“Whoo.”
Galahad paused in his preening. Nick’s question was a good one. What gives you and Selene the right to make that decision for the rest of us? For one-shapes?
The Boogeyman laughed. “Ancient magic. Natural law. Sacrifice. It’s human destiny to be food for those more powerful—whether it is flesh or fear or both that are devoured.”
“Great. We’re in the clutches of a Bond villain,” Desdemona muttered. She jerked her chin at Alan and Eddie. “If you plan to make humans food, why are they helping you and the cougar?”
Eddie looked at her, his expression uneasy, but it was Alan who answered. “Selene has promised us the Bite. We’ll be lycans too.”
Desdemona stared at him. “But what about your family and friends? What happens to them?”
“We’ll Bite them,” Eddie said earnestly. He glanced at Alan. “Right?” Alan simply shrugged.
Galahad exchanged a look with Nick. The one-shapes didn’t realize that Selene had lied to them. Lycans were born, not bitten, into being. Same with yōkai. Eddie’s and Alan’s fates were most likely to be eaten once they’d served their purpose.
Galahad resumed grooming, seeing no reason to enlighten them. They’d made their beds.
“How will you do this?” Desdemona asked. “Why do you need us?”
“How? The way such things are always done, girl,” the Boogeyman replied. “With magic and blood. Selene plans to use blood magic to awaken the old gods of the forest and to dedicate the preserve to them. She believes, once awakened, these old gods will protect and preserve the Shifter nation, viewing it as a return to the natural order.”
“But why are we needed?” Desdemona insisted. “Why Louis?”
From the inky shadows beyond the firelight, a deep inhalation. “Ah, my favorite scent—fresh blossoming fear. Delicious.” The Boogeyman chuckled, a sound like claws scraping against bone. “As for why, little girl, it’s the blood flowing in that black cat’s veins. Blood from an ancient line, blood steeped in magic, blood leading back to those primeval forests where gods were born. Or so Selene says.”
“Rrawll,” Louis said. Take what he says with a grain of salt. He wants you to be afraid.
A smile flickered across Desdemona’s lips. She nodded. Galahad wondered what she would look like as a cat. The conjured image—blue eyes, purple-plumed tail, pert ears—renewed his purr. Then a question occurred to him. Shifting his attention from Hal’s woman, Galahad faced the cold void with the shark-toothed grin.
“Mew?”
“The hippies? Simply too many,” the Boogeyman replied, grin widening. “Selene said the herd needed thinning. And now, boys and girls, it’s time for you to sleep and dream not-so-sweet dreams. Alan, if you would do the honors?”
Rising to his feet, Alan reached into a pocket of his coveralls and pulled out a gun, one similar to the Taser he’d zapped Nick with in the tunnel, but minus the prong-thingies.
Galahad rose to his paws. His heart hammered against his ribs.
Louis’s purr altered tempo and deepened into a growl. His moonlit gaze locked on Alan as he sprang to his feet, then leapt, in one fluid motion.
Galahad heard a muffled thwip as Alan fired his gun. Then went down under Louis’s slashing claws.
“Louis! No!” Desdemona screamed.
Everything went to hell with all the speed of a brakeless roller coaster.
Wolf-snarling. Cougar-screaming. People shrieking. Scattered straw. Burning pine-blood-musk-cloves-sweat odor; everything boiled together in one fast-forward blur. Nick, fur bristling, fangs bared, lunged for Selene, her huge paw lifted, claws flexed, to slap him down.
Alan, blood streaking his face, lifted his gun in a shaking hand. Eddie stood behind him, eyes squeezed shut. The snapping fire glimmered orange and yellow across Louis’s motionless black form.
Narrowing his gaze, Galahad spotted tiny feathers protruding through the fur on Louis’s shoulder. Another thwip, and Desdemona crumbled beside the panther. Just as Galahad realized Louis and Desdemona had been tranked with darts, he felt a sting near his butt.
One of Nick’s favorite words scrolled through Galahad’s mind just as a thrumming numbness raced through his veins and chased him down into a lightless well.
Crap.
20
MORE THAN SHE EVER IMAGINED
Light prickled against Galahad’s face. Lanced red through the blackness behind his closed eyelids. Groaning, he rolled over and plowed his face into dirt. Sucked in a big old mouthful of soil, pine needles, and wood chips.
Spitting, coughing, Galahad opened his eyes and took in the panoramic ground-level view of an ashy campsite in the green sunlit woods. He decided this whole “coming-to” business was becoming a habit, an annoying habit he had no desire to cultivate.
He tried to push up from the ash-and-wood-littered ground, but his paws . . . hands . . . refused to move. Flex-tied once more and numb. He squirmed in the dirt, butt up, finally managing to get onto his knees, dignity still somewhat intact. He shook his hair back from his face. Did a quick check of the campsite, marking everyone’s location and condition.
Nick in two-legged form and dressed in his suit once more sat in a patch of grass, hands tied behind his back, yellow eyes clear and alert. He nodded a greeting, his dark hair tumbling over his eyes.
Alan was perched on a log, claw marks stretching from his scalp and down along the right side of his face to his throat, red and raw and inexpertly butterflied.
Desdemona sat cross-legged in the dirt, black lace skirt draped across her thighs, hands bound behind her, a blush spreading like sunrise beneath her pale cheeks as she lowered her gaze, a small smile on her lips.
Eddie worked on the far side of the fire pit, his blond hair a sweaty bedhead mess, piling stones to create what looked like an altar.
Louis, in True Form and poured back into his pleather and cotton twill, knelt in the grass beside a makeshift stone altar, hands tied behind his back, a jeweled red Doggie Princess collar (a Kitty Princess collar simply wouldn’t have been big enough, Galahad reflected) locked around his throat, the leash attached to it held in a long-nailed hand.
Galahad’s gaze followed that long-nailed hand up to a tall and slender woman clad in jeans and a white tank top, a sheathed knife at her belt, a woman amber-eyed and honey-haired. Selene in her True Form. An amused smile curved her full lips.
“Look who’s finally awake,” she said. “You truly love your sleep. A cat through and through.” She tugged on the leash. “Eh, Louis? We’ve had to wait all day for this little kitty to quit napping.”
Louis’s green gaze met Galahad’s. A half smile quirked one corner of his mouth like a shrug. “True dat,” he agreed.
Galahad yawned, then said, “Well. It’s not like I was drugged or anything.”
Something dark smacked him in the face and then slid down silk-smooth into his lap. Smelled of leather, sweat, and blood. Smelled of himself—sun-warm fur and ginger. As Galahad looked at his clothes, he realized the source of Desdemona’s blush. Although he didn’t understand the why of it. One-shapes were odd about being naked, even odder about sex.
“Get dressed,” a straw-rough voice snapped, “before I decide to peel your skin from your bones and wear it for a cape.”
The scarecrow stepped in front of him, tattered and safety-pinned together in places, straw fingers clenched around his scythe. Light winked from its edge—its clean and shiny edge. Polished with him in mind, no doubt. Him and Nick.
Galahad met the scarecrow’s single-button-eyed gaze. Or tried to, anyway. Was the button aimed left? Right? Dead center? He decided to go for dead center. Safest.
“An eye for an eye,” the scarecrow said, his dry voice brittle with bitterness. “Maybe I’ll wear one of yours until I get a proper button. Maybe I’ll slice you into little pieces and—”
> Galahad yawned. Blah, blah, blah. Revenge. Buttons. Whatever.
“He’s right,” Selene sighed. “Let’s get you dressed. Less distracting for our little virgin.”
Galahad looked from blushing Desdemona to uncomfortably shifting Eddie, suddenly not sure exactly who Selene meant.
Selene’s knife whispered from its sheath as she stepped behind Galahad. The flex-ties binding his wrists fell apart. He swung his arms around and rubbed the marks indenting his skin. His fingers tingled.
Galahad picked his clothes out of his lap and wrinkled his nose. “You can’t expect me to wear these,” he said. “They’re dirty.” He lifted the silk shirt and examined it, lips pursed. Scythe slashes. Two. Dirt-smudged. Blood-flecked, most likely, although he couldn’t tell since the shirt was black, but still. He glanced at Selene. Lifted an eyebrow. “C’mon. Seriously?”
She nodded, her hair swinging with the movement. “Get moving. We’ve got a ritual to perform before sunset.”
Galahad sighed. Easing to his feet, he pulled on his dusty leather pants and zipped them up. He pushed the ruined shirt away with his toes. Suppressed an urge to kick dirt over it. “My shoes?” he asked.
“The Boogeyman took them,” Eddie said quietly.
Galahad sighed. No shoes. Stupid padless feet. Keeping a sharp eye on the ground for prickly things, he walked over to Nick’s patch of grass. “You okay?”
“Sure,” Nick said. “You?”
“I’m wearing dirty clothes,” Galahad said with a shudder, “but I’ll live.” Pursing his lips, he tapped a finger against his chin. “You’re a mess. Look at you.” Twigs dangled from Nick’s thick hair. Dirt streaked his rumpled suit, smudged his face.
Kneeling behind his trussed-up friend, Galahad brushed dirt from his shoulders, and plucked the twigs and leaves from his hair. Combed his fingers through Nick’s tangled locks, then licked the back of his hand and smoothed the hair back into place. Purred. Licked. Smoothed. Purred. His gaze dropped to Nick’s bound wrists. He studied the knot as he groomed Nick.
“A penny for your thoughts,” the scarecrow said.
Galahad lifted his gaze and refocused his attention on Nick’s unruly hair. “My thoughts are worth much more than a penny, but I’ll make an exception in your case. Nick’s suit is missing a button.” Turning his head to glance at the scarecrow, he added, “Do you know where I might find another?” And snapped his hand out at the cloth face with its Xed-in grin face, fingers button-aimed.
With a small shriek, the scarecrow stumbled back, arms crossed in front of its face, the scythe a shield.
Desdemona laughed, her voice light and musical and full of warmth.
Galahad looked at her and smiled. Brushed a hand through his hair. Her lips curved. Her cheeks dimpled. Then her gaze shifted beyond him and her smile vanished as she parted her lips—
Fingers clutched Galahad’s hair, yanked his head back. Sunlight flashed from the scythe as it pressed against Galahad’s throat. He felt a warm trickle down the side of his throat. Smelled wolf-musky straw.
Nick straightened in one powerful motion. Whirled.
“Hey!” Desdemona yelled. “Jerkoff! Let go of him!”
“Anything to say now, Puss-in-Leather?”
“Yeah. I can still grab your button.” Galahad reached back for the scarecrow’s face, his fingers fumbling for its last black button.
A second shriek. The scythe dropped away from Galahad’s throat. He straightened, touching his fingers to his throat. They came away bloodstained. The cut on his throat started to sting.
The scarecrow peeked from behind a tree and watched Galahad with a wary button eye. Well, as wary as a button could be, anyway, Galahad reflected. Lifted a tattered straw hand. Extended a finger and flipped him off.
“Gruesome revenge,” the scarecrow whispered. “It’s coming.”
Galahad pinched the air with his fingers. Plucked.
“Stop teasing the scarecrow,” Selene said, exasperation in her eyes. “Galahad, honestly. Torment a rodent or something.”
Galahad held up his bloodied fingers. “He started it.”
“Well, I’m putting an end to it.” With a nod of her head, Selene directed the scarecrow and his scythe to Desdemona. “Alan, tie our mischievous Galahad up again. Scarecrow, please give the girl a few wounds to remember him by if he doesn’t cooperate.”
“No need. I’ll cooperate,” Galahad promised. Rising to his feet, he placed his hands behind his back, and allowed Alan to flex-tie his wrists together again.
“Sit down. Both of you.” Alan’s glowering gaze took in both Galahad and Nick.
Galahad obliged, Nick joining him a heartbeat later. He didn’t relax until the scarecrow and his scythe moved away from Desdemona.
“Why should we do anything for you?” Desdemona asked, looking at Selene. Her blue eyes burned. She maneuvered herself onto her knees. “You kidnapped us. Tied us up. Drugged us. Plan to use us. We know about the shifter nation and the fucking hunting preserve, we know we’re part of some ritual—but what gives you the right to force us to be a part of it?”
“I don’t expect you to understand,” Selene replied in a soothing, there-there-now tone. “But you’ll all leave in good health when I’ve finished my task.”
“Riiiight,” Desdemona said. Rolled her eyes. “And I should believe you why?”
“Whatever you want of me, I’ll do it without reservation,” Louis said, his voice earnest. “But only if you release Desdemona and the others.”
Selene looked at him, touched a hand to his face. “Very generous of you. And I will release them, like I said, once they’ve fulfilled their parts in the ritual.”
“What parts?” Louis asked. “Why does it have to be them?”
“They were handy,” Selene said. “And their role is simple. But you, you are the most essential part of this ritual. Without you, we would have nothing. Your bloodline is rich in ancient magic, a magic that will awaken the old gods from their long slumber—once properly prepared, that is.”
“And why do we want the old gods awakened?” Nick asked.
“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Galahad said, giving his friend a quick smile.
“And what do you mean by ‘once properly prepared’?” Desdemona asked.
Selene regarded them with narrowed amber eyes, and Galahad could just imagine how her tail would be lashing if she were in pawed form. Her gaze settled on Nick. “We need the old gods to preserve our new nation and to restore us to the old ways, the natural order, with shifters superior to one-shapes, with cities giving way to great forests once more.”
“Who says the old gods will cooperate?” Galahad asked.
“The ritual will ensure their cooperation,” Selene said. “Thus the importance of proper preparation. The right amount and right kind of blood spilled. Not too much, not too little. Mixed with the right ingredients and incantations. Not to mention the correct time, lunar cycle, planetary alignment. While Desdemona’s blood needs to be absolutely pure, the magic in Louis’s blood needs to be heightened and aroused to be at its most effective.”
“Um . . .” Louis said, his expression neutral, “heightened and aroused how?”
Selene laughed. “The usual way, how else? Sex magic.”
“But he’s gay,” Desdemona blurted.
Selene stared at Louis. “Is that true?”
He nodded.
“You ever been with a woman?” Selene asked. “Any experience?”
Louis sighed. “Yeah. I know what goes where.”
A smile of relief flickered across Selene’s lips. “Good.”
Desdemona looked away, her beautiful face hidden beneath a tangled fall of purple hair. Galahad wanted to reassure her that things would be all right, but wasn’t sure if that meant he would be lying to her or telling the truth. He rea
lly wanted it to be the truth.
Galahad glanced at the sky, the horizon violet-edged blue as dusk approached. Shadows stretched long and thin across the trampled grass, pooled beneath the green trees like reservoirs of night.
“Alan, gather wood and build up the fire,” Selene said. “It’s nearly time.”
Alan stood and brushed dirt from the rear end of his coveralls. His eyes lit up fever bright. He hurried across the clearing and into the shadow-draped woods.
Selene twisted around to face Eddie. “Ready the ingredients,” she instructed, “and bring the cauldron.”
“You got it,” Eddie said. He trotted away through the brush, snapping twigs and rustling leaves. Ah, a true paragon of one-shape grace and stealth, Galahad reflected, yawning.
“Guard the path,” Selene said to the scarecrow. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
The scarecrow, scythe in hand, walked away, bedraggled limbs still full of deadly grace. “Coming soon to a theater near you,” he whispered to Galahad in passing, “Gruesome Revenge.”
“On a double-feature bill with Plucked Buttonless,” Galahad murmured.
The scarecrow walked a little faster.
“Let’s begin,” Selene said. She drew in a deep breath. Light flared in her eyes. “At last.” She looped the leash around her hand, tugged. Urged Louis up from his knees. “You do this and you will rule at my side, King of Day to my Queen of Night.”
“Even if I don’t want to rule by your side?” Louis said in a low voice.
“Your feelings might change. Just do this for now—we can discuss it later.”
Jaw tight, body still coiled, Louis nodded. Galahad read skittishness in his gesture, in the tilt of his head, the downward cast of his eyes. Louis was a jack-in-the-box and Selene cranked the handle. And when that jack-in-the-box sprang open? Things would go south with stunning speed.