Runaway (Fox Ridge Shifters Book 1) Page 16

  “Bernie! Come here!”

  Curious, Bernie ran to his side and shifted as well. “What? What do you see?”

  Franz pointed at the hawk making lazy circles high above the meadow. “That’s a shifter.”

  “How can you tell? There’s lots of those red-tailed hawks around here.”

  “Because he—she, I don’t know—has a mating cord.”

  Bernie craned his neck as the bird flew behind them and settled in the treetops. “You can see that from here?”

  “Uh-huh,” Franz said, nodding. “It stretches directly northwest.”

  Bernie put his hand over his eyes to block the bright sunlight. He could hardly make out the bird’s shape among the branches. “We don’t have any hawks. Don’t think the Baumanns do, either.”

  “The bartender. Our informant said that Lukas Baumann got a new mate. Maybe he turned her.”

  Crissy. Bernie thought of that lovely woman in Franz’s control, and his gut churned uneasily. Sure, Bernie had provoked the Baumanns for centuries, but Franz was the one who ruthlessly plotted their feuds and wars, and never gave up the hope for revenge. Bernie’s particular brand of crazy was simply a convenient smokescreen.

  “Maybe it’s somebody new,” Bernie said to keep up the impression that he didn’t already know.

  Franz stared thoughtfully at the trees. When his eyes narrowed, Bernie’s blood ran cold. Not her. Not her. She wasn’t Bernie’s mate, and never would be, but he hadn’t saved her life only to help her into Franz’s clutches.

  “Do we still have that raptor trap?” Franz asked.

  “I think we got rid of it the last time we cleaned out the basement at headquarters.”

  Franz’s attention turned from the bird to level on Bernie. “I don’t think so.” He shifted back to his bear form and took off at a run.

  Torn between a need to guard the hawk and the certainty she would be harmed if he wasn’t involved, Bernie hesitated before shifting and chasing after his brother.

  ###

  Luke lived in his bear form for three days, prowling through the pine forests of Schmitt territory with all the stealth a six-hundred-pound bear could muster. Every few miles, he circled out of his way to avoid a shifter home. Although their territory was expansive, most of the Schmitt clan lived at the lower elevations near the boundary. The slow pace frustrated him. If he were on his own land, he could have found her much sooner.

  On the second day, he chased down and captured a jackrabbit. Allowing the bear to eat its kills gave the beast an uncomfortable amount of control, but hunger gnawed at his gut until he had to allow it. During the second night, he collapsed from exhaustion, forced to rest on a bed of needles in the hollow created by the roots of a fallen pine. He dreamed of her, her sweet smile as she walked down the bar toward him or the sexy, teasing glances she gave him before they made love. He loved her so much, and he believed he would have, mate or not.

  Distress and confusion often traveled along the mating cord. He wondered which part of the pairing he could feel, but he suspected it was the human. Crissy must to be in there still. Three days couldn’t be long enough for the human to disappear. Could it?

  At last, he drew near a meadow deep in Schmitt land where Crissy soared overhead. Both Bernie’s and Franz’s scent were everywhere. It was a terrible risk, but hoping his presence would entice her down from the sky, he crept nearer and nearer to the tree line. It didn’t work. She turned and dipped, her silent wing beats propelling her forward. He spent several hours watching helplessly. If she wouldn’t come to him, he had no way to coax her down.

  Around noon, a man approached from the opposite side of the meadow. He carried a large box-like shape covered in a blue tarp. In the center of the fields of dry grass he laid it down and lifted the covering.

  A trap. That was why Bernie and Franz’s scent permeated the meadow. They’d been here recently. Luke knew that, like Hugh, Franz had a touch of Sight. He must have recognized she was a shifter.

  Luke shifted to human and waited for the man to leave. He hoped to be able to trigger or damage the trap so it wouldn’t catch her, but the man retreated to the tree line. Luke wanted to scream in frustration and had to mentally restrain himself to avoid revealing his presence. He reverted to bear form and moved farther into the forest only to risk discovery by pacing back and forth. When the bear let out one of his mournful groans, Luke forced him to lower himself to the cover of the underbrush.

  It took a sadly short time for Crissy’s beast to circle over the trap and then streak into it for whatever prey they placed there. The two doors sprang shut. Luke watched in horror as three figures emerged from the trees and ran into the meadow. Franz and Bernie and someone he didn’t know offhand, likely a falconer. All caution fled. His frantic bear raced for the trap with a mighty growl, yards of grass flying by every second. He saw Bernie fumble with his clothes, intent upon shifting, but Franz calmly removed a rifle from a back-holster Luke hadn’t noticed and shot Luke in the chest.

  Luke barreled forward without slowing, heedless of pain, but stumbled after a second shot into his shoulder. He limped on. A third shot to his hindquarters felled him.

  Franz placed a hand on Bernie’s arm. “Wait. We need to think carefully before we kill him.”

  Bernie yanked his arm out of his brother’s grasp but obeyed. “We can’t carry him like that.”

  “No. We’ll have to leave him and maybe return later.”

  Luke lost consciousness, and when he woke everyone was gone. The cord stretched south, where he knew Schmitt headquarters lay. Unlike the Baumann’s big farmhouse, Schmitt headquarters housed a contingent of guards and weapons, and was surrounded by a wall topped with razor wire. He would need a squadron of shifters to get in there.

  His body had expelled the three bullets but hadn’t completely healed. He rose to his feet and swayed for a moment before limping to the safety of the trees. Stealth was no longer an option. Making a direct line west, he passed over Schmitt properties, heedless of safety and sprinted once his wounds were healed. Several hours later he arrived at his truck to find Hugh’s ancient pickup parked next to it.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked when he shifted.

  “All day. We’ve been taking turns. You okay?”

  “They shot me, but I’ve healed.”

  “You must have a story to tell.”

  He yanked on his jeans. “They have her, Hugh.”

  “We’ll get her back somehow.”

  Luke paused, his shirt in his hands, and gazed eastward. For a moment, the despair paralyzed him. The world faded to one all-consuming thought: he was unworthy. Fate had measured him and found him wanting. But why make Crissy suffer, too? He’d failed her, and it was his fault that she’d been captured by the Schmitts. Crissy had done nothing but trust in a worthless shifter.

  How could he fix it? He had to make things right. What could he possibly do now that wouldn’t make things worse?

  “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Bernie, wearing heavy gloves and his thickest long-sleeved shirt, gently untangled the struggling bird from the net. So wild, he wondered if she could possibly be a shifter, but his brother insisted she had a mating cord stretching from her heart to somewhere west.

  Franz leaned against the cement brick wall of the small cell they kept for shifter prisoners. “What did the falconer say about her?”

  Bernie sat on the thin mattress of the metal-framed bed, the bird and net in his lap. “A red-tailed hawk, female.”

  “Bonded to someone northwest of us. The cord is pointing there at the moment.”

  “It would seem so, then.”

  “A Baumann.” Franz’s tone sounded pleased more than anything else. “What was she doing on our land?”

  His hands stilled, the struggling bird a soft weight against his thighs. “Lost. She’s lost or she wouldn’t have come here or taken the bait in the trap.”

&
nbsp; “She was probably starving.”

  He looked down at the bird in his lap. Fierce yellow eyes met his. “Maybe lost on her very first shift.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. “It happens.”

  “She’d have very little chance of shifting back in the wild.”

  “We need a witch to help her shift.”

  Franz threw up his hands. “We would have a witch if we did not live in the middle of nowhere. There are dozens of witches in the big cities.”

  “Stop, Franz.” He yanked too hard on the net. Vicious talons pierced his forearm through his shirt.

  “No. I have not said enough.”

  “Then leave!” The bird resumed clawing at him, and Bernie fumbled to keep his grip on her. Blood soaked through his sleeve from the torn skin beneath.

  “You know I cannot. Someone must watch over you.”

  “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Then why do you wander the Baumann lands in the middle of the night?”

  “I will not engage in an act of war without your permission. As always.” The last tangle came free in his fingers. He gripped the bird’s legs in one hand as firmly as he dared. “I’m ready to free her.”

  Franz pushed off from the wall and went to the cell door. “We should leave her for a time. Let her calm down.”

  Bernie stood at the entrance, and the bird stilled in his hands. He drew the net over her head and released her legs with a little shove. The rustle of wings filled the small cell for a moment as she launched herself onto the bed. “Kreeeeee.”

  The cell door slammed shut behind him with a clang.

  “Lock it,” Franz said. “If she does manage to shift, I don’t want her to get out.”

  “What on earth do we want from them that we would ransom her for?”

  “I don’t care. If she is Lukas Baumann’s mate,” Franz’s eyes gleamed, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

  “Look at her.”

  A tense silence fell between them until Franz inhaled sharply. “Bernie, I have said this before, but it bears repeating. Schmitts started the war, and every fresh outbreak of violence since has begun by you pushing them too far. You must let go of your anger.”

  Bernie gave his brother more silence, recognizing the lie, the facts twisted to Franz’s purpose. Yes, Bernie had pushed the Baumanns, but each time they had pushed back, it was Franz who took the feud one step further.

  Somewhere down the corridor, a faucet dripped. He inhaled the mingled scents of Lukas Baumann and the lost hawk. Jealousy rode him hard. Franz turned, his footsteps nearly inaudible as he walked away.

  Old Luke has a new mate. When do I get mine?

  For centuries he nursed his anger, his vendetta having him follow Luke Baumann across the sea, and then across the continent. What his twin didn’t understand was that without his anger, how could he keep Magritte alive? Without his vendetta, what would he have?

  Luke has a new mate. Perhaps, if I am very good, Fate would give me one, too.

  He took one last sniff of the bird’s scent, feeling his senses sharpen as if they had been asleep. For the first time in many centuries, something filled him with hope.

  ###

  Luke stumbled into the front room, exhausted from two days without sleep while he prowled around Schmitt headquarters. This time, they shot at him on his fourth foray into what could be described as enemy territory.

  It was two in the morning, and Neal sat in one of the recliners with the footrest raised. His eyes remained clear and bright, as if he weren’t tired at all. He watched Luke over tented fingers. “You must stop this, Lukas. It accomplishes nothing, and you’re only going to get yourself killed.”

  “How’s negotiation working out, Neal?” he said snidely. “They’ve had her for fifteen days now.”

  Neal inhaled sharply. “They’re still not taking our calls.”

  “They must want something. This is Franz and Bernie we’re dealing with.” He collapsed onto the sofa, almost asleep on his feet. The bear grumbled, decidedly not happy. “Is Hugh here tonight?”

  Knowing exactly what he was thinking—that Hugh could check the mating cord—Neal said, “Don’t bother him again. You would feel it if anything happened to her. How is she doing, by the way?”

  “Sometimes she seems almost content, and then there’s so much distress I can’t bear it. I don’t sense any fear, though.”

  “They’re taking care of her, you think?”

  “I guess,” he admitted. “What does Ian say?”

  “They’re guarding her very closely and not speaking with anybody about her.”

  “I still don’t trust that guy. His clan magic is Schmitt.”

  “Ian has his own reasons for remaining loyal. Just because I can’t share them with anybody doesn’t mean they aren’t true.” He pursed his lips. “He also said that they’ve purchased a number of white rats.”

  “Meaning she hasn’t shifted.” Luke threw up his hands. “What are you going to do, Enolf?”

  Neal rubbed his chin with the still-tented fingertips. “I’ll give them two more days. If we don’t hear from them by then, we’ll gather our forces, and the days of open warfare will return.”

  ###

  She awoke to darkness, thick and suffocating, and struggled against the confines of the thing around her. Sack. A dark sack. Hands lifted her and held her even more tightly than the sack wrapped around her body, while across the cell, human voices muttered—an unintelligible sound.

  The hands were warm, even through the cloth, and she calmed until loud, harsh noises filled the cell. The human broke through enough to wonder why they were drilling. The sound stopped and started, over and over. The hawk screeched at the pain in her ears. Human sounds. Wrong sounds.

  Whoever held her pulled her tight against his chest and whispered softly. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t him, the person the human longed for.

  ###

  When Bernie yanked off the sack, the hawk flew to the shadowy corner where he had asked Franz to hang the twisted oak branch from the ceiling. It swayed a little on its chains under her slight weight, the bird lifting her wings to keep her balance.

  “There you go. Comfortable?”

  He eased out of the cell and locked it. Near the bars he had left a cage with a white rat. Bernie squatted down and reached through the bars to release it, then backed away to watch. At first, the rat poked its pink nose through the opening but didn’t venture out. The hawk, seeing the movement, turned her head. Both Bernie and the bird waited, unmoving, until the rat crawled out onto the cement floor. The moment the rat reached a clear space, the hawk swooped down. Talons pierced flesh and raised the rat to the bird’s beak for her to crush the skull. She huddled there on the floor, wings raised to shield her prey, and tore meat from the rat’s body.

  Bernie’s heart sank. Very little human remained if she behaved so.

  “I was lost once.”

  At the sound of his voice, the bird launched herself back to the branch, where she continued to pull hunks of bloody meat from the rat with her sharp tan beak.

  “I did a very bad thing,” he whispered. “I forced my beast to do it. He didn’t want to. It was very, very bad.”

  Bernie moved forward to clutch the bars of the cage. He inhaled the musty tang of bird, overlaid with Luke Baumann’s bear musk.

  “Afterward, I wandered in the forest. I was so ashamed of myself, and so filled with grief both for what I’d done and for what had caused me to do it, that my bear took over to protect me. I became lost to the bear. I was that way for many years.”

  The bird paused its eating, head swiveling to watch him. Hope surged, but a second later she resumed tearing meat. Absorbed by his own tale, Bernie continued talking.

  “I wandered far from home. After a few days, I no longer heard my family calling for me. Six years, little bird. That’s how long I lived as a beast. When my brother finally found me and convinced me to follow him home, it too
k over four months for me to surface enough to shift to human. Another month to behave like a human and use a chamber pot, and yet another to talk. I was a wild thing. An animal. They kept me in a cage for my own safety. This could happen to you if you don’t shift soon.”

  While he spoke, the hawk finished her meal and dropped the ragged carcass to the floor. Bernie studied it blankly. “Come back to us, little bird.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Luke paced, feeling caged in. Seventeen days had passed, and it was now seven in the evening. Neal had already begun making calls, gathering their forces. The phone rang.

  “Neal Baumann here.”

  “Baumann.” It was Franz.

  “Franz. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “We will negotiate at the diner in Susanville in ninety minutes.” He hung up.

  “Did you hear?” he asked Hugh and Luke. Neal rose from his desk chair.

  “Should we bring Connie?” Luke asked. “She wouldn’t forgive us for leaving her out.”

  “She’s working. We don’t have time to get her. Let’s go.”

  Neal’s heavy sedan peeled out of the drive. Gravel flew.

  Luke gripped the seat in front of him with one hand. “Ninety minutes to go almost ninety miles, Neal.”

  “We’ll be late. Let’s hope the roads aren’t closed. Hugh, do you think Santiago is working tonight?”

  Hugh held tight to the oh-God bar. “There might be ice, Neal.”

  “That’s what my snow tires are for. Do you think Santiago is working tonight?”

  “I’ll call.” He still held the bar as if any curve might eject him from the vehicle, and fished in a pocket for his phone with one hand.

  “You didn’t have to come. I appreciate it.”

  They came to a corner. Neal craned his neck to see past Hugh and turned onto the highway. “Yes, he did. It will probably take two of us to keep you from killing Bernie.”

  “I’ll get Crissy safely back, and then I’ll kill him.”

  “Santiago,” Hugh said. He lifted his chin, burying the phone against his neck. “You want to talk to him?”