Page 22 of Father of the Wolf

Rath knew it was pointless to argue with him. Stubborn fool. Dàn would continue to protect him and Athair, allowing these jerks to practice their latest torture. They were using a spiked club now, instead of simply fists.

All Rath could do was curse them and he did so colorfully, until he realized they only reacted to his outbursts by beating Dàn with more enthusiasm. Finally, he fell silent and watched as they slowly killed his friend.

It was obvious Dàn wouldn’t last much longer. “I’ll tell you anything you want. Just stop.” Rath said in defeat.

“Stall for time.” Dàn whispered in his mind. But he gave no explanation why.

Rath trusted Dàn to have some plan, so he did stall. Bequlf turned to Rath, looking irritated that he couldn’t beat him for interrupting. “So, talk.”

“About what? The weather?” Rath spit out his usual rebellious answer.

Bequlf responded by stabbing Dàn in the shoulder with a long narrow knife, which proved that pissing him off was not the best stalling tactic. Dàn was so badly hurt that through it all, he never moved or reacted. All that proved he was still alive was the protection that surrounded Rath.

“Look, I don’t know what you want! Just tell me, so I can answer you.” Anything to stop the abuse on Dàn.

“Tell me where the other one went,” Bequlf growled as he twisted the knife from Dàn’s flesh and the tree.

“Athair?” How the hell could he know that?

“Yes.”

“I don’t—” Rath started.

“Don’t say you don’t know.” Dàn murmured.

“—want you to hurt him.” He finished lamely.

“Of course we won’t hurt him. We want to kill him. Not hurt him.” He punctuated the comment with another punch to Dàn’s stomach. He hadn’t even twitched at the recent blows.

“Hey! Stop that!”

“Be ready. Sgrios comes.”

Chapter Eight

Choice

The Weight of a Stone

Athair felt a jolt as energy was ripped from him. Its loss was replaced with a flood of awareness. The pain was incredible, but the weakness and disorientation were worse. The poison had done its job well. He would have been an easy kill. It was amazing he had gotten away at all, and now he must rely on these humans to heal him. What a laugh. He should have been able to heal himself.

The man thought him an animal. But the woman, she saw only with her heart. She was very tender with her own deep wounds. As soon as he was able, he would thank her by healing her. What he needed was sleep. Deep, healing sleep. But not yet.

They opened the back of the moving machine, placed him on something with wheels, and rolled him into a building. The first room was painted in bright colors and was filled with windows. The second was mostly white, so bright it made his eyes water after the dark night. Here they moved him onto a metal table. It was cold and hard, it brought fear to him again. The distance to the floor made the room spin around him. To stop the spin, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the woman’s voice and what she had said to him. What was her name? What had the man called her? It was a nice name. Finally, the room came to a stop. Hope. That was her name. She was Hope. She would make it right. A wave of dizziness swept over him.

Make what right? So much was wrong. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Did she know that she was empathic? He could feel her trying to soothe him. Then she gave him an injection. Aahhh. The pain began to ease. She was Hope. And she’d drugged him.

* * *

Sgrios burst into the center of the group as a wolf, but he quickly shifted between forms depending on the need. A ripping, tearing bite here. His deadly knives in the very next moment. He was fire and fury, and completely without mercy.

Only seconds after his entrance, he had killed two of the men and cut the bonds from Rath with a single slash at the tree. When Rath would have fallen, Reultan was there to catch him, and he helped him to where Dàn was. Díon cut Dàn’s ropes, gently cradling Dàn’s still form as he lowered him to the ground.

Sgrios snapped another opponent’s neck with one hard, deft twist, the cracking sound like a dry branch. Followed by a knife to the heart. A fourth tried to run but was caught with bolas tangled about his legs. He didn’t even have time to struggle before Sgrios was on him, slashing his throat.

The rest scattered from his swift, devastating attack. Nothing could have prepared them for his fully unleashed rage.

Sgrios tangled another with a second set of bolas and threw two long knives, both finding deadly marks in the back of the necks of two retreating fighters. After retrieving his knives and dispensing of the downed men with a single flashing blade, he shifted to wolf form and shot into the night after Bequlf and the rest.

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