Shift of Destiny: Ice Age Shifters Book 2 Page 10

  It pulsed green when she turned it to the right. She stifled the little voice that said she was imagining things. She didn’t care, as long as it kept her alive. A thicket of scrub oak loomed before her.

  A scrape against branches was all the warning she had before a hand clamped over her mouth and she was pulled into a hard man’s body.

  She bit, elbowed, and stomped, squirming to get away.

  “Ow! It’s me!” whispered Chance in her ear, removing his hand from her mouth.

  Her knees gave way with a flood of relief.

  “I’ve got you.” His arms surrounded her for one long, blissful moment. “Sorry I scared you.”

  As much as she wanted to sink into his solid warmth, they needed to leave. Crying into his shirt again could come later.

  “Two men above.” She stood up straight and squared her shoulders. “They think I’m a witch. They want to kidnap me from the kidnappers.”

  “Two men below, too. Are you okay?” He rubbed her arms up and down.

  “Nothing a shower, an ice pack, and a couple of aspirin can’t fix. Any idea how to get out of here?”

  “Yep.” He slid his hand into hers and tugged. She followed, comforted by the fact he seemed to have a plan. She noticed he wore a backpack, and felt a pang for hers.

  The slope started to rise, and she couldn’t see a thing. She started to turn her mirror around, then hesitated. Chance could apparently see just fine, and she might ruin his night vision.

  A wailing wolf call echoed off the rocks.

  Chance turned and scooped her up into his arms and tight against his chest before she knew what was happening. “Hang on tight.” She grabbed for his neck as he began running swiftly up the slope.

  In pitch black.

  Like she weighed next to nothing.

  Little pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The man she wanted more than luxury chocolate was a shifter. A magical mix of man and animal. And he wasn’t the only one.

  “I think the men up top might be, er, wolves. Shifters.”

  He stumbled, but recovered and kept going. “You’re okay with that?”

  “Hell, no. They stink. They probably want to eat me or hump me. And not the fun way, either.” Just the thought of Richie pawing her nauseated her.

  His hold tightened, and she felt a growl emanate from his chest. “You’re mine.”

  Possessiveness usually turned her off, but not from him. “Yes. And you’re mine.” For as long as she could stay without endangering him.

  They crested the slope and plunged down into a rockier section. She heard the gurgle of water somewhere below. He pushed off with powerful legs, and suddenly, they were flying through the air, until he landed with a stomach-flipping dip and took two steps, then jumped again. She wanted to see, but was glad she couldn’t, or she’d have given away their position with little shrieks. She’d have had to give back her fearless princess card.

  Once they hit the bottom of the ravine, he plunged into the shallows of a splashing stream and ran until he came to more rocks, then jumped again. He barely seemed winded when he finally set her down. “I think we lost them. I parked my truck on the trail access road just on the other side of this rise.”

  “Did you call the sheriff?” She stomped quietly to get some circulation back into her legs.

  “Yes. Help is coming, but not right away, and I couldn’t wait.” He lightly brushed her swollen cheekbone with his thumb. “I’ll kill whoever did this to you.”

  She couldn’t see his expression, but the undercurrent of wildness in his tone made her want to kiss him. Her newly perky hormones apparently didn’t care that they were still in mortal danger.

  “His name’s Richie, but he’s not worth killing. Maiming, maybe.” She sighed. “Witzer will just send more.”

  “We’ll deal with him next.” He kissed her, then came back for seconds. He slid his hands down to her waist and around, then stopped. He patted her lower back. “What’s this?”

  “Flashlight. Richie stashed me deep in a cave, then left it out front as a marker.”

  “How did you get out?” He took her hand in his and started walking. “Rock to your right at two-o’clock.”

  She moved closer to him. “Luck.” She made herself say the rest. “And magic.”

  He was silent for a few strides. “And you’re okay with that, too?”

  She knew his real question was whether or not she’d accept him. “More than okay. It saved me.” She squeezed his hand. “You saved me.”

  “Working on... Down!”

  He pulled her on top of him so fast her head spun. It didn’t help that he rolled them several times sideways, landing next to a small clump of an evergreen shrub, his rock-hard body atop hers. The tension in his body kept her quiet as a church mouse. After several long, silent moments, she heard a low whirring sound, but couldn’t see anything but Chance’s broad chest. A flash of memory reminded her how lickable his chest was, and how much he liked that. Later, she admonished herself.

  “Four-propeller drone with a searchlight and a camera,” Chance whispered in her ear. “Question is, friend or wolf?”

  She guessed he wasn’t feeling any more charitable toward wolves than she was. An idea bubbled up. Mr. Maxen seemed to think she had a gift for knowing the truth. “Let me see it. Maybe I can tell.”

  He rolled slowly aside. She craned her head until a flash caught her attention, and she found the drone.

  So far, her magic had worked based on need, on goals, like getting out of the cave and hiding. They needed to escape, meaning they needed to know who operated the drone. She imagined an invisible tethering thread, then traced it back to its source. An image came to her, hazy at first, of a joystick, operated by a man, intent on a display screen. He appeared to be in a van. On instinct, she looked at the man through the van’s rear view mirror, and saw an overlay of lupine features.

  She shook her head to clear the vision, and sternly squelched the little voice that said it was just her vivid imagination running wild again. “Wolf. I think. I’m still finding my way with magic.” She congratulated herself for not stumbling over the word this time.

  He tightened his arms around her a moment. “It will come.”

  They watched as the flashing drone followed a zigzag pattern down the hill where they’d come up. It occurred to her she might be prejudiced by her limited bad experience. “Are there good wolves?”

  “Your chest is glowing.”

  “Huh?” She looked down. Her light was face down in its makeshift sling, but glowing around the edges of the frame. “Mirror. It’s how I got out of the cave.” It faded as she spoke.

  Maybe her use of magic had energized it, which meant she’d really worked magic, and a wolf really was operating the drone. That was her theory, and she was sticking to it.

  10

  Chance could barely hang onto his control. His body wanted to mate with the woman under him right then and there. His beast wanted to shred the wolves. His human brain wanted to find out what had opened her mind to the world of magic, and help her explore it. His survival instinct said shut up and get moving while the drone was out of sight.

  She’d asked a question. “Some wolves are good,” he admitted grudgingly, “but none of the ones up here are. The ones I smelled are all sick.” He rose to his knees and helped her stand. “We need to run. Can I carry you? I’m sorry, I should have asked last time.”

  She smiled. “You’re forgiven for saving my life.” She kissed his jaw, then raised her arms. “Let’s go.”

  Her trust humbled him. He scooped her into his arms and ran, coming close to half shifting to achieve maximum speed over rocky terrain in the dark.

  He stopped at the crest of the final hill that would take them down to the dirt road where his truck was hopefully still hidden. He let her legs drop to the ground and supported her shoulders until she was standing on her own. “My truck’s close, but I want to scout around first.”

  The waning m
oonlight lit the flatter terrain, which was all he’d need to see by. He could go lightning fast without Moira, but he didn’t want to leave her unprotected with greedy, hungry wolves in the area. His dilemma must have shown on his face.

  “I’ll hide under that tree—at least I think it’s a tree—so you can go.” She gave him a smartass grin. “I’ll rescue you if you get in trouble.”

  She scooted under the tree and waved him away. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’re back.” She wrapped her arms around her knees, and he felt her magic flare. He still couldn’t tell what it was doing.

  He melted into the night, staying in human form because it was less obvious, and because he was afraid to show Moira his other form without giving her some warning first. She was a brave woman, but she was still getting used to the idea of shifters. Who knew what she’d think of him?

  He circled twice and found no footprints or scents other than his own. As far as he could tell, his truck was undisturbed, and neither he nor his beast could stand leaving his mate unprotected any longer.

  He nearly had a heart attack when he didn’t see or smell her at first, but then he felt a little breeze of magic, and suddenly, she was right where he’d left her.

  “Did it work? Was I hidden?”

  “Yes, even to my nose.” He waited until she stood and brushed off the seat of her pants to give her a quick kiss. “You’re beautiful by moonlight.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “You’re crazy, but you’re cute.” She tilted her head toward the hill. “Can we go home now?” She looked hopeful, then frowned. “Unless those a-holes blew up Mr. Maxen’s store.”

  “The store has protection.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

  He opened the truck for her and dropped his backpack behind the seat, then set about removing the camouflage brush and tarps.

  She beamed at him when he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Her smile went straight to his groin. He was not a wolf, dammit, with uncontrollable urges. He gripped the wheel tighter.

  “Thank you for bringing my backpack.” She’d already pulled on her hoodie and zipped it. The tiny mirror decorations across the hood, shoulders, and sleeves briefly reflected the truck’s overhead courtesy light.

  “You’re welcome. I should have brought you a jacket for the cold.” He slowly pulled his truck into the ruts of the dirt road and started down.

  “I’m not that cold. I grew up just south of the Canadian border, so I’m used to this.” She patted the sleeve of her hoodie. “I just wanted to feel, I don’t know, better armored.”

  He glanced at her. “It’s the mirrors.”

  “You think?” She held out her arm and looked at them. “Huh.” She put her arm down. “I bought this the last day of the Renaissance fair. The lady sold it to me for half price because some of the mirrors had come off. That was my favorite part of the design, so I taught myself to embroider so I could fix it. I kind of got carried away.” She sighed. “I wonder if that was my magic, or just luck?”

  He slowed to take the first hairpin turn, wishing he had an answer for her. Maybe they could figure it out together when they got back to Kotoyeesinay.

  “Wouldn’t driving be easier with the lights… never mind.” She was silent for a long moment. “Is it rude of me to ask what kind of shifter you are? All I have to go by is fantasy novels, and they’re all over the map as far as customs and biology and stuff. I hope that full-moon silliness isn’t real.”

  “It isn’t, but unmated wolves use it as an excuse to get laid.” He sped up again, until they were bouncing along at a bone-jarring pace. “I think the light of a full moon made it easier for ordinary people to see careless shifters who didn’t check that no one was around when they changed form.”

  “That makes sense.” She crossed her arms. “What did you mean earlier about the wolves being sick? They smell bad, even to my stuffed-up nose, but dogs are always rolling in stinky things.”

  Chance chuckled. “Wolves are not dogs, they’ll have you know.” He shook his head. “I have a nose for detecting illness. I’d need to get closer to them to be sure, but all the faint scents I’ve been picking up smell like the wolves are half dead. Shifters don’t get human diseases, so I suspect someone, probably their alpha, is stealing their life essence.”

  “Why would he do that? Doesn’t it weaken his pack?”

  “Power. I knew of a pack where the alpha stayed on top by blood-bonding with his pack and siphoning off their strength. He told them they were cursed by a Native American shaman to explain why the rest of the pack kept dying of old age in their first century. He was nearly eleven hundred when he was killed.” It was his maternal grandmother’s favorite story, about how she and her cougar shifter clan had put an end to the alpha wolf’s reign of terror. It had also turned the cougars and the wolves in the Yukon into mortal enemies to this day.

  “Are shifters born or made?” Her tone had a thread of wariness.

  “Both.” He knew she needed the truth, unpleasant as it could be. “And yes, it’s possible to force the change on compatible humans. Most shifters find the thought appalling, worse than rape or slavery, but there are always a few.”

  Another turn took his attention, meaning he couldn’t see how she was taking his revelations.

  “Just like people, I guess. Most are good, but bad people make the headlines.” She sounded sad.

  He wanted to reassure her, or at least touch her, but he needed both hands to drive. “It can’t be done by accident, like with a scratch or a bite, if that’s what you’re worried about. It takes deliberate intent by both human and beast, and takes a couple of days.”

  She was silent after that. He wished he knew what she was thinking, but driving fast in the dark took concentration.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pick up the heavy flashlight she’d confiscated and lean down to slide it into her backpack.

  Oddly, the little mirrors on her sleeves started to glow red.

  “Shit.” She grabbed onto the dashboard in front of her. “Pick a new direction, because we’re headed toward trouble.”

  He braked as hard as he dared on the uneven road, then cranked the wheel. The back wheels fishtailed alarmingly as he punched the accelerator.

  The mirrors on her hoodie stayed red.

  He slammed on the brake, fumbling with her seatbelt. “West. Up the hill. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She grabbed her backpack and gave him a scared look before opening the door and scrambling out. Her magic flared, and her mirrored hoodie went dark, almost as if the mirrors were casting shadows on her, making her harder to see. He put the truck in park and grabbed the keys, then launched himself out the open passenger door, slowing just long enough to shut the door. He caught up to her and helped her up the incline, then scooped her into his arms again.

  “Stop right there, hero.” The loud command dripped with sarcasm and menace.

  Three men flicked on flashlights and emerged from the darkness, carrying rifles. The biggest man wore a beard and a sneer. The blond next to him looked antsy, and the older, gray-haired man on the end looked bored. They had the preternatural silence of predator shifters, but they also had no scent. Chance felt a frisson of Moira’s magic, and necklaces on each of the men briefly glowed. Suddenly, he got a noseful of wolf shifter scent. Definitely blood-bound wolves, from the sinus-clearing bad odor of death. Her magic must have overpowered whatever concealment talismans they were using.

  A night owl’s hunting cry pierced the night. All three men glanced at it, then back to Chance. He hunched his shoulders diffidently and willed them to dismiss him as an ordinary human. Thanks to the magic in his blood, they couldn’t scent him unless he let them.

  The bearded man pointed at Moira. “Give us the woman and get lost.”

  Chance tightened his arms, but she put a firm hand on his chest. “They want me, not you.” She closed her eyes. Her magic flared and settled like a fine net on his skin.


  “Listen to her, pal,” said the blond man. “We don’t care about you. She’s a witch and a shifte--oof!” His words cut off when the biggest man elbowed him hard.

  The bearded man crossed his arms. “She’s a shifty thief. Now hand her over.”

  Chance reluctantly let her down. She stumbled to one knee, and he bent low to catch her.

  “You’re hidden, like I was. I hope.” she breathed in his ear. “Find me.”

  She straightened up, and as she did, her backpack faded into a shadowed outline. Without a backward glance, she walked calmly toward the bearded man. Her mirrored hoodie seemed to reflect the flashlights. She walked right up to him and dick-punched him, hard.

  He collapsed to his knees, wheezing.

  “Hit me again, Richie, and you’ll need both hands to piss.” She opened her fist and blew a handful of rock dust into his face. “Now I won’t even have to touch you.”

  She turned to the blond man. He raised his rifle. “Keep away from me.” He backed into the older man, who snarled and shoved him off.

  Chance honored Moira’s gift of a distraction by using it. He crouched and leapt high and to the side, onto the eight-foot-tall boulder. He crouched again, then jumped twice more to the higher rocks behind it, giving him a bird’s eye view of the action.

  “Where the fuck did he go?” growled the blond man. “He can’t have gone far.”

  “Later. You two take her to the van,” Richie wheezed. “Pruhon expected her in the holding cell by midnight, and that was an hour ago. I’ll take care of the human, then find the Witzer brats.” Richie climbed to his feet and handed his rifle to the older man. “Take this, or Adam will want to play with it and probably shoot his foot off.”

  The blond man waved his gun to indicate the slope that led to the road. “Walk, bitch, or we’ll tie you like a turkey and drag you.”