Sorcha's Wolf (6 page)

She could choose her words carefully and show him the respect he seemed to feel he deserved simply breathing air, or she could be unbendable as well.

“Well, I was awake and aware when you discussed this little adventure with your partner, Markee.”

“Markee isn’t a part of this.”

“Oh? Well excuse the nuance. Who is Zith? A warlock? From where?”

Alex shook his head hard.

“Why can’t you simply tell me?”

He ignored her and jumped off one big moss covered boulder to the other side of a ten-foot wide ravine, landing on the opposite side without any effort. He motioned impatiently for her to use a fallen tree to her left. She eyed the huge cedar then him. He watched her, almost as if he didn’t think she could cross.

Humiliation heated her face. He thought her some weak, simple woman, didn’t he? Yes, her feet hurt, her heels rubbed raw from the new boots, her chest ached and burnt, her head throbbed from beating it against stupid men, but she’d kept up with him, even keeping her grumbles to herself when he wouldn’t let them stop to eat. She’d run these highlands blindfolded at one point in her life. The mountains he’d calmly informed her they were going to climb she’d been born on. This, walking, even in the dark, was nothing compared to the last time she’d ventured through the very peaks he so casually believed they’d reach.

She pushed through the brambles to the end of the fallen tree. The log was at least three feet in girth. It looked newly fallen and not rotten. The hundred-foot drop under it gave her stomach the willies. She hated heights, but she’d be damned if she let him know that.

“Come, hurry across we don’t have time for this, witch.”

Her back hurt from tensing every single time he called her ‘witch’. She was a witch, but…she knew a curse when she heard one. Many immortals thought witches were nothing more than hags that would sell their souls to the devil for power. She’d done much in her life she wasn’t proud of, but she’d never harmed an innocent, nor spelled anyone that didn’t either deserve it or ask for it. The way he said ‘witch’ though made it clear how little he thought of her—and her coven.

Not wanting to hear his voice again for a good long while, she stepped out onto the log. Her boots slipped on the moss and she reached for the branches of a tree, her heart in her throat. She used that bough until she could grab another, carefully placing her feet one in front of the other until she made it to the other side where Alex waited impatiently.

If she’d expected something from him, perhaps a nod, or recognition that she wasn’t incapable of keeping up with him, she would have been disappointed. He turned before she’d even met his eyes and tackled the side of the steep bank in big, ground eating strides. His longer legs put him ahead of her in seconds.

Exhaling heavily she sniffed back the frustration and hurt and struggled up the incline. For years, she’d aided anyone that had asked, even those that had not. She’d sat on councils and given her strength to more battles than she could name. Children loved her. The Fay openly welcomed her to their lands. The king of the Lykae even respected her and called her friend. And this towering, sexy hunk of macho wolf—who should be hers—was irritated when she wasn’t fast enough.

You have to stop thinking like that! He’s not yours. He will never be. This proves that—erases every last doubt.

She slipped on the layers of leaves and banged her knee painfully against a sharp rock. A hidden tree root caught her toe a few minutes later and she fell, hitting the same leg. Pain and frustration brought tears to her eyes, but she pulled herself up and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. She would not let this man see her cry. Grumbling to herself, she made it to the top, breathless, scratched and covered in crumbled yellowed leaves and dirt.

Alex looked like he was out on a Sunday stroll. He eyed her sweater, but she refused to look, instead she turned to the mountains surrounding them. Under any other circumstance, she would have loved being there, in her land, with the sun slowly filling the sky with the familiar brilliant colours of her true home. Instead, all she felt was hollowness as she examined the range of mountains facing them. The distant, dark peaks weren’t even the ones she knew he wanted them to tackle.

She needed to leave him. Now before he could hurt her further. Possibly kill her with his stupid quest.

His quest.

What was it he was after? Could that answer possibly change the way she felt about him? Explain how cold he was to her?

Without turning from her study, she tried again to reason with him. “I can help, you know. I mean, maybe tell you more about the man. I have studied the lore on mages, warlocks, sorcerers and—”

“Enough. I will not discuss this with you.”

She’d thought he’d say that, but she still tried again. Resting a shoulder against the tree behind her, she turned part way to him.

“Alex, I can help. I’m a witch, it’s what I—”

“I need nothing from you. Nothing you have is of any worth to me.”

She jerked, feeling as though he’d slapped her. Easily she understood, even if he did not, the double meaning to his words.

Nothing I offer is what he wants
.

Anger, the simmering cauldron bubbling inside her, rose to a hotter level, too hot it would seem to keep within her. She would leave him and when she did, he’d never see her again. Centuries of longing, of hope, slipped from her but this time, she dashed the dreams aside.

He called her
witch
, thought her deceitful and sneaky, yet thought her weak, worthless without her power.

She’d show him how strong she could be. As soon as she could touch her power again.

“You know, you really are dense.” The words had burst from her and she kept going,
“I mean I heard you were cold blooded—murderously cold blooded—unfriendly, arrogant and just plain mean tempered, but dense? I’d not heard that.” She paused to catch her breath then rushed on, “But you have with you the most powerful witch in the world and instead of letting me help you, you’ve bound my powers.”

“I don’t need your help.”

She laughed. “Against a warlock? Yes, you do. You barely got us clear of those jackals. I nearly got raped because of you! And if you’re dumb enough not to know you need me against a mage, then can you at least let me go before you get wherever it is you’re going? Because, I have to tell you, I’d rather not burn with you because you’re unable to reach your wolf.” She rested her hands on her hips and faced him fully.

It was true. He hadn’t called on his wolf. She saw that now. If he had, no one could have ever taken her down. No one could have touched her. He hadn’t.

She’d spun dreams that when she was in danger, finally, his wolf had broken free and recognised her.

Well, she wasn’t dreaming any longer.

She was tired. And she was sick of his superior attitude. She hurt. “I mean, I like to suffer with people as much as the next immortal, but only with those
I
choose to suffer with.”

“Quiet, witch.”

“Just tell me what other names he goes by.”

“Witch, I warn you. I don’t need your advice, nor your
help
.” He snorted and stepped closer, crowding her with his bigger, more powerful body. “Now, quiet before I gag you again and this time with something a great deal bigger.” He hauled her closer with a rough chuckle. Against her stomach, the outline of his erection burnt, leaving no doubt what his crude attempt at humour meant.

The meaning behind his words barely registered before she raised her hand and slapped him. His head swung to the side, but she wasn’t finished. With a burst of pure feminine ire, she jumped up, caught the heavy branch above her head and swung her feet directly at his chest as he turned to come at her—no doubt to do more harm.

He never got the chance.

He went flying backwards with a satisfying
oof
bursting out of his surprised, arrogant, sexy mouth.

Her temper snuffed out as soon as his body made a crashing impact with the forest. Birds took off in a scolding flock, whirling madly above the treetops. She heard him swearing and she winced when branches continue to break until she couldn’t hear anything else in the suddenly silent forest.

Slowly, she lowered her hands from where she’d covered her mouth. “Holy Danu, protect me.”

Then suddenly she was free of him. But she wasn’t was she? She was deep in the wilderness of Scotland, couldn’t reach her powers and a pissed off—
enraged
—Lykae was now going to be after her.

Worse, there wasn’t a chance of her leaving him like this– not injured, possibly worse.

She’d check on him first. He was a Lykae, they healed quickly. She’d check on him, then leave him. Just like she had centuries before.

She exhaled slowly and squeezed her eyes shut, only this time she’d not dream of him, not ache for him. This time, she knew beyond a doubt that he would never be hers.

Chapter Seven

Alex staggered to his feet, his head swimming and every inch of his body on fire—including his broken wrist and what felt like several broken ribs.

Sorcha had tossed him off the side of a mountain!

He’d trusted her. He’d given her a bit of freedom and she’d rewarded him by shoving him off a cliff. He swiped the blood out of his left eye and twisted his head left and right until his neck cracked. His wrist was already healing. His ribs knitted together with each breath.

She’d forgotten one thing in her temper tantrum.

He had the antidote.

Or he
had
had the antidote. His pack had been ripped off somewhere on the side of the sheer rock face she’d sent him over. Had she thought of that? Hell no. The witch would though, he thought eyeing the hundred-foot climb. The question was, should he fetch the pack or the witch?

The guidelines for her antidote had been clear. Twice a day. Once at night. So far, he’d not let her feel the effects of missing those parameters. He’d been too soft. He’d been too overwhelmed with her beauty, he saw that now.

This changed everything. Not even his constant need of her stood in his way now. He’d tie her up like a goose and carry her slung over his shoulder for the rest of the time it took to reach the meeting place. Then he’d hand her to the mage and maybe, just possibly, take her home after he killed the bastard.

Decided, he breathed in deeply, finding her scent within seconds. She’d headed north. Why north? Why not back south to a town and possibly people to aid her? He glanced at the ground and spotted her footprints. He touched his head only then feeling a cloth she’d wrapped around his forehead. He pulled it off and realised it was part of her T-shirt. She’d come here, checked him then left him?

He glanced back at the spot where he’d risen and found another cloth, bright red with his blood and wet from where she’d cleaned his wounds.

Didn’t matter. Her kindness didn’t matter. Hell, he needed her. He couldn’t go to the meeting without her and the first check was tomorrow.

He was within days of his revenge. Of avenging his family’s death. He needed her for that.

The evidence of her tending his wounds baffled him. He didn’t understand her, but he was going to make her understand one thing.

Nothing came in the way of his revenge
.

* * * *

The wilderness of Sorcha’s home wasn’t the same without her power.

Everything worked against her. A twig snapped behind her sending her heart racing harder. She looked over her shoulder to see only the dimness of a moonlit forest and twisted her foot in a hole. The pain dragged a muffled groan from her before she landed hard on her hands and knees.

In the distance, she heard a sharp howl, followed by another. Dogs. At one time, she could have communicated with them. Hell, two days ago she could have. Not now. Now she struggled back to her feet and took off at the painful lope she’d managed off and on now for what seemed like hours.

There’d been no sign of Alex following her. He’d been breathing when she’d found him, but he’d had blood on his forehead and more on his side. She’d cleaned both wounds before binding his head in case it didn’t stop bleeding, then she’d raced off. One of the strongest of all immortals, the Lykae could regenerate even a missing hand or foot. Broken bones were like splinters to them.

Curse them all
.

Not that she wanted him to suffer. She’d realised that, staring at his unconscious face. He’d been so silent, warm and heavy in her arms, but she didn’t want him gone from this world. She didn’t want to see him cold and hollow with death.

She also didn’t want to see him ever again.
Right?

Absolutely.

He’d shown himself to be just like those other beasts. Threatening her with using his manhood to silence her? The jerk. He was lucky she didn’t have this potion figured out because when she did, she just might spell his impressive package to the size of her pinky finger. See what he’d use to silence her with then!

She stumbled again, jarring her mind off her revenge and back on her misery. The heels of her feet were raw. Slices stung her hands from falling. In her way of thinking, it was all worth it. If she could break the hold Alex had on her, she’d walk on coals. She shouldn’t have gone to check on him. She should hate him. He’d drugged her, gagged her, bound her, threatened her and kissed her. She shouldn’t have cared that he lived or died. Hurt or not.

But she had. She did.

She obviously couldn’t realise how wrong he was for her. Her goal though wasn’t more pain, it was a gate. The mangy wolf wouldn’t know that though. She hoped. He might and that worried her. The mountains he so casually wanted them on had a gate as well, one that this one linked to. She should know since she and her sisters had first built them centuries before. To think that this mage now used them frightened her. Did that mean he used this as well? And if he did, was he even now on his way to take her from Alex?

Up ahead she heard the sounds of rapidly moving water. She’d almost made it. The moonless night hid most of the land from her, but she used other, much older and forgotten senses to find her home. The feel and scent of the air. She could almost experience the pain she’d endured along this very path more centuries ago than she wanted to remember.

She cut down a grassy slope to the sound of water and pushed through the brambles, getting caught so many times by their thorns she swore they were trying to hold her back. Cursing under her breath, she shoved through and earned a smack in the cheek from a low hanging limb for her trouble. The welt burnt across her face, no doubt leaving a mark. She tasted blood and added that onto the list of grievances to lie at the wolf’s feet when she saw him again.

If. If I see him again.

Suddenly she gained the ravine by falling on her butt and sliding down the slope, but she managed to avoid landing in the water. There were better ways to reach her goal she knew, more graceful maybe, but she’d left her pride somewhere along the way. Who would believe it if they saw her now? Dirty, okay, filthy, bleeding, sore and so afraid she was trembling.

She stood and stared at the waterfall. The sight stirred memories from the past she’d worked hard to suppress, yet still they came crashing down, much like the water pounding into the narrow stream.

Mortals didn’t understand immortality—the so-called
gift
of long life. Immortality was a double-edged sword she’d not anticipated. The edges cut deep, the memories at times so crystal clear she could still feel them slicing into her.

She’d died here, that first time. Too tired, too full of pain and loathing for herself to carry on. She’d deserted her sister—Circerran—and had gone where no one had been able to touch her. For a time at least.

She dug her fingers into her palms and she fought the bile rising in her throat. No death is without its horrors. Circerran had suffered death and rebirth seven times—each time Sorcha had guided her soul back to her broken body and healed her. Circerran’s gifts did not lie with healing. Sorcha’s recoveries, as a result, were much longer, but her deaths much fewer.

The water called to her, reminding her of her thirst. She limped to the edge of the clear stream and painfully knelt. She sipped a handful and cleaned her neck and face. A slight fever had begun, demanding her attention when she had none to spare. She caught her breath and stared at the sky. Unlike Alex, she had no night vision. The cloudy, moonless night slowed her, and required all her focus.

Alex would make better time, she knew.

So far, she’d not heard the wolf. Would she? The Lykae could travel silently when they chose. Rumour held that their enemies never knew their death was upon them until too late.

No doubt, Alex didn’t make a sound when he hunted, but for some reason, she believed he’d not hide his pursuit from her. Why bother to hide from a witch who could do nothing to stop him? The thought brightened her anger.

Her thirst quenched, she stood. She might not make it to the gate. Between her and that chance at freedom stood some of the most daunting lands in the world. She’d have to clear the low hills in the dark. After that was bogs, then she would face gravelly, rock-spewed highlands where the winds could drop the temperatures to twenty and thirty below zero. Add to that the bonus of fear—not of Alex, he, she understood would be angry and seek vengeance swiftly but needed her alive. But the lack of antidote hung over her like a blade, ready to take her head.

She pulled her sweater off and tossed it aside. The added warmth of fever would replace the heavy wool. Quitting wasn’t an option. She’d only given up on one thing in her entire existence and that one thing—or person
—
hunted her even now.

One glance back at the waterfall and she drew a breath to begin. This land was her past, her home, but she’d not die on this soil again. Each time, each death could be her last and she’d not experienced life. Not really. She’d survived, but she knew deep inside that she’d merely existed—bereft of the one man that would complete her. Her mate.

She took off at a pace that would have surprised Alex had he seen.