Chapter 22 - Lara
I come round to my head hurting in a way that instantly reminds me exactly why and how I’ve been hurt, but it takes me a few more minutes to work out where I am.
I'm lying on my side, but the surface under me isn’t the ground of the path; it's the ribbed plastic floor of a van. I don’t think we’re moving.
The vibrations coming through the floor tell me the engine is just idling; we’re not moving.
My mouth feels dry, and my hair is stuck to the side of my face with something tacky, and I’m pretty sure it’s blood.
I remember being hit, or perhaps hitting the ground, so that makes sense. At least I’m conscious.
It’s almost completely dark except for a thin strip of light at the top of the rear door, but my eyes adjust slowly, and I look around; it’s empty but clean, and I run my hands around trying to find something to use for a weapon.
I study the light coming through the small gap and consider that at least it’s still light, so I can’t have been out for too long; perhaps the van is still in Silvercreek.
I try to sit up, but the pain in my head gets worse, so I stay lying down and just listen.
There are voices outside. Two men must be standing very close to the van.
Their voices are low but not a whisper, and they seem to be pacing.
I know shifters’ hearing is acute, so I still my breathing as best as I can, because if they think I’m still unconscious, they’re more likely to leave me alone, and I need time to figure out what is going on.
"How long till he gets here?" one of them asks.
"Twenty minutes," the other replies. "He said there were patrol cars all over the road, so they had to reroute, but they’ll be here."
"Madelina with him?" The first one asks.
"Yeah, she's with him." He replies.
The boots move away from the van, and I let my breathing even out more naturally. The pain in my head is settling a little, not enough to want to stand on, but enough that moving won't put me flat.
I think about Wilf.
I shouldn't, because thinking about Wilf isn't going to be what gets me out of this van, but I do anyway.
I think about him in his kitchen this morning, offering me toast, and looking at me in a way that was all heat but no words.
I think about him telling me to come back to the hall when I was ready and how it made me feel strangely at home in Silvercreek, as though I was just out for a walk on a normal day, in a normal town, with someone waiting for me.
He doesn't know I'm gone yet, or maybe he does. Skylar and Fern might have heard me scream. I wasn’t that far from the clinic, and they would call Connor. Or perhaps someone else saw what was happening and raised the alarm. I think Wilf would try to save me; in fact, I’m certain of it.
And the rest of the pack would want to hunt these rogues down, so I’m sure they’re looking for the van.
I find myself wondering if Wilf is worried.
Is he thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him?
I force myself to stop drifting into what-ifs and focus on the situation in front of me.
I’m going to have to get myself out of this; I can’t rely on anyone else.
I finally sit up properly and shuffle as quietly as I can to the small crack along the back door.
I look through and allow my eyes to focus.
We’re parked somewhere by the side of a road, and I look out at the trees and the sweeping view beyond down into the valley.
We’re obviously up quite high, perhaps on the mountain pass.
I’ve studied the map of Silvercreek at Wilf’s house, and I know all the main roads out of here.
This isn’t the valley, and I don’t think it’s the road that leads back toward the ridge and Wilf’s property, so I think it’s most likely the northern road.
North. But what if Wilf and the others are searching one of the other roads?
I hear a truck coming up the road and hold my breath for some sign that it might be one of the Silvercreek patrols, but the men don’t respond with fear, and my heart sinks as I hear one of the front doors slamming and footsteps before one of them says, "That'll be them," and the other replies, "About damn time. "
The truck pulls in close, and I hear boots on the ground.
"Where is she?" a new voice asks.
It's deeper than the other two and much calmer, more authoritative, and my heart sinks further.
"Still in the back, boss," the first rogue replies. "She hasn't made a sound since we put her in."
"Did she put up a fight?" He asks, and I can hear the smirk in his voice.
"Not much. Got an elbow into Sam on the path, but we put her down hard." The first one laughs, “She’s nothing without that voice.”
"Of course," the boss says, dry. "Madelina, want to see her?"
"Open the back," a woman's voice answers.
The rear doors open, and I lie down quickly before the light hits me full in the face. I keep my eyes closed and try to control my breathing so they’ll think I’m still unconscious, but I know it probably won’t work.
"She's awake," the woman says before anyone else has said anything. "Don't waste my time pretending. Open your eyes."
I open my eyes.
There are five of them now. The two rogues who were guarding the van.
A third behind them. And in front of the open doors, the two new ones.
An older man, perhaps in his forties, with dark hair pulled back, a heavy coat, and a neutral expression except for the slight glint in his eye, which reminds me of the way people look at livestock they've bought without seeing it first. He's got a talisman around his neck, but there are two or three, not just the one the rogues have.
Beside him is the woman. She's older than she sounded, with grey hair pulled severely back, no rings, in fact, no jewelry at all, which is unusual for a witch. She’s wearing a long dark coat over normal clothes.
The only thing about her that suggests she’s a witch is her eyes, which are pale, somehow off, and fixed on me.
"Hello, Lara," she says. I don't reply because I know nothing I say is going to make the slightest bit of difference.
"Sit her up," the man tells the two rogues nearest me.
They lean inside and haul me to the edge of the van and into a sitting position against the side of the door. The dizziness comes back, and I don’t bother trying to fight it; I just let myself adjust and try to focus on what she’s saying so I know exactly how bad this is.
"My name is Madelina," she tells me. "This is Reyhan. Now, I'll keep this simple, because we’ve got to get moving, and you've already taken longer to find than you should have. You know what the discs around their necks do, don't you?"
"Yeah," I tell her. "I know."
"Good," she replies. "That saves me a conversation. Then you'll also know that your voice won't help you here. You're going to come with us, and you’re not going to even bother trying to escape or cause any trouble. Is that clear? You’re going to help us."
"What if I don't?" I tell her, because keeping my mouth shut is going to look like fear, and I don't want it to.
"Then we kill you, dear," Madelina says without skipping a beat. "But it will be long and slow, and you’ll give in and beg to help us long before you actually die."
"My voice doesn’t even affect all the wolves," I tell her. “Whatever you’re planning won’t even work.”
Madelina pauses and tilts her head a fraction.
"Pardon?" she says. “It didn’t work on the wolves.”
"At least one, I tried it on him twice," I tell her. "It doesn't touch him, and he doesn't wear a talisman. It just doesn't work. So I’d say you might be wasting your time."
She looks at me for a long moment, and then she laughs. It’s not a cruel laugh. It’s a small, almost surprised one; it’s the way someone laughs when you've just told them something genuinely funny.
"Oh, dear," she says between laughs that now sound more like cackles. "Oh, sweetheart."
"What," I say.
"Lara, your gift is based on protection," she tells me. "Do you know what that means?"
"I know what protection means." I snap.
"Then perhaps you also know what it doesn’t protect from," she replies.
"A protection spell doesn't simply fail for the strong-willed, the most angry, or the determined. It fails for only one on a very short list. Your blood family, your mate, or a child of your own, if you had one. That’s it, it’s a short list."
I don't say anything.
"This wolf in Silvercreek you are bound to, then," Madelina says with a shrug. "The bond will block the protection magic."
"You're lying," I tell her.
"I have no reason to lie to you, Lara," she replies. "It doesn't change anything about what happens now. There'll just be one wolf in your town. You will have to handle it separately when he comes for you. Reyhan?"
"Yeah," Reyhan says. “I don’t think we’ll worry about one wolf; he’ll be weaker without his mate anyway. Right, we're moving. You two take the patrol van and head west. Drive it as long as it'll go before they catch you. Make them think we went that way. Dump it where they'll find it by morning."
"Yes, boss," they reply.
"We’re heading back. Now." Reyhan says, and walks away, back toward the truck they came in.
Two men grab me and haul me out of the van.
Glancing back, I realize it’s got the Silvercreek signs on the doors, and my heart drops—they won’t be tracking one of their own vans.
Any hope that they might not be far away disappears completely, as I’m dragged along the rough ground and thrown into the back of the other truck.
They don’t look back; they just walk back around to the front of the vehicle and stand, talking to the witch and their boss. I hear snippets like “shall we take the long road” and “the road back to the depot will be better.”
They’re still talking when I realize the door hasn’t clicked shut, and I push it a fraction, keeping one eye on the group to make sure they don’t see as I slide out of the truck, keeping my body flat and low, dropping behind the back of the van and disappearing into the treeline.
Terrified of making a noise, I go slowly at first, listening for any sound that might indicate they’ve noticed I’ve gone.
When I’m deeper into the trees, I break into a run, trying to keep parallel to the road so I don’t get lost.
Then I hear it, the crash of someone in pursuit, and my heart beats wildly as I try to pick up my pace, knowing full well I’m not going to make it.
A body slams into me, and we roll onto the hard ground.
On the way down, I grab the cord around his neck and pull it clean off, whirling around and screaming, “STOP.”
He drops me, and I land hard on my side, my shoulder hitting first, and the impact goes through my body as I struggle to keep my bearings.
The shifter goes to his knees beside me, obviously fighting the effect of my voice.
Everything explodes around me as the other shifter grabs me from behind and hauls me to my feet.
I twist in his arms, trying to grab the talisman, but it’s no use; he knows what I’m trying to do and only tightens his grip, wrapping a hand around my neck.
"Get her in the truck, now," Madelina calls from the road.
Reyhan is suddenly in front of me, and the back of his hand hits me across the side of the head where I'm already bleeding, and the world goes black for a moment before coming back fuzzier. The talisman I’d ripped off the shifter is ripped out of my hand, and then I’m dragged back toward the truck.
"Stupid girl," Reyhan mutters.
"Get up," he tells the rogue still down on the gravel, tossing the talisman back at him as we walk away.
"Lock the damn door," Reyhan tells them, and I hear the decisive sound of my freedom slipping away as the lock clicks into place. I sit quietly in the back, trying to clear my vision and forcing myself not to panic.
I think about Wilf again.
I think about what the witch said.
Is he my mate? That's what Madelina said. He’s my mate, and we’ve just been in what?
Denial? I told Skylar and Fern I have feelings for him, but I have no idea how he feels.
Everything that happened between us has just existed in silence since we got back from the cabin; it’s like neither of us wanted to address it, so we just didn’t.
We’ve been living in a weird sort of suspended reality. Together but not together.
And maybe that’s what he wants. But it’s not what I want.
I want that feeling where I knew he was waiting for me to get back, and Silvercreek just felt like a normal day.
I want to be making dinner in the cabin for us.
I want him to make me a cup of coffee; I want to watch him working in the garden.
I want him.