than us and all those years tend to change a person. Too long spent living in a world constantly growing and evolving, some were just not made to live that long. Perhaps his heritage had turned the Irishman a little eccentric in his advanced years.

Still..faeries?

We entered the house in a rush. Conall had already passed the door frame and I guess we both had the same thought; that we didn't want to be left outside just in case we weren't allowed entry without him. We followed his scent to a lowly lit living room. Stuffed leather sofas of plush, burnt-red dominated the space; old country Chesterfield's that allowed a body to sink into billowing clouds of horse hair packed tightly into worn, buttery hide. A fireplace faced the sofas, carved into the exposed brick of the chimney and currently showing orange flames eating their way through logs piled high and coal that glowed a vibrant red. The room was overly large, easily able to accommodate thirty or more people at a time. The house I knew, from previous spying, had more than thirty five bedrooms of which around half were occupied. This was not the only house on the land, it was simply the main one - the house where all wolves would gather. The driveway alone was double-laned with a small fountain in the outside courtyard that showcased the circular entrance. This was an affluent pack. One that had been standing tall for many years with enough infusions from corrupt higher ups that the money seemed never ending. I'd be slightly bitter of the ease with which they lived if it wasn't for the freedom I put above all else. Freedom that was practically impossible within pack constraints.

No, I wasn't bitter. I'd pick a crumbling old warehouse over forever in this pack any day.

There was a full bar set up in the far corner of the room. An old, highly polished, dark wooden one with hand pumps that indicated a cellar system would be below the house somewhere. I saw icy drips on the faucets which proved my assumption correct - not only did they have a cellar and cooling system, it looked pretty professional at that.

Conall looked somewhat at home behind the bar. A rugged Irishman pouring a large measure of something gold into an ice packed glass. He glanced up as we took a seat on the authentic stools surrounding the bar.

"What can I get yer?"

I nodded at his glass, "What have you got?"

He chuckled and tipped the glass toward me, "Paddy's best Irish whiskey, been drinkin' this since the eighteen hundreds. No fancy brand around dat can beat it."

I winced a little and screwed my face up,"more of a rum girl myself."

He grinned and grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind him."Nothin' wrong wit' them pirates, they drink like the Irish dat's fer sure."

He turned to Ty and wiggled the bottle at him in challenge. Not one to be out manned, Ty nodded to the whiskey and tapped the bar for a shot. Conall's face was the epitome of innocent as he poured the largest shot known to man and pushed it with a wide grin to Ty's waiting hand.

I rolled my eyes - men and their competitive nature's. I think that's where women differ, we certainly don't like losing, but we won't kill ourselves to win. I took the offered glass of rum and took a sip. Fiery burn heated my throat and scorched a path to my stomach, a liquid smolder that turned my blood to flowing lava. How utterly it consumes; this blistering, torrid alcohol. How freely it let me breathe.

I opened my eyes from where they'd unconsciously closed and found creepy, green ones staring right back at me.

"Pack won't be back fer a day, yer can use the rooms on the top floor. They've gone huntin' fer the night and should be gone all mornin' too."

I raised my glass at him. If nothing else he'd given us a roof for the night and I could be grateful for that. "Can I ask you something, Conall?" I wasn't sure if my question was the best idea now that he seemed almost back to normal but I was almost itching in my curiosity. He inclined his head for me to continue and I took a breath and leaped. "What's your issue with faeries?"

Ty kicked my shin and I had to hold the wince in, I kicked him back and a twitch flickered over my lips at his hiss of pain.

"Feckin' evil bastards." That accent only seemed to accentuate the hate that poured off of him.

"Tuatha de dannan," he hissed lowly. "Creatures dat were forced tae the underworld, defeated by wolves a millenia ago. They break through every so often, from their feckin' faery mounds." He laughed harshly, "makes em sound so harmless doan't it? 'Faery'. They anythin' but harmless. Trick people into doin' awful tings, change the mind and make em demons instead of people." Conall shook his head and gulped another mouthful. "I lived through war wit' them creatures, got scars tae prove it."

I'd imagine from the look on his face that those scars were more than skin deep. And then I remembered his first words."Wait, you said they were defeated a millennium ago, that would make you..."

He flashed his teeth at me, "aye, over a thousand years in dat hell hole yer call Ireland."

Okay, so quite a bit more than a few centuries. I flicked a glance at Ty and saw him rather speechless himself. I hadn't met a single wolf over a few hundred years old, and those were always happily mated - seems to keep a wolf sane when they have something to ground them. I had an awful feeling that Conall had never found his mate, he had that constantly searching look about him; the one that hungered for the other half of their soul, the animal fervent in their desire for another. To reach a thousand years or more, alone, was unheard of. No wonder he had a thing about the faeries - he was quite possibly, slightly mental.

His lilting voice wavered my inner thoughts and I looked up as he generously refilled my glass. The measures were ridiculously large and I had no doubt I'd be merry pretty quickly even with the wolf burning through the alcohol so quickly - Irish measures.

"Time fer my question doan't yer tink?"

I shrugged and waved him to ask away, I felt he was owed an answer.

"What yer plannin on askin' the Alpha then?"

My shoulder's stiffened, I'd answer his question but I'd so often received nothing but disdain in response that it was hard to work past that. "We'd been following a wolf for years." I stalled to take a sip and saw Ty's hands clench around his glass. "A killer. We would find the mutilated bodies he left behind.Started with our parents when we were around eight years old and one feral wolf that slaughtered them in front of us.We found him again when we hit thirty and followed the aftermath for some fifteen odd years." I swallowed thickly around a lump that appeared in my throat, thinking for the first time that maybe I’d dragged my feet all those years - allowed that wolf his kills if only because he’d never swayed from empaths I’d known were evil. I’d always been days behind him, never once in time to catch a scent. "This time it’s a little different. Same mutilation but with slight changes, a new wolf or one that liked the work of the previous one.This time it’s our friends. Claw marked, viciously ripped apart. Whichever wolf this is - he's insane."

Conall took a nervous gulp of his whiskey. "He?"

I nodded, "definitely him, smells male at this scene, haven’t managed to get much more than that though."Apart from that smell that reminded me of thunderstorms on a sunny day. But seeing as Ty had caught nothing else I was willing to put that down to the weather front rolling in. "Do you think he'll help?"

Conall looked like deer in headlights. Struck down with a sudden case of nerves and unsure on his next move. "Well, suppose I should come clean here," he coughed and ran a hand through his hair. "He has a small ting about empaths."

My face set in granite. A hardness that crunched my teeth together until the sound was audible in the suddenly silent room. I ground out my next words,"what? Like your 'thing' about faeries?"

He winced slightly and shrugged before taking back to the drink - I think maybe that was my answer. All hope pretty much withered away and I decided to join Conall and drown my lost kernel of belief in alcohol. As we sat in our stools and the Irishman stood behind the bar, drinking himself to oblivion and deep in thought by the concentration his face, I heard only whispered words from the ancient wolf.

"Feckin' hate faeries."