The Twisting (5 page)

chapter FIVE

As if in
one of those dreams where his head muddled and he couldn’t find his way through a burrow, Daeryn walked slowly along the familiar corridor, seeing only Annmar’s wide blue eyes staring at him in disbelief.

How had he let this happen? For days, her restless movements had woken him when she didn’t even wake herself…wait. Annmar had looked at him.
Seen
him.

She was recovering, if not recovered.

He should be happy for her…and he was. Or would be once he wasn’t feeling so sorry for getting himself kicked out of her life. The shock in her eyes, the distaste in her voice when she’d asked,
You haven’t been in here as…
Those actions mimicked a ’cambire turning tail. So that was that.

Daeryn walked on and opened the door to the room he shared with Rivley. Nothing had changed since he’d been here last, but it felt different, as if missing something. Their chamber was dimmer than Annmar’s room, this level designed for day sleeping, while sunlight from the dormer windows crisscrossed the rafter space above. But Rivley was off working, and the room seemed…empty.

He clutched the quilt snug to his shoulders and peered back along the shared hallway open to him through his connections with other residents. Her short hallway was still there, unblocked, so her door…no. He closed his door and turned to his bed, but instead of his rumpled covers, he saw Annmar drawing her blanket over herself in her neat bed.

Daeryn rolled his head back. What was he to do?

After a long minute, with nothing coming to mind yet his thoughts racing, he pulled on the trousers and shirt he’d dropped this morning and left. At least he’d had a full day’s sleep, even if his memory ticked that he was supposed to have done something this afternoon. Well, the afternoon was gone. He tromped down his own access stairs to the rear of the bunkhouse and pushed open the outer door into the yard between this building and the next. Tipping his nose, he scented the moist air. It’d rained most of the day, but the skies promised a fairly clear evening.

A metallic
click
reached his ears, followed by, “Good job! Yous are catching on.”

What was Terrent—oh. Stunner practice. That’s what Daeryn had forgotten.

He strode the length of the buildings, slowing at the west end of the first storage shed to look before he stepped out. Caution wasn’t necessary. Terrent had set out sawhorses to block off the area between the shed and an adjacent greenhouse. At the far end, he’d draped an old piece of canvas over crates, strung a rope before it and tied rags at intervals. They dripped with muck, the odor of Master Brightwell’s brew strong in the tight space, as well as that of the pests…Great Creator. Those weren’t rags, but dead bodies of the vermin.

Closer, with their backs to him, stood a line of Daeryn’s co-workers posed in the unfamiliar stance of weapons raised alongside their heads. Famil, Wyatt, Gunther and—

Click.

Daeryn flinched as Rivley’s stunner fired and discharged the white muck. It flew six feet and hit the furry tail end, the spot wettest on each of the bodies.

“I think youse have it down,” Terrent said. “Just remember to wait the full seven seconds before firing again, to give the fermentation time to build pressure. Then the brew shoots strong and far. Before we go in to dinner, let’s try a few shots at moving targets.”

Daeryn backed around the corner and leaned against the whitewashed stone, shutting his eyes to a ray of sunlight. His head thrummed, the memories rushing, darkening his thoughts. The stunner clicks repeated, not rapid like the gunshots that had killed Sylvan, but steadily spaced out like the funeral march he’d all but forgotten. The past churned uncomfortably in his belly, making him wish more than anything to be back in Annmar’s quiet bed, warm and companionably nestled with her. He hadn’t felt that comfort with another person in years…and now wouldn’t have the chance to feel it again.

Could this day get much worse?

Slowly, Daeryn took control of his thoughts. The others at target practice were cleaning up, their cheerful quips verifying Terrent had pronounced them trained in shooting the stunners. All of Wellspring’s ’cambires had practiced the Outside skills…except for him.

He could still join in, his head told him…but his body wouldn’t budge. Tomorrow. Another night hunting…watching…steeling his nerves before actually putting his finger to the trigger.

An approaching engine drowned out their talk. With a shake of his head, Daeryn turned to the welcome distraction. The first steam tractor pulled into the farmyard, Mary Beth, Henry and other growers riding on the back. They usually walked behind. Why… His gut sank. The wagon wasn’t full. The topmost crates didn’t even look loaded to the tops of their wooden slats.

His gaze darted to the cart the wagon towed behind, and he blew out a breath. Vermin bodies filled the shallow bed.

Damn. There were so many. It seemed impossible their hunts still hadn’t eliminated them. Could the rest of the Farmlands also be under such an attack? Miz Gere shared news with her fellow owners in the local agricultural consortium, but a predator’s nose in other fields might scare up a few ideas to improve their defenses here.

The growers unhitched the cart and began forking the bodies onto a growing pile. A few seconds of watching was all he could take. Daeryn spun on his heel and strode back toward his room access, slipping off his braces. He didn’t feel much like eating dinner anyway. A run would gain Wellspring more information and clear his head for another long night of hunting vermin.

* * *

Annmar stared at
the ceiling, wishing for Daeryn to return, but at the same time hoping he wouldn’t. Whatever would she say to him? Should she demand an explanation? Or spew oaths?

She had no idea of how to approach this type of conversation…so why did she want it to happen? Her blurted curse gnawed at her. What was this feeling that had prompted it? Sometimes she and Polly cursed jokingly, but day-to-day Annmar kept such reactions in check.

Polly. If she were here, her country-reared friend would set her straight. Annmar drew a deep breath. Mary Clare would also, but in the opposite fashion. The fashion of Blighted Basin. She’d be willing to talk about Daeryn’s nakedness in a much different manner than Polly would. No doubt, Mary Clare would know exactly what Daeryn had been doing in her room and why. Or what he’d wanted to be doing. Oh, dash it all. She wasn’t
that
naive. She knew what Daeryn wanted to be doing.

Exactly what Mr. Shearing had wanted…

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Annmar. You can at least think it.

Sex.

Her newly healed head churned with confused feelings.

Mr. Shearing’s suggestions had repulsed her. Daeryn had made no such overtures. Why did she feel positively dumbfounded that he’d been in her room, in her bed? Had anything happened between them?

She didn’t think so, but how would she know? She bit her lip. She had no experience to tell by. But he’d looked so shocked at her accusation. What had he meant by
Not to you?
That she wasn’t the sort of girl he wanted to—
come on now
—have sex with? Indeed, his lifestyle was completely different from hers, but his denial left her disappointed.

Did she want something to happen?

Daeryn hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. He’d left at the slightest protest, quite unlike Mr. Shearing, who had pushed his way closer, inappropriately suggesting more. Daeryn had only been sleeping, he said. Or was he holding something back?

She flung aside the covers, her gaze trailing down her rumpled nightdress, over her curves and dips…

She didn’t understand. Had he left her alone because he wasn’t exactly human, and she was? Or because she wasn’t experienced? Annmar blew out a sigh. Being a virgin was becoming very frustrating. As Mary Clare had suggested, she could take steps to learn more about boys—men—even if she didn’t take steps to have sex with anyone. In the meantime, she cleaned up in the bathing room, and by the time she’d finished, Mary Clare arrived with a dinner tray.

“Annmar! You shouldn’t be up on your own.” She took her arm and tried to lead her to bed, but Annmar pivoted to the wing chair instead. “It’s only been four nights since your injury.”

“
Since
Paet tried to kidnap me.”

Mary Clare patted her arm. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.”

Annmar squeezed her hand. “Everyone knows, so there’s nothing to hide. Where is he now?”

“Locked up, and Maxillon can’t get through Miz Gere’s barriers,” Mary Clare said. “You don’t have to worry, you’re safe.”

“Then how did Daeryn get in my room?”

Mary Clare grimaced. “Because of his and Rivley’s gildan, a bond they have. I never thought of it until Dae turned up in here.”

A gildan? She’d get to that later. “You
knew
and you didn’t kick him out?”

“I tried. Then Daeryn got real nasty on a point I finally had to agree with.” She wrung her hands.

That’s right, she’d heard an argument. And those two didn’t get along, though she still didn’t know why. “What point? I thought you were my friend and looking out for me.”

“I am! I did.” Mary Clare scrunched up her face, and her words came out faster than the auctioneer’s at Derby’s debt house. “Daeryn said that even if Miz Gere has an excellent Knack, we don’t know—
really know
—what a ropen’s capable of. When I discovered your head injury and the fact you weren’t able to look out for yourself, he pretty much appointed himself your guard.”

“Guard? Daeryn was guarding me?”

“He was absolutely sick over what happened. Despite Miz Gere’s reports that Maxillon was banned and definitely gone, Daeryn slept here for days and insisted I spell him overnight. Others wanted to help, too.”

“Other people can get into my room, too?” A shiver shot up her spine, and Annmar clutched the chair arms.

“No. Just Miriam. Annmar, do you know how bad off you were? When you didn’t wake up, you scared the living daylights out of me. Out of all of us.”

Annmar loosened her grip. Mary Clare seemed sincere. Of course she was. Mary Clare was her friend. “Sorry. I was scared, too. I still am. My head hurt so bad, I couldn’t think. It’s just…” She rubbed her arms, looking around her cozy room, the one she had thought was hers and hers alone, and drew in a breath. “Mistress Gere promised me I’d be safe in my room, and I don’t understand—oh, dash it all, I sound like a big baby.”

“No. No, you don’t.” Mary Clare knelt at her side and took Annmar’s cold hands in her warm ones. “You need to feel safe. That’s what Dae was trying to do for you, don’t you see? He likes you.”

Mary Clare made it all sound so normal. “He has a funny way of showing he likes me, sleeping in my bed as a polecat.”

A smile twitched at Mary Clare’s mouth. “That’s akin to courting for an animacambire. Rivley says the beasts like lots of touching and togetherness. You may not remember, but you wanted Dae here. You asked for him.”

“
I thought he was a cat!
”

“He
is
an animal. A weasel. Sometimes. That’s Daeryn, Annmar. If you think you’d like to get to know him better, that’s him. The polecat, who fought a shifter twice the size of a wolf to protect you, the same ‘kitty’ you slept with this week and the boy who so desperately wanted to protect you, he snuck in by way of his gildan link to Riv.”

Annmar followed the explanation right up to the last, and she didn’t think the confusion was due to her injured head. “What you just said, how did Daeryn enter my room without my permission?” Annmar snatched her hands away and crossed her arms. “And Miriam, too?”

Mary Clare rocked back on her heels and sat on the rug before the chair. “Miz Gere let Miriam in with her Knack control, so that’s normal. But as for Rivley and Daeryn…” She raised a hand helplessly, then wrapped her arms around her bent knees.

Uh oh. This part wasn’t going to be normal.

Mary Clare drew a breath. “I suppose it’s like they shared the permission. It would happen with any set of linked ’cambires—same as pack, you know, like Jac and Maraquin are.”

Annmar rubbed her forehead. Yes, she remembered the roundish mark on Maraquin’s shoulder that Mary Clare had said she had to draw correctly. “A pack mark?”

“Right. Pack mark is a Knack connection ’cambires get when they become pack. It’s temporary, unless the alpha keeps giving the mark. Rivley explained to me a gildan is a different type of Knack connection. It’s a blood-binding spell. One that stays until the spell is fulfilled.”

A blood spell? “What’s the binding for?”

Mary Clare sighed. “To complete three lessons and correct their actions that resulted in the death of a packmate.”

That ache of loss simmered anew in Annmar. Even with the little she knew of their packs, she realized that the person who died must have been a close friend. How terrible for them. “You mean it was their fault the person died?”

“No, Riv said the death was an accident.” Mary Clare wrinkled her nose. “But they were the alpha and beta of the pack, so they’re held responsible. Their Elders used old spells for the gildan, binding them with their own shed blood. It’s the kind of creepy old Basin doings my granny tells in stories that I thought were just tales. But I’ve touched Riv’s piercing.” Mary Clare pointed to her belly. “It’s real.”