Pack and Coven (23 page)

The two men began trotting down the incline. Harry drew ahead of Vern, impatient to reach the compound. Would anyone be guarding the bridge? Would Gavin's men try to waylay him? How did the coven think they were going to manage this?

Vern huffed and puffed, a heavy pack on his back. “Slow down.”

“No.”

Vern broke into a resentful lope. “You're pretty strong for an indie.”

“Pretty pissed too. I don't have time to wait for you. I should shift and go in alone. I can make it there in a few. I'm supposed to be Mr. Diversion—” he checked his watch, “—as of ten minutes ago. Now the pack has been called home.”

“You go in without my spell, you're dead.” Vern stumbled on a rock. Harry caught him.

“Cast your hoodoo. What is it, a disguise?”

“Look.” Vern panted between phrases. “I know you're not an inbred throwback, but we're not going to tell you anything we don't have to. It'll be that much less to erase from your memory.”

“Good God, this again? I won't tell anybody.” They'd been arguing all day. Why should his brain be wiped clean of June, for Chrissake? They couldn't let him keep that one thing when he was about to sacrifice his ass to save
them?

“If you run ahead, I can't help you if anything goes wrong.”

“Nothing's going to go wrong,” Harry said, without conviction. “Why do you think they'll let you into the compound?”

Vern wheezed out, “I'm not going to tell you that, either. Just believe it when it happens.”

“And when you screw up?”

“I don't—” pant, pant, “—screw up.”

“Then do whatever you need to do to keep Gavin from murdering me because I can't wait on your slow ass. They'll instate the new alpha first so he'll be in place to channel the group bonds. Once Gavin gets that far, we're screwed.”

“Unless somebody shoots him,” Vern said.

Harry gestured rudely. “Who's going to do that, you?”

“Nope.” Vern pointed at him. “You are, killer.”

“I'm not a murderer.” Though he was tempted to ignore his principles in this instance. “Guns are a coward's weapon in most packs, and they're forbidden in challenges.”

“Hey, if the shoe fits.”

Harry bristled. “I'm not a—”

“Kidding. You'd have tried to take them all on this morning if Junie hadn't sent you to us.” Vern rummaged in his knapsack. He pulled out a black pistol, checking the chambers. “If it works, who the hell cares what they think?”

Vern echoed one of Harry's favorite sentiments. However, while Harry had no problem being considered cowardly by packers, Vern had overlooked an obvious flaw in the plan. Shifters eschewed guns…to resolve pack conflicts. They were familiar enough with them otherwise and would never let Harry into the ceremony if he were armed.

“If I have a gun,” he said, “they'll take it away from me. And they won't be happy about it.”

“Not if they can't find it.” Vern tossed him the pistol, which Harry snatched out of the air. Why was the idiot throwing a loaded gun around? “Can you shift this back and forth like you do your phone?”

“It doesn't matter. You think nobody's ever tried that?” Harry dangled the small, heavy weapon from his fingers. Outsiders weren't allowed into a compound on four legs, and the ceremony itself had a strict two-legs requirement until the end.

Vern chuckled. “Nobody's tried it with one of my spells on him.”

“This is the big plan,” Harry repeated incredulously. “I'm supposed to shoot Gavin.”

“Since you won't wait for me…yeah. You need to shoot Gavin. Here's my advice.” Vern laid a clean white cloth on the road and dumped a baggie of herbs on it. He followed with a beige powder and squirted the whole mess with oil from a squeezable ketchup bottle. “Shift to your wolf and stay there. The adults will be in the ceremony so the guards will be juvies. They'll let you pass because of the spell. Get really close, shift back and Glock that bastard in the head. It'll kill him instantly.”

Harry would have to be close. He couldn't shoot the broad side of a minivan much less Gavin's head. If this was truly the coven's plan, he was disappointed. Who'd have thought the grannies were bloodthirsty? Had their fears of exposure pushed them beyond the pale?

“I would rather banish him than kill him.” Harry might not be a murderer, but that didn't mean he had no vengeful spirit. Banishment meant Gavin's suffering would last longer.

“Well, your buddy Gavin wants to kill somebody, so you'd better buck up and make this happen. We'll take care of the rest.” Without further ado, Vern wadded up the ingredients and scrunched his face. Harry's ears popped immediately.

Vern held out his clasped fists to Harry. Yellowish oil oozed between his fingers. “Eat some of this and shove some in the barrel of the gun. Rub the rest on your skin.”

Harry accepted the gloopy mess dubiously, poking a few blobs into the gun. “Will this clog up the gun's inner workings?”

Vern rubbed the back of his hands on his forehead. “It's a gun, not a computer.”

Harry checked the pistol to make sure the safety was on before shoving it in his jeans. His cell phone was in a back pocket and a bottle of pills the coven had told him would heal almost anything was in another. He wondered if they'd heal a bullet to the head.

“What's in this stuff?” he asked before raising the gloop to his lips.

“Little of this, little of that. If you feel like you're going to barf, shift. Should take care of the nausea.”

“Great.” The mixture had a mineral flavor overlaid with olive oil. Harry swallowed some and removed his shirt so he could rub the rest on his chest and arms. He tossed the shirt at Vern. “One less thing for me to shift back and forth. Wish me luck.”

Harry shimmered, his body morphing, while Vern repacked his knapsack. Before he could dash off, Vern yelled, “Hold on, I'm not finished.” He grabbed Harry by the tail.

Harry snapped at him, anxious to get on with it. The wolves who'd answered Bianca's call wouldn't take long to return home. He could smell Vern's marker intensely in this form as well as the other man's anger.

He whuffed again.
Interesting.
The kid might be an alpha too. Without the degree of exposure Harry'd had to June, he couldn't be sure. Fine by him. He wasn't about to get that exposed to Vern.

Vern wiped his hands on Harry's coat and did some more ear-popping magic that made him want to howl. So he did.

To his surprise, a number of wolves answered. One or two close by, most near the compound. What was that all about? Shifters responded to pack mates and their alpha, not indies.

Vern flinched from the long, warbling sound. “Are you trying to deafen me? All right, I'm done. See you on the far side.”

Harry didn't waste another second with the two-leg. He was off like a shot from the gun he carried, which was concealed with what June called magic.

It was a stupid plan, going in armed with a pistol and bravado, but the coven had refused his other plans and he couldn't do this alone. He had to trust them, because they were trusting him with a lot too.

When several of the four-legs erupted into eerie wails again, June nearly leaped out of her plastic seat, tape or no tape.

Gavin, dressed in nothing but a tacky loincloth, hurled a log at a yodeling wolf. “Shut the hell up!”

The wood struck its ribs, and the wolf's call morphed into a yelp. It was the pale four-leg June had noticed before. The wolf scampered to the side of the clearing, tail tucked between its legs.

Bianca emerged from behind the smoky bonfire, her inky hair loose around her shoulders and a predatory, somewhat malicious expression on her face. She wore little more than Gavin, but her sports bra and shorts weren't as absurd as Gavin's faux-fur breechclout. She looked like a kick-boxing instructor—fierce, energetic and poised.

She did not look like an alpha disgusted by the turn of events in her territory.

“Way to win over the pack, big man,” Bianca said to Gavin. A sack from a local discount store dangled from her hand. “Throwing shit at them really shows leadership.”

Gavin indicated the wolves in the clearing. Most of the pack had disappeared to check on their children, meditate or do whatever they did before a bonding ceremony. “Why are they calling a second time?”

Bianca raised an eyebrow. “You didn't hear?”

Hear what?
June wanted to ask. The commune had gone silent after Bianca had summoned the pack. For all she knew Bianca meant the ceremonial progress report and nobody had updated Gavin because they detested him.

“I heard you summon them fifteen minutes ago. Funny, they're still not ready.” He paced in front of the roaring fire, scratching his heinie where the breechclout's string dangled. “You can't manage them?”

A gusty wind drove smoke in June's direction. It was so thick, she could practically cast a spell with it. Her eyes stinging, she coughed and missed most of Bianca's response.

“…our way of doing things.”

The wind shifted, thinning the smoke. Through watery vision, June made out Gavin, hands on hips, rotating his trunk as if about to exercise. “How much longer?”

“It's not midnight yet.” Bianca tossed a couple baggies of herbs onto the fire. Neon colors flared in the blaze.

“It's midnight somewhere.” He pressed an arm over his chest, followed by the other. His shifter-enhanced musculature gleamed in the firelight. “Nobody's going to show up to challenge me. You might as well confirm me so we can get the party started.”

She crossed her arms, the bag swinging in the crook of her elbow. “What if it doesn't work?”

He paused, his arm at an odd angle, and regarded her incredulously. “The confirmation? Why wouldn't it?”

Bianca shrugged. The fire snapped, and the scent of sage filled the clearing. That must have been what was in the plastic bags. “The girl's inclusion might disrupt things.”

Gavin stuck his hands on his hips. “When has a pack bond ever failed to work on somebody that old?”

June would like to know the answer to that herself. Bianca's “probably” from earlier wasn't reassuring, and she doubted she could maintain a willing heart. Would the ceremony affect her? Would the fact she was a witch improve or worsen her chances of survival?

“I wouldn't know.” Bianca's lips tightened. “I've never included a juvenile in a ceremony.”

Gavin chuckled nastily. “Well, Roanoke has. Tell you what, baby. Since you don't seem to have a cage around here, after my confirmation I'll personally jumpstart her wolf. Then you don't have to worry about her being a juvie. I bet it would make for a great floor show.”

“Absolutely not.” The expression on Bianca's face chilled June even as it reassured her. June had escaped Gavin's sadism earlier today, but if rape were incipient…

No, she wouldn't let herself be distracted. She'd made progress removing the tape around her hands. She wasn't sitting around to wait for impending doom—or rescue. For all she knew the coven had trapped Harry, erased his memories and thrown June to the…wolves. And it wasn't as if the coven had ninjas at their disposal.

What they planned to do about her being resistant, she had no idea.

“What do you do with hags like her?” Gavin jerked his thumb at June, who quit twisting her wrists and ankles.

“We all find our wolf eventually.” Bianca blinked at the fire, her profile limned by the blaze. “Except for challenges, this pack does not include violence in its ceremonies.”

Gavin laughed. “Then you're in for a treat. This is my pack, baby, and a lot of things around here are going to change.”

Bianca exchanged a look with the wolf lurking near the grills, or at least that's what it seemed she was doing. The four-leg let out a gruff and sank to the ground, nose on paws. Its eyes gleamed red in the firelight.

“Nothing to say to that, B? That's what I thought,” he gloated. “A pack won't hold without a man in charge. This is how it's supposed to be. You'll thank me some day.”

June doubted Bianca would thank Gavin for anything. Ever. Considering what Bianca had revealed earlier, June wouldn't be surprised if she were hatching an evil plan to rid herself of Gavin, just as she might have done with Bert.

Or was it evil, when it achieved a beneficial goal? Did it mean the pack would be after Harry again soon?

Next time, June would be better prepared. If there was a next time. She might be singing an entirely different song after tonight.

And she might be dead.

Gavin began stretching his calves. Did the ceremony involve running? If it did, Bianca required no warm-up. She just stood there, glancing between the flames and the bridge.

Watching. Waiting. Expecting.

Expecting what? Had someone tried to interrupt tonight's ceremony? Another challenger. The police. She had to assume Harry hadn't been captured or they'd have dragged him here to duke it out with Gavin.

Nothing like a little blood sport to make a commitment ceremony binding.

Or, apparently, a rape.

June's stomach roiled, its emptiness no guard against nausea. She sawed at the tape on her hands, knowing her movements were obvious but risking it anyway. If she couldn't get her hands free, she had zero chances for surviving this unscathed.

Her efforts were rewarded when a section of tape parted, the rip loud enough that surely Bianca or Gavin would hear. If not them, the shifters preparing the ceremonial beverages. Or the wolf near the grills, glaring at Gavin with lupine eyes. But nobody noticed.

Encouraged, she sawed more. Pushed harder. Wriggled her fingers and ankles. Started bumping her chair out of the circle again, easier now that she could grasp the slats and lift.

Every inch was closer to freedom. To escaping the circle of pine around the clearing. To that laurel bush growing beside the shed. It would have to do.

Gavin had obviously grown impatient. Bianca was obviously stalling. The sequence of events would be Gavin's confirmation followed by the pack bond portion of the night. Whether the two halves would be punctuated by her rape, June didn't want to find out. She, Harry, the coven, Bianca and her pack—all of them were adlibbing now.

How she hated adlibbing!

At least she had a secret weapon. Something inside her nobody would be expecting.

A few more inches of tape, a few more feet in the chair. June pulled her hands as hard as she could, and the tape yanked the hair on her forearms. She grabbed the rungs, lifted the chair and toed herself backward.

The legs of her chair brushed the pine. If she could scoot out of the circle and somehow, miraculously, be forgotten, the bonding magic wouldn't affect her.

A naked man June didn't recognize jogged to the log pile, added an armful of wood and began rounding the ring, shutting down kerosene lanterns. All remaining wolves disappeared from the circle or shifted up. Soon the only light was that of the bonfire.

In the darkness, June wrestled with the tape. Soon the only bit left was around her wrists. She rubbed her arms up and down, trying to squeeze out of the binding.

Bianca glanced at her watch and frowned. She clapped her hands.

“Let us gather.” She motioned to her herbalists. One of them struck an iron triangle hanging near the table.

The clang shattered the silence. Wolves barked. People shouted. Excited voices converged on the courtyard. The herbalists ladled the crock pots' contents into the paper cups they'd set out across the table surface.

June bumped her chair, pushing pine aside. Another foot. She was almost there.

Gavin bounced up and down. “I can't believe it. This is it.”

His men entered the clearing, stepping over the pine ring. Maurice hung back like a censorious shadow. He focused on June a moment before taking a spot inside the branches.

Although it was obvious she was struggling to free herself, he did nothing—including help.

Adult shifters in varying states of undress entered the circle, each treading carefully over the pine. June had never seen so many bare bottoms in her life. Some walked past her. All ignored her. Many regarded Gavin with open hostility, lots of crossed arms and angry expressions.

Two rangy, black wolves darted into the clearing from the bridge. They halted outside the pine and barked.

“No wolves in the circle,” Gavin yelled.

Both shimmered into nude bipedal forms. Neither appeared to be cowed by his outrage.

“That's better.” He thrust out his chest. June recognized one of the men—Lionel. He crossed the ring and whispered to Bianca, who glanced at Gavin.

“What's going on?” Gavin demanded.

“Lionel was the last adult on the bridge. The juveniles are at their posts.” Bianca tossed another baggie into the fire, this one sending up sparks and pops. “We can begin.”

What happened to stalling? June had to get loose. Now.

The herbalist rang the triangle again. Shifters filtered around the circumference, linking by touch. They began to jockey for positions in a pecking order June couldn't decipher, but one that would eventually snake its way to her.

She made another desperate effort to pitch free and get her hands on the mountain laurel. The pine. Dirt. Anything. Her heart thudded so hard it felt unhealthy. She half rose and pushed with her toes, throwing herself back at the same time.

The chair legs caught on something, and the seat lurched. Tilted. June found herself falling until she came to an abrupt halt before her face had an unpleasant encounter with the ground.

She'd been caught by someone—someone strong and quick who didn't want her to hurt herself.

Her heart leaped. Was it…

No. The hands were smaller, the arms delicate, the scent flowery.

“Careful.” Susan righted June. The woman was dressed like Bianca, in exercise apparel. Her exposed skin was pale, tinged orange by the light of the enormous bonfire. Her short curls matched the pale coat of the wolf June had been seeing all night. “You don't want to cut that pretty face.”

The other woman didn't seem to be mocking her. She regarded June with kind eyes, her face unhappy. June couldn't blame her—the new alpha had assaulted her with a log.

“Get me out of here,” she begged, one unhappy woman to another. “I'm a juvenile. I don't want to take this risk.”

“I'm not the alpha.” Susan's jaw firmed. “I don't get to make those decisions.”

While they did monitor the wolves, covens interacted with local pack members as little as possible to cut down on the chance of recognition. Packs weren't attracted to covens like indie wolves, which made avoidance easier. June couldn't remember ever conversing with Susan, but her voice sounded familiar. So did the disappointment in it.

“Bianca doesn't want to include me,” she told Susan. “She wouldn't be mad if you sort of nudged me out of the circle.”

“Bianca is only half the equation. Too bad Harry won't be the other half. He was perfect.”

Harry was perfect. Where had she heard that phrase recently?

This morning—when Donna Manns telephoned her house looking for a mechanic.

That hadn't been Donna Manns. It had been Susan. How that knowledge could help June, she had no idea, so she asked, “How is Harry perfect?”

Susan gazed toward the bonfire. “Perfect for what we needed.”

Susan too? There were hundreds of candidates all over. They weren't all Bert. Some were progressive, intelligent. Why did Millington's pack want Harry when he didn't want them?

“Don't you have any recessives in the pack?” June asked. Gavin wouldn't have been able to eliminate them like he had the candidates.

“No male recessives,” Susan said, her voice dry. She pulled June's nightshirt down her thighs, covering her. “Not that it matters.”

Before June could reflect on that, somebody grabbed her upper arm, linking her into the circle. Violet, irritation pouring from her like a heater. She didn't seem to care that her fingers bit into the flesh of June's arm.

On her other side, Susan placed a warm hand on her neck. There had to be some reason Bianca's lieutenants had picked spots on either side of her. She felt nothing magical—yet.

What would happen to her? Would they sense she was different? Would she wind up bonded to the pack as a witch? Or would she wind up an inconvenient dead body?

The herbalists began to pass Dixie cups around the circle. June struggled, but the shifters kept her in place. A few pine needles stuck to her clothes, nothing touching her skin, nothing she could use.

The only ones who looked happy were Gavin, some of his men and…Bianca.

Bianca?

“Welcome, my kith and kin,” the female alpha said with a smirk. She waved away the cup offered to her. “Tonight we renew our commitment and connection. We cleanse the old. We welcome the new. Circle of life, blah blah blah. You know why we're here.”

“I like the new speech,” Violet whispered. “Pithy.”

“Who wants to commemorate this?” Susan answered over June's head. “I'm sure next year will be as tedious as ever.”