Chapter 6 – Carina
Six
CARINA
The asshole disappears between trees, leaving me with an assembly of terrifying wolves who turn wolfish gazes unblinkingly on me. A few part their jaws, their tongues rolling forward like dogs.
That’s all they are, I try to convince myself. Puppies. Deadly puppies with the ability to rip my head off.
Unfortunately, being unequipped to interpret animal expressions, I can’t figure out what’s in their heads. Hopefully nothing about making me lunch, because murder by sacrifice isn’t really how I assumed my life would end.
My fingers curl around my cloak, and I think how useless my hands now are without the use of magick.
Not that running is exactly in my plans; I meant what I told Mom.
If they need something, we’re at a disadvantage not learning what it is.
But still…where the hell would a shifter get a potion from to nullify a witch’s powers?
A couple minutes later, Ryder returns as the same large black wolf always seen during my bi-weekly stalking sessions.
If he didn’t already state his position, seeing him beside the others would make it obvious.
Shifters are naturally a bit larger than regular wolves, but Ryder stands a few inches taller than the others, an Alpha in every way.
Fantastic. So he’ll be insufferable.
They part to let him through, reminding me of a cartoon I used to watch with the kids, and he stops in front of me to simply stare. Is he waiting for a pet?
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent months observing him by the pond, but Ryder isn’t scary as an animal.
Despite the large teeth visible through the slightly parted jaw capable of ripping me apart, the dark depthless eyes meant for stalking, and the four paws with claws that would easily tear through me with one swipe, deep down, I feel he won’t harm me.
It’s a strange sentiment to feel certain of when nothing about this situation is certain. Nonetheless, it reminds me of the electric current that passed over my skin when he touched me earlier—a sudden jolt.
Ryder breaks my stare and gives me his back before lowering onto his haunches. Getting the sense he’s expecting me to climb onto him and understanding this will be the only way since walking to their camp will probably be a fate worse than death, I swing one leg over his body.
Riding a wolf was never on my life goals, but here I am.
My cloak tangles around my legs and my dress twists around my hips, making this every level of awkward.
It only proves witches and shifters do not mix.
His fur tickles between my legs as I settle, getting into what’s the most comfortable position.
My dress rides up nearly to my hips, but the cloak thankfully covers me.
He stands to his full height, jostling me further into position. Before I slide off, I make the fur at the back of his neck a handle. He doesn’t give any indication if my grip is too tight—not that I really care.
As he steps to take the lead, a rumbling vibration reverberates between my legs. It sounds like—
“Did you just purr?”
Ryder swivels his head as much as he’s able to, his wolfish eyes rolling back into his head while his jaw parts, revealing a row of very sharp teeth. His action is half-playful and half-threatening. Yet, I still feel no fear. Amusement, if anything.
As he moves, a few wolves streak ahead and into the underbrush. If there was a command, I missed it. Even after the thirty-second interaction, the process of the pack is neat, but I suspect it’s only one of many things I’ll soon learn.
Ryder’s speed increases and with a low yelp, I grab him tighter and even lower my chest to his back, before getting taken out by a branch or something. “Oh, Hecate, protect me.”
My prayer is answered by the wolf’s snort and an increase of speed. My face is practically in his fur now. Soft, with a woodsy scent—pine rather than mud.
My thighs and back cramps from the awkward position, and as it creeps later into the night, the day also begins wearing on me. Falling asleep will likely result in slipping off his back, which won’t end well, so every time my heavy lids slide deeper shut, I force them open.
Other than the wind created by his speed, which nips at my fingertips, and my position, the trip is oddly pleasant. It doesn’t escape my notice how Ryder’s deviated a bit from the others, running where there’s less undergrowth.
Finally, he slows to a jog and then eventually a walk, and without the sharp wind, I sit up.
The sight ahead—the camp—is nothing like I imagined.
It’s split into two, with one side involving a variety of different sized cabins and the other being a large circle of smaller cabins that fence a fire pit in the centre.
People—shifters—mingle between the buildings, watching our arrival. There’s only a small handful, given it’s getting late, which makes me wonder how many of them there actually are.
Ryder’s shoulders shift, one lifting higher than the other. Assuming he wants me off, I swing my leg over and shimmy to the ground, fixing my clothing to cover my legs. This cloak, ceremonial in purpose, has now become my armour.
My head turns away from the camp, though it has me curious more than anything else. Having no sense of direction at all, I couldn’t even begin to guess which way the town is.
Ryder eyes me for a moment before jogging into the camp and entering a cabin at the side parallel to us. He leaves me alone with two others lingering nearby, neither of whom look my way.
A test?
Not even a minute later, he returns in human form, a pair of sweats handing low on his hips. His muscles almost glow in the moonlight, and if I had any thought of escaping, it’s destroyed by smooth skin and rippling abs.
A hot body distracts me. Well, I’m certainly surviving, that’s for sure.
“Not even an attempt to escape.” His mouth twists into an almost-smirk.
“Will I want to?” He remains annoyingly silent, which spikes my anxiety. “There’s no point, considering you’d catch me almost immediately. Getting hunted in the woods isn’t exactly on my plans.”
Ryder simply stares before beckoning me forward, only to grab my arm as he steers me into camp. His hold isn’t rough, just firm, but his fingers against my skin makes an unexplainable heat build in the base of my stomach.
Hecate, make this make sense, please.
His steps are annoyingly quick as he drags me from one end of the camp to the other, passing an extinguished fire, the pit filled with small logs that are half-charred.
So…no kitchens?
“You could slow down.”
No response, which I’m getting the sense is normal Ryder behaviour.
“Why didn’t you use earlier today to the pack’s advantage?” It’s probably not the most pressing of my questions—or matters in any way, at this point—but it’s driving me insane.
He stops beside the same cabin he entered earlier. The limited light comes from the moon above, falling on the exact strip we’re on. In the darkness, his eyes continue to swing between black and silver in an ethereal manner, reminding me he’s anything but human.
“Contrary to what you so clearly assume, we don’t want war, nor do we have a problem with your coven.
If I brought today up, the others would expect me to make a point about territorial boundaries.
If you’re smart, you’ll keep this between us.
If you haven’t already noticed, we lead simple lives.
Fighting undoes that. Lives will be lost over something as stupid as you taking trips around the mountain. ”
Oh. He’s right about my assumptions. Mom always made them seem aggressive. Attack first, ask questions later kind of people. She claims their behaviours are too erratic to remain controlled. Ryder’s now proven otherwise a few times today.
When I don’t reply, he twists for the cabin and pushes open the door. “In you go, kamahki.”
“What does that mean?” At this point, I’d prefer he return to calling me ‘princess,’ because at least it’s something I understand.
He merely gestures to the open doorway and continues pointing until I ascend the two wooden steps and into the darkened space.
He follows, the sound of his quiet steps broken only by the crackling of a fireplace that’s built into the far wall.
That, coupled with the old-fashioned fire-lit lantern resting on a table beside the door, casts a soft glow that lights up the rest of the space.
Walls are built with the same wood logs as the exterior, the chill of the outdoors slipping between the cracks. Even so, it doesn’t smell cold. Rather, it’s burning wood mixed with…well, him.
The cabin is one open room. Beams run above head to keep the roof up, reminding me of the chalets inside Banff has that are purposely designed to appear rustic.
The fireplace to my right is surrounded by two oversized chairs and a small table.
All of it makes me curious about their origins, since furniture shopping seems low on the pack’s priorities.
A wooden chest that’d be nearly hip height sits nearby, shut, and is the most personalized item in the room.
The far-left corner draws my attention, a mound of furs all piled onto one another, creating what appears to be an oversized beanbag chair.
But one guess tells me it’s simply the shape.
There’s a distinct dip in the centre and as Ryder comes up beside me, the memory of his wolf flashing through my head, I realize what exactly this is.
“That’s a…bed?” Is bed even the right word?
He grunts, which I take as a yes.
“Where’s your bathroom?” There’s no other door, no cut out indicating there’s more to this place—and my bladder is beginning to burn with the need for one.
He throws me a side-eyed glance, amused, showing some sign of humanity beneath his tough exterior.
“You’re kidding?”
“Does it look I am? You think there’s electricity and plumbing out here?”
With that point, I scan the ceiling for the lightbulbs that don’t exist, nor do I find anything of what’s in my own house. No lights, no toilet, no plumbing.
Well, fuck.
“Wouldn’t it make life easier if you did?”
“It’s easier to live the way we always have. Besides, even if we hired humans to do all that, how do we explain the commune? Kids not in school; people walking around half-naked. We’d attract the attention of human police.”
That…actually makes sense. Considering they don’t visit town because of the treaty, I was under the assumption they shopped elsewhere.
“Are all packs like this?”
“Some reside in cities, like mortals.” His tone of indifference suggests he wants off the topic—and then he quickly does exactly that, by turning for the door. “Stay here.”
He returns before I’ve taken a full step. A rope dangles from his hand.
By instinct, my hands come up to protect myself, to call upon my magick. But they remain warm and dry; no water, which brings back the most pressing question. One much more important than any asked so far.
“Where’d you get the potion from?”
He advances and I skitter backwards. Three steps for every one of his—though that’s partially because his stride is so fucking wide. Everything about him is huge, which it makes this room too small.
He stops when my back hits the furthest wall. My options are the bed-thing to my right or the chairs and fireplace to the left. I’d need to get around him to reach the door, which probably isn’t happening.
By the time I finish cataloguing options, he’s looping the rough rope around my right wrist and knotting it, the skin pulling uncomfortably.
“Hey!”
He tugs me away from the wall with his new leash, though not roughly. His face gives nothing away as he drags me towards the chairs and nudges me down into the closest one.
“I don’t want to do this, ‘kay, so stay the fuck still.” He tosses the end of the rope above head and over the rafters, grabbing it when it returns.
“Then why are you?”
“You think I’m stupid enough to trust you won’t bolt while I’m gone?”
Would I, if given the chance? I can’t say. I want to go home, obviously, but gaining the answers to why I’m here is also possibly important.
“You’re leaving?”
He finishes tying the rope, leaving my arm angled awkwardly up in the air. “For a few minutes.”
I rotate to follow his path to the door, which twists my arm. He doesn’t look back before leaving me alone, a low thud of the door cutting us off from one another.
And this is how I find myself held captive by the wolf I once found enthralling enough to stalk.
Hecate, I’m so fucking stupid.