Wolf Pact

  After a couple of weeks Malcolm decided he understood the spell well enough to attempt it. “I’m going to need everyone’s help, though,” he warned. He assigned everyone tasks: Edon was to carve the runes into the front door, Rafe was to gather the necessary herbs for the mixture, and Tala and Lawson would smear them around the house, making sure to leave no gaps.

  Ringing the house with the herbal mixture Malcolm had created was painstaking work, much more so than Lawson had anticipated. They started on a night when he’d come home from work early. The sun was just starting to set, and the glowing pink matched Tala’s hair. Lawson held an enormous vat of the foul-smelling, steaming stuff while Tala scooped it out and spread it on the ground. They worked in silence for what felt like hours before Tala announced that she needed a break.

  “Sure,” Lawson said. “Should we take a walk, stretch our legs a bit?”

  “That sounds good. I could use a few minutes away from that smell.”

  They wandered away from the house, walking a few blocks in the twilight darkness without speaking. The air was cool, the sky clear. Lawson’s hand brushed against hers a few times, but she didn’t pull away. They hadn’t been this close since the day she’d dyed her hair so long ago. There hadn’t been a lot of opportunity to be alone on the run. Finally, he couldn’t bear it, and he grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him. It was natural, instant; she fell into his arms and his lips were on hers. He barely had time to worry about whether she would respond before she started kissing him back. She tasted of bubble gum, sweet and soft.

  She pulled away for a moment. She looked into his eyes in the darkness. “Do you remember what you said to me, a couple of weeks ago?”

  “How could I possibly forget?”

  “Did you mean it?”

  Lawson stroked her cheek. “How could I not?”

  “Well, I love you too,” she whispered.

  He grinned. “Of course you do.” Feigning arrogance, but what he really felt was relief. And happiness.

  Tala laughed. “Don’t get cocky.”

  “Shut up and kiss me again,” he said, running his hands under her jacket and layers of thin T-shirts, wanting to feel her skin on his, wanting to get even closer than they were.

  She kissed him back for what seemed too short a time, then pulled away again. “Come on, we need to get back. We have to make sure the house is protected.”

  So they trudged back to the house and the dogwood spell. Lawson hoped Tala was paying close attention to the task at hand, because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but this new feeling, this complete joy he’d never felt before. He hoped it never went away.

  One cold morning in December, Lawson woke to find the clock blinking 12:00 in faded red neon. He wandered out of his room to find Tala and his brothers sitting in the living room, staring at a dead television. “What happened?” he asked.

  Edon shrugged. “Power’s out. They must have figured out that no one really lives here. We should bail.”

  That was Edon’s mantra, a never-ending drone: they needed to move on; if they stayed anywhere too long, the hounds would find them. But this time Lawson had resisted. The older boys had found real jobs at the town butcher shop; Mac was enrolled in a local public school. Best of all, he and Tala were often able to sneak away in the night and spend time together, even if they both knew it wasn’t a good idea for things to go too far, for the boys to find out. Somehow, in the past month, he had ended up doing what he had sworn he would not. He was settling down; he was starting to feel comfortable. He had to admit—he was tired of running, tired of looking over his shoulder. Besides, there was still a chance—impossibly slim, of course, but still there—that other wolves would somehow be able to escape through the portal he’d kept open, still a chance that Marrok would join them. He didn’t want to leave just yet. Besides, with some work and ingenuity they’d made the abandoned house their own, with curtains and bookshelves and a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon and honey. Tomorrow they would run, always tomorrow.

  “We’re fine,” Lawson said. “The dogwood spell will protect us.”

  “So you think. Do not forget that we are wolves, creatures bred for battle, not spells and potions,” Edon argued.

  “I think we should stay,” Tala said, glancing meaningfully at Lawson.

  “Me too,” Rafe said. “I like it here.”

  “Well, if we’re staying it would be nice to find some way to get the TV turned back on,” Malcolm said.

  “We’ll check it out,” Lawson said, and motioned for Tala to follow him.

  Once outside, they walked quickly out of the cul-de-sac toward a more populated area, where it soon became clear that the power was out in the whole town, not just in their house. Mystery solved, they had some time to be alone.

  They found an empty bench and sat down. Lawson nuzzled Tala’s neck. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell the boys about us?” he asked.

  Tala shook her head. “I think we still need to wait. Rafe and Malcolm might not be ready, and Edon’s still sad about Ahri.”

  It was true; the week before had been Ahramin’s eighteenth moon day, and Edon had slipped into a funk that took days for him to shake out of. Lawson had been pretty depressed about it himself. They all knew what it meant. If Ahramin was still alive—and there was no guarantee the hounds had let her live after they escaped—she was surely a hound now, which meant they could never get her back. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “We’ll just have to keep sneaking around.”

  “At least you saved Edon in time,” Tala said. The oldest had made it to eighteen without being turned, and a wolf who managed to gain full form without being turned into a Hellhound was said to be free forever. They were planning a surprise party for him that night, when he was no longer expecting it. Lawson had saved up some of his money to buy a small pig from the local butcher, and Rafe and Malcolm had set up a makeshift grill from a barrel and a window grate.

  “We should get home and start dinner,” Lawson said.

  He spent the afternoon getting their food ready, thankful that the grill didn’t require power. Edon seemed to appreciate the gesture and blew out the candles of his homemade cake with a smile. After taking a bite of his slice, Malcolm suddenly announced that he had a stomachache. “You don’t like the icing?” Tala joked.

  Malcolm shook his head. He was thin and anemic-looking, his bony ribs poking through his thin T-shirt, and when he bent over, his shoulder blades protruded from his back like two small wings. Lawson had hoped that he’d start growing stronger, and had been slipping him extra food at meals, but nothing seemed to help.

  “It must have been the pig—maybe I took it off the fire too early, it must have been too rare,” Lawson said, blaming himself for Malcolm’s stomach pains.

  Tala helped Malcolm lie on the couch and placed a bowl under his head just as Malcolm vomited up his dinner. “We need a bucket! Now!” she yelled, and everyone scrambled to help.

  Lawson was bringing a plastic bucket into the living room when he heard the knock at the door. Strange—no one had come to the house in the months they’d lived there.

  Another knock. Sharper this time, more urgent.

  “Who is it?” Edon asked, coming up beside him. He had a pinched, anxious look on his face, and Lawson knew it was because they didn’t have any neighbors and no one knew they lived there. No one was supposed to know about this house. And now someone had come. But who?

  He felt a growing trepidation in his chest, a tightening, a darkness. Lawson could feel the end coming, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it yet, did not want to think about what it meant. It was nothing, just a stranger at the door, nobody, no one, it didn’t mean anything, he told himself.

  “Probably just the postman or something, I’ll take care of it. Go see how Mac’s doing,” Lawson said. He’d taken on the role of alpha here, was used to giving orders, even to his older brother. Edon did as he was told.

  Lawson’s mind was racin
g in fear, but he was just nervous, he told himself. He pushed aside the metal shutter that covered the peephole window. It was dark, almost black, and he couldn’t see anything. He wiped the glass with the edge of his shirt, and when he looked through again, he saw that the darkness had coalesced into a tall, thin form. A girl.

  She stood in a seductive curve, her body sinuous and snakelike, her hand on her hip, jutted out like a fashion model. Her thick dark hair moved with a life of its own, swaying like satin ribbons around her face. Like Medusa, she had a cold and dangerous beauty, the beauty of a cobra or a lioness. She was dressed for battle, her black armor glinting in the twilight.

  Lawson stood motionless at the door, unable to shake her gaze. His heart dropped into his stomach; he couldn’t breathe.

  No. No. Not now. No.

  “Lawson!” Tala’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “What’s wrong? Who is it?”

  When he didn’t answer, she pushed him aside to look through the peephole. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Lawson!” she cried. “DO SOMETHING!”

  Her voice shook him into action. “THEY’RE HERE!” Lawson yelled. He could smell the hounds now. They’d be on them in an instant, coming from all directions, ducking through shadows and hiding in trees, making their way toward the house, bringing fire and ash.

  “Make sure Edon doesn’t see!” he said, grabbing Tala’s arm. Lawson began to barricade the door, tossing everything he could find against it—the chairs, the kitchen table. “Get everything we need! We’re not coming back!”

  Tala nodded and ran to secure the treasures of their pack.

  “RAFE!” he cried. “Everyone to the middle, get ready to jump!”

  “I’ve got it!” his brother yelled, hustling Malcolm toward the living room.

  Hellhounds! Here!

  Now!

  He was so frightened he couldn’t think, but he had to concentrate if he was going to get them all out of there, if they were going to survive this.

  “It’ll hold,” Lawson said to Malcolm, who was shaking. “They can’t get in the house.”

  Wordlessly, Tala pointed to the windows, her eyes wide with fright and despair.

  He turned to see. Outside, flames ringed the perimeter. If the hounds couldn’t enter the house, they would burn it to the ground.

  The circle of flames was still far enough away that Lawson could see the snow-covered grass in between the fire and the house. But it wouldn’t be long before the fire gained energy and started moving closer. All his planning, all his nights of worry wasted. The first home they’d ever had, about to be destroyed. His biggest fear was upon them, and he hated himself for thinking they’d been safe even for a moment. He slammed a fist hard against the wall.

  Tala grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’t. We’ll find another home. We built this one together, and we’ll build another.”

  He swallowed hard, kissed her forehead brusquely. Thank god for Tala.

  The scent of smoke made its way into the living room.

  “Where’s Edon?” Rafe asked.

  Lawson knew where he was. He exchanged anguished looks with Tala. “I’ll get him,” she said.

  “No—let me,” Lawson said.

  He ran to the kitchen.

  Edon stood transfixed at the front door, peering out through the peephole. “You didn’t tell me,” he said without moving; he must have heard Lawson’s footsteps behind him.

  A low, throaty voice whispered from the doorway, “Come to me, Edon.…I’ve missed you so much.”

  “It’s not her,” Lawson said. “Not really. Not anymore. You know that.” He’d seen her eyes, seen how their blue had turned a deep reddish black. “Ahri’s one of them now.” Ahramin had been turned. She was no longer a wolf; she walked upright; she carried a black sword; she was an extension of Romulus’s will. A Hound of Hell.

  “Edon, open the door so we can be together again.…”

  “I have to open it,” Edon said.

  “I can’t let you do that.” Lawson pushed Edon away from the door as Ahramin began pounding on it so hard that it made the walls shake and the light fixtures swing wildly. The pummeling was relentless, and it felt as if not just the door but the whole house would collapse from the fury of her blows.

  The girl’s taunts turned to screams as the door held. “EDON!” she thundered as Lawson pulled his brother back into the living room. “EDON, IF YOU STILL LOVE ME, LET ME IN!”

  Now that Edon was with them, the circle was complete. Edon sat dazed between Lawson and Rafe, who each held on to him in case he tried to make a run for the door.

  “Can they follow us?” Malcolm asked, his eyes red and nose dripping.

  “The hounds can’t come through the portals,” Lawson assured him. “At least the ones I make, I’m pretty sure.” He didn’t know how he knew; it was just instinct, but it felt right. “Close your eyes, and focus your hearts and minds.”

  Lawson waited until everyone had their eyes closed, and then began to open the portal with his mind. It would be a much more dangerous jump than their escape from the underworld; their souls would have to cross first and their bodies would follow, unlike in Hell, where their spirits and flesh were one. Around them, the windows cracked and glass shattered. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. The smell of smoke was overpowering. Outside the sky was an eerie charcoal, and smoke billowed around the house. He could see the first wisps of flame edging toward the window. And then it was upon them.

  The room turned a dull orange as strips of flame shot across the old carpet. The heat was unbearable, but familiar: the black fire of Hell. The ceiling glistened and blistered.

  Lawson felt the passage open, felt the universe expanding to create this space, a space for them to be safe. In his mind’s eye, he watched as one by one the brothers crossed over, even as he kept his actual eyes open so he knew what was happening in the room.

  Tala was waiting for him. Go, he urged her in his mind. Go now.

  Only with you, she sent back. A charred beam fell from the ceiling and struck her. She fell backward, unconscious. Her mind lost its connection to his.

  TALA! TALA, WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Lawson screamed as he stood at the border between the worlds. But there was no more time. Through the red-hot skeleton of the house, he could see dark figures gathered. Hellhounds, hunched in anticipation.

  No. He couldn’t lose her. He began to break the connection and the portal started to close. Their bodies were frozen in a circle, asleep and oblivious to the fire that raged around the room, as walls ripped open with flame.

  His brothers began to yell. LAWSON! HURRY!

  He reached out again for her mind, but he couldn’t find her. For a few desperate seconds, there was nothing. Then, suddenly, the spark between them returned.

  GO! Tala screamed. GO! YOU DON’T HAVE TIME! LEAVE ME!

  I CAN’T, he screamed back. I WON’T!

  The boys stood by the open passage, waiting while the room burned. Soon their bodies would be sacrificed to the flames and all would be lost. But still Lawson did not move. He was as paralyzed as Edon had been earlier at the door.

  Tala, no…I won’t leave you the way Edon left Ahri. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.

  Go.…Her voice was weaker now. But when she saw that he was hesitating, her voice recovered the ferocity he knew and loved so well. Remember the pact! Go!

  Never!

  But she pushed him away with her mind, and before he knew what was happening, he had joined his brothers on the other side. The portal continued to close and he heard her scream as a whip cracked in the flames.

  TALA! Lawson’s heart broke in anguish and fear. TALA!

  In one instant the brothers were sitting in the burning living room; in the next, they had disappeared. The house shuddered, heaving its last gasp, and collapsed, the hounds storming the ashes of what they’d left behind. But Lawson and his pack were gone, save one.

  Bliss Llewellyn waited at the airport for Aunt Jane to pick her up from the bo
nding she’d just attended. Aunt Jane wasn’t really her aunt; she was the latest incarnation of the Pistis Sophia, the Immortal Intelligence, what the Blue Bloods called the Watcher. She had been Lucifer’s sister in an earlier cycle and since then had been destined to foresee the return of the Dark Prince from the underworld.

  Bliss scanned the cars, looking for her aunt’s Honda Civic. Sturdy and reliable, just like the form the Watcher had taken in this life, she thought. Jane Murray was a short, sensible-looking woman of late middle age who favored brightly colored wool cardigans, plaid skirts, and brown moccasins and was known to quote from Austen or Shakespeare when the mood struck.

  She wondered why Jane’s powers didn’t extend to making them look more like relatives. Though the Watcher hadn’t managed it the last time, either; when she’d taken the form of Bliss’s sister Jordan, everyone always remarked they didn’t look like sisters. Bliss herself was tall and rangy, with long, thick hair that fell in russet waves down her back. She’d even been a model once, back in New York, in another life. A life that had probably ended with the bonding she’d just left. When would she see her friends again? she lamented, thinking of Schuyler, Jack, and Oliver. She missed them so much already.

  As Bliss wandered up and down the sidewalk outside the airport, her hand slipped under her shirt, and her fingers traced the long, ugly scar in the middle of her chest, a rumpled ridge of skin, bumpy and coarse. She tried not to pick at it, since it just made it worse when she did, but it was hard to stop.

  The scar was a reminder of the girl she had been, dark history marked on her pale flesh. Lucifer’s daughter. Devilspawn. Silver Blood: a corrupted vampire who fed on the souls of its own kind. A Dark Angel cursed to live the rest of her immortal life on earth, reincarnated through the cycles to perform her father’s bidding. The Dark Prince had been using her as a way to seek revenge on his enemies, to wreak havoc and terror.

  In the end she had managed to fight him and regain control of herself, her body, her memories. There was some cold comfort in knowing that it was all behind her, that there was nothing left of her father’s malice except for a faded purple gash where she had plunged a knife into her own body rather than murder another innocent victim. Bliss had been ready to face death, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. But she’d been blessed with another chance, a new life, a new way forward to redeem the past and forge a new identity.