Page 42 of Captive Mate
My whole world narrowed to the smell of Parker’s body and the jouncing of my body over his shoulder, the whiplash as my neck took the brunt of our movement, the agony of five razor-sharp claws embedded in my hip, the wet heat of blood running down my thigh. And this was nothing, nothing compared to what he was going to do to me, how he was going to use and punish me for getting away the first time.
Another howl broke out, raw and deep and roaring, filled with rage. Tears burned my eyes. Nate. Gods, he might be dying, and it was my fault…
One more roar, this time closer — following us. Right on Parker’s heels. I craned my aching neck, struggling to see what the fuck was going on through the wetness in my eyes and the way I was bouncing on Parker’s back.
A big shape, an alpha, with claws flashing in the moonlight and glowing eyes.
Matthew.
It was Matthew, and he was sprinting after us full-out. “Taft!” he shouted. “Put him down and fight!”
Parker laughed, a deep, horrible chuckle that vibrated through me.
And then he dug his claws in again, using them to heave me off his shoulder. I cried out as he flung me aside, and I whirled through the air and struck a redwood, hard. Dazed, I slid to the ground, blood running from the wounds in my side and with all my bones bruised, my legs numb.
Redwood needles under my palms, little stinging pinpricks. My rasping breaths, every one making my ribs ache; clouds of steam rising in front of me in the chill pre-dawn air as I panted. My cheek rested on the forest’s detritus, gritty and poky and cold.
I tried to shove myself up. My arms shook too much. Behind me, claws whistled through the air and Matthew and Parker grunted and cursed.
At last I got my arms under me and rolled to the side.
The moon was starting to set behind the clouds, but my night vision was better than even the average werewolf’s, and the scene was as clear as daylight. Matthew and Parker grappled, claws digging in and legs straining, and then they flew apart. Drops of blood spattered away from them, but I couldn’t tell whose wounds were worse.
“I’m going to rip your guts out like you did to Tyler,” Parker snarled. He was half-crouched, eyes glowing with power and malice, and he started to side-step, looking for an opening. Matthew moved too. He was favoring his right leg. It would be healing by the second, but a second was all it would take. “I’ll drag the little bitch back home and he’ll spend the rest of his life chained up taking my knot. Think about that while you fuckingdie.”
On the last word, he lunged, his claws aimed straight for Matthew’s chest. Matthew dodged back, stumbled, and nearly went down — and Parker raked him across the lower abdomen.
Matthew let out a grunt of pain and stumbled again, but then faster than I could follow he was on the attack again, scoring a hit across the side of Parker’s thigh.
Parker grappled him again, and they both went down, rolling across the ground, snarling and clawing and trying to tear each other’s throats out. Redwood needles and dirt and bits of fallen branches flew in a cloud as they wrestled, and something wet hit my cheek: a stray drop of blood.
My own injuries were healing, and I could feel my legs again. I pushed up. I could hardly breathe, but that was fear as much as pain. I could hear distant howls, the Armitages and the Kimballs in whatever conflict Matthew had left to follow me.
Matthew had left his pack to follow me.
And that thought gave me more strength than hours of healing would’ve done.
I shoved myself up, getting shakily to my knees. Parker was on top now, and he slashed downward. He’d pinned one of Matthew’s arms with one knee. Matthew struck out with his other arm, digging his own claws into Parker’s ribs, and I heard the hideous, spine-tinging scrape of claws on bone.
Parker howled in pain, but he didn’t stop trying to pin Matthew’s other arm. If he got both knees on Matthew’s shoulders, Matthew was dead.
My heart raced and my gut heaved; panic took over, blurring my vision. I couldn’t use my magic. Parker was immune to it, somehow, and there was notime.
“Arik, fucking run!” Matthew shouted, as he bucked to try to throw Parker off. Parker wobbled but landed even harder. “Run! Back to Ian! He’ll protect — fuck —”
Like fuck I was running back to Ian, I couldn’t leave Matthew, I couldn’t do anything…oh gods, oh gods…Parker was immune to my magic.
I looked around wildly, praying for some miracle.
The forest. Parker was immune to my magic, but the trees weren’t. The trees, that had welcomed me to their forest and shown me the currents of their own subtle magic.
I slapped my hand flat against the trunk of the massive redwood Parker had thrown me into. The bark was damp with my blood. Thank fuck, that would conduct my magic even more effectively. Goody two-shoes mages like Nate treated necromancy and blood magic like anathema, but blood and bone held power like no other substances on Earth.
All my magic, all of my life force — I tore it out of myself and slammed it into the ancient tree, begging it to wake, to speed up, to burst out of its narrow track of lethargic, incremental growth and movement. To leap into action, in a way trees decidedly didn’t.
For a long minute, too long, I thought I was throwing my energy away, that it would be absorbed into the tree’s massive life and dissipated into the earth.
But then the tree woke. It stirred with a deep, rending groan, its branches popping and its trunk pulsing under my hand. The tree felt me, and I could feel its curiosity in turn. What was happening in its forest? No one had spoken to it in rings and rings.
