Mistwalker (30 page)

“What you gonna do?” Blake fronted up to the pack leader and held out his hands. “Eat us? I’d like to see you try.” He looked back to the crowd of assassins, then turned and smirked at the wolf. “I say we take them on.
What you say everyone?”

The sounds of approval were more whispers of denial, and for once, Blake faltered in his confidence. “What’s wrong with you all? They’re only big dogs.”

“Big dogs that you shouldn’t mess with during a full moon,” Carlo said. “No matter how many men you’ve got. This is obviously the Werewolf Compound, and legend has it there’s a curse on the door. You cannot get out that way.” His tone turned biting. “The tunnels from here lead deep underground to the sea. During a full moon no one can escape, except for the creator of the curse. Only someone wanting to fight may enter.”

Blake’s glance darkened as he looked over the assassins. “The boys wanted something. We left Greg here to play. Thought we’d come to pick him up before we left for the night.”

The lead wolf took advantage of Blake’s distraction and leaped. The huge animal flew through the air, and then razor sharp nails sliced Blake’s arms, separating his limbs from his torso. Blood gushed to the floor. His legs were snatched up by another hungry wolf and dragged away for the rest of the pack to feed on.

“Shit,” Merle breathed. “Let’s get the hell out of here right now!”

The murmur from the crowd grew, and they jostled, trying to push their way toward the closed door. It happened so fast—seconds. The lead werewolf licked his lips, and more wolves stalked to the other side of the tunnel. Thirty or so of the creatures all driven to insane blood-lust by the full moon and the scent of death.

The fragility of the woman in Carlo’s arms had never been more pronounced. Her ribs stuck into his back. The wolves would rip her pieces, drink her blood and then have the mist.

No!

The mist was his.
His and Lorena’s. He couldn’t give the power to them. He hunkered into a corner over the sound of feral growls, skin tearing, and crunching bones.

He bit hard into her arm, sucking in the sour tasting blood, until eventually he spat it out. His face screwed up. She had the mist? Tasted like poison. He tried to turn them both, and looked up, spotting four werewolves closing in.

Chapter
Thirty-Two

Juliun guided her from the pitch-black, wet drain into a strange world of tunnels and secrecy. He raced with a strong, lithe grace, his strides lengthening until his body blurred. He rounded a corner and then stopped. “His scent is fading.”

Simone wasn’t surprised. The dark maze of tunnels hidden beneath Whitby smelled overwhelmingly old and musty. Each wall boasted a unique pattern of cobblestone, limestone and brick, snaking deep into the town’s underbelly.

Flames leapt in steel torches lining the walls, and the heat stung her eyes so used to cold and darkness. A rectangular, wooden sign that hung from the curved roof read:
Leaving Ye Olde Network.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

The dancing crackle of the fires created a strange warm ambience that pooled at Juliun’s feet and made the walls glow. “It means we have left the older tunnel system. The new network has been built up over the years. We will have to trace to the marketplace.”

“Why?” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his dark, brooding profile. Adrenaline rushed through her veins at the aftermath of exertion, at the idea of a whole new world opening up before her.

“I cannot be sure that is where he’s taken your friend, but most of them find it easier to hide there. Ready to go?” he asked her, a gentle smile curving his lips.

She nodded. The burn of the mist consumed her, and she opened her eyes to a stone archway.

Juliun held out a hand to her, palm up. “Wait.”

She slipped her fingers into his, feeling a curious sense of security at his touch. He led her to a giant, stone square, hustling with the vibrant noises of a busy street market.

Vendors with assorted tables and stalls spread out in the aisles
 with bright bolts of cloth suspended from the stone walls. Sparkling gems caught the light, and axes and crossbows were laid out on the tables. Herbs, blood bags, pottery, produce, books, medicines, gold ingots, handcrafted jewellery and woodwork were all there. Gold coins and cash passed from customer to vendor. 

She looked to a large,
 bright orb hovering at the ceiling. The sphere rippled with dark red energy amidst the yellow as if it were alive. “What is that?”

*Midnight Light,*
 he said on their mind-link.

A short,
 solid creature trudged toward them, pushing a wooden wheelbarrow laden with vegetables. He ambled along with his bare, dirt-encrusted feet, and the green tops of carrots swept the floor. He deviated to a tunnel near the entryway, mumbling to himself, never once looking up.

She smiled,
 turning to the petite women who trickled their fingers across golden harps beside a fountain. The sound was incredible; relaxing and inspiring. Her mind focused with startling clarity. “This is the marketplace?”

“Yes. Tammy’s scent goes through here. Once we are in the centre, it will be hard to distinguish her scent amongst all the others.” He strode into the square and gently trapped
 her hand against his thigh.

The music stopped.

She tugged at his sleeve and craned her neck to take a second look as they passed.

The petite women knelt on the stone floor, their foreheads touching the ground. Iridescent wings fluttered on their backs in a pretty blur of pinks, purples and crystalline.

*Who are they?*

*Fairies. Do not worry, no harm will come to you.*

*Oh, I’m not worried about being hurt.*
She gave his hand a tug.

He laughed, and his thumb caressed
 the back of her hand. 
*One night, I will bring you back,*
he promised.
*The immortals in front of us are elves.*

Her heart thudded at the dark assurance of his voice even as it
floated into her mind. The burn of the mist paled in comparison to the heat flooding her body. She smiled up at his proud, intimidating figure. “Thank you. I’d like to come back.”

A tall, silvery-skinned man with straight, blond hair and a muscled chest nodded to Juliun. All the elves bowed. They were dressed in leather vests, short leather pants and skirts. Their strong, supple legs matched the obvious lithe strength in their bodies.

Juliun waited until the tallest, statuesque elf straightened to his full height. She could tell some kind of mind communication happened between the two, for the elf turned and pointed toward an exit through the back of the square near the tables of blood donor bags.

She only saw a whirl of other creatures that she could barely guess at before they disappeared into mist and were racing down another tunnel where the scent of Tammy grew unbearably strong.

Juliun stopped at a doorway on his right. “They went through here.”

An inscription seemed to glow on the wooden door, and the
 closer Simone looked, the brighter the ripple of yellow light in the lettering. “Open it up, Juliun.” She reached out for the wood, impatient to proceed.

“No.” He snatched away her
hand. “This is the door to the Werewolf Compound. The tunnels in there lead out to the cliffs and sea. It is a full moon.” He frowned and pressed his lips together. “Anything that steps through there will be eaten alive.”

“What? You mean Tammy…?” Simone couldn’t suppress the panic in her voice. She pressed a hand to her breastbone and breathed deep.

“The words on the door are a spell. No werewolf or immortal can escape, except for the creator. It is a safe place for the werewolves. They know they cannot get out and kill anyone.”

Her gaze lowered,
 and she fell back, gasping. She pointed in horror. “There’s blood coming out the bottom of the door. Look.”

“Yes,” he said, grimly. “You best stay here. I am going in.”

“Are you mad? You said you’ll be eaten. And if you’re going, then I’m coming, too. You’ll need back up.” 

He turned perplexed eyes to her. “What?”

She stared mutinously at him. “You can’t go in there alone. How do we get through werewolves? Turn them all to mist?”

“You want to help me?” H
e sounded uncertain. “We’ll have to fade out with them. The lycans are a vicious, deadly breed, driven crazy by the moon. If you turned them all, you would have to disappear with them. Then take the chance when you came back for your friend none would have come up through the tunnels.” He shook his head. “No, I go in alone.”

He lifted his hand, and this time, she grabbed him. “Wait,” she said. “You take care of all the wolves, fade away everything exactly like you did with Kristoff, and I’ll be able to get through and save Tammy. No one will get hurt.”
 Simone smiled, pleased with herself.

His incisors flashed, and he frowned. “I do not like it.” He paused. “I do not want you in there.”

“Tough luck,” she said. “On three.”

He breathed deeply. She tightened her grip around the handle of the Glock and reached out for the door
 at the same time as Juliun.

A jolt charged through her system. A shocking wave rolled over her mind, and electricity buzzed along her nerves. She saw Tammy floating through the air and toward the door amidst a room full of snarling, ravenous werewolves. Tammy had been in there, but
 she’d survived and somehow escaped.

A sudden force pushed Simone back from the door, and she bounced against the opposite wall. The breath left her body, and she gasped. “What was
that?
”

Juliun
 laid a hand on her shoulder and steadied her. “A remembrance and repel spell.” He stared hard at the door, brow lowered, his hand moving down to clasp her hand again, kiss her lightly on the back of her fingers. “I have not seen one combined like that since...” He rubbed his chin and grinned down at her, his broad shoulders shifting. “We may have stumbled onto a bit of luck.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Carlo clutched the end of the drain and slithered to freedom. Blood covered the stone ledge over the North Sea. His precious blood. He stood on shaking feet and ripped off his tattered shirt, knotting it tourniquet-style around his waist.

His palms came away bright red. The crashing blue waves before him swam in and out of focus, and he swayed from the sudden rush of nausea and vertigo. If the fall into the sea didn’t kill him, the blood loss certainly would.

Low growls and snarls echoed in the drain. Fetid dog stink combined with the purity of salty sea breeze. But the werewolves wouldn’t fit through the opening, and he breathed a little easier at the thought. The drains tapered off into the sea. He’d managed to squeeze through like a rat after cheese.

What he faced was the sea. Then Master.

He couldn’t be sure which he dreaded more.

He awkwardly jumped from the rock face. The icy cold water closed over his head, salt stinging his gaping wounds. He didn’t have time to think. He couldn’t move his legs or swim with his good arm. His muscles burned, reactions slowed. The smell and taste of his own blood filtered through the water, and he sank deeper,
deeper
, into the cold blue.

He imagined one of the finfolk would come to his aid so he could drink their blood. He fantasised about that. He could hold his breath for hours, but at the rate he was bleeding, he didn’t think he’d live that long.

No one came.

He started fighting. The more he struggled, the more the weight of his body wrenched him back down again. He twisted and turned his body toward the surface, but no matter how fiercely he laboured, he couldn’t lift his head above the waves.

The swell intensified, the cycle of water strengthening. The sea became colder than anything he’d felt before. He knew the currents had swept him far from shore.

The chance he would make it back to land slimmed with each min
ute, but he didn’t survive the Werewolf Compound to die from blood loss in the sea. Did he have a choice? Too weak to struggle anymore, thoughts of his Lorena flashed through his mind.

He’d finally get to see her again.

He cried far beneath the surface of the sea. The touch of her hand, pulling him upwards through the water. The sound of her voice calling his name.

Lorena.

He was going mad.

A dark shadow swam beneath him, and he dived down to her, but it was a fish.
Just a fish. Hunger convulsed his gut. He didn’t know the species and didn’t care. Blood was blood.

He dug his nails into slippery scales, his teeth ravaging the fish. Head shaking to hold the prey, his hair flared out in the water. Blood erupted, spidery tendrils turning wet, dark blue to murky red.