Waking Up Dead (The Western Werewolf Legend #1) (10 page)

The youngest boy groaned before
glancing at the horse. “Ride, momma, ride.” His small finger
pointing up toward the general on his horse.

Briann didn’t pause and Sonja found
herself beaming with pride for her sibling. She allowed the general
to grip the boy under his arms after she hoisted him high, allowing
Stewart to settle him in place in front of him in the
saddle.

“
You’ve made a new friend,”
Sonja observed.

The youngster found the reins the best
thing to play with and Stewart smiled quietly. “He reminds me of my
own.”

A sharp realization hit her
square in the chest. The general had a family. Well –
had
a family. How would
he ever go back to them now? “I’m sorry.” Her lips thinned over the
image in her mind’s eye. No wonder he wanted to help them. The
bastards had stolen so much more from him than just his life. She
stared straight ahead, unable to meet his eyes as he rode beside
the wagon.

“
Please, Mrs. Brooks. Don’t
concern yourself over the past. As a career officer, I’ve long ago
resolved myself that someday I would face what so many have faced
before me.”

Candor of such a degree pained her in
several waves. Releasing a breath, Sonja rubbed at her arms. A cool
wisp of air suddenly enveloped her. “Yours is not uncommon, still,
I regret your plight.” Her own plight seemed paltry in the face of
such loss. “You’re in my prayers, General.”

His stony eyes held no emotion as he
spoke. “I’m beyond prayers, ma’am, but I would appreciate those
prayers for my wife and children. They will need all the prayers
now.” Tipping his cavalry hat to them both, his tone warmed as he
assured Briann, “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.” He
spurred the great steed, galloping toward the front of the line of
slow moving men.

As he rode off, the dust cloud
erupting behind his mount. Tiny squeals of excited laughter floated
back to them on the gentle breeze.

“
Poor man.” Briann’s voice
laced with sympathy.

The Guardian spoke from behind them.
“He grieves for his life. Were it in my power, I would set him free
from the hell the monsters sentenced him to endure.”Tapping his
horse lightly with his quip, the Guardian stared straight ahead at
the general’s shrinking image. His gentleman’s face wreathed in
concern bore a true measure of the group’s plight. Each member of
the small band of refugees was dealing with the upheaval of their
world. Some for obvious reasons and others for something imagined
only in horror stories.

Sonja glanced askance at the Guardian.
The only sounds between them, the light squeak of the wagon wheels
as the gentle sway of the rolling boxes lurched forward with the
mule teams’ efforts.

The weight of all their woes seemed
insurmountable. Wanting desperately to change the subject, Sonja
asked, “Are we really headed to Texas?”

“
To Texas?” The Guardian
searched the trees flanking the roadside. As his eyes narrowed in
the dimming light, his attention returned to Sonja. “Yes, as you
already know, the lieutenant has a ranch there where these men will
be safe. Your change can occur without witness and little danger
will come to you or others.”

He spoke of the fact she’d became a
werewolf at the onset of each full moon like she changed clothes,
without the notion of repercussions or reprisal. “Will I ever be
able to view this as a good thing?” Her question was one she
considered often, but hadn’t spoke of before. Uneasy with her own
insecurity, she dropped her gaze from his. One of the mules balked.
She slapped the animal across the backside with her
whip.

In the guise of a man, the Guardian
appeared so normal, he could have passed as a gentleman of
distingue. No one would have guessed he was overly grotesque, a
hairy monster with bleary eyes and slobbering jowls. “In time
you’ll shimmer from human to werewolf without consideration or
concern. Yes, the change will be as natural as breath. Still I
cannot offer relief with a shift in temper.”

Briann gathered her sister’s slender
hand in hers and squeezed. “The way of things isn’t for us to know.
You’ll see what he means in time, dear.”

She spoke as if an expert. Yet,
frustration filled Sonja. The old witch spoke in nothing but
riddles and vague references. She could ill afford her own sister
doing the same. Unable to fault Briann, she supposed her sister
couldn’t help it. After all, the gift of reading a person’s
thoughts came with drawbacks as well as advantages. Tugging at her
shawl as the night air began to set in, Sonja recalled the many
nights her sister would cry herself to sleep with the pain of being
an outcast in a world of cruel, small-minded fools. Briann’s gift
was a battering ram for their taunts. Being different wasn’t easy
for most to understand and the girls had weathered many a hard time
at the hands of those around them. It was probably the reason she
considered herself a loner.

“
My wish for you is that
you are able to acquire the skills necessary to utilize your gift
to the best of your ability.” Briann gave Sonja a quick sisterly
hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Startled, Sonja simply stilled for a
moment. The Guardian steered the older of Briann’s children out of
her direct path. “You’re kidding, right? I could be a killer. The
facts still aren’t clear as to what I do when I go into the
werewolf.”

Briann snared her hand once more and
gave her sister a tug. “Don’t be silly. You couldn’t hurt a fly.
However, vampire is a different story.” She released Sonja and
hugged her arms about her chest. “Wouldn’t it be grand if you were
destined as a slayer in werewolf form?”

Sonja huffed out a laugh before she
could stop the sound. “That’s ridiculous. Werewolves don’t set out
to hunt vampires. Lore has werewolves hunted by vampires. I dare
say we should be on the lookout for vampires lurking in the dark
shadows.” She glanced from one side of the road to the other.
Within the dismal gloom beneath the heavy foliage, the demons
waited with baited breath. “What do they wait for?”

The sound behind her wasn’t audible
except those with the sensitivity she possessed. Lightning fast,
she whirled to find Hortence, the witch seated in the covered
wagon.

“
Don’t concern yourself
over the wooded glade or the swamps, my pet,” the old witch
crooned. “You’ll have a reprieve from those monsters as long as
there’s powers left in me.” A wrinkled smile creased her ancient
face.

For once, Sonja breathed a sigh of
relief. The old hag had been with her from the start and despite
her coming and going on a whim, her tactless nature, and speaking
in riddles, she’d proved invaluable as a friend and tutor in the
magic arts of warfare.

So they traveled by the dim light of
the sun dappled trail farther and farther away from the vampires
lair.

Chapter 5

Challenges

The rain didn’t show any sign of
letting up as the water came down in buckets. Running in great,
rushing rivers under the wagons pulled hurriedly together in a
haphazard semi-circle, the rain cut deep grooves in an already
weathered landscape.

Darkness had fallen, the only light
being a few forgotten lanterns hanging from hooks on the sides of a
couple of the buckboards, which had quickly huddled together in the
unexpected downpour. The rest of the world loomed around them in
pitch black.

Ty peered down the line of wagons
forming the train from under the protection of his well-worn but
ever-present Stetson. The rain pelted his body in increasingly
wind-blown sheets. If not for the black oil-skinned slicker
covering him from his neck to the tips of his boots, he’d be
drenched.

Moving with purpose, Ty sloshed
through the torrent of water toward the object of his
attention.

The petite form of Sonja tugging on a
mule’s reigns. So far, she’d managed to exert enough pressure on
the determined beast as to corral it not a whit.

“
You’re gonna lose a finger
wrapping the line like that.” He snapped the words out with more
irritation than he’d intended as he approached her.

Sonja’s slim frame jerked and her
blonde head snapped up with the force of his words.

Ty’s heart skidded to a
halt.

Beneath the water-logged bonnet, the
slight creature wore as protection against the storm, a set of the
most beautiful eyes Ty’d ever seen stared back at him in the meager
light of a forgotten lantern. Alarm and surprise registered in
their depths making the amber glow almost topaz in the lamp light.
His heart stopped as she blinked at his words. Probably scared her
witless, you fool.

A distinct tremor shadowed her
movements as she stepped sideways in defense of his curt
observation. Something started to coil inside Ty’s gut. She had no
business out here attempting to tie the team down in the downpour.
If she’d allowed him to travel with her in the same wagon, this
wouldn’t be happening. The rain fell in earnest now as if in
agreement with his statement. He’d liked to have been done with the
job and inside the safety of the cook wagon before things went this
far, but such wasn’t the case. Shoving the concern to the back of
his conscious, Ty took the line from her and deftly maneuvered the
balking mule to the tie-out line alongside the others in the team.
He didn’t see the point of arguing with her tonight.

“
Are you hurt?” Ty glanced
back at Sonja standing ankle deep in water.

“
No.” She lifted her chin a
fraction. “I could have managed fine.”

She had the most amazing eyes Ty’d
ever seen. Even in the meager light, they seemed to glow with a
fiery heat as if from the depths of her soul. Ty touched his
fingers to the brim of his hat and spoke over the rain. “I’ve no
doubt you could’ve, but the storm’s setting in good and proper now.
I was simply trying to help.” A grin teased his mouth when she gave
him a stubborn thrust of her delicate chin. Inclining his head
toward her wagon where one thin flicker of light shown from a lone
lantern inside the back entrance, he suggested sternly, “Best be
gettin’ back inside now, before you catch your death.”

A mixture of calculated temper and
resignation warred behind those tawny eyes. He wouldn’t be off in
assuming she weighed the options of berating him further for
believing her incapable of taking care of herself and gratitude for
the assistance. Lucky for him, common sense won out.

With something akin to a nod, she
wheeled, moving smooth as a cat to the wagon’s ladder.

Agilely shimming up the wooden rails,
she presented Ty with a pleasant view of her trim
backside.

She disappeared behind the oil-slicked
cover without as much as a civil ‘thank you’.

Ty paused with two fingers to the brim
of his Stetson. “Good night, ma’am.” Since there wasn’t a soul to
hear, he adjusted his Stetson and turned smoothly, coat tails
flapping as he trudged toward his own shelter out of the storm.
Hopefully, Smitty would have saved him something from
supper.

***

Smitty McCready, long-time friend,
Ty’s sergeant, and one hell of a cook waited on him. With a flip of
the tarp, he extended his hand for Ty. “I heard ya coming. The mess
is settin’ in good.”

Ty allowed Smitty to help hoist him
over the wagon’s side.

“
You brought this one with
ya, that's for sure. That’s the truth of that there, Boyo?” The
land of Ireland sounded heavy in the jib.

Flinging his wet coat on a nearby peg,
Ty rubbed his cold hands together and hoped for some feeling in his
numb fingers. Pointedly ignoring his friend’s good-natured poke, Ty
removed his hat and hung it alongside the slicker. “Got anything to
eat?”

“
Got some stew I saved for
ya. You’d be wantin’ some now, I’d wager. It’s a bad one, this
storm.”

Ty nodded as he yanked off one soggy
boot and then the other. “She’s a bad one.” He accepted the tin
plate Smitty handed him and couldn’t help the grimace. “Followed me
six or seven miles before barreling in and dumping a deluge on me
this side of Sutter’s pass.” Ty shook water from his black hair
before spooning up a mouthful of Smitty’s stew. “We should get six
to eight inches out of her easy,” he said between mouthfuls. “The
bridge at Collier’s bluff is out.” Shaking his head in disgust, Ty
glanced up at Smitty. “That’ll delay us by at least two days.
There’s signs of Indian activity in the same direction. I thought
I’d never get back.”

Smitty’s mouth set over the news.
“Mother of God, bless us.” Making the sign of the cross across his
heart, the cook reached for the St. Christopher he wore constantly
beneath his flannel shirt. Ty’d saved Smitty’s life in ‘62 and
Smitty reciprocated by watching after Ty ever since. The Irishman
shook his head woefully. “Can’t catch a break this time
out.”

Ty grunted in agreement, more
concerned with the stew than further discussion on the matter. Each
campaign of the war landed them both in more hot water than either
had ever dreamed was possible. His friend was the closest thing to
a brother Ty’d had in several years. Long since he’d left home and
well after the war drug on, contact with his family had waned.
Communication was sparse, almost a year had passed since their last
missive.