Pack Bound, page 25
Jason’s lips twitched at Skye’s petulant tone.
‘Are you sure?’ Shelley quipped.
Skye glared at her friend. Shelley just poked out her tongue. Then, suddenly, Skye was laughing.
The sound filled Jason with warmth and hope. If she could laugh, then maybe she wasn’t in as bad a place as he feared. ‘Well, if you’re here to take care of her …’
Shelley smiled at him. ‘I’ve been taking care of her for years.’
He nodded then looked over at Skye, who was studiously avoiding his gaze. His wolf didn’t like being ignored. Giving in to the wolf’s urging—because he didn’t like being held at arm’s length either—he crouched down again, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, short, hard, possessive.
When he pulled back, she stared at him, stunned, but he could see the embers of desire written in the depths of her eyes, the way she bit her lip, the unsteadiness of her breath. She wanted him too.
Despite what he’d said to her last night about giving her space, he wasn’t going to give her up without a fight. She was his mate. Her heart was his as his was hers. She only had to accept it to realise the gift they’d been given. He was certain once she realised it, there’d be no talk of going away.
But now was not the time to bring it up.
Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed her again, this time slower, softer, a promise.
Her breath fluttered over his face as he pulled away. ‘I’ll see you later. Make sure you rest.’ She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those desire-laden eyes.
His wolf’s satisfaction a purr in his throat, he sauntered out of the room.
23
Skye sat there, dazed, staring at the doorway long after Jason left.
‘You okay?’ She turned to see Shelley sitting on the couch beside her—when had she moved? ‘Skye?’
‘Umm, yeah, fine. Gotta read.’ She stared at the page, the words swimming before her eyes.
‘Arsehole shouldn’t have done that to you.’
‘Done what to me?’
‘That,’ Shelley said, waving her hand at Skye.
‘I’m not that bad.’
‘Tell that to the stunned mullet look on your face. You look like a Disney princess, all googly-eyed and ridiculous after their prince gives them a kiss.’
She screwed up her mouth, trying to think of an epithet to call her friend but nothing but, ‘Read your diary,’ came out.
‘You read your diary.’
‘I will.’ And strangely enough, she could. She supposed she should say thanks to her friend for making her angry and snapping her out of it, but then that would just encourage her.
She slouched further into the couch, pulling her feet up under her, and started reading.
Her father’s words captured her attention from the first line, as he wrote of things that seemed vaguely familiar and others that were so alien they crawled over her skin, making her shudder.
Family history was intertwined between essays on the nature of magic and spells her father had learned or created. Her eyes wanted to skate over the spells because they made her head pound, but she knew she had to read every word, so she ignored the pain and made herself read them. After a while, the pain became a nauseating numbness in the back of her head.
She read for hours, unaware of anything around her. The only reason she noticed when Shelley got up to turn more lights on was because suddenly she could see the writing better.
Finally, she came to a section about her parents’ meeting, their love, the vision Paul had seen that had almost kept them apart. The words made them vivid and alive, their hopes and dreams spelled out on the page in a way that she felt them as if they were her own.
And their joy when she and her twin were born—incandescent.
Then there was the separate section that included her father’s prophecies. Some were simple. Some made no sense while others seemed to be written in some kind of code she couldn’t understand.
‘What are you frowning over?’
She passed the diary to Shelley. ‘I can’t make sense of this, although I have a feeling it’s incredibly important. Does it make sense to you?’
Shelley’s brow furrowed as she read.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’ she asked, not looking up from the diary.
‘Does it make sense to you?’
‘Maybe,’ she said, and kept reading.
After a long pause, Skye said, ‘Care to elucidate?’
‘What?’ Shelley asked, looking up at her briefly before looking back down at the diary.
Skye chuckled. ‘Don’t worry. It’s clear I’m going to get nothing useful out of you until you’re finished.’
‘Hmphf,’ was all the response she got.
‘Just like it’s clear I’m not going to get my father’s diary back,’ she muttered.
No response to that.
She looked at the other diaries on the coffee table. Edginess prickled over her skin at the thought of diving into another one right away. Sighing, she pushed up from the couch, stretching out the cramps from sitting too long. ‘I’ve had enough for now. I need a drink. Do you want anything?’
‘Tea would be nice,’ Shelley said absently, not looking up from the diary.
‘Oh, you heard that?’
‘And maybe some of Adam’s Anzac biscuits.’
‘Adam’s Anzac biscuits?’
‘Mmm-hmm. He does most of the cooking here.’
‘Huh.’ Skye wondered if he’d made the amazing lasagne she’d eaten earlier. Lasagne and biscuits. Comfort food. There really was more to him than she’d realised.
She headed down the hall to the kitchen, put the kettle on and went in search of the Anzacs. She found them in a tin marked ‘Adam’s Biscuits’. As she filled a plate, she thought about the diaries and what her father had written. Wisps of fog-like memories were being stirred by some of what she read, but she still couldn’t grasp them; they were too insubstantial. Hopefully, if she persisted she’d actually remember something that would help them now. That was of course if she could pry the diary out of her friend’s hand sometime in the next century.
‘Can I have one of those?’
She jumped and turned around. Tom stood in the doorway, a fluffy puppy in his arms.
‘Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?’ she asked, trying to ignore the lick of fear that crawled up her spine at sight of the dog.
‘I woke up and was firsty. And a bit hungry. It’s a long time till bweakfast.’
‘It is.’ She held out the plate, trying to stop her hand from shaking as he came forward with the puppy. She knew the fear was irrational, especially after she’d faced down his uncle as a wolf. Besides, the puppy was too cute to be menacing: a little ball of grey and white fluff looking adoringly up at Tom as he padded up to her and took a large biscuit. The puppy licked his face. Tom giggled.
‘Who’s your friend?’ she asked.
Tom kissed the puppy on the head. ‘This is Mikey. Uncle Jase just gave him to me for my birfday. Can I have some milk, too?’
‘Sit at the table and I’ll get you some. But not a big glass—it’s not good to drink lots of liquid before bed.’
‘Oh, I know. Uncle A says I have a bladder the size of a pea.’ He looked up at her curiously as she put the glass of milk before him and sat down next to him. ‘What’s a bladder?’
She was about to answer when the puppy scrambled from Tom’s lap to hers. Skye stiffened, holding her breath.
Unfazed, Tom said, ‘He likes it when you pat him, like this.’ He sidled closer—he smelled of soap and toothpaste. Skye breathed in the familiar scent, trying to allow it to soothe her into relaxing. The puppy settled into her lap, lying his head on her stomach, and looked up at her with adoring brown eyes. Tentatively, she lowered one hand and followed Tom’s action.
‘See?’ Tom nodded. ‘He likes you.’
She nodded nervously, but continued to pat the soft fur.
Tom watched her for a moment, his forest green eyes full of questions.
‘You want to ask me something?’
He nodded. Thought for a long second. Then, ‘You’re our Pack Witch, arnchoo?’
She swallowed hard. ‘So I’ve been told.’
‘Why did you go away? We needed you.’
‘I didn’t know I was needed. Besides, I was only eight and my grandparents took me to look after me. They didn’t realise they would hurt any of you when they did that.’
‘Oh. I guess that’s okay then.’
‘Really? You’re not angry with me?’
He shook his head. ‘Nuh-uh. It wasn’t your fault. Uncle Jase says we can’t take responsbly—responsiblibity—for things that aren’t our fault. Like my parents’ and Nan and Pop’s and Uncle and Aunt’s deaths. That wasn’t my fault. Uncle Jase says it’s okay I feel sad, but not to feel bad. He says just to try my best always to make Mummy and Daddy proud of me in heaven.’
Skye had to bite her lip to keep the tears from running down her face. She stopped patting the puppy and brushed her hand through the little boy’s silky soft hair. His acceptance and forgiveness was a gift she wasn’t going to sully with her stupid tears. ‘Your Uncle Jason is very wise.’
Tom nodded. ‘Yeah. He and Uncle A are the best.’
He ducked his head and began patting the puppy again. Aware of a little boy’s pride, Skye turned her attention to the puppy. ‘What kind of dog is he?’
‘A Keeshond.’
‘Huh.’ She’d never heard of them, but she had to admit this one was cute, and stroking her hand along its soft body was kind of relaxing. ‘It looks like a fluffy baby wolf.’
Tom laughed. ‘Mikey’s too small to be a wolf.’
At his name, Mikey jumped up, licked Tom’s face again, scampered off her lap and landed on the floor with a loud plonk. Scrabbling to his feet, he shot to the door leading out onto the back patio.
‘What’s he doing?’ Skye asked, pushing to her feet to follow Tom to the door.
‘He needs to go wees.’ He opened the door and the little puppy scurried out. Cool night air flooded in the door, making Tom shiver. ‘Don’t go far,’ he called in obvious imitation of his uncles, before closing the door. He looked up at Skye. ‘He won’t be long.’
‘Okay.’
She stood beside him, looking out the floor-to-ceiling folding glass doors as the puppy scampered off into the dark, nose to the ground, curly tail held jauntily across its back.
The night sky was blue velvet and clear, the full moon high in the sky, casting dancing shadows all over the backyard and the stretch of wooded hills. She soon lost sight of the puppy. ‘He can’t get out into the park, can he?’
Tom shook his head. ‘There’s a gate, but Uncle Jase locks it.’
She saw something move near the end of the patio, bigger than the little puppy. ‘Do you have other dogs?’
Tom shook his head. ‘No.’
Her heart banged in her chest. ‘Then what are those?’
Two massive grey dogs, like the wolf-dog she’d seen at the snow, stalked across the grass from the direction of the back fence to the edge of the patio, their shapes outlined in the spill of light from the lounge.
One of the dogs moved forward, sniffing the air, then sauntered across the patio to where Mikey had disappeared at the edge of the lawn. The yellow-orange glow of its eyes in the purple night sent a little frisson of fear dancing down her spine.
These must be members of the McVale Pack—Iain and Patrick—who were on sentry duty. Even so, she shifted slightly, away from the window.
At her movement, the dog’s head snapped around, its yellow-orange gaze piercing her through the glass doors. Then suddenly, it sat back on its haunches, lifted its head and howled to the sky.
The sound wasn’t mournful but triumphant. Vicious. Deadly.
A little ball of grey and white flew out of the kangaroo paw plant to the left, hurtling in a snarling, snapping flurry of fury towards the two monstrous grey dogs.
‘Mikey!’ Tom screamed as he opened the door.
‘Tom?’ Skye said, surprised by his fear. But then a growl, low and bloodthirsty, ripped through the air, and one of the dogs snapped at the puppy, swatting it with its big paw.
There was a sharp cry as Mikey flew backward into the bushes edging the patio.
Fear clutched her in its vicious claws, paralysing her. These wolves weren’t pack.
‘Go ’way! Leave him alone!’ Tom shrieked in his high-pitched voice, coming to a quivering halt just outside the door as the dog turned and snarled at him.
The sound snapped her out of her paralysis. She reached for him, but he was too far outside the door to easily pull him back inside. Despite the fear trembling in every nerve ending, Skye slipped out and placed herself between Tom and the dogs.
The dog in the lead, the bigger one, widened its mouth, almost as though it were smiling.
‘Tom,’ she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, ‘go back inside.’ She held her hands out to the side in attempt to shield his movement back through the door.
‘I want Mikey.’
His sob cut into her. She felt his worry for his dog as if it was her own, but she couldn’t allow him to stay out here with such dangerous wild animals. ‘I’ll get him.’
Mikey had crawled back out of the bushes, far more cautiously this time, but his hackles were raised as he faced the dogs, his mouth pulled up in a snarl. If he weren’t so small and cute, he’d look scary. As it was, Skye was surprised the dogs were reacting to him at all. If they were human, they would have been rolling around laughing at the comical David and Goliath display. But then again, David had won. Perhaps the puppy had heard the story.
She giggled, realising she was on the verge of hysteria as fear clutched at her throat and squeezed her chest, a deep primal thing that made her want to curl up in a corner and whimper.
‘Skye. You have to get back inside, love.’ Her grandpa’s voice, a whisper in her ear, filled her with thrumming tension. ‘These are not pack wolves. They aren’t friends. They’re our kind.’
His words snapped her out of the trance fear had locked her in. ‘Our kind,’ she stuttered. ‘But they are wolves, not witches.’
‘They are. Powerful witches. It’s called transmogrification. But they aren’t natural shapeshifters. They’ve used dark magic,’ he said, voice low and harsh and full of condemnation. ‘Can’t you sense it?’
Skye nodded. Oh yeah, she could sense it all right. Every cell in her body was shaking with the need to run away to where that kind of evil could never touch her.
‘Run.’
‘No.’ She couldn’t run. Now the unreasonable fear had been slapped aside, her need to protect the little boy and his puppy was greater. Reaching out slowly, she bent forward and said in a shaky voice, ‘Mikey. Mikey, sweetheart, come here. Come to Skye.’
Mikey snarled, his little body shaking with fury, and took two springy jumps forward then back.
One of the wolves looked down his nose at the puppy’s display, its mouth widening into a tooth-baring grin as it made a noise that sounded eerily like a snicker. The other wolf stood, the movement sharp, abrupt, making Skye’s heart pound in her chest. It leaned forward, black nose crinkling, lips pulling up into a sneer.
Mikey let rip with a sharp bark. The laughing wolf kept laughing, the other shot its mate a look that on a human would be annoyance, and then returned its attention to the little bundle of furious fur. It leaned forward. Mikey yipped again, his entire body caught up in the noise, his little legs like springs attached to his mouth, his last spring and yip bringing him closer to her and Tom.
‘Call Jason.’
‘What?’ Was her grandpa insane? She didn’t have time to make a call.
‘In your mind. You are linked to him. Call him.’
She didn’t question him, but screamed inside her head, ‘Jason! Jason!’
‘Skye.’ Jason’s voice in her mind was a mere whisper, but then it strengthened. ‘I’m coming, Skye. Get back inside.’
‘I’m trying.’
‘Mikey!’ Tom whispered. ‘Mikey, please come.’
Mikey yipped again, his motion taking him towards the dogs.
‘Mikey. Bad dog. Come here.’
The larger darker wolf growled, leaning forward in a truly menacing manner while its mate made that sound like a chuckle. Mikey yipped and hopped back.
‘Come on Mikey, just a little further and I’ll be able to grab you, you annoying little ball of fluff,’ Skye said in a sweet voice. She reached out as Mikey yipped again, coming within an inch of her outstretched hand.
The biggest wolf growled viciously and leaned back, readying to pounce. Skye took a quick step forward, grabbed up the fluffy bundle, who was still snapping and snarling at the shapeshifters, and began to back up, herding Tom towards the door, her gaze firmly fixed on the menace in front of her.
Her fingers sparked and burned, but she didn’t dare look to see what was happening there because her movement seemed to have freed the biggest wolf from its crouch. It flung itself forward, the whites of its eyes and its flashing white teeth reminding her of how a shark looked as it lunged to feed.
Arms wrapped around the little dog, she twisted, pushing Tom back through the door.
Jaws clamped onto her leg, sharp teeth tearing through denim and flesh. Adrenaline pumped through her too hard and fast for her to register the pain as she kicked out. The wolf let go. She lost her balance. A thousand images pulsed through her mind as she fell; time slowed so that she saw everything at once.
Then she hit the ground. Her breath punched out of her as her head smacked against the paving stones with a sharp crack. Blackness rushed forward but she pushed it back.
As she did, time returned to full speed.
She needed to get up, move. Tom still hadn’t gone inside like she’d intended but was standing in the doorway, gaze fixed on the attacking wolf, face pale as death, lips pulled up into something that looked like a snarl, his little body vibrating as if he was about to have a seizure. She had to grab him and shut the door before the wolf continued its attack.
