Love Bites (Crescent City Werewolves: The Short Stories)

Tides of Silver and Blood (Part 4 of 6)

Joan had never felt agony like this. It twisted her bones and boiled her blood. Each breath rasped out of her like teeth, filling her ears and drowning out every other sound. There was no room in her head to think or react. There was just the raw burn of the silver snaking through her flesh.

Time didn't exist, but at some point a familiar thrum came to her, piercing the pain with its comforting rhythm: the lull of ocean waves. Slowly, her eyesight cleared. She grew aware of her limbs enough to twitch her legs and flex her hands. Her next lungful of air felt full, steady, and with it came the scent of an unknown wolf. Panic shot through her. Snarling, she rolled to her feet and bared her teeth at the figure waiting nearby.

She could smell both a gun and a silver blade on him, but he held out his hands to show her they were empty. "I'm here to help. I'm Sam Hayes, the wolf Etheridge contacted to take you to safety."

She didn't let her guard down while glancing around at their surroundings. They were in the type of fisherman's shack that she had seen many times at ports, always clustered near the docks like mussels on rocks. Through the open door, she saw mist-shrouded boats bobbing gently against the darkness of night. She scented the air and felt her heart freeze. The only hint of Etheridge was on the jacket she still wore. It was now bloody, all of it hers. "Where is he?"

Hayes' gaze dropped to her shoulder. "I don't know how much you remember. You were both trapped in the nightclub by Mulgrew guards. One of them shot you in the shoulder with silver. Etheridge stayed behind to buy me time while I carried you away."

Somehow, the shock felt more painful than the bullet had. "You let him die?"

"The Mulgrews kept him alive. While you were sleeping off the aftereffects from the silver, I returned to the club and searched through the bodies. He wasn't among them. He's probably been taken back to his mad queen. Packs always want to make an example of traitors." Hayes sounded wary, as if he sensed each word could provoke Joan to attack.

"Coward," she spat.

The other wolf raised his eyebrows. "Call me what you want. The fact is, Etheridge asked me for help and wanted to save you over himself. I didn't like doing it, but that's what happened. Where do you want to go from here?"

It took a moment for the overwhelming rage to clear from her head. As she checked the bandage on her shoulder, she said, "What I want is to rip you apart for leaving him behind."

The other wolf didn't dismiss the threat but didn't get riled up by it, either. "Funnily enough, he threatened something similar if I stayed."

In the silence that followed, a distant fog horn sounded. She recognized it. They were at least an hour from Mulgrew Bay. An hour from Upper Mulgrew pack land and its preening white castle. There was so much left unspoken between her and Etheridge. She hadn't even called him by his first name yet.

The muscles in her jaws ached as she asked, "Did he say anything else?"

"That he loved you." After a hesitation, Hayes added, "I'm sorry."

An old legend about the sea-wolves claimed they wept pearls when overcome with grief, but only simple tears streamed down Joan's face, hot and bitter. "'Loves,' not loved. You just said he isn't dead."

"Not yet." The other wolf sounded tired. "But soon enough. The Mulgrews will wait until dawn. It's their traditional time of death for a traitor. Look, I don't have the resources to take on a whole pack, but I can at least get you a dinghy to escape back to the other sea-wolves."

Joan walked past him and out the door, feeling her strength return with each moment. Mist clung to her hair and skin as she reached the docks and breathed in deeply, trying to control the burning in her eyes. She could smell the other wolf's honesty, but that only made her want to rage more. Was she supposed to just leave Etheridge to die? How could she?

Then, among the copper stench of her dried blood and the weathered wood of old boats, her nose caught scents as familiar as the brine of the sea. The violent churn of emotions in her chest brightened into painful hope. Despite everything, she nearly laughed while turning back to Hayes, who had also left the cabin and now waited for her answer.

Joan removed Etheridge's jacket, swearing to herself that it wouldn't be the final time his scent mingled with hers. Then she ripped the bandage off her shoulder and flexed her arm, testing the fresh scar. It pulled but would hold. Good. It needed to stay strong for what she was about to do. "I'm not escaping anywhere. I'm going to hunt down the Mulgrews and their bitch of a queen."

The other wolf's expression changed, and she knew what to expect even before a low whistle pierced the gentle lap of waves. Countless pairs of eyes appeared, glowing through the heavy fog that blanketed the water around the docks. Her sea-sisters had found her. And now, she was about to find Thomas Etheridge.