For the Good of All (Law of the Lycans Book 7) (30 page)

Right. The overgrown lizard had thought wolf would make a tasty breakfast and he’d almost lost the tip of his tail during that encounter. Yeah, if Gwyneth was out to get him, she wasn’t holding much back.

Hopefully nothing else would befall them. They were finally approaching the spot where he and Christina had spent their last night together.

Last night together.

A knot of emotion formed in his throat as he shifted back to human form. It was a poor choice of terms since that sounded like they’d had sex, but they hadn’t. She’d been dangerously ill at that point, fevered, delirious, and the pups had been sleeping in the hammock nearby. Still, that night held memories for him.

He entered the small clearing and looked around. It was quiet and peaceful, much as he’d left it a few days ago. Lush green vegetation, tropical flowers, bits of sunlight streaming through the canopy. An ash-covered depression marked where he’d built a fire. A rub mark on the bark of a tree showed where the rope for the pups’ hammock had been. Even the simple lean-to where they’d slept was still intact. For a moment he could almost envision Christina there, her injured leg extended, playing with the children and that silly doll.

That doll. For some reason he’d brought it with him, had it stuffed in his backpack like a fool. Why, he had no idea, but leaving it at the hospital had seemed wrong.

Slowly, he approached the lean-to, eyes fixed on the spot where she’d rested, where she’d slept pressed to his side for comfort and safety.

He crouched down, his hand hovering over the now dried banana leaves, imaging he could still feel the warmth of her body, still smell her scent. Several dark spots stained one area, remnants of the blood he’d spilled for her. She’d been delirious that night, her skin hot and dry to the touch, fever wracking her body as the infection had insidiously spread. Desperation had spawned an idea, an insane and improbable idea, but the only remedy he could offer. He’d sliced his wrist and dribbled the blood into her mouth, the action a grim mockery of the blood-bond Lycan mates shared.

It had worked, for a short time at least. She’d improved and hope had soared in his heart. He was a Lycan, she was a witch. They’d never be able to form a true blood-bond but in his mind, at that moment in time, he’d felt closer to her than he’d ever felt to another living being.

His wolf had been puzzled by the activity, wondering what he was doing, where the she-wolf resided in this female. Yet it hadn’t protested his actions, somehow feeling it was right and good to share their blood with another.

Caught up in his memories, he made a fatal mistake. One a Guardian should never do. He failed to pay attention to his surroundings, his mind not registering the sound of approaching footsteps, the scent of unwashed bodies, until it was too late. When it did finally click in, he quickly rose to his feet only to find himself facing four armed men.

Now what the hell was he going to do?

He stood as still as possible, not wanting to give the group a reason to fire. His gaze shifted over them, taking in the weapons, the camouflage clothing. Cartel members if he were any judge, though not Mendoza’s; the tattoos on their arms were wrong. Reyes’ men perhaps? It was a possibility. He was closer to the border and Reyes’ men likely made forays into the territory they’d recently lost, looking for weaknesses, spying on Mendoza.

One of the men stepped closer, entering Stone’s personal space.
“¿Quién eres? ¿Qué haces aquí?
What are you doing here?”

Stone didn’t step back as the man likely expected and a hint of wariness flared in the fellow’s eyes. Not wanting to play his hand too soon, Stone offered an answer.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

Laughter and rude comments erupted, the men nudging each other and rolling their eyes.

He used their lapse in concentration to his advantage. In a flash of movement, he grabbed the man’s head and with a twist broke his neck then ducked low and charged forward with a fierce growl.

The startled men fired their weapons towards where he’d been a split second ago but the bullets went over his head. Stone snarled as he threw himself forward, barrelling into two of the men, hitting them hard. Their guns fired into the air as they cried out and tipped backwards. The bullets must have hit the trees overhead for leaves and young green coconuts began to rain down upon them followed by shouts of surprise and pain.

Stone didn’t pause, rolling to his feet, pivoting in a crouch position ready to take on the fourth gunman. To his surprise, the man had his hands raised. Another group of armed men had appeared in the clearing.

Cautiously, Stone straightened. His gaze sweeping over the group, assessing the danger they might present. There were six of them, peasant farmers by the look of their attire, though their weapons were a lethal combination of semi-automatics and large knives. They were exchanging a rapid-fire conversation in a dialect he didn’t understand, however, their expressions and tone weren’t difficult to interpret. They were pissed off with the
traficantes de drogas,
the drug traffickers.

Experimentally, he inched backwards. This wasn’t his battle. The only reason he was here was to find Christina. Let them fight it out among themselves. One step. Then another. Damn, they’d noticed him.

A gun pointed at his heart, Stone froze in place. No quick escape for him.

Within minutes he found himself and the three remaining drug members being marched down a trail at gunpoint. He had no idea where they were going except it was in the opposite direction to where he wanted to head. The rendezvous location where he’d last seen Christina was north of here and he was heading south.

Frustration had a growl rumbling in his throat and the drug cartel member closest to him inched away, crossing himself.

Good, Stone thought. Keep your distance and if we end up locked in a cell together, remember not to piss me off.

After almost half an hour, the men stopped at a fork in the path. More words were exchanged and most of the group set off towards the right taking the three drug cartel members with them. Stone and two of the farmers went towards the left. Perhaps it was the lack of a tattoo on his arm that separated him from the others; whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to complain. The odds had just tipped in his favour. There was only one gun and one knife between him and his chance to continue his search for Christina.

He bided his time, ensuring they were some distance from the other group so there’d be no chance of help arriving. Five minutes passed, maybe six and then, in a blur of movement, he spun on his heel and kicked the gun out of the hand of the man behind him. Another swift blow and the enemy fell to the ground. The man in the lead turned at the sound. Shouting, he pulled a knife and slashed it towards Stone’s throat.

Stone twisted out of the way, feeling the breeze from the knife whispering past his throat. The bastard was playing for keeps. When the man came at him again, Stone managed to catch the fellow’s wrist and knock him off balance.

There was no reason to continue the fight. They were peasant farmers. Stone turned to run, planning on shifting as soon as he was out of sight but luck was still against him. The first man, the gunman, wasn’t out for the count. He grabbed at Stone’s legs sending him to the ground.

“Damn.” The grunted curse escaped him as his shoulder hit the ground. Instinctively, he allowed the momentum to roll him over and he bounded back onto his feet. The gunman was struggling to his knees and attempting to aim his weapon. A well-placed kick sent the gun spinning into the underbrush and once again, Stone attempted to flee.

This time, however, the owner of the knife snagged Stone’s arm and spun him around. Stone aimed a blow at the man’s stomach but, as he made contact, he felt a searing pain in his side. The knife had also found its target.

Stone gasped and jerked away in pain. Staggering backwards, he clenched his hand to his ribs, a dark red stain rapidly drenching his shirt. He took one step, another and then something hit him on the back of the head. His knees buckled and everything went black.

A fly buzzed around his face and Stone twitched his cheek, annoyed that the insect was interrupting his sleep. He was tired, his body aching, his mouth dry.

The fly continued to circle and Stone raised his hand to swat it away. The movement caused a jolt of pain that had his eyes opening and moan escaping his lips.

Rough hewn rafters were over his head, cobwebs hanging in the corners. A pebble was digging into his back. No, not a hospital. Where was he this time?

He raised himself up into a half-sitting position, the throbbing in his side helping him recall what had happened. A quick glance downward showed his shirt was stained with dry blood, confirming his memories. Gingerly, he eased the material away and checked the wound. The gash was long but no vital organs had been touched.

A survey of his surroundings revealed he was in a small room with concrete block walls. Dirt covered the floor, a wooden door blocked his path to freedom and a barred window, too high and too small for him to fit through, was the only source of light.

He wondered who, exactly, his captors were. Not members of one of the drug cartels; they would have killed him outright. The men had appeared to be local peasants but why would they keep him prisoner? Unless he was being held for ransom. Kidnapping foreigners was a lucrative business. Well, they’d not be earning any money from him. No one would pay for his sorry hide.

Blood loss had made him thirsty and he noticed a container of water nearby. He moved to get it but a metallic sound drew his attention. There was a chain around his leg. An experimental tug jarred his wounded side causing it to bleed again. It also showed the chain was strong despite its apparent age.

Tied up again. First at the hospital and now here. He leaned his head back against the wall and succumbed to a bout of gallows humour. Was everyone into bondage right now?

You got us into this. I will get us out.
His wolf urged him to shift and Stone gave in to the request.

“See what you can do, if you want. I’m a major fuck-up right now.”

The chain fell loose from his wolf’s much smaller leg and the animal smugly checked out the container of water. The liquid was warm, the jar was filthy and a dead bug was floating on the surface. Curling its lips, the beast turned away. If they were desperate, they’d drink it but for now they’d wait.

The animal sniffed the perimeter of the room, gaining no new information except that no one had been held here recently. A few experimental swipes with his paws showed there was concrete beneath the door. Digging his way out wasn’t an option.

“No luck I see.” Stone pointed out the obvious.

His wolf didn’t appreciate his comment and muttered under its breath as they traded places, the animal giving way to the human once again.

“At least shifting helped us heal.” Stone offered the olive branch statement as he examined his side. Two shifts and the wound was now scabbing over.

We work well together,
the beast replied with a sidelong look.

“That we do.” Stone replied.

His wolf sighed and settled its chin on its paws.
A truce?

“A truce would seem to be in our best interests, especially given our current situation.”

His wolf nodded and a sense of harmony began to return. He and his wolf were one once again, though a feeling of total completeness still escaped him.

We gave our blood to the witch. Without her, we’ll never be whole.

“But she’s dead. We can never regain what we lost.”

Then, if there is no other option, we continue on, doing the best we can.

Stone leaned against the wall. His wolf was right. They had to continue on. Hard to do though when you were locked up in a cell.

Time passed slowly, the temperature rising as the day progressed. Sweat trickled down his face and dampened his clothes. Not a breath of air stirred in the small room. No one came to check on him. Only the distant sound of voices reached his ears.

He tried to scale the wall to reach the window but only his fingertips could touch the bars. The hinges and lock on the door were new. He rattled the handle and shouted all to no avail. Finally realizing he was wasting his energy, he sat down and prepared to wait.

This was his fault. He’d lost focus and this was the consequence. Every action had a reaction. He knew that better than most.

His mind flashed back to his time incarcerated in the desert. Days had passed with no one checking on him. No food, no water; punishment for trying to save a woman. He’d almost died before they’d deigned to let him out. Could he handle that again and keep his sanity? The gnawing ache in his belly as his body demanded food, the desperate craving for water? Days on end with no contact, baking heat and insects and rats and the stench of his own excrement.

Panic started to build within him and he fought back against it. There was water here, such as it was. This wasn’t the same. He couldn’t let the past control him.

If your spirit is broken, they will have won.
His wolf repeated Adisa’s words to him and he clung to them like a lifeline.

He wouldn’t let them win. He had a mission to complete. Christina. He needed to bring her home.