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- Herausgeber: Aimee Easterling
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
The only thing worse than hiding from werewolves is living among them.
No wonder I kept some secrets, broke a few rules...and implicated my werewolf protector, Gunner, in the process. Oops.
To make matters worse, the stealer of my dead mother's magic has set his sights on my sister a second time. As the child's powers fade, so does her vitality until death looms on the horizon.
Can I learn to harness the power of the pack --- and squash my individuality --- before my sister's life is entirely sucked away from her? And, with my recent blunders causing upheaval in the werewolf world, will Gunner be willing to help us if I choose to ask?
This second book in Aimee Easterling's "nailbiting" and "explosive" urban fantasy series follows Wolf's Bane.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Shadow Wolf
Moon Marked, Volume 2
Aimee Easterling
Published by Wetknee Books, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SHADOW WOLF
First edition. October 8, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Aimee Easterling.
ISBN: 978-1386537137
Written by Aimee Easterling.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Fox Blood
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Further Reading: Fox Blood
Also By Aimee Easterling
Chapter 1
Dried blood coated my cuticles and I blinked, unable to make sense of the unexpected sight. Safely sheltered by werewolves, I’d gone on frequent fur-form expeditions in recent weeks. So maybe that explained the dark circles beneath my fingernails...but since when did I pounce upon unwary rabbits and rip open their throats while I was sleeping?
Seeking clues, I tipped my head upwards to take in the crescent moon then stamped bare feet against bent and splintered grass blades. The strands caught against my toes, clinging as if coated with glue...or with some other halfway-dried and considerably less savory substance.
Blood?
I leapt sideways, the harsh tang of copper following me away from the trampled circle of earth. From the amount of bodily fluids I’d brought along with me, I could only assume I’d waded through the same carcass that had sullied the grass and soil...or had been the one to spill those bodily fluids myself.
There has to be a rational explanation for all of this. Closing my gaping mouth and forcing air to flow more naturally through flaring nostrils, I peered out at the darkened landscape in which I found myself. I was perched atop a rounded knoll, encircled on four sides by tree silhouettes while the moon shone down through a gap in the canopy to illuminate the spot where I now stood...
...Where I stood beside a cloaked figure all too familiar despite the three months since I’d seen him or her last. The being had bought Mama’s star ball and absconded with it last spring despite all of my efforts to reclaim the magic....
So I was dreaming. I exhaled in relief, pinching my forearm. Unfortunately, the sharp burst of pain failed to wake me back up.
Well, if I had to repeat a three-month-old battle against the owner of my mother’s star ball, perhaps this time I’d win the fight. Change the rules, change the game....
To that end, I yanked at the source of my magic, the glow of a sword arcing through the air between me and my enemy. And in instant response, lightning bugs rose in a wave of green-hued reaction, their sheer numbers proving that this was not memory but rather dream. I’d never known so many of the bioluminescent fliers to exist in one location...had rarely even seen a smattering of their neon lights at the wooded edge of the city park where I sometimes went to be alone.
But I wasn’t located in my home city any longer. Instead, forest stretched out around me, lacking streetlights, porch lights, even the barest hint of asphalt and diesel fumes to pinpoint a nearby road.
Where was I? And why had I moved this frequently remembered battle from the abandoned theater in which it had actually occurred to an idyllic spot lifted from a fairy tale?
All of these thoughts flooded my neurons in the time it took for the lightning bugs to wink out and return the scene to near darkness. Meanwhile, as if my enemy had been waiting for the return of my attention, cloaked arms rose in a flicker of black on black. Then a shining orb levitated out of the being’s right sleeve.
Now I could see my opponent easily as he—she?—beckoned me forward with one curving finger. Come, the gesture demanded as Mama’s star ball winked at me from around the being’s gloved hand. I cocked my head in response to the magic’s odd behavior. Then the glowing star ball shifted, stretched...and turned into a whip that lashed out faster than a cobra to encircle my arms and chest.
The magic burned. Cut through my silk kimono and almost—but not quite—prevented me from noticing how dramatically this nightmare had gone off the rails of its usual script.
Since when was there a lasso involved in our battle? Since when did I wear kimonos? Since when did the anonymous being I fought against wield magic I had yet to understand?
“Who are you?” I demanded, not even trying to bring up my magical sword to sever the imprisoning connection that pulled me one step closer to my nemesis, then another. Because I could feel my mother’s essence within the glowing rope restraining me—who knew what would happen if I cut that soul-bound magic in half to free myself?
The words had been a parry, meant only to win me another moment in which to think. But, to my surprise, my opponent didn’t ignore them. Instead, lasso pressure on my stomach eased as a hooded head cocked to one side in mimicry of my own earlier gesture. I could almost smell the being’s confusion as he or she paused rather than continuing to reel me in.
Scent. Yes, of course I should use every weapon at my disposal if this really was a face-to-face meeting with my nemesis rather than a rehashed memory-turned-nightmare.
But the breeze was flowing from behind me, the air too dry to be redolent with identifying scents. And as the wind whipped unbound hair against my cheekbones, I flinched, realizing what I should have gathered from the start.
The body I inhabited wasn’t my own—how could I have missed that? Instead, I stood in the skin of my dead mother. More slender than my real body, a trifle shorter, and enfolded in the subtle haze of jasmine that always preceded my mother whenever she entered a room.
Then my lips opened and Mama’s voice spoke through me. “Master...” she started, chilling me to my core. So the cloaked being had figured out how to use Mama’s star ball since I’d last been in his or her presence. Had figured out how to use her magic...and her as well.
But before Mama could bow to the Master further, before I could beg forgiveness for letting her fall into such a trap, my earlier wish was granted. I slipped out of my mother’s body and woke in my own bed with a start.
Chapter 2
It was half past four in the morning, but I couldn’t close my eyes, let alone return to slumber. Not even after examining now-clean fingers and toes to reassure myself that the strange confrontation had only been a figment of my dreaming mind’s imagination.
Instead, I lay between soft sheets, listening to the silence of Gunner’s mansion. During the day, the halls filled with chatter and laughter. But in the wee hours of night, the place became positively peaceful with everyone sleeping.
Well, everyone except for me.
It wasn’t the first time I’d risen before dawn, unable to accept a wolf pack’s confining safety. So I pushed out of bed, pulled on clothes, and headed downstairs to the empty courtyard. There I drew upon my star ball and dueled against nobody, stretching muscles well toned from previously insomniacal bouts.
Fighting, at least, tired me enough so the questions and worries circling through my mind lowered their volume. Was I doing the right thing choosing momentary safety for Kira while going against every instinct toward self-preservation that our parents had taught? Slash, lunge. Would I come to regret accepting a so-called “job” that involved doing whatever I wanted while being paid more than I’d previously made as a teacher and cage-fighter combined? Riposte, retreat.
There were no more answers this morning than there had been last Tuesday or two weeks ago Wednesday or any other time I’d come out here to fight shadows rather than snuggle up in my bed like a good little wolf. Still, I couldn’t help smiling despite the sweat burning my eyeballs when the inevitable morning bickering rose with the sun, proving that my sister was now wide awake and much perkier than she’d been the day before.
“So you think it’s funny to let me fall into the toilet first thing in the morning?” Kira snarked from the east end of the first floor—the massive kitchen where everyone except me tended to congregate as soon as they got up.
“Come on, pipsqueak. Today’s the big day. Give me a break.”
Looked like my kid sister was back on task as self-appointed toilet monitor. And one of our house mates—Tank this time—had relieved himself in the night without remembering to re-lower that all-important white seat.
Kira grows more wolf-like and less fox-like every day, I noted, not sure how I felt about the matter. Foxes were reserved and elusive. But wolves, I’d found, expressed their affections best in the physical realm.
Sure enough, the crack of a snapping towel evoked a squeak from my sister even as another house mate, Crow this time, stated the obvious: “That’s our bathroom, puppy. You and Mai have your own on the third floor. So if you fell in, it’s your own da...ahem...darn fault.”
Logic, apparently, had no impact upon my sister. “I live in this entire house, not locked in the attic like a crazy auntie. For example, I spend a lot of time in the kitchen cooking. So if you want any of my bacon, you’ll start putting down the toilet seat everywhere.”
“Ooh, burn,” Allen murmured, far too quietly for the neighbors to hear him. My fox senses, on the other hand, caught the comment quite ably...along with a salty sweet scent that had me slowing my morning exercise into a cool down. Perhaps being part of a wolf pack wasn’t so terrible if it came with bacon at the exact moment my stomach started growling....
Except even as I started imagining breakfast, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. My nostrils flared, my muscles tightened. There was something nearing, something watching....
Bacon abruptly forgotten, I whirled in reaction, raising my sword as I turned to face the stalking wolf.
***
OR, RATHER, TO FACE the two-legged wolf in human clothing. Gunner raised one eyebrow at the pointy blade just barely indenting the skin beneath his Adam’s apple. Then, ignoring my weapon, he held out a mug of chamomile tea, the sweetness of honey curling off the surface as the leader of the wolf pack I lived amidst greeted me aloud.
“Tough night?”
I shook my head, not so much in denial as in a refusal to rehash my dream landscape verbally. And in response, Gunner’s open face shuttered ever so slightly as if he was more disappointed by my evasion than at being greeted by the sharp tip of a sword.
But just as quickly, Gunner regained his customary smile, jiggling the mug between us so the ceramic clanked against my magically-created weapon. “We should do something fun before Kira’s custody hearing,” the ever-patient werewolf suggested. “Go for a run somewhere wild before we’re due in court. Or...shopping? Does Kira like shopping?”
“My sister loves nothing better than spending other people’s money,” I admitted, allowing my sword to diffuse back into a magical blob that slid along my skin to form a bracelet, a belt, a sheathed knife at my left ankle. In front of me, Gunner didn’t even twitch at this evidence of my kitsune nature. “But we shouldn’t spoil her,” I added. “And, anyway, I’ve got other plans.”
“Plans?”
This time I accepted the mug my companion brandished in my direction, pretending that I needed all of my attention to prevent a spill. Taking a sip, I noted that Gunner had steeped the tea just the way I liked it, not so long it turned bitter but not so short that it was simply sweetened water with a hint of aroma to turn hot liquid into soothing tea water.
The flavor was perfect...but my gut clenched anyway. Because it was time for our inevitable weekly ritual. No one managed to slip away from the pack without extensive explanation, but I couldn’t afford to let any of the werewolves I lived with know where I went on Tuesday afternoons. In lieu of the truth, I always ended up stuttering through an entirely unbelievable explanation, and the wolves around me always smiled grimly and allowed me to lie.
As usual, my body language broadcast my mistruth before I even opened my mouth to speak it. “Girl stuff,” I said stiffly, turning away from the piercing eyes of the far too astute werewolf who was providing food, housing, protection, and now the likelihood of ripping Kira out of the foster system permanently.
Gunner had done everything he could think of to enfold me into his pack...and yet I remained at heart a solitary kitsune.
“It might take a while,” I continued. “So I’ll meet you and Kira at the courthouse. If you don’t mind bringing her there for me....”
“Of course, I’ll take care of Kira,” Gunner agreed quietly. “She’s part of our pack.”
The unspoken addendum—that I lacked that distinction due to actions just like this one—separated us more effectively than my now-absent weapon.
But there was nothing I could do about the sad sag to my companion’s shoulders. Nothing except the impossible—turn myself into a wolf.
So, stepping backwards, I nodded once. “Thank you,” I murmured, eyes downcast in wordless apology, “for the tea.”
Chapter 3
As if the universe was intent upon repaying my bad karma, there were human-form werewolves everywhere when I finally wriggled free of the mansion and began working my way downtown. Two sniffed in my general direction as I hesitated at the top of the stairs descending toward a subway station. And now two more patrolled the crest of the river bridge when I opted to travel across the city on foot.
No wonder it had taken twice as long as expected to reach my destination.
I was there now, though—or nearly there. Narrowing my eyes, I assessed the pair of two-leggers leaning up against the bridge railing fifty feet distant. It was unusual to see any member of the Atwood pack other than my four house mates, but these males’ ozone-laden scent promised they were Ransom’s underlings. Which begged the question—what were they doing so close to Gunner’s place of exile when their pack leader had not-so-subtly discouraged visits to this southern outpost of his territory back in the spring?
I hesitated despite myself, the question of who the males were and what they were doing here nibbling at my concentration. It wouldn’t do to let Gunner be blindsided....
Fox, not wolf, I reminded myself. The important matter here wasn’t these shifters’ identity. It was reaching my destination without catching their eye.
Luckily, the street was crowded and I found it easy to slide in behind a group of laughing ladies, pressing forward until I was just barely inside their personal space. The quartet was too animated to notice the intrusion as they recounted some past adventure involving beaches and dancing and far too many margaritas...all while striding toward the foot of the bridge I very much needed to find a way across.
“...and then Doug took off his shirt! Bared everything! Potbelly and all!” one woman crowed, and I threw my head back and laughed right alongside them...the gesture doubling as a show of solidarity and an easy way to hide my face from sight.
Unfortunately, the ladies didn’t cross the bridge I wanted to go over, and there was no way I could veer away from the group without being noticed at this point. So I flowed down the block along with the chattering humans. Slipped through the doorway of a high-end boutique when the women whooshed inside in a close-knit cluster. Then, glancing back over one shoulder and noting the werewolves’ lack of attention, I yanked the door back open and sprinted toward the river behind the nearby row of shops.
“Hey!” The shout was redolent with alpha compulsion, but it didn’t faze me. Not when the command was aimed at werewolves and even more at those who belonged to a pack.
Instead, I was a fox. So the order rolled over me like water off a duck’s back.
“Stop!” the wolf continued. But his word didn’t even slow my footsteps. Instead, I leapt onto the horizontal limb of a sycamore, raced across smooth bark until I was directly above deep water, then I dove directly in.
***
I REMEMBERED ONE MILLISECOND before breaching the surface that I couldn’t soak my current outfit. Not when I’d donned my best clothes for Kira’s custody hearing and lacked the time to drop by a laundromat and bake the pant suit dry on my way back.
Good thing I’d spent the last few weeks learning to better manage my magic.
Yanking at my star ball with a facility I hadn’t possessed three months earlier, I was encased in a skin of water-repellant magic by the time I slid beneath the river’s murky surface. And while a more experienced kitsune might have been able to sequester an air pocket for ease of breathing, I was content to simply block out encroaching liquid as I allowed the river to carry me slowly downstream.
I did produce a cone-shaped protrusion around each ear, though. And I was gratified to find that the spur-of-the-moment hearing aids were quite efficient at picking up sound emanating from the nearby shoreline.
“The boss didn’t send us here to track down strays,” one voice growled. “If the bastard wants to swim the river, he’ll be a Claremont problem on the other side.”
Smiling as the river flowed around me, I couldn’t help but agree. Another benefit of being a fox around werewolves—the latter were so rigid in their pack structure that it was remarkably easy to wriggle my way beneath the rules.
For example, meeting my mentor outside Atwood territory and without Gunner’s permission meant Ransom wouldn’t be able to argue his brother had broken his promise. The convoluted reasoning was immensely satisfying...but the second shifter’s words wiped all amusement off my lips.
“That wasn’t a ‘he’, you idiot. It was a female.” This voice sounded vaguely familiar, as if the second watcher might have been one of the shifters who’d turned the tide at the showdown in the theater three months earlier. And his scent? Had there been more to it than the mantle of Atwood ozone rising through the stench of city garbage?
I racked my brain but came up with nothing else by way of memory. I could only hope that meant my own flavor had been similarly muted by distance, and just as generically werewolf-like as I’d been led to believe.
With an effort, I turned my body around to push back upstream against the current. Wolves might not be curious, but foxes were. And I had a feeling the duo might let drop identifying information if I hovered here long enough.
“If it’s a female,” the first male started....
But now my lungs were burning, the opposite shore seeming an impossible distance away from where I hovered. If I popped back up in the river so close to where I’d gone under, this pair of werewolves might risk the gray area of the boundary and come in after me.
So, reluctantly, I relinquished my spot in the river. Changed my ear cones into flippers. And pushed toward my original destination with all my strength.
Whoever these shifters answered to, they weren’t my problem. Not when I was, and always would be, a lone fox rather than a wolf.
Chapter 4
I emerged, gasping, beneath the overhang of a bushy outcrop on the Claremont side of the watercourse. The watchers had lost interest, I noticed, retreating back to their bridge-side vantage point. Relieved that their tenacity was so subpar, I rose out of the water, pushed through the brush to the open area further from the river...then felt myself spinning sideways as hands grabbed and tugged on my left arm.
Shifter. My sense of smell was still catching up to my reeling balance, but I could tell I was being manhandled by a werewolf due to the superhuman speed my attacker possessed. Too bad my diffusely dispersed star ball meant a sword refused to materialize in a timely manner....
I couldn’t afford to shift into fox form, either. Not when kitsunes were verboten everywhere other than in Gunner’s mansion.
That didn’t make me entirely helpless, however.
Instead, I let momentum carry me groundward, curling in upon myself as I fell so I hit the leaf litter already spinning into a somersault. With any luck, my opponent would still be shuffling backwards into two-footed stability after such an all-out attack, a lapse I planned to take full advantage of by ramming into his knees....
Or, rather, into her knees. I identified my teacher’s signature scent of spring rain, roses, and ozone even as I bowled her over, was apologizing profusely before she thudded butt-first atop the hard ground.
“Elle, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
My roll had carried me past my opponent and back to my feet, so it was an easy matter to reach down in preparation for pulling the slender brunette erect beside me. And as I did so, I felt my forehead furrow in confusion. Why was my teacher—Crow’s mate, a resident of Ransom’s pack—waiting for me here rather than half a mile down river where we usually met each other? Had Crow received a message that he failed to deliver? Had our illicit meetings finally been found out?
“You were late,” my mentor answered the question I should have asked rather than the one I’d actually managed even as her hand clamped down on mine. “I was worried.”
Not so worried that her lupine nature didn’t show through, however. One moment she was my smart, protective teacher. The next, her eyes glistened with amusement and I braced myself against the inevitable yank intended to tumble me onto the ground.
Strangely, though, Elle merely scratched my palm rather than pulling me downward. A tiny trickle of blood welled up even as she retreated, her expression more fox-like than wolf-like as she licked her fingernail clean.
“What?” I started as icy cold ran up my arm and across my shoulder. My mentor’s eyes glowed red, my stomach lurched in answer...
...Then I was bending over backwards, twisting my body into a series of contortions that might have amused an audience but felt torturous from the inside. I hadn’t actually known I could hook my leg around my neck, and now that I’d been pretzelified I sure hoped Elle planned to untangle me...
...then the possession that had forced gymnastics upon me dissipated. I was once again alone inside my body while Elle hooted out her laughter at my struggles to shake out the newly-created kinks.
“And that,” my teacher told me, “is why you need to practice defensive magic.” Then, thrusting a photocopied document toward me: “Now read.”
***
IT TOOK A SOLID MINUTE to loosen my muscles sufficiently so I could take the paper from her fingers. But when I did so, I was immediately sucked in. Because this new historical document provided much more than the vague hints offered by Elle’s previous findings.
Or so I guessed while poring over the bad handwriting and worse grammar that had passed for literacy a couple of hundred years before. As best I could tell, the writer had seen werewolves seize kitsune magic and use that power to perform terrible feats of subterfuge....
“Your trust is what left you open to manipulation,” Elle confirmed as my gaze rose from the paper. “Me taking your blood is only part of the reason it worked.”
“But I trust you because you’re trustworthy,” I countered, trying not to cringe at tossing such high praise at a wolf.
“Oh, and you always know to trust the good guys and distrust the bad guys?” Elle shot back. “You’re a fox among werewolves. You’ll never really know who your enemies are.”
Chilling...but true. And, at the same time, shifter faces flowed before me. Gunner, Tank, Crow, and Allen—how could I not trust werewolves who provided a better life for my sister and myself?
