Raised by Wolves
Page 30

I don’t know how to survive this, I thought. This was me losing my family. My friends. Every illusion of safety I’d ever had. Every promise I’d ever made myself that nobody would make me a victim again.
Survive.
Sora moved to drive a deceptively dainty foot into my side again, but she must have misjudged my position, because she lost her footing and stalled, her elegant, angular face completely blank of emotion and strain. Before she could regain her balance and momentum, I scrambled backward and forced myself to my feet.
My face was wet, warm, and sticky, and I could taste the blood in my mouth. But even then, I knew that I could take much, much more. That this could go on. And on. And on.
When would the pack be satisfied?
How would Sora know when to stop?
Trapped. Fight. Blood. Run.
I could feel the need building inside of me. Could feel the fury threatening to overwhelm my mind, take over my senses.
No.
If I fought back, it would only be worse. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t run. But I had to. My heart was pumping. My ribs were throbbing. There were no sinks to hide under, no strangers to save me.
Fight.
I stood ramrod still. I didn’t move. I didn’t run. I just stood there, hurting, fighting off the haze and the need to taste blood myself.
The need to get out of there alive.
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
I was. I was desperately afraid, and this time, the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t Rabid. It was Sora. Her fist connected with my jaw. My head snapped back.
Danger. Fight. Blood. SURV—
No! The word exploded in my brain, and with it came paralysis. It washed over my body, taking first my legs and then my torso, my arms, even my lips, until I couldn’t manage a single cry when Sora’s fist crashed into my face again.
I wouldn’t fight this.
I couldn’t.
My field of vision exploded, first into red, then into black, and then into nothing. Blessed nothing, and numbness, and as black faded to star-tinged gray, I crumpled to the ground.
Unconscious.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FLOATING IN DEAD MAN’S CREEK, I STARED UP AT the night sky. The dark expanse and the bright stars took turns dominating my visual field, but the oscillation between inky blackness and white-hot light didn’t hurt my eyes, just like the water under and around me didn’t chill my skin
I didn’t even feel wet.
It was quiet, and I was alone. Until I wasn’t.
He wasn’t there with me physically, but I could feel him, next to me and inside of me, and in the distance, I imagined that I heard his wolf howling. For me.
I closed my eyes, letting the sound rush over me, bringing with it chills and warmth and the unerring desire to howl back. Gone was the night sky, gone was the creek, and when I opened my eyes again, it took me a moment to realize that they weren’t my eyes.
They were his.
Ours.
My vision was sharper now, and the tiny details of the world—each blade of grass, each hair on each head—were so vibrant that I couldn’t see the bigger picture. And then I heard him.
Heard me.
Heard us.
Howling. Screaming. Fear-anger-desperation-NO.
Saw the girl lying on the ground, and then realized that it was me. Blood pooled at her—my—mouth, and the scent was tantalizing. Terrifying.
We needed to go to her. Our vision began to go, overwhelmed by something More.
Rough hands grabbed our wolf body and hauled us backward, and even though we’d promised not to, we fought—not to injure the one who held us but to escape their grasp, to run to the girl, to curl our body around hers and will her to be well.
A whimper escaped our throat. We needed to fight but had promised not to.
“Chase.” Callum’s voice. Alpha voice. But it didn’t have the same effect it used to.
Bryn.
“Shift back. Shift back, and you can go to her.”
The words somehow permeated our head, and for a moment, Chase and his wolf seemed to consider them, but the fury and fear radiating through their body was too feral to be contained by human skin.
They wanted to kill.
No, I thought, and my voice sounded loud in my ears, loud in his. In ours.
Bryn? His voice was hesitant, his wolf whining
I’m here, I said. With you. I’m fine.
The body on the ground seemed to argue against that point, but my presence soothed Chase. As he calmed, his beast stilled, and for a split second, the three of us were in perfect harmony. His mind should have felt crowded with all of us there, but it didn’t.
“Change,” Callum ordered again.
The wolf in Chase was opposed to this idea, and I wanted to agree with him, to run away and enjoy being part of Them, not stuck in a human form that would never fit quite as well as this fur. But Chase refused to run, refused to turn tail on this fight, or to leave me—or even my body—behind.
Am I dead? I asked.
The question sent a growl into Chase’s throat, and I was struck by the way it felt, by the way everything felt in this body that was Wolf.
“She’s not dead,” Callum said, and Chase and I both paused, wondering if he’d read our mind. “Smell her. She’s just unconscious. Shift back, and you can go to her.”
Smelling. Pine needles and cinnamon. Bryn.
Good. I was alive. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe this was my dream.
The pain of white-hot metal cutting through bone shook me from my musings, and a horrible crunching sound, like gravel under work boots, echoed through my—our—his—flesh.
And that was when I realized that Chase was Changing back.
In human form, he crouched down to the ground in a motion more befitting the animal than the man
Smelling. Seeing. Needing
Bryn.
Why don’t you put some clothes on first? I suggested mildly. Now that we were human again, I found myself more clearly able to think. And also, a little uncomfortable with the fact that I was inside the mind of a naked boy who wasn’t human enough to realize that he was naked.
“Why don’t I put some clothes on first?” Chase echoed out loud.
Callum looked at him very strangely—naked and crouching, ready to attack, but speaking utterly human words.
My words.
And suddenly, I was back in Dead Man’s Creek, floating. Peaceful. Alone. And then a piercing white light split the night sky, and a wave of pain crashed into my body, splitting it into piece after piece.
My eyes fluttered, but I couldn’t open them. The vague sensation of hands under my arms, hauling me up into the air, took me by surprise. And just before I descended into darkness again, I heard Callum barking out an order.
“Bring her inside, Marcus.”
Floating again. Numb. Nothing hurt. Blessed darkness.
I turned over onto my side, submerging half of my face in water, and I realized that I could still breathe—could breathe right through the creek, like it wasn’t even there. Completely accepting of this development—and delighted—I took a deep breath and dove under the water—
“Put her on the couch, Marcus.”
Back in Chase’s body—clothed, thankfully—I saw Marcus, stiff-faced as he followed Callum’s orders and gently laid my broken body down.
“Are you satisfied that she’s had enough?” Callum asked him.
Marcus looked at me, and Chase’s need to rip his throat out became palpable in our joint mind. Chase did not want Marcus looking at me. He did not want him near me. He could not let them hurt me more.
“She’s not faking,” Marcus said begrudgingly.
“No,” Callum agreed. “Sora beat the girl until she lost consciousness.”
Chase hated Callum for the dispassion in his voice, hated him for doing this to me. To both of us.
“Humans are weak,” Marcus said finally. “Females even more so. It is enough.” Marcus turned his head from my body. “Pack Justice has been satisfied.”
Callum simply nodded, and it occurred to me that it was probably no coincidence that he’d chosen Marcus to carry me inside. If Marcus’s thirst for my blood had been quenched, no one else would argue.
“Leave us now,” Callum said. “I’ll tend to the girl.”
Marcus left, and he was barely out the door before Chase growled. “Bryn. Her name is Bryn, not ‘the girl.’ And one day, I’ll kill you for doing this to—”