Wild Blood (19 page)

Skinner's joints ached and his muscles groaned as he climbed down from the rut-altar and surveyed the carnage that surrounded it like spokes in a wagon wheel. He spotted the Hound's bright red hair among the fallen, and saw Amadeo's body picked at by carrion crows. As he walked back toward the lodge, he came across more vargr corpses. The sight of their savaged bodies, strewn about like broken toys, made his gut tighten.

He'd been weak. He'd allowed himself to be overwhelmed by a bloodlust that made him fight friend and foe alike. And what had he won? The privilege to empty his seed into a woman he didn't even like.

“God, what am I turning into?” he moaned aloud.

“What you've been all along,” Jez replied. “One of us.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“I guess this changes everything,” Rend said as he stood in the open bathroom doorway, watching Skinner through the frosted glass pane of the shower.

“I don't see why it should,” Skinner replied, soaping the matted blood from his pelt.

“You really don't realize what just happened, do you?” Rend sounded genuinely incredulous. “You won the rut melee, Skinner! You're Jez's consort now! That means you replace Jag as Alpha of our pack!”

“But what if she still prefers Jag?”

“She's not going to want him hanging around her, now that he's missing an eye!”

“Yeah, but that'll regenerate, won't it?”

“Eyes, brain tissue and the spinal column are the only things on a vargr that stay damaged. You marked him for life, Skin. And for vargr that can be a damn long time—especially for someone as vain as Jag. Congratulations, you're the leader of the pack, cuz!”

“So?” Skinner replied with a shrug. “None of this means anything to me, Rend.”

“Then why did you fight your way to the rut-altar?”

“It was all instinct—that's all,” Skinner said as he closed his eyes and stood under the running water to rinse the shampoo from his hair. “I'm neither proud nor ashamed of it, but it had nothing to do with who I truly am.”

Rend shook his head in wonder. “I don't get you sometimes, cuz.”

Just then there was a light touch on his shoulder. Rend turned to find Jez standing behind him in nothing but a towel. She jerked her thumb in the direction of the door. He nodded and slipped away silently.

“I just don't see what's so important about—” Skinner gasped as an unseen hand grabbed his freshly washed cock. “Rend?” His eyes flew open, unmindful of the suds from the shampoo. He looked down to find Jez pressed against his wet, naked body.

“Hi there, lover,” she smiled. “Miss me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What's it look like, brave dog?” She giggled as she dropped to her knees, running her lips over his belly.

Skinner was sorely tempted to simply close his eyes and surrender to the sensation, but he pushed her away. “Stop it, Jez!

What about Jag?”

“You don't have to worry about him anymore, my brave little doggie,” she laughed huskily. “You're my consort now. I can fuck you whenever and wherever I like …” She reached out and cupped him in her warm, soapy hand. “Doesn't that sound just yummy?”

“Look, Jez—I don't think you understand how I feel about all this—” Skinner tried to move away, but it was impossible to do so in the close confines of the shower.

“Oh, I know how you feel all right, lover,” Jez smirked as she continued to caress him.

Skinner felt his muscles began to bunch and his skin begin to prickle, a sign that his was on the verge of involuntarily shape shifting. He knew if he succumbed to his Wild blood, he'd end up screwing Jez again. And again. And again. He grabbed the handle on the water faucet and, with a sudden twist turned it all the way to the right.

Jez shrieked and jumped out of the shower as the ice-cold water struck her. Skinner's own skin puckered into goose pimples and his penis instantly deflated shrank, short-circuiting his shift from man to vargr.

“What's wrong with you?” Jez barked as she wrapped her shivering body in a towel.

“You said you're free to fuck me whenever you want,” Skinner replied as he stepped out of the shower. “You didn't bother asking me whether I was interested in participating or not.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying: I don't want you,” he said curtly, pulling on his pants.

Jez gaped at him as if he'd just told her the sky was green. “That's impossible! You are my consort! You have to want me!”

“Oh, yeah?” With that Skinner grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to the door, propelling her into the hallway. He had never dreamed he'd see the day when he would deliberately throw a beautiful, naked woman hot to fuck him out of his bedroom. But then, he'd never dreamed of being a werewolf, either.

Lady Melusine looked up from her tea, the porcelain cup frozen halfway from the saucer. “He did what?”

“He kicked me out of his room!” Jez sobbed.

Melusine blinked in confusion, and then looked at her consort. “He's not homosexual, is he? It's rare, but occasionally such vargr win the rut melee. If memory serves, my dame had had a cub by Lord Reynard under similar circumstances …”

“He's not gay!” Jez sniffed. “I gave him a test drive before I went into season.”

“The mutt disgraced my sister.” Jez and Melusine turned as one to look at Jag. The wounded werewolf touched the black patch that now covered his ruined eye. “Let me kill him.”

“You will do no such thing!” Lady Melusine snapped, flaring her nostrils in contempt as she reclined on a chaise lounge, wrapped in yards of diaphanous negligee. “You no longer have any say in Jez's affairs!”

Jag glowered at his mother, and then glanced at Lord Feral, who sat in a nearby straight-backed chair, his hands resting atop his knees. “I want Jez to tell me that, not you,” he snarled. “She's my queen, not you.”

Lady Melusine's spine stiffened. “How dare you speak to me in such a fashion?”

“I dare because it's true,” Jag retorted, showing his teeth in a humorless grin. “Your time as Bitch Queen is drawing to a close. You know it, I know it, and the Pack knows it. Your only hope of remaining in power is keeping Jez dependent on you. Otherwise, she'll chase you from the Pack, just like you did dear Grandmamma when she became menopausal.” Jag knelt before his twin, taking her hand in his. “Please, Jez—say you'll let me kill him.” Jez looked into her brother's remaining eye, and then glanced nervously at her mother's disapproving frown. “Please,” Jag begged. “Just say the word, and I'll take care of him.”

“No,” Jez said, shaking her head. “I don't want him dead.”

With an angry snarl, Jag jerked his hands from hers and stormed out of the room.

“Jag! No! You don't understand—” Jez exclaimed as she hurried after her brother.

Melusine shook her head in disgust and resumed sipping her tea. “He has far too much influence over that girl. It's unbecoming.”

“Such is the nature of twins,” Feral observed.

“I suppose so,” Melusine sighed. “I had so hoped she would end up mated with Growler this time around.” She fell silent at the mention of her favorite's name, lost in thought.

Feral cleared his throat in an attempt to derail Melusine's train of thought. “Yes, my lady, but we must address the problem of this Skinner.”

“Indeed.” Melusine agreed. “If he's uninterested in Jez, then exactly what is he interested in?”

They were keeping her locked in the basement. This much Skinner had been able to find out without drawing undue attention. He knew he didn't have much time. It was only a matter if time before Feral dragged her through the surrounding woods in prelude to the Hunt. He couldn't stand by and let the others use her as blood sport. If he was going to do anything, it would have to be now. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely on his own. While he considered Rend and Shaggybreeks friends, neither was willing to risk their standing in the Pack for a coyotero.

After scouting around, he found a disused stairwell that led to the lower depths of the lodge. He found himself in what looked to be the boiler room, dominated by a coal-fed monstrosity that resembled a postmodern Hindu god, its myriad arms branching out and upward from its squat body. Luckily, no one was tending the furnace when he made his appearance. At the back of the maintenance room was a door that opened onto a corridor that lead even deeper into the bowels of the lodge. Skinner crept along the hallway, keeping to the shadows, casting about for Rosie's scent.

Suddenly his nose was struck by the odor of human excrement. It seemed to be coming from behind a door along the hallway. As he drew closer, he saw a peephole had been drilled at eye level. Curious, he peeked in. He saw two young human males, naked except for the manacles that tethered them to the canvas cots that were the only furniture in the tiny room. Both were unnaturally pale and swaddled in roll upon roll of fat. On the opposite side of the room were a couple of unwashed young women, both heavily pregnant. Like the males, they too were naked and handcuffed to their beds. The eyes of the captive humans were glazed, their faces slack. It was hard to tell whether they were drugged or had simply been driven mad. They reminded Skinner of livestock being fattened on a feed lot.

He spotted another door with a peephole across the way. Upon looking inside he was rewarded by the sight of Rosie, naked except for a studded leather dog collar, chained to a ring set in the wall. She was curled up on the floor like a sleeping dog. Her long black hair had come unbraided, shrouding her shoulders and face.

Skinner snarled and kicked open the door, breaking the lock. Skinner rushed to her side, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Rosie—can you hear me?” he asked. As she raised her head to squint up at him, he could tell that she had been drugged. There were bruises dappling her velvety skin, along with several fresh scratches and bite marks across her back and shoulders. At first she cringed, then growled in defiance.

“Don't be afraid,” he said gently. “I'm here to help you, Rosie.”

“You know my name,” She muttered, a frown creasing her brow.

“Yes. I met you at Root Woman's house, back in Arizona. My name is Skinner.”

Her lids fluttered and her eyes rolled in confused circles. “Grandmother,” she croaked as her body went limp in his arms.

Skinner removed the dog collar, wincing when he saw how it had rubbed her flesh raw. He had to get her as far away from this place as fast as possible. There was no telling what kind of tortures she'd been put through in the last few days. He gathered Rosie's unconscious body into his arms and hurried back the way he came.

As he climbed back up the stairwell with his newly acquired burden, Skinner wondered what the hell he thought he was doing. He had no real escape plan, and even if he succeeded in smuggling Rosie out of the lodge without anyone spotting them, there was still the problem of getting off the grounds themselves. And since Rosie was currently incapable of aiding in her own liberation, there was only so much he could do with dead weight.

Just as he stepped out into the ground floor hallway, he heard footsteps. Testing a nearby door and finding it unlocked, he quickly ducked inside. Rosie moaned slightly, forcing Skinner to clamp his hand over her mouth for fear whoever was approaching would hear her.

“He would have wanted it that way.” Skinner instantly recognized the basso profundo rumble of Shaggybreeks' voice.

“Was he a Viking as well?” The second, lighter voice belonged to Fenris.

“No.”

“Well, I suppose it's the thought that counts.”

As the two vargr continued to discuss the Hound's funeral arrangements, Skinner turned to study the room he was in. The walls were hung with medieval tapestries depicting the glories of the hunt and illuminated by a pair of huge black tapers arranged on either side of a rosewood altar draped in the skins of true wolves. And atop the altar lay the Wolfcane.

Skinner stared at its frozen snarl, marveling at the rich detail of the ornamentation. He could almost count the hairs on its head. In the light from the candles, it almost seemed as if its ruby eyes were bidding him to draw near.

As he stepped closer, the Wolfcane was abruptly enveloped by a radiant halo of blue foxfire. As he instinctively lifted a hand to shield his eyes, Skinner's hair stood on end, the tips crackling with static electricity. Before he could react, a tongue of energy leapt forth from the Wolfcane, striking him between the eyes and knocking him to the floor.

Skinner saw a great wolf made of blue fire running towards him. The creature was the size of a grizzly bear and loomed over Skinner, straddling his body with its forepaws. When it breathed, it sounded like an idling steam engine. Something deep inside Skinner recognized the beast as the spirit of the Wolfcane.

It thrust its massive head forward until its muzzle touched his own, forcing him to look directly into twin orbs of boiling lava. Beyond the liquid fire, Skinner glimpsed a world of endless forest and far-reaching grasslands. The world within the Great Wolf's eyes abruptly changed. Fire and drought claimed the forests and plains. And when the Great Wolf spoke, its words rumbled deep inside Skinner's head, like the bass notes from a church organ: Beware the return of the Great Extinction.

Skinner saw inside the wolf-god's eyes a haze of smoke and heard the scream of chainsaws. He saw the rivers and lakes choked by agricultural runoff. He saw ice caps melt and farm lands turn to desert. He saw Man and animal alike burn like insects trapped under a child's magnifying glass. Only this time there would be no new beginnings, only starvation, disease, strife and the ending from which there is no return.

The spirit of the Wolfcane growled, its chest rumbling like a volcano about to erupt, and it placed a monstrous forepaw on his chest, just above his heart. It felt as if a millstone was pressing against lungs. As he opened his mouth to try and breathe, the Great Wolf dissolved into a pale blue mist and poured itself down his throat.