Way of the Wolf: Shifter Legacies 1 (10 page)

“Bye.”

“Goodbye Alex.”

* * *

6 ~ On the Run

They came for him in a shower of breaking glass.

Four black clad and masked figures charged into David’s bedroom and fired their weapons. The bed was ripped and chewed as thousands of needle-like projectiles hissed across the room to tear into the motionless form in the bed.

“Check him,” one of them said when silence again fell.

“You check him!” another said, the voice was that of a woman.

The masked face turned slowly and his gun followed. “Check. Him.”

“Okay! No need to get nasty about it.” She edged carefully forward and yanked the covers off the bed to reveal more shredded pillows. “Oh crap,” she hissed and turned a full circle with her weapon ready.

“Where is he?” a third man said pushing his back into the corner and looking fearfully around the room. He flicked his flashlight at the door and kept it there. “Downstairs?”

“How the bloody hell should I know, Brad?”

“No names!” the leader hissed sharply. He eyed the shredded pillows. “He could be waiting down there, and ready for us. Two, take Three and check out the bathroom across the hall. Four, you stick with me. Clear?”

The woman nodded and moved to shadow her leader.

David was running, his paws flew over the frozen snow barely touching down before lifting again. He dove through the undergrowth, his fur easily protecting him from the clawing branches.

Manthings come, brother.

The mountains called him home. He smelled a storm on the wind, saw it in the clouds, heard it in the quiet scurrying of life surrounding him. It was close now. He might not reach the den in time. The others would be there by now; he had to hurry to them. The pack needed him.

Manthings come, brother. We must leave this place.

The trees sped by in a blur. His breath smoked white as he panted into the wind of his passage. He grinned into the wind and his tongue lolled out. He was close to his limit, but he would not slow. Being caught in the white this far from his den would be death. He turned at almost full stretch, his tail held out behind him for balance, his body bending almost double in an effort to avoid the ravine. He made it by the narrowest of margins. He was almost there, almost—

“Home,” he gasped and spilled his coffee. “Shit…” he hissed mopping the stain on his pants.

He must have fallen asleep in the chair. He remembered packing an overnight bag and sitting down to watch his watchers. He had planned to slip away after dark leaving a little present in his bed upstairs.

Manthings come, we must leave!

“What?” He froze at the sound of someone upstairs. He leapt to his feet and looked toward the window. “They’re here?”

We must go!

He was across the room and holding his bag without conscious thought. He was already reaching for the door handle when he realised what had happened and he shivered in fright. He hadn’t been in control, someone else—
something
else had been. He fought the urge to open the door knowing if he did so he was dead. They were watching.

“Nothing… maybe… downstairs?”

He gasped spinning toward the noise. Someone was coming downstairs. There was more than one, maybe two or even three of them. He concentrated on the sound all the while trying to fend off Mist as the wolf fought to reach for the door handle again. There were four, he was sure it was four.

“We can’t go out there. They will see us,” he whispered. “Mist, they’ll see us!”

Let me out, I will protect us. They won’t see us!

He didn’t know what to do. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

We must go!

He felt the change beginning and tried not to fight it, but his fear made that hard. Mist’s anxiety seemed to lend the wolf strength, and David found himself almost a spectator in his own body. His eyes were burning, and he grunted as a cramp hit him in the belly. He fell to his knees trying not to scream at the agony. They would hear. He kicked off his shoes and tried to release his belt instinctively knowing it was needful. His heart was thundering in his chest, and the pain in his joints was indescribable. He shrieked silently as his bones dislocated and changed. His mind was lost in the burning agony as muscles stretched and tore only to re-knit themselves moments later into new patterns. His face erupted into a muzzle filled with teeth and his pants bulged and tore as they succumbed to his changed body. His stomach shifted within him and his heart thundered as it moved to accommodate his new physique. His kidneys, his liver—everything was moving and burning. Fur covered him in seconds and his ears lengthened. Claws scrabbled desperately at the wood of the floor trying to find purchase.

“In the lounge!” A voice yelled. “He’s in the lounge!”

Mist climbed shakily to his feet and shook himself from nose to tail. He cocked his head at the voices approaching. He had learned from his brother what the manthing noises meant, but it was he and not David that was listening now. It was hard to understand the words without David’s thoughts to listen to. He took a few steps toward the door and stilled again. Strange scents filled the room and they confused him. His ears weren’t fooled though. There were four manthings coming and they meant to hurt David. He wouldn’t allow that. David was his pack.

The pack is good, the pack is all.

Mist leapt upon the first one as he entered the room. The man barely had time to shout before his breath was stopped. Mist clamped his jaws down on his throat and squeezed. Hot and foul tasting blood poured into his mouth and made him want to gag. Manthings tasted disgusting, almost as bad as they smelled. He shook the man once to be sure then dropped him in time to attack the next one just entering the room.

This one was smaller, but Mist was taken by surprise by her speed and fell heavily as she fired her weapon. The pain made him snarl and snap at his side, but the anger of being hurt by one so puny brought him up and lunging at the woman’s leg. He clamped down and blood spurted once again, but he couldn’t get a firm hold and she kicked him off with the other leg.

“
Arghhh he got me!
The bastard got me!”

Mist lunged again, and managed a better hold, on an arm this time. The weapon skittered across the floor and reduced the woman to kicking and flailing to no good purpose. Mist ignored the kicks and concentrated on ripping her arm off. He was well on his way to succeeding when her friends arrived and opened fire.

The window, out the window!

Mist didn’t need David’s advice, but he took it. When you can’t fight, run. When you can’t run, hide. That was the way. He dashed across the room and leapt through the window breaking the glass with a crash. He landed in the bushes and lost his bearings for a moment, but the voices from within the house lent him a sense of direction.

“Kill her.”

“Don’t! Brad we’re friends,” the woman’s pain filled voice panted.

“Sorry girly girl, but you’ve been bitten. You know what that means.”

Braaaap! Braaaap!

Mist leapt the fence and ran straight at an oncoming car. Another leap and he was scampering over the hood and away down a side road.

Where are we going?

We should hide, but not here. They will come; we killed some of their pack. They will come.

They aren’t like you—us. They don’t think as we do. They won’t come unless they’re sure they can kill us without being seen.

Cowards.

Yes they are. They will come when we least expect, when we think we’re safe.

Mist loped along conserving energy. His side hurt and he wanted to lick the wound, but stopping now seemed too soon. They might not chase him, but he wouldn’t take the chance. He slowed to a pained walk and turned down an alley. He stopped to scent the air and listen. There were manthings close, but they did not smell of burning metal things and fear like those others. These just smelled bad like manthings always did. He walked on.

“Here now, nice doggy!”

Mist turned to watch the old man approach. He was slow and frail, no threat. He reached out, but Mist stepped back and grinned at him—not a friendly greeting. The hand withdrew very fast.

“Nice doggy?”

Mist snorted and dodged by. There were many manthings living in the alleys. Mist avoided them when he could, scared them off when he could not. He was looking for a place to stop, somewhere to make his den for the night. He was still bleeding and in pain, he was limping worse than before. There were many places he could hide in, but most had manthings in them already. Everywhere smelled bad. There were no trees, or grass, or flowers. There were no hills, or valleys, or caves to hide in. There was only the smell of rotting things and manthings overlaid by the stink of their weakness. How could they live like this, why didn’t they go up into the mountains where the air was clean?

We, men I mean, live in cities. These people are poor and unwanted. They live here because they have nowhere else to go.

No pack?

No.

Then they should go away to die in dignity. When we can no longer hunt, when we hurt the pack by lingering on, it is time to die.

That is not man’s way.

Our way is better.

Mist stopped suddenly and scented the air. A shifter had been this way in his manthing form. With nose to the ground, he circled the place widening his search until he had a direction to follow. He dashed to the end of the alley in excitement. A wolf had passed not long ago, and with her was her mate. He hesitated to follow the scent, but to meet others like him sent a pang of loneliness through him. He could feel David’s excitement at meeting others like them and that decided the matter. He stepped warily out of the alley and followed the scent keeping close to the walls of the buildings hoping the shadows there would hide him from the pitifully weak manthing eyes. To wolf eyes, the night was full of shades of black and grey and not too dark to see, but to a manthing it would be pitch dark with only the occasional car headlight to break up the unremitting blackness.

Twice Mist lost the scent and had to backtrack. It confused him to lose the scent so easily. It should not have happened, but the jumble of human scents almost blotted out the one he needed to follow. The smell of manthings and their vehicles fouled the air—rubber, and oil, and hot metal things that Mist barely understood, but David knew them and therefore so did he. He found the scent again by running back and forth over the route she had used. The She had marked her territory by constantly using the same path to her den. There was layer upon untold layer of scent that told him much about her. She was fully adult and no longer in her prime, but she was still strong in body—a matriarch of the pack and wise. The She wouldn’t be high in the pack, but neither would she be low.

Mist was limping badly by the time he turned into another alley and found his quarry. She was growling low in her throat and standing defensively before a manthing. He had been right; the grey in her fur was testament to her age. He was stronger than she, and therefore dominant, but this was her territory to protect. She had a right to what was hers and she obviously claimed the manthing too.

“I seek sanctuary, pack mother,” Mist said in the language of wolves. It felt good to speak to another of his kind.

Her ears pricked up and she cocked her head. “I am Onida, this is
my
place. You trespass.”

“I am Mist.”

“Who hunts you?”

“Manthings; they came to my den to kill me.”

“Do they come here now?”

Mist settled painfully to the ground. “No, but I need to hide, and regain strength for the hunt.”

“Onida, are you sure he’s friendly?” the manthing said. He smelled of fear and of... love? Love for Onida?

Onida looked up at her manthing then trotted forward. She thrust her face into Mist’s ruff in greeting; he did the same with her. She smelled good, like a cold winter’s day.

Onida trotted back to her manthing and together they set off up the alley. “My mate will heal your hurts; follow.”

Mist struggled painfully to his feet and followed a few paces behind. Their destination wasn’t far. He followed them up a short flight of steps and through a door that Onida’s manthing unlocked for them. Mist found himself in a huge kitchen. He knew what the manthings were, but the smell of food would have told him without those. Onida trotted through an open door while her manthing locked up again. Mist followed her as she led him up a long flight of stairs and into a room on the second floor.

The manthing hesitated at the door. “Onida?”

“Let George tend your hurts,” Onida said and sat to watch.

Mist was doubtful, but he was in Onida’s den. He dropped to his belly and lay on his side. It was more of a relief than he liked to think about. He didn’t understand why it still hurt. It burned and he wanted to lick it, but it was out of easy reach.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” George said parting the fur carefully. “Hmmm. This should have healed on its own.”

Onida got up and sniffed the wounds in Mist’s side. Her tongue darted out to taste the blood still seeping from them, and she jumped back with a yelp. She shook her head trying to get the taste out of her mouth.