Shifting Shadows: Stories from the World of Mercy Thompson(96)

They were loud, which was foolish and arrogant in these woods. Arrogance was a fine trait—but not when combined with stupidity.

Even as his wolf raged that one in his care had been hurt, his human brain was picking at the motivation. Everyone knew whose woods these were. Everyone knew that wolves who did not belong to the Marrok’s pack were not allowed to hunt here unless they were invited. Everyone here would know about Kara—she was unique, a child Changed who survived when no child survived a werewolf attack. Everyone knew she belonged to the Marrok, even though they did not know that she belonged to Asil—the Moor.

For fifteen years, Asil had tuned out gossip that came by him. He was no longer an Alpha, he had come here to die—what did he care about other werewolves?

There was a narrow gully up ahead, where prey could be trapped. From the sounds of it, that’s where his prey was. He quit worrying about why and began thinking about what he planned to do. He left the trail and ran up the side of the mountain so he could come at the gully from the side.

Kara growled fiercely, and his heart ached at the fear in her voice. Someone would pay for the fear in her voice.

He would kill them all.

No, Asil thought. He would let Bran kill them all. Because if he started killing, he did not trust himself to stop—and Kara was at risk. He would let the monster out someday, but not when it risked the death of someone in his charge.

He caught a glimpse of his quarry, mostly hidden by the drop in the terrain, and leaped in among them. He took them totally by surprise, three werewolves that his eyes didn’t know, though his nose told him that he’d met at least one of them before. Kara, blood streaming from a shallow cut along her ribs, yipped in terror and tried to jump in front of him. To protect him.

It hurt his pride even as it charmed him.

The strangers recovered their wits, such as they were, and turned to face him. Showing their fangs and snapping them together in an attempt to frighten him. They thought him helpless in his human skin.

“What are you?” he asked them in disgust. “Crocodiles?” He showed them his teeth as he let his power sweep over them, the power of an ancient wolf who had led his own pack for many centuries. The force of it rumbled in his voice as he said, “Down.”

All of the wolves dropped to the ground, including Kara.

But calling upon his power was a mistake. To call upon his dominance was to bring his wolf to the fore, and his wolf was savagely angry. He roared, tearing the tissues of his throat with the sound. He tasted his own blood before the werewolf healed the violence he’d done to himself.

It was Kara who saved him. She whined piteously, her wolf sensing his rage and not understanding that it wasn’t her at fault.

The wolf hesitated—and Asil locked the beast down with gentle finality. Not yet. He would not give in just yet. He wanted to see what this child of the wolf would grow into.

“Pobrecita,” he said to her tenderly. “Not you.” He lifted her to her feet. “You I am not angry with.” She pressed her unwounded side desperately tight to his leg. She was shaking and panting in fear. Not of him, he hoped.

“It is all right now,” he told her. “You are safe.”

One of the wolves lunged to his feet, snarling. She flinched, and Asil drove him back down to the snow-covered ground with his gaze. The man beneath the wolf’s pelt might want to attack, but his wolf was outclassed and knew it.

As long as they were in their wolf forms, they could not attack him. Asil glanced at Kara, who was fair game—though he thought that she would not be vulnerable for long. She had a backbone, that girl. He thought of the way she’d gotten between him and the other wolves because she mistakenly assumed that because he was in his human form, he might be outgunned. No, she was born to be a protector, she just needed to grow up.

For now, though, it was for him to protect her. So he did to the strangers what he had not done to Kara and used his power to drag them into their human bodies. The change would hurt—a lot—and then they would get cold on the walk to his car. He did not care at all about their sufferings.

I do, I want to see them suffer, said his darker self.

While the wolves who had thought they could hunt on the Marrok’s land changed, Asil checked Kara’s wound and she licked anxiously at his fingers. Her fur was caked with blood, but beneath the gore, her skin had already sealed.

“You’ll be fine,” he told her, ruffling the hair on the top of her head. “You did well to call to me—and to lead them here. I am sorry I could not kill them for you. But they will be suitably punished.”

Bran would probably not kill them unless they had been trouble before. But that there were three of them made Asil wonder who their Alpha was—and why he’d allowed them to hunt today and in this place. There was no way any kind of competent Alpha would not feel a hunt as chaotic as these idiots’ hunt had been through the pack bonds.

Perhaps their Alpha had sent them.

Asil considered the wolves who were nearing their human forms. The one he’d thought he’d recognized was the wolf he’d seen outside Bran’s office. Eric. Who had already disobeyed Bran by not staying away from Bran’s house until after the great day of Change was over.

Who would gain from such a brash breaking of Bran’s rules? Who would gain from Kara’s being harmed while she was under the Marrok’s protection? He did not know because he had kept himself ignorant—he had been self-indulgent and lazy, or maybe he would have seen this coming and spared Kara the fright.