Aviva
The forest shifts from endless shadows to an assortment of pale gold as the sun rises. I’m sprinting in my wolf form, Ryan not far behind in his. There was no reason for him to shift into his beast, thank goodness. He’s actually slower in that form than his wolf, but we’ve covered serious ground in the two hours since leaving Silverhide.
Forty miles, in fact. A new record.
Panting, I reach the far edge of the forest that weaves through the tribal territories of the Deadlands. Behind us, the packs of Silverhide and Endova are just waking up for the day. Ahead of us, the sun hasn’t even begun to touch the towering mountains to the far west, where my new powers showed me a glimpse of Maeve and Logan.
I’m still getting used to the prickle of energy that wasn’t there before. It’s now the air I breathe–the blood rushing through my veins–the rhythmic thump of my heartbeat.
I’m changed; for better or worse, I don’t know. All I know for sure is that we have another twenty to thirty miles to cover this morning, and we can’t stop now.
Thick, angry black clouds swirl over the distant mountains, casting a cold shadow over the sweeping plains ahead. The sunrise can’t even touch the sky here. The clouds absorb the light, swirling with fury and the promise of hell once we reach the base of the mountains.
Wind whips through my fur, sending chills down my spine. ‘Have you been able to reach anyone in Silverhide?’ I ask Ryan through the mind-link as he races behind me, his large wolf leaving massive paw prints the rain-soaked ground.
‘No. I think we’re out of range, but Sydney and Cole both know where we were planning on going. Kenna could get close and catch up, I’m positive. We don’t need to hang back and wait.’
I agree. We need to get the kids. We need to close this chapter and move on. Ryan can’t be out on adventures right now, not with the upcoming harvest and a new pack house to build. I need to be with Lexa and helping the women with the rugs, tapestries, and fabrics we plan to trade at the harvest festival.
A single day away from our pack right now could be the difference between a successful harvest or a brutal winter where food and commodities are scarce. We can’t gamble our time any longer.
‘I don’t like the look of those clouds,’ Ryan says as we skirt the edge of the forest under the cover of the trees.
‘Me neither. I’m looking for a more direct route into the valleys there. There must be a village or something. I doubt these people live alone in the middle of nowhere, completely cut off from a pack or town.’
‘You’d be surprised, Aviva,’ he replies as I leap out into the glistening, neck height grass. ‘Many people want exactly that. Hell, I moved my pack over a thousand miles away to achieve some peace and quiet… and then I met you.’
If I were in my human form, I’d be throwing him a smirk. Instead, I growl, then dart through the grass, smiling to myself as he grunts and complains about my speed through the mind-link.
It’s miles and miles of this–wet grass. Cold wind. An endless, open shadow the sunrise can’t breach. Neither of us ate breakfast this morning, and by the time we reach the base of the mountains, we’re starving, wet, and freezing cold.
I finally allow us a small break. We seek shelter beneath a crop of gnarled trees with a cliff face behind us, giving us a respite from the brutal wind spinning down the mountain tops. Neither of us shift. It’s warmer in our wolf forms, for sure.
‘Have you been this deep in the Deadlands before?’ I ask him.
‘No, not this far west, at least. I guess Moonrise is actually pretty close, if you think about it.’
‘On the other side of the mountains, yes. The mountains are the place where the Deadlands, the Roguelands, and Moonrise converge, from what I’ve been told and seen on the maps.’
This place is a barren wasteland until it touches the border with the Roguelands, but the mountains above us are wooded–not thickly, but enough to block our view of any roads and trails leading into the valleys several hundred feet above our heads.
It's impossible to believe anyone could live up here. Ryan’s thinking the same thing because he says, ‘We need to prepare for anything. If these people are aggressive, we’ll have to take the kids back by any means necessary.’
‘I know,’ I reply, sighing through our bond. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
Without another word, we set off again, beginning our climb. It starts out rocky and steep, the two of us picking our way past the cliffs and boulder fields then following a creek into one of the valleys. Day comes without any light. Rain falls in a torrent, sending rocks skittering down either side of the valley. There is no village here, no trails, no roads.
So, we try the next valley, and the next, until we’re miles deep in the unending mountains. Finally, toward midday, we breach another mile or so stretch of thick forest and come upon a dirt road.
‘Shift back,’ Ryan says, lifting his snout to the sky. Over the rain and heavy scent of ozone, another scent–something spiced with smoke–clouds my senses at the same moment he picks up on it.
I obey, shifting back into my human form. Ryan stays in his wolf form, lying down on his belly on the muddy road so I can fish a heavy leather cloak from the backpack strapped to him, the straps fitted to his wolf form. Rain slides off the leather, and inside the cloak my skin immediately begins to heat. I slip into a pair of sandals he packed for me–something I won’t be too sad to lose if I have to shift abruptly, and we begin to follow the road deeper into the mountains.
I didn’t expect to have to go this far, honestly. I’ve been searching for that strange feeling–that tug I feel with Logan, but to no avail. Ryan walks beside me, and it’s obvious he’s thankful for the rest and my slow pace, but within an hour, we come across the first people we’ve seen on our journey…
And they’re not happy to see us.
Ryan snarls as three men and four wolves dart in our direction down the road. Sheets of rain fall over us, making my view of their positioning hazy. I pull my gilded bow from my back, the metal singing as I prim an arrow and point it at the man leading the charge.
He’s young. In his early twenties perhaps, like me. He halts, wide-eyed, as my arrow points directly between his eye-sockets.
His companions are all men. I don’t know about the wolves, though. They pace around the three men blocking our way up the road, their gums pulled back over their teeth which gleam in the faint dark-blue haze given off by the storm.
Ryan takes a single step, growling and hissing aggressively, and the group backs off just enough that I risk lowering my weapon and pulling back my hood.
They’re surprised to see a woman, it seems.
“Who are you, witch?” the leader–the young man–asks, and not kindly.
“I am not a witch, first of all. Secondly, it doesn’t matter who we are. I’m looking for two children. A boy, about twelve, and a toddler girl.”
The men glance at each other, shrugging.
“Where is the nearest village?”
“Why should we help you?” One of the other men sneers, edging in my direction.
Ryan doesn’t like this and growls in warning, which stops the man.
“You have no reason to help us other than kindness,” I say because it’s true. “We’ve traveled a long way, and we’re tired and wet to the bone. I haven’t eaten breakfast, and neither has he.” I jab a thumb in Ryan’s direction. “He gets a little cranky when he hasn’t eaten.”
The men eye Ryan wearily.
“How many miles until we reach the nearest village?”
“Ten, give or take.”
“And what are you doing out here so far from your pack?” Their leader watches me take a step toward them, my hands still gripping my bow.
“We’re hunting,” he says.
“Ah, well, we haven’t seen anything but rabbits, so hopefully you’re not that hungry,” I reply, but I’m feeling more than a little uneasy, especially as the man’s eyes drift from my face to my breasts, which are full of milk and aching.
“We can escort you back to the village, if you’d like,” he drawls, giving me a half-cocked, sly smile. “There’s a bunkhouse. It’s not much, but it has beds.” He runs his tongue along his lower lip in a motion that makes my stomach twist. “It’ll cost ya, though.”
I arch my brow. Oh, this is going to be fun. “What is your price?”
He walks in my direction with a pep in his step, looking me up and down like I’m a prize that he’s just won. “Spend a little time with me, sweetheart, and I’ll take you there for free.” He reaches out, twisting one of my wet curls around finger, giving it a tug.
I laugh cruelly but don’t swat him away. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what? Touched you? The places I could touch you–”
Ryan loses his fucking mind, and I know within seconds, all three men and their wolfish companions will be dead.
The backpack holding supplies explodes in ribbons of leather. Ryan’s vicious, terrifying beast replaces his dark-brown, blue-eyed wolf. I don’t even flinch, but everyone else is screaming, running for their lives, I assume. I can’t see them anymore. Ryan is chasing them up the road, and I sigh, clicking my tongue and shaking my head as I gather what I can from his destroyed backpack and carry our camping gear in my hands, walking at a snail's pace to catch up with my pissed off mate.
I follow Ryan’s massive paw prints through the rain and mud. Eventually, the mud begins to mix with blood, and I sigh, sweeping my hand over my wet face. It doesn’t take long to find the first bodies. The wolves attacked him, it seems, because they’re definitely dead and in pieces.
I roll my eyes and step over the carnage, careful not to get any blood on my shoes, but I finally reach Ryan and he’s… not alone.
The three men are dead, that’s clear. Pieces of them litter the road–a few arms, a few legs… a head.
But it’s the five or so men standing with my mate that catch my attention. They’re holding weapons–knives and longswords, but not threatening Ryan in any way. In fact, they’re staring at the bodies with smiles on their faces and expressions of mingled relief and joy.
I stare at the men, who finally notice my approach.
“This thing yours?” an elderly man–likely my father’s age–asks, pointing at Ryan, still in his beast form and coated in blood.
“Ah, yes. That’s my mate.”
A few of the men exchange glances, but the old man raises his brows, shrugs, and motions to the mess Ryan left on the road. “We’ve been chasing down those bastards since last night. Your, uh, mate took care of a pretty big problem for us, miss.”
“Aviva,” I tell him, giving him a graceful nod.
He narrows his eyes. “What’d you say?”
“Aviva, that’s my name.”
“You wouldn’t be Aviva of Silverhide, would you?”
“I am.”
A few of the men glance at Ryan in sudden surprise.
The old man approaches me, and to my immense surprise, lays down his sword and kneels in the bloody mud, bowing his head to me. “Then you’d be Queen of the Deadlands,” he says, looking up at me. “Correct?”
“Sure, I guess,” I glance at Ryan, who’s still too worked up to shift back. “Uh, listen, we’re looking for two kids. A boy and a toddler girl. They’re on a farm somewhere in these mountains and–”
“The Graston farm, yes. They found a boy a few days ago. We’ve been meaning to help him back down the mountains but this storm–”
“The girl,” I rush out, grabbing his arm and helping him upright. “Is she with him?”
He scans my face, sighing. “The one that can burst into flames? Yes. She’s with him, and you owe them a new barn, I’m afraid.”