Guardian (3 page)

Peter clapped him on the shoulder. “A true wolf. Come, we have much to discuss.”

The walk to Peter’s village took us just over three hours, and through it all I was unable to focus on anything but Catya. I pulled her supposed picture out, frustrated that it wasn’t solid enough to use for Tracking her. A picture and a name was normally all I needed and I could pretty much find anyone, alive or dead, near or far. But Tracking Catya was a blank that told me she either was across some large body of water, or this was the wrong combination of name and picture.

I doubted water was the issue; that was something I’d run into only one other time in all the years I’d been Tracking. So that left the picture and name being a shit combination. Something I had also faced before.

As we stepped into the village, I put the picture into my jacket and took a good look around where we’d be staying for the next week.

The village consisted of homes plucked out of ‘Medieval Weekly’ and plunked down in the twenty-first century. That, or we’d walked through some sort of time warp. The structures were built with rough hewn logs, hides, and materials from the area. Like a mixture of log cabin and teepee. They looked quickly assembled, and sure as hell didn’t look permanent. Here and there, the hide would flap and a face would peak out, the people here watching us as we drew close. But maybe saying they were people was not exactly right.

Werewolves. This would be my first time interacting with a full pack that wasn’t trying to kill me or my friends. Shit, that itch to hold a blade washed through me so hard, I realized I might have an actual addiction to my weapons. Though I supposed there were worse addictions I could have.

“Rylee, they will not harm you, child,” Peter said, stopping and waiting for me to catch up to him and Liam. Liam slid a hand around me and placed it on my lower back. A less than subtle reminder to anyone watching that I was his mate and not to be messed with. I didn’t push his hand away. Nope. I didn’t want anyone deciding I would make a fun roll in the hay or an afternoon snack.

Peter smiled at us both. “You are guests here, honored guests. Please, I realize you have had less than pleasant run-ins with packs in the past, but we are peaceful. There is no harm done in this village. Ever.”

Both Liam and I would need to be convinced of that. In our time together, peace wasn’t something that happened.

To be fair, though, the first two days were nothing short of fairytale-like. We were fed, housed, and truly treated like family more than guests. The few men who were in the pack went out in hunting parties, bringing back fresh meat daily. The women called them
.
I couldn’t even pronounce the word; Peter explained it meant hunters.

The only warning we were given was to not wander far from the village alone. Apparently, they’d lost one of their women who’d gone off to give birth on her own. She disappeared and there had been no trace of her, not even a scent trail.

I offered to Track her and, miraculously enough, someone had a picture of her. Donna was her name and I sent out a thread to find her. But just like Catya, I got nothing back, not even a note of her death on the threads. Just nothing.

Reluctantly, I gave the picture back. Two missing people with nothing for me to find, in the same area? Something strange was going on. Liam convinced me to let it go, relax. And I did try, but it was hard to quiet my mind when something was messing with my inborn abilities to Track.

One thing that did distract me was the food. It was rich, fresh, and filling—stew and homemade bread for the most part in the evening. The morning saw some sort of creamy mush with a thick berry compote and lunch was always a soft delectable cheese that I couldn’t get enough of with slices of dried venison. Then there were the werewolves. They were, of all things, shy; yet they were kind to us both, welcoming us into their village.

Overall, it left me with a strange feeling and I kept waiting for something to happen. Something to go terribly wrong. What can I say? Even on ‘vacation’, I didn’t think I was going to get time off.

On the third day, I sat outside our ‘house’ while Liam was off with Peter on some sort of training day. Three of the women in the pack sat with me, no more bothered by the cold than I was with my fire opal keeping me warm. Elena, one of the women, even spoke a little English, enough that she could help me ask questions, or point me in the right direction.

Her daughter sat next to her, big blue eyes watching the world around us, contentedly sucking on a hunk of ice. Apparently, she was teething and having a hard time of it. But she never complained. Every once in a while she would smile at me, and I would scrunch up my face for her and stick out my tongue. She’d giggle and hide behind her mom. She made me think of Pamela, her blend of innocence matched by a fair share of fire within those blue eyes. When she grew up, she would be a firecracker.

The women didn’t mind that I didn’t speak Russian and I found myself relaxing as the wash of their words slid over my ears. I leaned back against the hide wall of the house, the winter sun on my face. The women were doing some sort of knitted craft. Or at least, I thought it was knitted; I didn’t really know. Their hands were busy, their voices soft and happy as they spoke to one another. Everything about the day was soothing, and I let my guard fall further than I had in years. My eyes closed and I let out a breath, tension flowing from me that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding onto.

Of course, that was when the shit hit the fan and the world exploded around us.

Literally.

Chapter Three

T
hey were about
ten miles from the village, and it was the third time in two days Peter had taken him away for training.

Peter had reluctantly explained when Liam pressed him about why they couldn’t stay in the village. “You are not like the others, and while the pack accepts you are not like them, it is quite something else to see it in your own backyard.”

“So my ability to shift quickly? That would bother them?”

“Among other things. Your ability to control them will be another.” Peter sat on a partially exposed log. Liam stood in front of him, frowning.

“Control them? Why would I do that? Can I do that?”

“Yes, you can. It is one of the abilities, as a guardian, you can use. The power in you is not only alpha, but a supreme alpha. You could take over any pack that crosses your path, no matter the strength of their leader. It is so you may call on the wolves as you need their help to protect the hero you are assigned to. If you are strong enough, you may even be able to influence other guardians.”

“How do you know so much about guardians?”

Peter shrugged and looked away while he answered. “When I was young, I knew the last guardian wolf. He told me everything he knew, said I would one day teach the next guardian wolf all he needed and it would save the world. When I met you in the forest, trapped in your wolf form, I knew who you were even then. This is my calling, one I have waited many years for.”

A shiver, like someone had walked over his grave, slid over Liam. “Does that mean I will know when to pass on the information?”

“I do not know.”

Crouching, Liam dusted his fingers through the fresh snow that had fallen the night before. Though the idea of controlling a pack intrigued him, and he knew now how Peter had the knowledge to teach him, he had another question, one that he’d mulled over a great deal in his quiet hours. “Do you think I was always destined to be her protector? That maybe it was why I couldn’t just leave her case be?”

He’d told Peter about Rylee’s past, how he as an FBI agent had dogged her every footstep, followed her, and been nearly obsessed with her case. Of proving she had indeed killed her younger sister. Which, of course, she hadn’t. But the years had piled up and he’d learned her tricks, learned her quirks, and when he finally realized she was innocent, came to admire her strength and determination to make something good happen in the cases of missing children.

Peter gave him the soft, knowing smile that so often slipped across his lips. “The fates have a funny way of doing things. Likely, they saw the strength in both of you, the powerful pair you could be if your heads could be pulled in the right direction and yoked together. So yes, I do think you were always meant to be her protector, even if at times it didn’t seem that way.”

Tapping the log with his knuckles, Peter’s brows bunched together. “Would you not rather know about being able to control a pack, instead of asking questions about your mate?”

Liam shrugged. “It will be good information, insomuch as it will help me keep her safe. But I don’t crave it, if that is what you’re asking.”

“Good. Then here it is.”

Peter leaned forward and put his hand on Liam’s head, like a father patting his son for a job well done.

Images flashed through Liam’s mind, faster than he could grasp, and then the images slowed. The steps formed easily, the way to gather his innate power and force it into an existence outside his body, using it to command the other wolves.

Beyond that, he saw the beginnings of the werewolves and the guardians, and how they interacted. It had been over two thousand years since the first werewolf was created, over two thousand years since the first guardian came into being. Liam struggled to understand what he saw, gradually grasping the written history of the world as he knew it was more than a bit skewed. Yet, seeing it laid out for him in that moment, it made more sense than ever before.

Peace, warm and soothing, washed over him, his path laid out clearly for him. As the wolf guardian, this was his calling, to protect the world by keeping Rylee safe. That had always been the way of the wolf, to protect those who would keep the world from falling into the depths of darkness.

Everything seemed so simple now, and the power Peter showed him how to use was so easy, now that he saw it. How to control and call on other wolves, and even how to call on the other guardians, bending them to his will. His wolf settled deep into him, and Liam knew there would be no more struggles for dominance between them. His wolf was pleased that Liam finally understood his role.

Just like that, the sharing of information was over. A split second was all it took, yet Peter slumped away, as if exhausted.

Liam felt refreshed, his body singing with adrenaline and ready for anything. He blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. What the hell?

“The day has passed,” Peter said, fatigue not only in his voice, but written over his face. He passed a hand over his eyes. “Come, we must go back to the pack. We will eat and rest, for tomorrow you must put into practice the things you learned.”

Liam allowed Peter to lead the way. They both knew Liam was the stronger alpha, but that didn’t matter here. Peter was the teacher and Liam the student.

At least for the moment.

The earth ripped around us, chunks of rock and ice blasting easily through the hide and log buildings. I dove to the left, putting the corner of our temporary home between me and whatever shit was happening.

I didn’t speak Russian any better than I had the first day we got there, but I picked up a word. One the men used when going out after game. One that chilled my skin despite the fire opal, because I doubted
this
crew was here for fresh meat.

Hunters.

I edged around to see the figures striding into the chaos they’d created. The men were covered in thick furs. The skins still had the wolf heads attached to most of them and either sat on the hunter’s shoulders or directly on their heads. Wide leather belts and leather cuirasses matched nicely with the leather on their arms and legs. Riot gear for facing werewolves.

I saw a wolf’s claw pendant hanging from the neck of the one closest to me, and it looked to be carved out of bone, the ivory tones lending to that or elephant tusks. And since they were hunting werewolves, I’d bet it was wolf bone. There were six men and two women, and no weapons I could see. Cocky bastards.

Behind me, Elena whimpered as she clutched her child to her chest, and as a unit, the hunters swiveled our way. I knew without a doubt these hunters would kill everyone here if they could, children included. I wasn’t about to let that happen. Motherfuckers had a shock coming to them in about three seconds.

I couldn’t help the grin that slipped over my face. I might not have my swords with me, but that meant shit. These assholes were about to get a taste of their own bad mojo.

They couldn’t touch me with their magic, but I sure as hell could deliver their asses to them with hand to hand combat.

I ducked around the back corner of the house, knowing they would see the movement and come after me. A hunter’s instinct—go after the things that move and look afraid of you.

“Run!” I whispered to Elena, as I made a shooing motion. We were a hundred feet from the tree line; I knew she should be able to get there. She scrambled backward, her eyes glowing a soft gold as her wolf rose up, fear radiating off her. The explosions and cries continued around us and she slunk away, moving carefully. I watched her go, making sure she was able to get to the edge of the trees without being hit. The ground blew up to the left of her and she cried out, but the fear drove her faster and she hit the tree line at a dead run. My heart went cold, though, when I saw the way her little girl flopped in her arms. Dead, there was no other way her tiny head would roll so easily. Those blue eyes and sweet smile gone forever.

For what?

Rage nearly blinded me and I forced myself to focus on those causing the carnage.

I checked on the progress of the hunters.

Yup, the shits were still coming my way. I flattened myself against the wall of the house and settled my breathing. While I didn’t love fighting, I had to admit there was a definite rush to kicking ass when it was seriously warranted. Especially when they were killing women and children.

And these asshats more than warranted it.

There was a sweep of a cloak as the first hunter stepped around the corner. I snaked a hand out, grabbed the edge of the cloak, and yanked hard, spinning the hunter off balance. He fell to the ground with a grunt and looked up at me, a greasy grin sliding between the massive amount of blond beard he had.

I grinned back. “I’m about to make you my bitch.”

His grin slipped and he lifted his hand to spell me. I caught his hand, twisted his arm until his elbow popped out of joint, then followed that with a knee to his nose. The cartilage shattered under my blow, blood spurting and staining his beard. His eyes rolled back as the blood flowed and I dropped him.

Easy. Two sets of hands reached for me at the same time. Maybe not so easy.

I twisted away from the hands on my left, which put me directly into the hands on my right. A big guy who smelled like campfire smoke, alcohol, and a three-week case of body odor wrapped his arms around me. That was not going to fly.

I snapped my head back, breaking his nose, so he’d match his friend on the ground, then channeled a little Alex. “Stinky fucker.”

He dropped me with a howl, and the other five hunters stepped around the corner. They lifted their hands in unison and began to chant. Oh, how I loved it when they didn’t know I was Immune to magic.

Grabbing Stinky’s right arm, I yanked him down, knowing he would step back to brace himself. He did, and I slid into his guard, tucked my right leg behind both of his and swept them out from under them. He hit the ground hard, his head snapping against the ice. Stunned, he lay there, then slowly rolled, but for the moment he was out of the way.

The other five hunters had the most quizzical expressions on their faces. I didn’t wait for them to figure out I could be hit by things thrown at me with magic. A loophole I wasn’t going to tell them.

Nope, I dove in, striking and punching, my body keyed up for this after three days of quiet.

There was only one small problem; the hunters split up. The two women, Stinky and another man peeled away, leaving me with four big dudes to deal with. They circled me, their teeth barely visible past their bushy beards. I needed to dispatch them quickly; the other four were reigning havoc on the village, and the screams of the werewolves wrenched my gut, piercing through the explosions that filled the air.

I didn’t wait for the hunters to engage me. I rushed the one farthest from me, snapping my left leg out, driving it into his knee. Joints were always a good target when dealing with those larger than you. He screamed, grabbed at his knee, and went to the ground. I grabbed his head in one hand and drove the elbow of my other arm into his face twice in quick succession. His eyes rolled back and I slid sideways from him, avoiding the hands of my next opponent.

A fist met my lower back, over my right kidney, and I let out a hissing growl as I forced myself to spin a roundhouse to the asshole who’d punched me. I clipped him with my boot, but he stepped back and avoided the full swing of my kick. Landing in a crouch, I saw the glint of a knife handle sticking out of the hunter’s belt of the man I’d downed. Leaping forward, I grabbed the handle and yanked it out. Now that was what I was talking about.

Twelve inches long and handmade, it was hardly one of my swords, but still better than going bare-handed.

The three men still standing advanced on me, pushing me toward the tree line, herding me toward where the other hunters were. Where they were killing the werewolves. Using the framework of the home, I ran toward it and up the rough-hewn log, giving myself the height I needed to come down hard on the hunter closest to the house.

I buried the knife deep into the side of his neck, and though he put his hands up to stop me, there was no way he could hope to stem my slash. All he did was get two fingers cut off in the attempt.