Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Iwake before the sun does, and it’s a good thing I do.
Lacey teeters on the edge of sleep, her vigilance through the night taking her to the brink of the same exhaustion I surrendered to.
Desperation warms my muscles and forces them to action. “Lacey, wake up.”
A glance skyward shows the blistered navy and gray of night fading into plum and peach. Dawn’s approaching.
Renewed energy flares.
I seize hold of her hand to get her up, suddenly out of breath. We’ve got to hide her before the sun rises.
The hollow of the tree where we’d stopped has a small space beneath it blocked with a rock. Lacey and I push the rock aside and the space inside isn’t nearly large enough to fit her.
So I dig.
Dirt crusts beneath my nails and my lungs burn as I hollow out the space enough to fit her. My arms turn to putty.
Her shadow falls over me and blocks out the glow of dawn, fear flooding her eyes.
“It’s fine. It will do.” She stops talking and manages a nod.
I push her into the hollow.
The first rays of true light cut through the canopy when Lacey curls inside, her head and her feet touching the sides of the tree and her cheek pressed into the forest floor. Her eyes flutter shut and I roll the stone back into place, covering up the spaces around it with dirt and moss.
It’s a shitty shelter but it will do its job. The shade in the forest isn’t enough to count on as the sun arcs through the sky.
Colt and Grayson still haven’t shown up.
I push my back to the boulder and scan the woods, my stomach rumbling in protest. The last thing I’d thrown into its abyss was the junk from the vending machine and some water.
I’d kill for an iced coffee.
The woods have always been as much a comfort to me as the presence of the pack. It’s part of my bloodline to find solace in the woods, in nature, but this quiet is different. There’s no familiarity in these trees.
Only a horrible yawning emptiness where my thoughts are too loud to block out, and one name sounds on repeat.
Grayson.
Grayson.
My breaths grow rapid again and my nails curve into my palms, threatening to break through skin.
My forearm throbs in time with the wounds on my thigh from Grayson’s claws and this time the dullness in my senses isn’t welcome. It’s a hindrance.
Say we make the cure. It’s in the journal and we make it, the ingredients easy to access and easier to throw together. We deliver it to me, to Grayson…
But it’s too late for him.
What then?
A horrible twist of fate brought us together and I’ve failed him. Hell, I’ve failed everyone, myself included. But I’ve never been the important one. Not really.
I’m the first-born daughter of an alpha and there are so many other things in life that are more important than me. My family, my responsibilities, the expectations of the pack and keeping the survivors safe.
I lumped Grayson in with them, but he’s the one who paid the price. He kept fighting for me when I didn’t deserve it.
The only thing I’ve done for him is exacerbate his symptoms by dragging him out here on this wild goose chase.
I drag my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, rocking slightly.
“I’ll find a way,” I say. “It’s not too late.”
I keep watching for him but he never comes and my heart burns for him. I want to look for him, foolishly, running right back into the consequences of my actions.
But I can’t leave Lacey alone.
I must pass out again because the crack of a twig wakes me out of a stupor and I bolt to my feet, instantly lightheaded.
RJ steps into our small clearing with her cell in hand and Aimee a heartbeat behind her. “Whoa there, Mandi, it’s fine. It’s us. We found you.”
She says it like the expression I wear labels me as dangerous, which isn’t the case.
I shrink into myself and my strength flagged. “What time is it?”
“Late enough we only have a few hours to wait before dusk,” RJ says. “Here. Thought you might like this.”
She reaches into the backpack flung across her shoulders and tosses a bottle at me.
My knees buckle but I will them to push me forward. I catch the familiar glass and break the seal, downing half the store-bought iced coffee in one go.
“Bless you,” I manage once I’ve had my fill and sugar charges through my veins.
“Where’s Lacey?” Aimee asks. Her brows lift when I point to the oak. “Wait. You buried her alive in a tree trunk?”
“It was either that or have her suffer from third degree burns and possible burning alive.” I wrap my arms around my torso. “I thought this was a better plan. She’s fine.”
“Sure.” The sisters share a look and RJ coughs to clear her throat. “Now where’s the journal?”
“I’ve got it.”
I hand off Charlotte’s journal, a petal falling from the pages on the transfer. Rather than the typical brown, this petal retains its color. A rich pink brushed with orange at the tip, it looks and smells as fresh as if she’d plucked it seconds ago.
The sight churns my stomach and memories flash in garish 3D Technicolor in my head. The inside of the trailer, stupid Fifi Floofkins, the beautiful smile the shaman’s daughter wore as she giggled us to a gruesome death…
“It’s about time we find some answers.” The sisters crouch low and place their heads together to read in tandem.
The clearing goes quiet as they peruse the journal. I glance behind them, turning in circles. Where is Grayson? And Colt? Was he able to escape the sun?
If so, the two of them should have shown up by now. Unless something happened and neither of them made it out of the attack. The ringmaster might have caught up to them along with more bloodsucking clowns—
I clench down on the inside of my cheek to keep my teeth from grinding.
Any more and I’ll need dentures. Restlessness prowls beneath my skin but I force myself to stand with my spine pressed to sun warm oak.
The rest of the prepackaged vanilla latte goes down smooth and does nothing for the terrible pain in my thigh. It gnaws down to the marrow and the pressure in my ears increases the longer they read.
Neither of the witches are speed readers. Time ticks slower just to fuck with me before Aimee’s eyes widen.
When she speaks, three simple words mean the difference between salvation and the alternative. “This is easy.”
I latch onto it, a life raft in a stormy sea. “You have something?”
“This is too easy,” RJ grumbles. “Seriously, this is a joke. It has to be.”
Acid churns in my gut. “What do you mean?”
Aimee shushes her with an elbow to the side. “This girl’s cursive is awful, by the way. But unless I’m mistaken, this says cure.”
“Sure, it’s labeled that way, but come on. Three ingredients? It’s like a slap in the face.”
Horror strikes me silent.
I stare between the witches, all three of us unsure what to do next. “What are the ingredients?”
“It says the cure requires vampire venom, witch energy, and pure werewolf blood.” Aimee points to the page. “The ratios aren’t written but off the top of my head I think it will probably be equal parts. It makes sense if you think about it.”
RJ is right, this feels way too easy. But there, underlined and adorned with unnecessary curlicues, is the word cure.
I flinch. “Why would equal parts make sense?”
“Because until now it’s been nearly impossible to get any of the three sides to agree to work together. We’ve always been pitted against each other, the vampires using your kind as cannon fodder and witches as power cells. Or whatever the history books say.” RJ waves it off.
Centuries of war, pain, panic. The agony of families torn apart by moon madness, and the cure is this simple?
Well, nothing is simple when it comes to having to cooperate with your enemies. Vampires and werewolves have never gotten along. Thus the wars. The constant battle for power and the way both sides have hidden their knowledge from the other, damming innocents in the process.
“That’s it?” I blurt out. “Something from each of us?”
“Seems that way.” Aimee flips through several more chapters before she turns back to the page marked with her finger.
“It will take all of us to make the cure. No wonder the shaman was able to cure the moon-mad. He must have had access to all these things but kept it a secret. No one would ever think it would be this simple.”
RJ vibrates with excitement. “This is great! We can use your blood, Mandi. You were born from wolves. We have everything right here.”
Tongue tied in knots, I force the words out. “I’m not sure if it will work. I’m moonlocked. I’m basically human at this point. We’ll have a better shot at making a cure with another werewolf’s blood.”
The wind shifts, changing direction, bringing with it the acrid tang of cold blood. The metallic bitterness coats the inside of my nostrils and erases every thought in my head as I whip around.
“You’re the best bet we have,” Aimee says softly.
I hold my breath then turn, a figure cutting through the woods from a distance. He moves like he is following orders, a zombie reanimated for a terrible purpose. And for one horrible moment I wonder if this was a sick joke.
Grayson limps into the clearing with what I am assuming is Colt in his arms, covered from head to toe in a blanket. Both his eyes are blackened, bruises swelling and skin split. His lip drips blood in a steady trail down his chest.
His stride hitches as he sets the bundle beside the tree and tucks the edges tight to make sure none of the golden hour light touches the vampire.
“I’m okay,” he says. The muscles in his back tense.
Even Grayson doesn’t believe it.
He’s alive. For a heartbeat, the miracle of his arrival gives me life. It squeezes my chest tighter and I reach for him.
He looks at me like we’re strangers before the light settles into his eyes.
“What happened?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he got hit by a car. Cuts on his face ooze and a thousand tears along his shoulders and arms leak some kind of noxious smelling clear fluid.
What remains of Colt’s shirt is knotted at his hips and I search his face. Some part of him has to be the man I’m falling for.
He has to be.
Grayson’s brows furrow and his jaw clenches. “I attacked Colt. I don’t remember much. I came to as the sun was rising but he wouldn’t let go of me. Then he started to burn.”
The glare softens on his features.
“I got him under cover as fast as I could. He’s fine, shaken up, in and out of consciousness. But his wounds are healing.”
He shuffles toward me, ignoring the witches. He stumbles to his knees with too many feet separating us and I close the distance and lean into him. His arms band around my legs and he clutches me to him, our pain ebbing together.
Holding me like I’m the single anchor in the darkness.
I sob, bending to hold him right back, his cheek pressed to my stomach.
“Look, we’re running out of time,” RJ reminds us. “Mandi, your blood might be the only shot we have at getting a cure. Otherwise…”
I know. I know.
The madness will more than likely take him before his next shift. And who knows when it will be or what will trigger him. Right now, moonlocked or not, I’m the only wolf we’ve got.
But I’m not the one we need.