Chapter 1 Ryder
One
RYDER
“Uh, Ryder?” Xander, my best friend and second-in-command, taps my shoulder to direct my attention towards the edge of camp, just in time for two other pack members to stagger over the invisible boundary line, gasping for help.
I move on instinct, darting to Graham’s side as he stumbles into my arms, one hand painted red from where he grips his opposite, bloody arm. Behind him, Elias falls to his knees, clutching his side as ragged pants fill the area.
Panic surges through me because earlier, three left to complete a perimeter check, and only two have returned. Dad was with them, finishing what is his final outing before officially retiring.
Elias and Graham’s abrupt arrival draws more people out of their cabins, a hush of anxious conversation rising.
“Keep everyone away,” I mutter to Xander, before looping my arm around Graham’s waist to draw him closer to Elias, to speak with them both and figure out what happened and where my father is.
As Xander prevents anyone from approaching, Conan breaks away too, falling to his knees beside Elias and peeling his hand away from his injured side. We both cringe at the slices across his ribs.
“Come on,” Conan murmurs, throwing Elias’ arm around his shoulders. “Let’s get you to Marissa.”
As one of the elders, Marissa knows her way around healing better than the rest of us. Most injuries will be handled by the simple fact that shifters have enhanced healing abilities, but Marissa’s help will slow the blood flow so his system can catch up.
Once they’re away, I lead Graham over to a nearby log, but he fights me every step. His eyes are duller than normal as he blinks and gestures south. “Perimeter. Go. Your father—witches.”
They can’t. They wouldn’t. The accord between Highridge Coven and us has been in place hundreds of years, and the annual meeting that ensures our deal remains intact happens tomorrow.
After all this time, it makes little sense they’d break it.
With Dad in potential danger, it’s not the time to question Graham on the logistics of coven thinking.
Gesturing towards Conan, who’s returning after dropping Elias with Marissa, I turn for the tree line and let the familiar and natural shift take over, transforming me from man to wolf.
Two sides, one body, and my wolf howls impatiently as my limbs stretch and morph, my skin itches from the quick growth of my dark fur coat, eyes turn sharper to gain better visibility through the darkness, and fingers lengthen into claws. Within seconds, my wolf streaks into the nighttime forest.
He’s me and I’m him; a joint partnership within one body. My memories, thoughts, and morals remain, exactly as his animal instincts do when in human form. It’s a matter of which mind is in control, and presently, it’s all him.
Nose to the ground, I follow Elias and Graham’s scents the way they came from.
The rustling of trees, branches, and fallen debris being crushed from a series of paws reaches me seconds before Conan and Xander catch up.
Not sure of exactly what I’m running into, it’d be safer if they remained in camp, but with witches at the helm of Dad’s endangerment, their help may be needed too.
Trees blur with the speed I push my body to, and soon, we reach the edge of the forest that marks the territory we claimed for ourselves centuries ago. Without pausing, I break from the trees and come face to face with a nightmare.
Five witches, all encased in black. Black cloaks with hoods pulled up stand in a line, making the fur on the back of my neck rise. Witches claim to be servants of nature, but every tale depicts them as selfish beings who take whatever they want from Earth for their own gains.
A sniff reassures me they’re not from Highridge Coven, which means a war between our groups will not break out—again.
At the same time, them not being familiar is worrisome.
Another coven shouldn’t have cause to attack; we stay away from the world beyond these mountains—witches, vampires, and humans alike.
Conan and Xander take my flank as I pace forward, scanning the line until finding Dad. A growl ruptures in my throat, echoed by the two beside me, even if I don’t understand what’s happening.
Black tendrils wrap my father’s body, causing low and pained whimpers to break from his mortal form. The proud ex-Alpha is bent forward, his face on the ground; a position no shifter deserves.
With a snarl, I lunge, seeing the five witches as enemies and not caring what they have to say or why they’re doing this. Dad is captive to their magick and Elias and Graham were injured; it’s enough to justify their deaths.
Xander and Conan also dart forward, each heading for an end of the line while I take the centremost witch, who, at the same instance, advances. She lifts her hood off, baring a face I don’t bother studying, seeing only one thing instead.
Red. The colour promising her death. She’ll be my first non-animal murder, and I’ll revel in it for my father’s sake.
She waves her hand through the air and abruptly, the three of us slam into an invisible force. Logic tells me it’s magick, but the wolf won’t be kept from his father. I slam into the wall, which shimmers silver on impact before settling invisible again.
The same witch steps up to her enchantment. She better enjoy her little show of power while she has it because once my teeth latch onto her neck, her death will drain her of it.
“It’s a barrier you’ll be unable to break, so give up.
I’m here to talk, nothing more.” She tilts her head and long, black hair falls from her shoulder, melding with her cloak.
Everything about this witch is dark, even her eyes which seem depthless as they flick over my form.
“Howling isn’t in my wheelhouse, so ideally as human, if you’d please. ”
For Dad.
My body shifts back to its mortal form; my glare now shining from human eyes rather than a wolf’s slits. Without the animal instincts driving me to attack and continue fighting, patience allows me to examine the line of witches.
The only one to speak so far ruffles her cloak until it circles her feet like some sort of dais. Past her shoulder, Dad’s managed to lift his head enough to regard me through a scrunched expression.
“You’re the reigning Alpha, correct?” She flicks her fingers at Dad. “As he’s entering retirement.”
The fact she knows intimate pack business greatly bothers me, but for the well-being of Dad, I simply jerk my chin.
He stepped down some weeks ago, claiming I was long ready to rule the pack so he can enter his elder years and relax.
Without any other male challenging me, it’s been a peaceful transition.
Another smile, this one all teeth. “Good. So you’ll be motivated.” A finger abruptly flicks up, and as the tendrils tighten around Dad, a choking sound is yanked from him.
When I attempt to go for him, I’m once again blocked by her spell. “What are you doing to him?”
“That,” she, who I’ve taken to understand as the group’s leader, articulates, “is black magick. Darkness. Something a group of animals like yourselves probably haven’t encountered before.
At present, your father is infused with it, drawing upon his waning strength to weaken his body, essentially aging him by every breath he takes.
With it in his system, I imagine he has no more than thirty days of life left. ”
Conan and Xander snap their teeth in warning while my gaze jerks to Dad, who seems too out of it to have overheard, or comprehend, what she claims is happening—if she’s telling the truth.
“Unless,” she continues with a considerable long look towards my friends, “you do us one small favour.” Every word is punched, spoken slowly and paced out—dramatic.
Doing anything for witches, especially those not in Highridge Coven, will only have one outcome—it won’t be good, so my question burns my chest. But with Dad’s life on the line and Elias and Graham injured, as well as an entire pack to defend, she can ask anything of me, as long as my entire family makes it out alive.
“What do you want?”
“You have dealings with Highridge Coven,” she states, glancing in the direction of the town of Banff and the coven residing there.
Our “dealings” are an accord, decided generations ago when the two groups refused to concede territory to one another.
Eventually, our ancestors wanted it over with and created the treaty that’s still followed to ensure continued peace for all sides.
Without it, territorial battles will break out, and lives will most likely be lost.
“And you don’t?”
The witch’s smile is too wide, too sickly to be comforting.
Not that anything of her rat-like appearance is comforting.
“Their protection barrier keeps out anyone not of their coven, other witches included. Breaking through will initiate a war we have no interest in fighting. But we understand your deal allows you to get closer to the coven than we’ll ever be. ”
“What do you need?” Another glance at Dad, who’s breathing deeply.
“We’d like you to retrieve a woman for us.”
“Retrieve.” Apprehension drips from my tone. There will be no “retrieving” anyone from Highridge. It’ll be kidnapping and when the coven realizes what we’ve done, no number of treaties will save our hides. This is a death march.
The witch bobs her head. “Get us the girl, and I’ll remove the black magick from your father’s body and blood. Consider it a trade of services.”
Even with Dad’s life on the line, I have no fucking idea how to kidnap someone from the coven. Kidnap someone period.
“Who’s the witch?”
Her thin lips spread, her obvious amusement at my reluctant torment twisting my insides. It’s the smile of a winner because she knew trapping my father would ensure my cooperation.
“Carina Hargrove.”