Dark Spirit (Spirit Wild #2)
Romy Sarika has spent much of her life suffering at the hands of a sadistic cult leader. Twenty years earlier she watched him kill her mother, and now she waits to suffer the same fate. But when the self-proclaimed prophet orders Romy killed, the wolf inside her--the one she has tried to call--rises up, and for the first time she shifts. She escapes, leaving death and chaos in her wake.
Jace Wolf and Gabe Cheval, two powerful Chanku on their annual survey of wild wolf packs in the Pacific Northwest come across a dying wolf. When Jace uses his abilities to heal the animal, he makes an unexpected discovery: the wolf is a shapeshifter. Now only does he heal her terrible wounds, he helps Romy unleash sensual desires in her that are as new and intense as her wolf-like abilities. But just as Romy is opening herself to this erotic world and the passionate connections she’s forming with both men, danger closes in.
Bent on revenge and driven by bloodlust, cult members pursue the trio. With their lives at stake and the safety of the Chanku race in jeopardy, Jace, Romy and Gabe must fight to save themselves and the future of their kind.
Romy Sarika has spent much of her life suffering at the hands of a sadistic cult leader. Twenty years earlier she watched him kill her mother, and now she waits to suffer the same fate. But when the self-proclaimed prophet orders Romy killed, the wolf inside her--the one she has tried to call--rises up, and for the first time she shifts. She escapes, leaving death and chaos in her wake.
Jace Wolf and Gabe Cheval, two powerful Chanku on their annual survey of wild wolf packs in the Pacific Northwest come across a dying wolf. When Jace uses his abilities to heal the animal, he makes an unexpected discovery: the wolf is a shapeshifter. Now only does he heal her terrible wounds, he helps Romy unleash sensual desires in her that are as new and intense as her wolf-like abilities. But just as Romy is opening herself to this erotic world and the passionate connections she’s forming with both men, danger closes in.
Bent on revenge and driven by bloodlust, cult members pursue the trio. With their lives at stake and the safety of the Chanku race in jeopardy, Jace, Romy and Gabe must fight to save themselves and the future of their kind.
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To my readers:
This is the first of my Spirit Wild stories to be published independently. I wrote it to fit between Dark Wolf (April 2013) and Dark Moon (February 2014) for an early January release. Though the book is self-published, it is available as both ebook, and print. I've got a terrific editor and support team in Beyond the Page Publishing, and I'm very proud of this first indie-release in the series. I hope readers will continue to follow my Chanku--I've still got a lot of stories to tell. 
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"This book is definitely an emotional rollercoaster, and it was an amazing journey. Jace and Gabe are wonderful men who are full of life, love, and protective behaviors. Wolf is also a pretty awesome addition to the traveling pack. I was definitely not ready for the book to end, but I hope to hear more of these characters throughout the rest of the series."
Reviewed by Cassandra Lost in Books
Reviewed by Cassandra Lost in Books
"Some unusual story arcs keep this tantalizing tale flowing at a rapid pace. Douglas’s account of good versus evil is well worth the read."
Reviewed by Donna M. Brown for RT Book Reviews
Reviewed by Donna M. Brown for RT Book Reviews
The attraction between Jace and Romy explodes from the pages ...Romy, completely captures the heart with her strong and courageous personality that shines from the pages, the reader can’t help but love the remarkable young woman/wolf.
Reviewed by Eva Millien for Literary Addicts
5 Stars & 5 Flames
Reviewed by Eva Millien for Literary Addicts
5 Stars & 5 Flames
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"...[Dark Spirit] is not for the light of heart, but if you enjoy stories of love, healing and extremely hot sex, Dark Spirit is for you!"
Reviewed by Toni for Got Romance! Reviews |
Read an excerpt
Chapter 1
It was nothing more than a bare patch of earth littered with trash, but the grasses growing here were magic. And Romy knew she risked a beating for kneeling beside what had become, to her at least, a shrine. A shrine to both love and loss.
But it had been exactly twenty years ago today, and acknowledgment must be made.
Twenty long, lonely years, and if it meant a beating, kneeling beside this trash-strewn patch of dirt, well...
It wouldn't be her first.
She had no idea they planned to kill her.
First she heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath boots. Many boots. Then, before she had time to react, his voice. “I will make an example of you. Satan’s bitch.”
“What?” Spinning around, she leapt to her feet. “Reverend Ezekiel! What...?”
“Do you dare question me? Question the voice of the Lord?”
His voice rose as if he spoke to the entire congregation. Meaty fingers wrapped around both her arms. Clamped down with bruising strength.
Romy turned her face away, but his spittle sprayed across her face. She tugged, but she couldn't pull her arms free. This time, Ezekiel had plenty of help. The men she’d turned down over the years, every damned one of them laughing and making jokes, pulling her long hair, squeezing her unbound breasts through the loose-fitting dress, and then dragging her across the cornfield to the center of the compound.
Two blood-stained poles, planted firmly in the ground in the shape of an X.
Dear God! This would be no simple beating.
The men threw her roughly against the whipping post.
The women stood, heads bowed in prayer. Like that was going to help? Romy glared at them, all of them standing off to one side, eyes down, hands clasped demurely in front of their waists. So many of them pregnant because that’s what women were for.
Their sole purpose in life, as mandated by God, according to Reverend Ezekiel, was to keep the men satisfied, to take their seed and produce more followers for the esteemed bastard and self-avowed reincarnation of one of the Lord’s prophets, known to all who lived here in the compound as the Most Reverend Ezekiel, oracle of all things holy, and leader of the Glorious Salvation in Truth
Bastards all of them. A bunch of stupid women unwilling to want anything better than their horny old men who’d subjugated them through fear and ignorance. Women so cowed and terrified, not a one of them would lift a finger to help one of their own. No, they’d ignored the terrified cries of a six year old child, and now they’d stand witness to her death twenty years later, thankful it wasn't one of them about to have their flesh stripped away.
To hell with them. They deserved their wretched lives!
But I don’t, do I Mama? I don’t!
“Tighter. Don’t want her breaking free. Samuel! Check those knots.”
“Yes, Reverend.”
She fought them. She knew she was strong—stronger than any of the other women—but Samuel, the little dick, tightened the bindings holding her wrists to the upper arms of the X. Not a cross for punishment. No, Ezekiel believed that sinners didn’t deserve the same as the Christ, so the two polished beams were planted in the ground in the shape of an X. As tall as she was, Romy’s breasts were smashed in the top V, which was most likely the effect the good reverend wanted. He’d always liked looking at her breasts. Her arms were stretched overhead, extending outward, wrenching her shoulders.
She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists. Glared at Samuel as he knelt to tie her legs to the lower section. When he grappled with her right leg, she kicked out, hard, cracking her bare toes against the softness between his legs. But he was hard, too. Erect and straining against his pants.
Romy laughed when he doubled over, screaming like a little girl. Screaming louder than she had when worse was done to her, but he was grabbing his crotch with both hands. She’d bet good money he wasn't hard now.
“Ahhhh... Bitch! You fucking bitch!”
Good. She knew she’d caught him hard in the balls, but he deserved it. No surprise that his dick had been hard. The jerk got off on what he knew was coming.
Sucking deep breaths, she dismissed the one whimpering in the dirt and stared wildly at the ones surrounding her. Were all of them hard? All erect, knowing she’d soon be naked, her back bleeding?
Strong arms wrapped around her thighs, holding them tight to the posts while others tightened the ropes lashed around her legs from her knees down. She felt their filthy hands reaching between her legs, invading her, and she cursed them, furious, twisting and struggling against the bindings holding her arms, against the arms trapping her legs. There were too many; she wasn't strong enough to fight them all. Eventually they had her, arms and legs spread wide, securely lashed to the smooth wood. She held her head high, no matter the strain on her neck, and stared at the forest surrounding the compound. Instead of the men celebrating her capture, Romy focused on the words she’d read just this morning, the words she read daily in her mother’s diary. Thought of the magic she’d read about, yet never mastered.
She knew there was a wolf inside her, but she’d never been able to call it forth. She’d eaten the magic grasses, attracted to their sweet flavor, but her skin had never crawled with the sense of her other creature wanting free. Her vision hadn't changed.
No, only her dreams. Thank goodness she’d had her dreams. Running as a wolf through the deep woods, running beside her mother.
Except Mama was gone. For twenty long years she’d been gone. For twenty years, Romy had waited for the right time to escape, for the time when she could finally call on the wolf, and run. Only then did she have a chance of surviving in a world she’d never seen. Not after a lifetime in the compound. A lifetime in bondage to the twisted beliefs of the one they called the Oracle, the Reverend Ezekiel, founder and leader of the Glorious Salvation in Truth .
Romy sensed movement in front of her and raised her head. Her father stood there, glaring at her. He’d taken another wife, one who knew that Romy had been his unwilling bedmate all these years.
Was that the reason for this whole scene? From the way he glanced away when she tried to make eye contact, Romy figured she had her answer.
“Gee, Daddy. All you had to do was tell me you didn't want to fuck me anymore. I would have gladly stepped aside for your new whore. Isn't this taking things a little bit far?”
His hand flashed out before she had time to react, catching her across the left cheek hard enough to make her see stars. Romy’s mouth filled with blood, but her father flushed a deep scarlet. It was worth the pain to know she’d pissed him off.
He turned to Reverend Ezekiel and drew in a breath deep enough to expand his skinny chest. “She has sinned and deserves no mercy. I renounce this harlot. She is no longer my daughter. She consorts with evil. Lures godly men to join her and follow the devil’s path.”
“Excellent, Brother Ephron. You may stay or leave. Whatever you choose.”
“I choose to stay.” He stepped closer. Close enough that Romy could see the tiny red lines in his bloodshot eyes. “You’ll pay for your sins,” he said. “And then you’ll burn in hell.”
He pulled out a knife and cut through the thin cotton fabric covering her. Down the front, along the sleeves, a ritualistic evisceration of the dress that had once belonged to her mother.
Romy had worn it today to mark the date.
Someone pulled the fabric away from her. She felt the heat of the afternoon sun caressing her bare back and buttocks, but she felt no shame. Neither did she feel fear. Raising her head again, she looked at the crowd in front of her. Men, women and children, standing silently, waiting for her punishment to begin.
The sense of anticipation sent a visceral pulse through her body, a sensual, sexual reaction that surprised her. After years of almost nightly rape by her father, she’d never felt anything remotely sexual. She’d merely been a receptacle for his seed.
A barren one, thank goodness.
She sensed Ezekiel moving into place, heard the soft hiss as he uncoiled the leather bullwhip. His voice rose in rhythmic cadence, as if he spoke to thousands rather than a few ragged followers practically salivating over the promise of Romy’s punishment.
“You have been judged by the elders of this holy group and found guilty of consorting with the devil. Tempting your father with your whorish ways, and honoring your mother’s death. Giving honor to a woman who sought the devil’s attention is the same as honoring Satan. The only punishment is death by the lash. What say you, Romy Sarika, no longer the daughter of Ephron?
“I say fuck you, Reverend Ezekiel.” She smiled when the crowd gasped.
She made no sound when the lash left a trail of fire from her left shoulder to her right buttock, but she sucked a deep, startled breath of air.
Then slowly she let it out.
It hurt. Damn, the whip hurt more than she’d expected, but she’d die silently if it took everything she had. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of watching her scream or writhe in pain. She wrapped her hands around the poles in time for the next strike. Tightened her fingers at the crack of the whip and the slashing, burning pain.
Right shoulder, left buttock, fully aware of the split second when the newest stripe crossed the first.
The pain from the first slash sizzled into the second and then the third, and together they stole her breath. Romy clenched her jaw and went away in her mind. The way she’d had to do the night her mother died, when she was six and her father had shoved his big penis between her legs and made her bleed.
He hadn't cared that he hurt her at all, only that he had a warm cunt to fuck.
That’s what he called her when no one else could hear. He’d called her a cunt and a whore, said she was just like her mother. But Romy remembered her mother as strong and beautiful, with a quick laugh that she shared with Romy but always hid from her husband.
Romy was proud to be just like her mother.
Then she thought of her mother’s broken body—just bones, now—lying beneath the dirt and trash from the compound garbage dump. She’d tried to keep the unmarked grave cleared of debris at first, but then she feared that creating one noticeably clean spot in the midst of so much garbage would draw attention.
That was the last thing Romy wanted to do.
She’d given up trying to escape for the same reason. She couldn't do it as a woman, not on her own. Her few attempts had led to beatings, though none as severe as this one. The wolf, though. If she’d been able to find her wolf, no one could stop her. Her mother had said so.
Her life was all about staying out of the way, under the radar. Today, she’d sat by her mother’s unmarked grave chewing on a long stem of grass—Mama’s magic grass—remembering. Her father screaming curses, her mother standing before him so tall and strong and beautiful. And then she’d suddenly stripped off her simple dark dress and changed. One minute she’d been Romy’s mama, the next she’d been a huge, dark wolf, with sharp teeth and amber eyes. She’d growled, and then she’d lunged at her husband.
Romy hadn't feared the wolf at all, but her father had run away, screaming. The wolf didn't chase him. She’d paced restlessly for a moment and then she was digging frantically beneath a shrub by the front porch, digging and pulling out a cloth bag and dropping the bag in front of Romy.
Romy remembered leaning over in front of the wolf, picking up the dirty bag and looking inside. It held a book—a cheap little diary no bigger than Romy’s prayer book. Somehow she’d known to hide it, and she slipped it into her apron pocket before anyone could see.
She’d never forget the voice in her head—her mother’s voice—the last time she’d heard her speak.
Good girl, baby. Hide it. Let no one read it, ever. It’s for you, not for anyone else. Don’t let them cage you. You and I are special, and it’s time they learned to accept us. But just in case...just in case anything happens, remember I will always love you. The grasses in the forest are magic, Romy. You’ll recognize them. They’re our magic.
Her mother the wolf had turned to run, but she wasn't fast enough. Men from the compound were coming, running across the field of chest-high corn, when Reverend Ezekiel stopped, raised his rifle, and fired.
The beautiful dark wolf turned back into Romy’s mama before her body hit the ground. The men had all gathered around, staring at her mother’s naked body as her blood congealed in the dried grass. Her father never said a word, but he and the reverend and a couple of others had dragged the bloodied, naked body of her beautiful mother across the weed-covered field. Had dragged her to the garbage pit where they threw her into the stinking pile of trash.
That night, while the men gathered at the chapel, Romy and one of the other grown women who had been her mother’s friend had taken mama’s body out of the garbage. They’d found a place nearby and dug a shallow grave. Romy helped wrap her mother in a blanket off her own bed, and they’d quickly buried her and then scattered trash about to disguise the sinful thing they’d done.
No one could know. Only the one woman, and she would keep this secret, out of fear, if nothing else. No one disobeyed the men.
That wasn't allowed. Ever. Romy was six years old, but she knew she would never be a child again. Not after what she’d seen. What she’d done.
That night, her father made sure her childhood ended. That was the first night he’d taken her to his bed and told his only child, his six year old daughter, what her new duties would be.
She surfaced for a moment, stunned by her reconnection to the blinding pain and the steady count as Reverend Ezekiel wielded his whip.
Seventy-three. Seventy-four.
Smiling, Romy went away again. Back to her memories. Into her mind, as far away from the pain as she could go.
~~*~~
Isn't she dead yet?
No. Still breathing after a hundred lashes. She’s your daughter, Ephron. Do I finish her?
I don’t know. Mary would rather she were gone.
Mary’s a hot little number.
That she is. You know, Ezekiel...we have more young men than women. They are dissatisfied with celibacy.
It would be apropos, wouldn't it? Might humble the bitch.
(laughter) Nothing will humble her. She’s just like her mother.
Is she, Ephron? Like her mother?
Romy held her breath, alert now, in spite of or because of the excruciating pain, waiting for her father’s answer.
She has never become a wolf. I’m sure she’s tried.
She could be worth good money to us, if she can change. I've had an offer. They actually want a breeding pair, but they’ll still pay for a female. One who can change.
It’s not happened. I think she would have run away if she could shift.
Probably true. I say we lock her in the small room off the chapel. Let the women care for her. If she lives, and when her wounds are no longer bleeding, we send the young men to her. It will give them something to look forward to.
Romy faded in and out of the conversation. They were talking about her. She knew that much. They were going to lock her up and give her to the same young men she’d been turning away all these years.
No. That was not acceptable. She tried to pull her arms free, but the ropes still bound her to the whipping frame. A moment later, someone untied her wrists and ankles.
Her body crumpled and the pain exploded, unchecked now, a fire burning from the top of her thighs to her shoulders. Rough hands threw her onto an even rougher blanket, but she bit her lips until they bled. She would not scream. Never would she scream.
Help me! Please, help me...
Her cry was silent, but she felt something.
Someone.
A voice in her head. A voice so much like her mother’s, but not.
Shift, Romy. Like your mother. You are the wolf. Shift, and you can escape into the woods. I think you’ve had enough of the grasses. I’ll help you.
But how? I don’t know how!
Images flooded her mind. Perfect visuals of what she needed to do. It was simple. So very simple. The blanket was moving now. They were carrying her, using it like a stretcher, but she followed the instructions playing so vividly in her mind, reached for that other part of herself.
Reached...and found it. Strength flooded her, power like nothing she’d ever experienced. Power strengthened by anger, by pain, and by hope.
Snarling, she lunged out of the blanket, snapping at the throat of the man in the back. He jerked away but her teeth caught him, leaving a bloody gash across his chest. Both men screamed. She twisted, finding even more power in this new and unfamiliar body, and took a desperate lunge at the one who was her father.
Snarling, jaws wide, she tore at his throat, ripping flesh, tasting his blood, relishing his frantic shriek and the silence that ended it. She stood over him long enough to know he would never hurt her again, that the other was on the ground, bleeding heavily but still alive. She heard shouts, the sound of men running, and knew there was no time to finish off the reverend. Instead, she raced for the fence, that barrier that had always stopped her, leapt it easily and then ran into the woods, running as far and fast as her lacerated body would allow.
She was a wolf, just like her mother. But unlike her mother, she was free of the bastards who’d hurt her. Free of the lying bastards and the Glorious Salvation in Truth
Free to run as far and as fast as she was able.
But blood streamed across her back. Pain and bleeding from the deep lash marks in her shoulders, back and hips would slow her down, make her easier to find.
She headed for the river, though it meant forcing her feet to move over the uneven ground with fire screaming over her back and flanks, but she made it, whimpering softly as the adrenaline wore off and pain rolled across her in waves. She practically fell into the slow-moving water, stumbled and lay in the muddy flow, gasping for breath. She couldn’t stay here, not with a trail of blood that even an idiot could follow, so she dragged herself forward, into deeper water.
It was cool against her flanks, almost soothing the deep slashes, though she knew she was weakening. Loss of blood, the trauma of the beating was quickly taking its toll. She struck out across the river, heading for the far side.
No. Bad idea. That’s what they’d expect, once they realized she’d come this way. Fighting her growing weakness, she turned and headed east, swimming into the current, against the flow. This direction was more difficult, but she’d die before she’d quit. Romy knew she might not be able to go as far, but they wouldn't expect this of her.
No, they were men. Men who treated women like cattle, who thought women were stupid creatures, useful only for fucking and making babies. For waiting on them like servants. She’d show them. She had a good mind and a strong heart, and the strength and courage to win, no matter the cost.
The deep slashes across her back burned as her muscles bunched and stretched. Swimming as a wolf had come so naturally, just as running on four legs felt right. She thought of the dirty river water contaminating her wounds, but it was worth it, to risk death by infection or disease rather than submit to the future awaiting her at the compound.
A whore for the young men. Not quite the life she wanted, thank you very much. There was something out here, something better. She just had to live long enough to find it.
But who had helped her? And would she help Romy again?
A voice in her mind, images showing her how to shift. Was that how her mother had learned?
So many questions. So many unknowns.
Who was she? What was she? Definitely not an abomination. And what was Romy’s wolf? Not something of Satan. Not a creature this perfect. This strong and this beautiful.
Struggling against the gentle current, Romy put her worries behind her and found a strong rhythm that had her making better progress than she’d hoped. If she could just get far enough away, they wouldn't know where to look. Finding one wolf in the forest would take trackers, experienced hunters.
None of the men at the compound had any skills at all, as far as she knew. A few of them hunted deer with big, heavy bows and sharp arrows, but they were stupid. Not experienced at finding, only in killing.
Ignoring the pain and the blood still dripping from her lacerated back, she swam for her life—swam for the first taste of freedom she’d ever sampled in all her twenty-six years.
Chapter 2
Hey, Gabe...you about ready to call it a day?
Gabriel Cheval paused at the edge of the deep woods and glanced over his shoulder at the dark gray wolf with the striking black tips shading his thick coat. What’s the matter, Jace? You tired of havin’ fun? They’d covered close to a hundred miles over the past two days, but Gabe wasn't about to admit he was ready for a break.
It was a lot more entertaining, waiting for Jace to give in.
Instead of answering, Jace shifted, changing from dark wolf to tall, broad-shouldered, blond-haired man in less than a heartbeat. The specially designed carry-all he’d worn around his neck as a wolf, the one, like Gabe’s, that carried a compact emergency blanket, pants and a shirt, sandals and a cell phone, now hung loosely against his chest. He slipped it over his head and slung it across his shoulder, but kept his gaze on the river flowing sluggishly through a broad channel about a hundred yards north of them.
“Something’s wrong, Gabe. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like we need to check this area a little closer.”
Gabe shifted as well, adjusting his pack as he caught up to his partner. Jace rarely alerted for a false alarm. “Anything specific? The wolf pack that roams this area has been cataloged. There’s no sign of any illegal trapping or hunting, and it’s barely four o’clock. I thought you wanted to get closer to town. You know, the town with the bar? Where we might find a woman or two. Or three...”
Jace shook his head, but he was moving now, walking carefully through the dry grass, muscles rippling on his long, strong thighs and across his broad shoulders. He appeared to be focusing on the shoreline and the dark water. He paused a moment, shaded his eyes and gazed across the river. Then he threw his pack aside and raced into the water.
“What?” Gabe hung on to his pack, but he followed Jace. They’d been friends since childhood, and partners for the past ten years now, working summers together on the annual survey conducted by the Chanku pack of wild wolf packs roaming the American northwest. He’d follow Jace Wolf anywhere, even when he didn't have a clue where Jace might be leading him.
Jace was swimming hard now, strong overhand strokes that took him into the current and out into the middle of the river where a sandbar had formed. Gabe was right behind him, but it wasn't until he saw Jace lunge out of the water and race to the far side of the small island that he realized what had drawn him.
A wolf. Lying amid the twisted branches of a long-dead tree, the animal wasn't moving. Was it dead? Gabe couldn't tell, but there was no scent of decay. If there was any life left in the wolf, Jace could heal it. He was so much like his parents, both talented healers with the ability to go inside a creature and heal damage on a cellular level. As Jace’s father said, they fixed what was broken.
Jace had tried to teach Gabe. After a few aborted attempts, even Jace had to admit there were some things he couldn't fix—like Gabe’s ineptitude as a healer.
Luckily, Gabe had other talents, but as he knelt beside the bloody and lacerated body of the female wolf, Gabe knew he’d give anything to be able to do what his buddy was so good at.
“What the hell happened to her?”
Jace glanced at Gabe and shook his head. “She looks like she’s been whipped. The lacerations follow a pattern. See? A crosshatch design all along her shoulders, back and flanks.” He focused on the wolf again, running his fingers through the thick clots of blood caught in her fur. “Damn it. Gabe, I left my bag on the bank, and we’re gonna need some pictures.”
“I've got mine.” Gabe slipped his pack off his shoulder and dug through the clothes for his phone.
“Good.” Jace let out a disgusted sigh. “We’ll have to report this, and the rangers’ll need evidence. She’s alive, but barely. I can’t heal in my wolf form, but I don’t want to frighten her, either. This is one wolf who has no reason to trust humans.”
Gabe moved to the other side of the wolf so he could get a better shot of the damage. Raw muscle and, in a couple of spots what looked like her ribs, were visible beneath the horrible wounds, but blood was slowly seeping from the deeper cuts. She still lived. He hated to think of any sentient being doing this kind of vicious damage to a living creature. “Could a bear have done this, slashed her back like this?”
Jace shook his head. “A grizzly, maybe, but any bear that tears up another animal this badly is probably going to eat it. Get your pictures and then shift. We’ll talk later. I don’t want to lose her.”
Gabe snapped a few more shots before he stuffed his phone back in the pack and shifted. Lying close to the wolf with his muzzle touching hers, he breathed in her breath, imprinting her scent on his mind as Jace gently spread his fingers over the wolf’s shoulders.
~~*~~
As exhausting as it was to heal this way, Jace knew this was the most sublime act he would ever experience. Connecting on the cellular level and using the telepathy that all Chanku were blessed with, he literally went inside an injured or ill person, rebuilding damaged tissue, removing pathogens causing illness or infection. His father had been the first to experiment with the process, saving the life of his first mate when she’d suffered a serious head injury.
Jace often wondered what would have happened if the pack alpha and Gabe’s father Anton Cheval, hadn't challenged Jace’s dad Adam Wolf to do what he did best—fix things. And so Adam had gone into Eve’s damaged brain, and fixed her.
And now Eve was their goddess, and the original goddess was Adam’s mate—and Jace’s mother. Amazing sometimes, how things worked out.
Just as amazing as what he discovered as he left his body and slipped inside the badly injured wolf.
This was going to blow Gabe away. But first Jace had to make sure she survived. Slowly, carefully, he began repairing the torn and bruised flesh, removing the debris left by the dirty river water, healing a wolf who was so much more than he’d expected.
~~*~~
Gabe lay in the warm gravel, enjoying the late afternoon shadows that helped cool the air. His muzzle rested on the front paws of the wounded wolf. He sensed Jace working inside, saw the horrible wounds slowly closing and beginning to heal, but the wolf hadn't opened her eyes, hadn't shown any sign that she was aware anyone was near.
Her breathing was shallow, her heartbeat rapid. Her eyelids occasionally flickered as if she dreamed. Considering the condition she was in, he had to believe they were nightmares.
He wondered if he and Jace were too late, if the damage was too much for the creature to recover. Sometimes, severe trauma had so badly damaged an animal’s will to survive, that no matter what Jace did, it wasn't enough.
Gabe rarely asked for favors, but he called on Eve. He didn't expect the goddess to respond in person—unless it was his sister Lily doing the asking—but Gabe had no doubt that Eve was always aware when one of them needed her. He hoped she wouldn't be insulted that he bothered her about a wild wolf, but there was something about this one, something special that called to him.
I think Jace is doing just fine, Gabe. Be patient. Now you should hunt. Jace will need to eat. Healing takes a lot of energy.
Eve? I wasn’t sure you’d answer. She’s just a wolf.
He heard Eve’s soft laughter. All creatures are important to me, Gabe. Go, now. Jace is almost finished, but he’s very weak. So is Romy.
Romy?
The wolf, Gabe. The wolf is named Romy.
He shook his head and stood. There was no way to communicate with Jace while he was healing, so Gabe took a moment to check the area around them to make sure it was safe to leave Jace and the injured wolf when they were both so vulnerable. All seemed as it should be, so he quietly slipped away and swam to the far side of the river, opposite the side where Jace had dropped his pack. They’d have to go after it later, but for now he focused on the hunt. Once he’d crossed the narrow stretch of water, Gabe lunged up the steep bank into the woods. The forest was wilder on this side, but only a few yards in, he glimpsed what looked like a large meadow, an area more likely to support game.
He kept to the thick grasses and brush along the northern edge. With his head low, he hunted by scent rather than sight, keeping the gentle breeze in his face. The scent of game grew stronger. Carefully planting his feet, moving as silently as a wraith, Gabe moved close to a herd of about a dozen pronghorn antelope.
It was easier hunting with the pack, or even with just Jace. Driving game to a partner was more effective than trying to sneak up on one of the fast little animals and then take it down on his own. He knew he couldn't outrun one, but luck was with him. The antelope grazed barely ten feet away, heads down as they fed. He studied the small group and picked out an undersized yearling. Not only did he need to be able to bring it down by himself—he’d have to carry it back to Jace and the injured wolf.
One of the older does raised her head and sniffed. The wind had stilled, and his scent wasn't blowing away from them. He didn't have time to plan. Instead, Gabe burst out of the brush and caught the yearling just beneath its jaw. Weight alone snapped the animal’s neck, but Gabe crouched over the body as the rest of the herd scattered, blowing from the burst of adrenalin that always came with a kill.
He waited, listening, but the forest was quiet once again. He clamped his jaws around the animal’s neck and dragged it back to the river, silently cursing the roots and tangles that got in the way. It would probably be easier if he shifted, but there was a certain code of honor about dealing with a kill as a wolf, not a man.
Gabe shifted. “Fuck honor.” He leaned over the small body, grabbed it around the middle, and threw it over his shoulder. Sixty pounds at the most—a burden for his wolf, but easier as a man. Jace needed food now. Gabe hoped the animal’s spirit would forgive him.
Once he reached the river, it was easier to shift again and drag the antelope through the current with his strong jaws clamped around the creature’s neck. Grunting, he pulled it up on the sandbar near Jace and the wolf.
Romy. Her name is Romy. How come he’d never realized that wild wolves had names?
Jace had shifted back to his wolf and was lying beside his patient. She was still unconscious. Gabe stared at his buddy and decided Jace didn’t look much better than the one he’d healed. But when Gabe dropped the small buck in the sand, Jace’s nose twitched and his ears tilted forward. Gabe ripped into the belly, tearing through the tough hide, making it easier for Jace to feed.
Then he stepped away.
Jace crept forward on his belly and buried his nose in the warm blood, lapping it slowly. After a moment, he stood and attacked the kill in earnest, growling softly as he fed. Gabe moved closer, waiting silently while his packmate ate his fill. When Jace finally sat back, his belly visibly full, Gabe took his turn.
Jace shifted and sat beside the wolf. Gabe finished eating, and then he shifted as well. “Will she make it?” He ran his fingers over the wolf’s coarse, black coat. “You did a great job, Jace.”
“She’s not a wolf.”
“What?” Gabe spun around and stared at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’m positive she’s Chanku. Could be a Berserker because she’s big for a bitch, but I know she’s a shifter.” He shrugged. “Well, I’m almost sure she is. I felt Eve when I was healing. She doesn’t usually show up when I’m working on wolves.”
Gabe stared at the sleeping wolf, but his mind was reeling. “I asked Eve to help. She spoke to me, said you were doing fine on your own, that I needed to hunt because you would have to eat when you were done.”
“She was right.” He grinned at Gabe. “Thank you. But we’ll have to get her to shift as soon as she’s able. It will help the healing.”
“Her name’s Romy.”
This time it was Jace spinning, staring at Gabe. “How do you know her name?”
Gabe shrugged. “Eve. She said her name’s Romy, but she never said she’s Chanku. Just that the wolf’s name is Romy.”
“Well, that’s more than we knew when we started.” Jace stroked his fingers over her back. She’d been badly beaten; that was obvious. He wondered if the shift had come because of her pain. He’d heard of that happening. Gabe’s mother, Keisha, had been assaulted. She’d shifted before she knew she was Chanku. Shifted and killed her attackers.
“I hope Romy killed whoever the bastards were who did this to her.”
Gabe nodded. “You’re thinking of my mom, aren't you?”
“I am. No one has a right to treat any person or animal with cruelty.” He stroked the broad curve of her skull.
The wolf growled.
Shift, Gabe. She’s going to be afraid of men. I’m sure of it.
~~*~~
Romy slipped into consciousness slowly, aware of the scent of men, of long fingers stroking her head. She was still a wolf. She wasn't restrained, though she felt very weak. Without even opening her eyes, she snarled.
The fingers disappeared. She would have laughed, if wolves could laugh. Power. She’d never known such power! Rolling her shoulders, she was aware of pain, but it was muted, as if the deep cuts and slashes from Reverend Ezekiel’s whip had already begun to heal. How long ago had she been beaten? She hadn't expected to live, as badly as they’d hurt her. It must have been days ago. And had she really killed her father? Left the good reverend lying in the dirt, bleeding from a deep gash across his chest?
Where was she now? She smelled the river and the clean, sharp scent of cedar and pine, which meant she couldn't be back at the compound. There, all the natural smells were overpowered by the stench of the open garbage pit. Opening her eyes, she gazed across the flat sandbar. This was the same one she’d wanted to reach as she’d struggled against the current. She remembered swimming to it, dragging herself out of the water, but only to rest. She’d not intended to stay long, but she’d hidden beside a twisted tree trunk turned silver from sun and weather.
The river flowed slowly and the sun was still fairly high in the sky. Had she been here overnight? Carefully, she planted her front paws in the gravel and struggled to her feet. Standing unsteadily, she swayed with weakness, her vision foggy and her muzzle almost touching the ground. Where was the man who’d been touching her? She thought she smelled wolves, not men, though she plainly recalled the sense of someone stroking fingers through her fur. Fur...she really was a wolf. A very hungry wolf.
The scent of fresh game was strong. Not a smell she would have appreciated as a woman, but it called out to the wolf. Blinking slowly, she drew in a few deep breaths, searching for the source of what had to be fresh meat. Her attention wavered and she stared at the river for a few seconds, watching the water flowing by. She’d escaped by swimming upstream in the river that ran by the compound. That much she could remember, but how long had she been here? She knew she couldn't have gotten far enough away. They could still find her, but she was too weak to go anywhere right now.
The coppery smell of fresh blood hit her scent receptors again, and her mouth filled with saliva. Turning her head, she saw it, not three feet away. A freshly killed pronghorn antelope, its belly torn open, one haunch partially devoured.
She’d never eaten raw meat before. Never imagined burying her nose in the still warm flesh of a freshly killed animal, but she was starving, and no one was trying to stop her.
Moving stiffly, she sniffed the dead creature and then tore a thick piece of muscle and hide from the haunch. Gulping down great hunks of warm flesh, she felt her strength returning.
And with it, her confidence. Nothing could stop her. Not now.
~~*~~
Jace watched the she-wolf eat, gorging herself on Gabe’s fresh kill. Healing would have used up whatever energy reserves she might have had, but it shouldn't take long for her to regain at least some of her strength. She was badly hurt, though, and he’d not taken the time to heal everything, not when they had no idea if someone was trying to find her.
He’d decided to wait to approach her. Let her eat and get her bearings first. Gabe had crossed the river to retrieve Jace’s pack, but he waited on the bank for Jace’s signal that it was okay to return. They didn't want to frighten her. Jace alone might be okay, but two males could be overwhelming.
She seemed to have her hunger under control. Jace watched as she carefully licked the blood from her muzzle before dipping her face into the river for a quick drink of water. Once she was done, she sat on the bank and studied the far shore.
Jace sat up. He’d been hidden behind a small shrub, but she’d not really been looking for anyone, either. He watched her for a moment before using his telepathy to connect. Who are you? Who hurt you? I want to help.
She spun around, almost toppling as she turned to face him on shaky legs. Who are you?
He remained sitting on his haunches, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could. Just another wolf. My name is Jace. I’m like you, Romy. A shapeshifter. I am Chanku. I healed your wounds as much as I could. If you can shift, that will heal them further.
Did you leave the meat?
No. That was Gabe. My friend. He’s behind me, on the bank. We didn’t want to frighten you.
She seemed to relax as she gazed across the river where Gabe sat on the bank with Jace’s pack looped around his neck. He looked more like a large service dog than a vicious wolf. Jace might have laughed under other circumstances.
He can come back. I’m not afraid. How do you know my name?
Eve told Gabe.
Eve? Who is Eve?
Eve is our goddess.
And she speaks to you? In words in your head, the way you’re speaking to me?
Sometimes. Only when it’s really important.
She cocked her head to one side, and he wondered if she caught what he said, that she was obviously important. At least important enough for their goddess to intervene. While the wolf seemed to think about that for a moment, Jace let Gabe know he could come across, but he concentrated on Romy. After a moment, she stood and walked closer to him. Sniffed his shoulder, his flank, the side of his face. He wondered if she was trying to commit his scent to memory, or was just curious about her wolven abilities. Jace wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling she’d never shifted before.
Then Romy answered his unspoken question.
She must be the one who showed me how to shift. I was dying. She saved me, but I think I killed a man when I escaped. Maybe two. The others will be hunting for me.
Where were you? How far from here?
I don’t know. It’s a fenced compound not far from the river. The home of the Glorious Salvation in Truth. They’re a religious order led by Reverend Ezekiel. He’s a follower of Aldo Xenakis, the one who believes all shapeshifters should be relegated to animal status, their rights as humans taken away.
Aldo is dead. His son, Sebastian, killed him. Sebastian Xenakis is one of us.
She raised her head and stared at him. When?
Not long. About six weeks or so. Are you so cut off from the world that you wouldn't have heard?
The men might know. The women aren’t allowed news of the world. We’re prisoners there, subject to the whims and decrees of Reverend Ezekiel and the men who follow him. You said Aldo’s son is one of us. Please, tell me again. What are we?
Before Jace could answer, Gabe trotted across the sand bar, shrugged the waterproof bag over his head and shifted, standing tall and entirely naked beside the two wolves. The female’s hackles rose along her back and she snarled. Gabe merely smiled at her, but he was digging his pants out of the bag. “I hear someone coming. Sounds like a group moving through the woods along that side of the river.”
He pointed to bank he’d just been standing on. “I shifted so I can chat with them, but you two need to hide.” He looped the pack over Jace’s head, and then went back to dressing, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “Hurry. I don’t want them to see you.” He frowned then, glancing at Romy. “Are you strong enough to swim to the bank? It’s almost shallow enough on this side to walk.”
I can make it. They’ll not catch me. Not ever again.
She stepped into the slow current and started across. Jace glanced once more at Gabe, and then followed Romy. A great blue heron took flight near the opposite bank as if something had disturbed its roosting place. Jace moved faster, herding Romy through the shallows and using his chest to help push her up the steep bank.
They slipped into the brush just as a group of at least half a dozen men broke through on the far side of the river. Jace caught the glint of sunlight off rifle barrels as he moved deeper into the thick undergrowth with the dark wolf.
Chapter 1
It was nothing more than a bare patch of earth littered with trash, but the grasses growing here were magic. And Romy knew she risked a beating for kneeling beside what had become, to her at least, a shrine. A shrine to both love and loss.
But it had been exactly twenty years ago today, and acknowledgment must be made.
Twenty long, lonely years, and if it meant a beating, kneeling beside this trash-strewn patch of dirt, well...
It wouldn't be her first.
She had no idea they planned to kill her.
First she heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath boots. Many boots. Then, before she had time to react, his voice. “I will make an example of you. Satan’s bitch.”
“What?” Spinning around, she leapt to her feet. “Reverend Ezekiel! What...?”
“Do you dare question me? Question the voice of the Lord?”
His voice rose as if he spoke to the entire congregation. Meaty fingers wrapped around both her arms. Clamped down with bruising strength.
Romy turned her face away, but his spittle sprayed across her face. She tugged, but she couldn't pull her arms free. This time, Ezekiel had plenty of help. The men she’d turned down over the years, every damned one of them laughing and making jokes, pulling her long hair, squeezing her unbound breasts through the loose-fitting dress, and then dragging her across the cornfield to the center of the compound.
Two blood-stained poles, planted firmly in the ground in the shape of an X.
Dear God! This would be no simple beating.
The men threw her roughly against the whipping post.
The women stood, heads bowed in prayer. Like that was going to help? Romy glared at them, all of them standing off to one side, eyes down, hands clasped demurely in front of their waists. So many of them pregnant because that’s what women were for.
Their sole purpose in life, as mandated by God, according to Reverend Ezekiel, was to keep the men satisfied, to take their seed and produce more followers for the esteemed bastard and self-avowed reincarnation of one of the Lord’s prophets, known to all who lived here in the compound as the Most Reverend Ezekiel, oracle of all things holy, and leader of the Glorious Salvation in Truth
Bastards all of them. A bunch of stupid women unwilling to want anything better than their horny old men who’d subjugated them through fear and ignorance. Women so cowed and terrified, not a one of them would lift a finger to help one of their own. No, they’d ignored the terrified cries of a six year old child, and now they’d stand witness to her death twenty years later, thankful it wasn't one of them about to have their flesh stripped away.
To hell with them. They deserved their wretched lives!
But I don’t, do I Mama? I don’t!
“Tighter. Don’t want her breaking free. Samuel! Check those knots.”
“Yes, Reverend.”
She fought them. She knew she was strong—stronger than any of the other women—but Samuel, the little dick, tightened the bindings holding her wrists to the upper arms of the X. Not a cross for punishment. No, Ezekiel believed that sinners didn’t deserve the same as the Christ, so the two polished beams were planted in the ground in the shape of an X. As tall as she was, Romy’s breasts were smashed in the top V, which was most likely the effect the good reverend wanted. He’d always liked looking at her breasts. Her arms were stretched overhead, extending outward, wrenching her shoulders.
She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists. Glared at Samuel as he knelt to tie her legs to the lower section. When he grappled with her right leg, she kicked out, hard, cracking her bare toes against the softness between his legs. But he was hard, too. Erect and straining against his pants.
Romy laughed when he doubled over, screaming like a little girl. Screaming louder than she had when worse was done to her, but he was grabbing his crotch with both hands. She’d bet good money he wasn't hard now.
“Ahhhh... Bitch! You fucking bitch!”
Good. She knew she’d caught him hard in the balls, but he deserved it. No surprise that his dick had been hard. The jerk got off on what he knew was coming.
Sucking deep breaths, she dismissed the one whimpering in the dirt and stared wildly at the ones surrounding her. Were all of them hard? All erect, knowing she’d soon be naked, her back bleeding?
Strong arms wrapped around her thighs, holding them tight to the posts while others tightened the ropes lashed around her legs from her knees down. She felt their filthy hands reaching between her legs, invading her, and she cursed them, furious, twisting and struggling against the bindings holding her arms, against the arms trapping her legs. There were too many; she wasn't strong enough to fight them all. Eventually they had her, arms and legs spread wide, securely lashed to the smooth wood. She held her head high, no matter the strain on her neck, and stared at the forest surrounding the compound. Instead of the men celebrating her capture, Romy focused on the words she’d read just this morning, the words she read daily in her mother’s diary. Thought of the magic she’d read about, yet never mastered.
She knew there was a wolf inside her, but she’d never been able to call it forth. She’d eaten the magic grasses, attracted to their sweet flavor, but her skin had never crawled with the sense of her other creature wanting free. Her vision hadn't changed.
No, only her dreams. Thank goodness she’d had her dreams. Running as a wolf through the deep woods, running beside her mother.
Except Mama was gone. For twenty long years she’d been gone. For twenty years, Romy had waited for the right time to escape, for the time when she could finally call on the wolf, and run. Only then did she have a chance of surviving in a world she’d never seen. Not after a lifetime in the compound. A lifetime in bondage to the twisted beliefs of the one they called the Oracle, the Reverend Ezekiel, founder and leader of the Glorious Salvation in Truth .
Romy sensed movement in front of her and raised her head. Her father stood there, glaring at her. He’d taken another wife, one who knew that Romy had been his unwilling bedmate all these years.
Was that the reason for this whole scene? From the way he glanced away when she tried to make eye contact, Romy figured she had her answer.
“Gee, Daddy. All you had to do was tell me you didn't want to fuck me anymore. I would have gladly stepped aside for your new whore. Isn't this taking things a little bit far?”
His hand flashed out before she had time to react, catching her across the left cheek hard enough to make her see stars. Romy’s mouth filled with blood, but her father flushed a deep scarlet. It was worth the pain to know she’d pissed him off.
He turned to Reverend Ezekiel and drew in a breath deep enough to expand his skinny chest. “She has sinned and deserves no mercy. I renounce this harlot. She is no longer my daughter. She consorts with evil. Lures godly men to join her and follow the devil’s path.”
“Excellent, Brother Ephron. You may stay or leave. Whatever you choose.”
“I choose to stay.” He stepped closer. Close enough that Romy could see the tiny red lines in his bloodshot eyes. “You’ll pay for your sins,” he said. “And then you’ll burn in hell.”
He pulled out a knife and cut through the thin cotton fabric covering her. Down the front, along the sleeves, a ritualistic evisceration of the dress that had once belonged to her mother.
Romy had worn it today to mark the date.
Someone pulled the fabric away from her. She felt the heat of the afternoon sun caressing her bare back and buttocks, but she felt no shame. Neither did she feel fear. Raising her head again, she looked at the crowd in front of her. Men, women and children, standing silently, waiting for her punishment to begin.
The sense of anticipation sent a visceral pulse through her body, a sensual, sexual reaction that surprised her. After years of almost nightly rape by her father, she’d never felt anything remotely sexual. She’d merely been a receptacle for his seed.
A barren one, thank goodness.
She sensed Ezekiel moving into place, heard the soft hiss as he uncoiled the leather bullwhip. His voice rose in rhythmic cadence, as if he spoke to thousands rather than a few ragged followers practically salivating over the promise of Romy’s punishment.
“You have been judged by the elders of this holy group and found guilty of consorting with the devil. Tempting your father with your whorish ways, and honoring your mother’s death. Giving honor to a woman who sought the devil’s attention is the same as honoring Satan. The only punishment is death by the lash. What say you, Romy Sarika, no longer the daughter of Ephron?
“I say fuck you, Reverend Ezekiel.” She smiled when the crowd gasped.
She made no sound when the lash left a trail of fire from her left shoulder to her right buttock, but she sucked a deep, startled breath of air.
Then slowly she let it out.
It hurt. Damn, the whip hurt more than she’d expected, but she’d die silently if it took everything she had. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of watching her scream or writhe in pain. She wrapped her hands around the poles in time for the next strike. Tightened her fingers at the crack of the whip and the slashing, burning pain.
Right shoulder, left buttock, fully aware of the split second when the newest stripe crossed the first.
The pain from the first slash sizzled into the second and then the third, and together they stole her breath. Romy clenched her jaw and went away in her mind. The way she’d had to do the night her mother died, when she was six and her father had shoved his big penis between her legs and made her bleed.
He hadn't cared that he hurt her at all, only that he had a warm cunt to fuck.
That’s what he called her when no one else could hear. He’d called her a cunt and a whore, said she was just like her mother. But Romy remembered her mother as strong and beautiful, with a quick laugh that she shared with Romy but always hid from her husband.
Romy was proud to be just like her mother.
Then she thought of her mother’s broken body—just bones, now—lying beneath the dirt and trash from the compound garbage dump. She’d tried to keep the unmarked grave cleared of debris at first, but then she feared that creating one noticeably clean spot in the midst of so much garbage would draw attention.
That was the last thing Romy wanted to do.
She’d given up trying to escape for the same reason. She couldn't do it as a woman, not on her own. Her few attempts had led to beatings, though none as severe as this one. The wolf, though. If she’d been able to find her wolf, no one could stop her. Her mother had said so.
Her life was all about staying out of the way, under the radar. Today, she’d sat by her mother’s unmarked grave chewing on a long stem of grass—Mama’s magic grass—remembering. Her father screaming curses, her mother standing before him so tall and strong and beautiful. And then she’d suddenly stripped off her simple dark dress and changed. One minute she’d been Romy’s mama, the next she’d been a huge, dark wolf, with sharp teeth and amber eyes. She’d growled, and then she’d lunged at her husband.
Romy hadn't feared the wolf at all, but her father had run away, screaming. The wolf didn't chase him. She’d paced restlessly for a moment and then she was digging frantically beneath a shrub by the front porch, digging and pulling out a cloth bag and dropping the bag in front of Romy.
Romy remembered leaning over in front of the wolf, picking up the dirty bag and looking inside. It held a book—a cheap little diary no bigger than Romy’s prayer book. Somehow she’d known to hide it, and she slipped it into her apron pocket before anyone could see.
She’d never forget the voice in her head—her mother’s voice—the last time she’d heard her speak.
Good girl, baby. Hide it. Let no one read it, ever. It’s for you, not for anyone else. Don’t let them cage you. You and I are special, and it’s time they learned to accept us. But just in case...just in case anything happens, remember I will always love you. The grasses in the forest are magic, Romy. You’ll recognize them. They’re our magic.
Her mother the wolf had turned to run, but she wasn't fast enough. Men from the compound were coming, running across the field of chest-high corn, when Reverend Ezekiel stopped, raised his rifle, and fired.
The beautiful dark wolf turned back into Romy’s mama before her body hit the ground. The men had all gathered around, staring at her mother’s naked body as her blood congealed in the dried grass. Her father never said a word, but he and the reverend and a couple of others had dragged the bloodied, naked body of her beautiful mother across the weed-covered field. Had dragged her to the garbage pit where they threw her into the stinking pile of trash.
That night, while the men gathered at the chapel, Romy and one of the other grown women who had been her mother’s friend had taken mama’s body out of the garbage. They’d found a place nearby and dug a shallow grave. Romy helped wrap her mother in a blanket off her own bed, and they’d quickly buried her and then scattered trash about to disguise the sinful thing they’d done.
No one could know. Only the one woman, and she would keep this secret, out of fear, if nothing else. No one disobeyed the men.
That wasn't allowed. Ever. Romy was six years old, but she knew she would never be a child again. Not after what she’d seen. What she’d done.
That night, her father made sure her childhood ended. That was the first night he’d taken her to his bed and told his only child, his six year old daughter, what her new duties would be.
She surfaced for a moment, stunned by her reconnection to the blinding pain and the steady count as Reverend Ezekiel wielded his whip.
Seventy-three. Seventy-four.
Smiling, Romy went away again. Back to her memories. Into her mind, as far away from the pain as she could go.
~~*~~
Isn't she dead yet?
No. Still breathing after a hundred lashes. She’s your daughter, Ephron. Do I finish her?
I don’t know. Mary would rather she were gone.
Mary’s a hot little number.
That she is. You know, Ezekiel...we have more young men than women. They are dissatisfied with celibacy.
It would be apropos, wouldn't it? Might humble the bitch.
(laughter) Nothing will humble her. She’s just like her mother.
Is she, Ephron? Like her mother?
Romy held her breath, alert now, in spite of or because of the excruciating pain, waiting for her father’s answer.
She has never become a wolf. I’m sure she’s tried.
She could be worth good money to us, if she can change. I've had an offer. They actually want a breeding pair, but they’ll still pay for a female. One who can change.
It’s not happened. I think she would have run away if she could shift.
Probably true. I say we lock her in the small room off the chapel. Let the women care for her. If she lives, and when her wounds are no longer bleeding, we send the young men to her. It will give them something to look forward to.
Romy faded in and out of the conversation. They were talking about her. She knew that much. They were going to lock her up and give her to the same young men she’d been turning away all these years.
No. That was not acceptable. She tried to pull her arms free, but the ropes still bound her to the whipping frame. A moment later, someone untied her wrists and ankles.
Her body crumpled and the pain exploded, unchecked now, a fire burning from the top of her thighs to her shoulders. Rough hands threw her onto an even rougher blanket, but she bit her lips until they bled. She would not scream. Never would she scream.
Help me! Please, help me...
Her cry was silent, but she felt something.
Someone.
A voice in her head. A voice so much like her mother’s, but not.
Shift, Romy. Like your mother. You are the wolf. Shift, and you can escape into the woods. I think you’ve had enough of the grasses. I’ll help you.
But how? I don’t know how!
Images flooded her mind. Perfect visuals of what she needed to do. It was simple. So very simple. The blanket was moving now. They were carrying her, using it like a stretcher, but she followed the instructions playing so vividly in her mind, reached for that other part of herself.
Reached...and found it. Strength flooded her, power like nothing she’d ever experienced. Power strengthened by anger, by pain, and by hope.
Snarling, she lunged out of the blanket, snapping at the throat of the man in the back. He jerked away but her teeth caught him, leaving a bloody gash across his chest. Both men screamed. She twisted, finding even more power in this new and unfamiliar body, and took a desperate lunge at the one who was her father.
Snarling, jaws wide, she tore at his throat, ripping flesh, tasting his blood, relishing his frantic shriek and the silence that ended it. She stood over him long enough to know he would never hurt her again, that the other was on the ground, bleeding heavily but still alive. She heard shouts, the sound of men running, and knew there was no time to finish off the reverend. Instead, she raced for the fence, that barrier that had always stopped her, leapt it easily and then ran into the woods, running as far and fast as her lacerated body would allow.
She was a wolf, just like her mother. But unlike her mother, she was free of the bastards who’d hurt her. Free of the lying bastards and the Glorious Salvation in Truth
Free to run as far and as fast as she was able.
But blood streamed across her back. Pain and bleeding from the deep lash marks in her shoulders, back and hips would slow her down, make her easier to find.
She headed for the river, though it meant forcing her feet to move over the uneven ground with fire screaming over her back and flanks, but she made it, whimpering softly as the adrenaline wore off and pain rolled across her in waves. She practically fell into the slow-moving water, stumbled and lay in the muddy flow, gasping for breath. She couldn’t stay here, not with a trail of blood that even an idiot could follow, so she dragged herself forward, into deeper water.
It was cool against her flanks, almost soothing the deep slashes, though she knew she was weakening. Loss of blood, the trauma of the beating was quickly taking its toll. She struck out across the river, heading for the far side.
No. Bad idea. That’s what they’d expect, once they realized she’d come this way. Fighting her growing weakness, she turned and headed east, swimming into the current, against the flow. This direction was more difficult, but she’d die before she’d quit. Romy knew she might not be able to go as far, but they wouldn't expect this of her.
No, they were men. Men who treated women like cattle, who thought women were stupid creatures, useful only for fucking and making babies. For waiting on them like servants. She’d show them. She had a good mind and a strong heart, and the strength and courage to win, no matter the cost.
The deep slashes across her back burned as her muscles bunched and stretched. Swimming as a wolf had come so naturally, just as running on four legs felt right. She thought of the dirty river water contaminating her wounds, but it was worth it, to risk death by infection or disease rather than submit to the future awaiting her at the compound.
A whore for the young men. Not quite the life she wanted, thank you very much. There was something out here, something better. She just had to live long enough to find it.
But who had helped her? And would she help Romy again?
A voice in her mind, images showing her how to shift. Was that how her mother had learned?
So many questions. So many unknowns.
Who was she? What was she? Definitely not an abomination. And what was Romy’s wolf? Not something of Satan. Not a creature this perfect. This strong and this beautiful.
Struggling against the gentle current, Romy put her worries behind her and found a strong rhythm that had her making better progress than she’d hoped. If she could just get far enough away, they wouldn't know where to look. Finding one wolf in the forest would take trackers, experienced hunters.
None of the men at the compound had any skills at all, as far as she knew. A few of them hunted deer with big, heavy bows and sharp arrows, but they were stupid. Not experienced at finding, only in killing.
Ignoring the pain and the blood still dripping from her lacerated back, she swam for her life—swam for the first taste of freedom she’d ever sampled in all her twenty-six years.
Chapter 2
Hey, Gabe...you about ready to call it a day?
Gabriel Cheval paused at the edge of the deep woods and glanced over his shoulder at the dark gray wolf with the striking black tips shading his thick coat. What’s the matter, Jace? You tired of havin’ fun? They’d covered close to a hundred miles over the past two days, but Gabe wasn't about to admit he was ready for a break.
It was a lot more entertaining, waiting for Jace to give in.
Instead of answering, Jace shifted, changing from dark wolf to tall, broad-shouldered, blond-haired man in less than a heartbeat. The specially designed carry-all he’d worn around his neck as a wolf, the one, like Gabe’s, that carried a compact emergency blanket, pants and a shirt, sandals and a cell phone, now hung loosely against his chest. He slipped it over his head and slung it across his shoulder, but kept his gaze on the river flowing sluggishly through a broad channel about a hundred yards north of them.
“Something’s wrong, Gabe. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like we need to check this area a little closer.”
Gabe shifted as well, adjusting his pack as he caught up to his partner. Jace rarely alerted for a false alarm. “Anything specific? The wolf pack that roams this area has been cataloged. There’s no sign of any illegal trapping or hunting, and it’s barely four o’clock. I thought you wanted to get closer to town. You know, the town with the bar? Where we might find a woman or two. Or three...”
Jace shook his head, but he was moving now, walking carefully through the dry grass, muscles rippling on his long, strong thighs and across his broad shoulders. He appeared to be focusing on the shoreline and the dark water. He paused a moment, shaded his eyes and gazed across the river. Then he threw his pack aside and raced into the water.
“What?” Gabe hung on to his pack, but he followed Jace. They’d been friends since childhood, and partners for the past ten years now, working summers together on the annual survey conducted by the Chanku pack of wild wolf packs roaming the American northwest. He’d follow Jace Wolf anywhere, even when he didn't have a clue where Jace might be leading him.
Jace was swimming hard now, strong overhand strokes that took him into the current and out into the middle of the river where a sandbar had formed. Gabe was right behind him, but it wasn't until he saw Jace lunge out of the water and race to the far side of the small island that he realized what had drawn him.
A wolf. Lying amid the twisted branches of a long-dead tree, the animal wasn't moving. Was it dead? Gabe couldn't tell, but there was no scent of decay. If there was any life left in the wolf, Jace could heal it. He was so much like his parents, both talented healers with the ability to go inside a creature and heal damage on a cellular level. As Jace’s father said, they fixed what was broken.
Jace had tried to teach Gabe. After a few aborted attempts, even Jace had to admit there were some things he couldn't fix—like Gabe’s ineptitude as a healer.
Luckily, Gabe had other talents, but as he knelt beside the bloody and lacerated body of the female wolf, Gabe knew he’d give anything to be able to do what his buddy was so good at.
“What the hell happened to her?”
Jace glanced at Gabe and shook his head. “She looks like she’s been whipped. The lacerations follow a pattern. See? A crosshatch design all along her shoulders, back and flanks.” He focused on the wolf again, running his fingers through the thick clots of blood caught in her fur. “Damn it. Gabe, I left my bag on the bank, and we’re gonna need some pictures.”
“I've got mine.” Gabe slipped his pack off his shoulder and dug through the clothes for his phone.
“Good.” Jace let out a disgusted sigh. “We’ll have to report this, and the rangers’ll need evidence. She’s alive, but barely. I can’t heal in my wolf form, but I don’t want to frighten her, either. This is one wolf who has no reason to trust humans.”
Gabe moved to the other side of the wolf so he could get a better shot of the damage. Raw muscle and, in a couple of spots what looked like her ribs, were visible beneath the horrible wounds, but blood was slowly seeping from the deeper cuts. She still lived. He hated to think of any sentient being doing this kind of vicious damage to a living creature. “Could a bear have done this, slashed her back like this?”
Jace shook his head. “A grizzly, maybe, but any bear that tears up another animal this badly is probably going to eat it. Get your pictures and then shift. We’ll talk later. I don’t want to lose her.”
Gabe snapped a few more shots before he stuffed his phone back in the pack and shifted. Lying close to the wolf with his muzzle touching hers, he breathed in her breath, imprinting her scent on his mind as Jace gently spread his fingers over the wolf’s shoulders.
~~*~~
As exhausting as it was to heal this way, Jace knew this was the most sublime act he would ever experience. Connecting on the cellular level and using the telepathy that all Chanku were blessed with, he literally went inside an injured or ill person, rebuilding damaged tissue, removing pathogens causing illness or infection. His father had been the first to experiment with the process, saving the life of his first mate when she’d suffered a serious head injury.
Jace often wondered what would have happened if the pack alpha and Gabe’s father Anton Cheval, hadn't challenged Jace’s dad Adam Wolf to do what he did best—fix things. And so Adam had gone into Eve’s damaged brain, and fixed her.
And now Eve was their goddess, and the original goddess was Adam’s mate—and Jace’s mother. Amazing sometimes, how things worked out.
Just as amazing as what he discovered as he left his body and slipped inside the badly injured wolf.
This was going to blow Gabe away. But first Jace had to make sure she survived. Slowly, carefully, he began repairing the torn and bruised flesh, removing the debris left by the dirty river water, healing a wolf who was so much more than he’d expected.
~~*~~
Gabe lay in the warm gravel, enjoying the late afternoon shadows that helped cool the air. His muzzle rested on the front paws of the wounded wolf. He sensed Jace working inside, saw the horrible wounds slowly closing and beginning to heal, but the wolf hadn't opened her eyes, hadn't shown any sign that she was aware anyone was near.
Her breathing was shallow, her heartbeat rapid. Her eyelids occasionally flickered as if she dreamed. Considering the condition she was in, he had to believe they were nightmares.
He wondered if he and Jace were too late, if the damage was too much for the creature to recover. Sometimes, severe trauma had so badly damaged an animal’s will to survive, that no matter what Jace did, it wasn't enough.
Gabe rarely asked for favors, but he called on Eve. He didn't expect the goddess to respond in person—unless it was his sister Lily doing the asking—but Gabe had no doubt that Eve was always aware when one of them needed her. He hoped she wouldn't be insulted that he bothered her about a wild wolf, but there was something about this one, something special that called to him.
I think Jace is doing just fine, Gabe. Be patient. Now you should hunt. Jace will need to eat. Healing takes a lot of energy.
Eve? I wasn’t sure you’d answer. She’s just a wolf.
He heard Eve’s soft laughter. All creatures are important to me, Gabe. Go, now. Jace is almost finished, but he’s very weak. So is Romy.
Romy?
The wolf, Gabe. The wolf is named Romy.
He shook his head and stood. There was no way to communicate with Jace while he was healing, so Gabe took a moment to check the area around them to make sure it was safe to leave Jace and the injured wolf when they were both so vulnerable. All seemed as it should be, so he quietly slipped away and swam to the far side of the river, opposite the side where Jace had dropped his pack. They’d have to go after it later, but for now he focused on the hunt. Once he’d crossed the narrow stretch of water, Gabe lunged up the steep bank into the woods. The forest was wilder on this side, but only a few yards in, he glimpsed what looked like a large meadow, an area more likely to support game.
He kept to the thick grasses and brush along the northern edge. With his head low, he hunted by scent rather than sight, keeping the gentle breeze in his face. The scent of game grew stronger. Carefully planting his feet, moving as silently as a wraith, Gabe moved close to a herd of about a dozen pronghorn antelope.
It was easier hunting with the pack, or even with just Jace. Driving game to a partner was more effective than trying to sneak up on one of the fast little animals and then take it down on his own. He knew he couldn't outrun one, but luck was with him. The antelope grazed barely ten feet away, heads down as they fed. He studied the small group and picked out an undersized yearling. Not only did he need to be able to bring it down by himself—he’d have to carry it back to Jace and the injured wolf.
One of the older does raised her head and sniffed. The wind had stilled, and his scent wasn't blowing away from them. He didn't have time to plan. Instead, Gabe burst out of the brush and caught the yearling just beneath its jaw. Weight alone snapped the animal’s neck, but Gabe crouched over the body as the rest of the herd scattered, blowing from the burst of adrenalin that always came with a kill.
He waited, listening, but the forest was quiet once again. He clamped his jaws around the animal’s neck and dragged it back to the river, silently cursing the roots and tangles that got in the way. It would probably be easier if he shifted, but there was a certain code of honor about dealing with a kill as a wolf, not a man.
Gabe shifted. “Fuck honor.” He leaned over the small body, grabbed it around the middle, and threw it over his shoulder. Sixty pounds at the most—a burden for his wolf, but easier as a man. Jace needed food now. Gabe hoped the animal’s spirit would forgive him.
Once he reached the river, it was easier to shift again and drag the antelope through the current with his strong jaws clamped around the creature’s neck. Grunting, he pulled it up on the sandbar near Jace and the wolf.
Romy. Her name is Romy. How come he’d never realized that wild wolves had names?
Jace had shifted back to his wolf and was lying beside his patient. She was still unconscious. Gabe stared at his buddy and decided Jace didn’t look much better than the one he’d healed. But when Gabe dropped the small buck in the sand, Jace’s nose twitched and his ears tilted forward. Gabe ripped into the belly, tearing through the tough hide, making it easier for Jace to feed.
Then he stepped away.
Jace crept forward on his belly and buried his nose in the warm blood, lapping it slowly. After a moment, he stood and attacked the kill in earnest, growling softly as he fed. Gabe moved closer, waiting silently while his packmate ate his fill. When Jace finally sat back, his belly visibly full, Gabe took his turn.
Jace shifted and sat beside the wolf. Gabe finished eating, and then he shifted as well. “Will she make it?” He ran his fingers over the wolf’s coarse, black coat. “You did a great job, Jace.”
“She’s not a wolf.”
“What?” Gabe spun around and stared at his friend. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. I’m positive she’s Chanku. Could be a Berserker because she’s big for a bitch, but I know she’s a shifter.” He shrugged. “Well, I’m almost sure she is. I felt Eve when I was healing. She doesn’t usually show up when I’m working on wolves.”
Gabe stared at the sleeping wolf, but his mind was reeling. “I asked Eve to help. She spoke to me, said you were doing fine on your own, that I needed to hunt because you would have to eat when you were done.”
“She was right.” He grinned at Gabe. “Thank you. But we’ll have to get her to shift as soon as she’s able. It will help the healing.”
“Her name’s Romy.”
This time it was Jace spinning, staring at Gabe. “How do you know her name?”
Gabe shrugged. “Eve. She said her name’s Romy, but she never said she’s Chanku. Just that the wolf’s name is Romy.”
“Well, that’s more than we knew when we started.” Jace stroked his fingers over her back. She’d been badly beaten; that was obvious. He wondered if the shift had come because of her pain. He’d heard of that happening. Gabe’s mother, Keisha, had been assaulted. She’d shifted before she knew she was Chanku. Shifted and killed her attackers.
“I hope Romy killed whoever the bastards were who did this to her.”
Gabe nodded. “You’re thinking of my mom, aren't you?”
“I am. No one has a right to treat any person or animal with cruelty.” He stroked the broad curve of her skull.
The wolf growled.
Shift, Gabe. She’s going to be afraid of men. I’m sure of it.
~~*~~
Romy slipped into consciousness slowly, aware of the scent of men, of long fingers stroking her head. She was still a wolf. She wasn't restrained, though she felt very weak. Without even opening her eyes, she snarled.
The fingers disappeared. She would have laughed, if wolves could laugh. Power. She’d never known such power! Rolling her shoulders, she was aware of pain, but it was muted, as if the deep cuts and slashes from Reverend Ezekiel’s whip had already begun to heal. How long ago had she been beaten? She hadn't expected to live, as badly as they’d hurt her. It must have been days ago. And had she really killed her father? Left the good reverend lying in the dirt, bleeding from a deep gash across his chest?
Where was she now? She smelled the river and the clean, sharp scent of cedar and pine, which meant she couldn't be back at the compound. There, all the natural smells were overpowered by the stench of the open garbage pit. Opening her eyes, she gazed across the flat sandbar. This was the same one she’d wanted to reach as she’d struggled against the current. She remembered swimming to it, dragging herself out of the water, but only to rest. She’d not intended to stay long, but she’d hidden beside a twisted tree trunk turned silver from sun and weather.
The river flowed slowly and the sun was still fairly high in the sky. Had she been here overnight? Carefully, she planted her front paws in the gravel and struggled to her feet. Standing unsteadily, she swayed with weakness, her vision foggy and her muzzle almost touching the ground. Where was the man who’d been touching her? She thought she smelled wolves, not men, though she plainly recalled the sense of someone stroking fingers through her fur. Fur...she really was a wolf. A very hungry wolf.
The scent of fresh game was strong. Not a smell she would have appreciated as a woman, but it called out to the wolf. Blinking slowly, she drew in a few deep breaths, searching for the source of what had to be fresh meat. Her attention wavered and she stared at the river for a few seconds, watching the water flowing by. She’d escaped by swimming upstream in the river that ran by the compound. That much she could remember, but how long had she been here? She knew she couldn't have gotten far enough away. They could still find her, but she was too weak to go anywhere right now.
The coppery smell of fresh blood hit her scent receptors again, and her mouth filled with saliva. Turning her head, she saw it, not three feet away. A freshly killed pronghorn antelope, its belly torn open, one haunch partially devoured.
She’d never eaten raw meat before. Never imagined burying her nose in the still warm flesh of a freshly killed animal, but she was starving, and no one was trying to stop her.
Moving stiffly, she sniffed the dead creature and then tore a thick piece of muscle and hide from the haunch. Gulping down great hunks of warm flesh, she felt her strength returning.
And with it, her confidence. Nothing could stop her. Not now.
~~*~~
Jace watched the she-wolf eat, gorging herself on Gabe’s fresh kill. Healing would have used up whatever energy reserves she might have had, but it shouldn't take long for her to regain at least some of her strength. She was badly hurt, though, and he’d not taken the time to heal everything, not when they had no idea if someone was trying to find her.
He’d decided to wait to approach her. Let her eat and get her bearings first. Gabe had crossed the river to retrieve Jace’s pack, but he waited on the bank for Jace’s signal that it was okay to return. They didn't want to frighten her. Jace alone might be okay, but two males could be overwhelming.
She seemed to have her hunger under control. Jace watched as she carefully licked the blood from her muzzle before dipping her face into the river for a quick drink of water. Once she was done, she sat on the bank and studied the far shore.
Jace sat up. He’d been hidden behind a small shrub, but she’d not really been looking for anyone, either. He watched her for a moment before using his telepathy to connect. Who are you? Who hurt you? I want to help.
She spun around, almost toppling as she turned to face him on shaky legs. Who are you?
He remained sitting on his haunches, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could. Just another wolf. My name is Jace. I’m like you, Romy. A shapeshifter. I am Chanku. I healed your wounds as much as I could. If you can shift, that will heal them further.
Did you leave the meat?
No. That was Gabe. My friend. He’s behind me, on the bank. We didn’t want to frighten you.
She seemed to relax as she gazed across the river where Gabe sat on the bank with Jace’s pack looped around his neck. He looked more like a large service dog than a vicious wolf. Jace might have laughed under other circumstances.
He can come back. I’m not afraid. How do you know my name?
Eve told Gabe.
Eve? Who is Eve?
Eve is our goddess.
And she speaks to you? In words in your head, the way you’re speaking to me?
Sometimes. Only when it’s really important.
She cocked her head to one side, and he wondered if she caught what he said, that she was obviously important. At least important enough for their goddess to intervene. While the wolf seemed to think about that for a moment, Jace let Gabe know he could come across, but he concentrated on Romy. After a moment, she stood and walked closer to him. Sniffed his shoulder, his flank, the side of his face. He wondered if she was trying to commit his scent to memory, or was just curious about her wolven abilities. Jace wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling she’d never shifted before.
Then Romy answered his unspoken question.
She must be the one who showed me how to shift. I was dying. She saved me, but I think I killed a man when I escaped. Maybe two. The others will be hunting for me.
Where were you? How far from here?
I don’t know. It’s a fenced compound not far from the river. The home of the Glorious Salvation in Truth. They’re a religious order led by Reverend Ezekiel. He’s a follower of Aldo Xenakis, the one who believes all shapeshifters should be relegated to animal status, their rights as humans taken away.
Aldo is dead. His son, Sebastian, killed him. Sebastian Xenakis is one of us.
She raised her head and stared at him. When?
Not long. About six weeks or so. Are you so cut off from the world that you wouldn't have heard?
The men might know. The women aren’t allowed news of the world. We’re prisoners there, subject to the whims and decrees of Reverend Ezekiel and the men who follow him. You said Aldo’s son is one of us. Please, tell me again. What are we?
Before Jace could answer, Gabe trotted across the sand bar, shrugged the waterproof bag over his head and shifted, standing tall and entirely naked beside the two wolves. The female’s hackles rose along her back and she snarled. Gabe merely smiled at her, but he was digging his pants out of the bag. “I hear someone coming. Sounds like a group moving through the woods along that side of the river.”
He pointed to bank he’d just been standing on. “I shifted so I can chat with them, but you two need to hide.” He looped the pack over Jace’s head, and then went back to dressing, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “Hurry. I don’t want them to see you.” He frowned then, glancing at Romy. “Are you strong enough to swim to the bank? It’s almost shallow enough on this side to walk.”
I can make it. They’ll not catch me. Not ever again.
She stepped into the slow current and started across. Jace glanced once more at Gabe, and then followed Romy. A great blue heron took flight near the opposite bank as if something had disturbed its roosting place. Jace moved faster, herding Romy through the shallows and using his chest to help push her up the steep bank.
They slipped into the brush just as a group of at least half a dozen men broke through on the far side of the river. Jace caught the glint of sunlight off rifle barrels as he moved deeper into the thick undergrowth with the dark wolf.
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United States of America. No part or portion of this work may be used
for re-sell or re-print either digitally or in print format by ANY entity other
than the legal publisher of this work listed above. Re- sell or re-print of
this work may not be used without the written permission of the author
AND the publisher or without full monetary compensation of the work
to both the author and legal publisher. Any infringement upon this
copyright will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. If you have
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