Wolves' Bane (The Order of the Wolf, #3)(4)
I felt its horridly hot breath against my skin, smelled the rancid scent of decaying meat caught in its teeth, could almost feel its tongue upon my flesh as it licked its snout again and again.
For once, a psychic was right. I’m going to die.
“You are mine.”
Huh? My eyes flew open as disbelief and confusion rushed through me. The beast stood looking down at me, its eyes showing that same intelligence I’d had a fleeting glimpse of moments before. Human intelligence.
Holy shit!
“You are mine,” the wolf repeated, its garbled words almost unintelligible, slurring like a drunk as he sprayed my face with spittle. “You are my bride.” He gave a rough laugh, almost like a bark. “I will claim you.”
My already racing heart kicked into a frenzy, fight or flight instinct making my knees wobble. What the eff? I struggled to speak, to untangle my tongue and make some sense of the situation. Talking wolves. Wolves that stood on two legs, walked and talked.
“I must be dreaming,” I murmured, dizzy all of a sudden. My vision wavered. This had to be a dream. I was probably still in Fiona’s tent, dead asleep.
“No dream, Morgan.”
I startled violently at the use of my name, and snapped out of my frozen state. I took a stumbling step back only to have the beast follow me once more. “Oh god.”
“No escape.” He growled. “You are mine.”
I turned my head, the smell of the wolf’s breath almost unbearable to my senses, searching for a way to escape, tears burning my eyes. Much to my horror, the wolf raised its paws and gripped either side of my face, its long claws pressing into my flesh—threatening to break the skin, forcing me to look at him again.
“Submit to me,” he ordered.
As I opened my mouth to speak, another sound reached my ears. Boots on gravel. The sound of someone running, someone coming closer. Hope trickled through my paralyzing fear.
The wolf turned its massive head away, looking toward the sound, releasing my face. His eyes widened with shock or recognition, and I turned to see what he was looking at.
But all I saw was black.
Chapter Three
The Prophesy
When Caleb heard the call of the wolf, his gut bottomed out. He had a matter of minutes to find her. He pumped his legs faster, relying on instinct to locate the Huntress. If she died, if he failed…well, that just wasn’t an option.
Not this time. Not his Huntress.
He had been chosen for this night, and he would get to her first.
The wolves were near, closing in, and she was there. Her scent sang to him, her fear torqueing his own a millionfold. She had every right to be terrified—if the wolf got to her first, she was as good as dead.
The mark of the beast that etched Cal’s forearm burned with her proximity. The prophecy had, for once, been clear and non-cryptic—she would be at this fair on this night, and he would have only moments to save her life.
Cal pulled the cloak from his backpack as he ran. He pushed himself faster, tossing the bag aside once the cloak was free, his gaze darting, searching for a lone woman standing, frightened, with a beast breathing down her neck, ready to strike.
He narrowed his eyes. In the distance, on the outermost edge of the carnival’s borders, near the dark forest that surrounded it, there she stood. The beast’s paws cradling her head—touching what belonged to him. Anger and possessive rage gripped Cal. She is mine.
He ran toward her, opening the cloak and bellowing his fury. Seconds later, his men returned his call, their own shouts echoing from all around him. The wolf turned its dirty yellow glare in his direction seconds before Cal jumped. He slammed into her with more force than he’d intended but was relieved that the momentum pushed her out of the beast’s grasp as he enveloped her in the cloak.
The roar of rage that followed was like an icy hand gripping his heart. With the Huntress secure in the cloak, the beast would not be able to see or find her. She was safe so long as she wore it. It would disorient the pack enough to give Cal a chance to run with her, because even though she was invisible to them, he was not. Fleeing was the only sure way for her to live.
Cal hoisted her up, tightening his grip as he heaved her over his shoulder. When she started to struggle, he locked her legs in place against his chest. She may not like it, but he was determined to get her to safety, to protect what was his—a thought that had him itching for a little wolfie ass-kicking. Although he couldn’t actually kill the beasts—only the Huntresses could do that—he could leave his mark, and for touching his woman… Yeah, he’d be very happy to embed his blade in ol’ Lazarus’s gut. Shoving that thought aside and with his men falling in to cover them, Cal turned on his heel and ran in the opposite direction, ignoring the instinct to fight in favor of securing the Huntress until they could get her back to the mansion.
Zigzagging at breakneck speed through the maze of tents, trailers and carnival rides was a good way to lose any wolves that dared follow him, but it was also an excellent way to get lost. At least his Huntress wasn’t battling him. Her body moved and swayed with his as he ran. Although it made for an easier trek, her docility was a little disappointing. He had hoped his Huntress would have a little more fire in her.
Cal skidded to a halt when he reached a dead end, cursing at his lousy sense of direction. A peninsula of trees that jutted from the forest loomed before him. As tempting as the notion was, he could just make out their vehicles on the other side of the small stretch of foliage, he couldn’t go in there, not with her anyway. The forest belonged to the beasts.