Page 4 of Fate Unchained

Boris tilted his head. “All you need to do is follow the instructions on that page and get me the immortal.” Boris stepped forward and dropped a small sack on her desk. “This will help. Get the beast to smell this powder, and it will fall to the ground and stay out of the way while you use the rune. But don’t dally. The powder won’t keep it down long.”

She shook her head. “This is ridiculous. I’m—”

“Come now.” He tapped the rolled-up debt papers on his open palm. “You’ll manage.”

She stared. Tap. Tap. Tap. “Why do you need an immortal?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Tap, tap, tap. Last year she read a newspaper article about the conditions in the debtor’s prison. Rats, rotten food, and people trapped inside for years and years. One task, and she wouldn’t have to worry about landing there. One task, and she was free. Forever. “How do I do this?” she whispered.

“Now that’s better.” His lip curled again in his mocking smile. “I’ve already got your father tracking down one of the beasts. We think they have a large den not far from Eroica.”

Her father had once been a world-class hunter—his bow never missed when he hunted at night—but he’d grown fond of drinking the past few years and rarely hunted anymore. “Keep my father out of this.”

“You’d better get to Eroica then.”

“What immortal is it that I’m supposed to capture for you?” Her question seemed to ring in the air.

“One of the werewolves of Ulterra—a vulk.”

2

Kyril stood at the mouth of the cave and raised his muzzle into the air, inhaling deeply. A nasty wind sliced through trees, making the few dead leaves clinging to their limbs rattle. The wind came from the north, where the worst storms blew. This wasn’t going to be a mild dusting. Snow was coming. A lot of it.

“Shit.” He rubbed one of his ears and glanced around. Once heavy snow fell in this part of the world, it remained until spring, so he’d be stuck trudging through it until he rooted out wherever Baba Yaga had gone off to. Fantastic.

His den was in the south for a reason. The cold could suck his balls.

He sighed. “Great.” Time to find a place to wait out the storm. The vulk knew every cave throughout Ulterra and turned many of them into vulk hideaways. He’d just checked, and one of his pack brothers had stocked this cave with food and sleeping skins, so he could stay here for as long as the storm hung around.

However, about a day’s lope up the Wide River was one of the pack’s main dens, which would be much more comfortable. And it would be empty, since all the vulk were staying in the new den in Rohant. Empty was good. If he ran, he could get there in about six hours, but he’d be running toward the storm, and if this was truly a blizzard like he suspected, the last hour or two of his journey he’d be wet and the snow would stick to his fur in annoying clumps.

Normally, he’d wear a jacket, an odd item for a vulk to wear and one which made Juri, his pack brother, give him all sorts of crap. Juri lived in the north. He liked snow. Juri tried to tell him it had a lethal kind of beauty and that the stillness after a storm, the absolute quiet, was something to treasure.

“Yeah. Uit that,” he swore in Vulk. Give him the sweeping dunes and the red, setting suns of the south any day.

It was way past time for him to go home. Lately, a need clawed deep inside, making him restless, so it was time for him to be alone, away from the pack. Away from everyone.

A slight buzz sounded in the back of his head as his Alpha, Hans, mentally connected with him. “Any luck?” Having Hans chat with him was convenient in battle, but otherwise, a real pain in the ass.

He gritted his teeth. “I’m working on it. She wasn’t in her bog.” And if she had been, Baba Yaga would have forced him to help her before she helped him. She never did anything for free. Since he needed to ask her about a dead sorcerer’s grimoire—a weighty subject—she’d make her payment something unpleasant or difficult simply because she could. So, not only had Hans sent him into a blizzard, but he also expected Kyril to deal with the Forest Witch.

“Did you find out where she is?”

He growled low in his throat—which Hans couldn’t hear. Probably better that way. His Alpha didn’t take too kindly to Kyril growling at him. He usually did it anyway, though. “Of course. I caught a bog sprite and made him tell me where she’s gone. She’s near the town that sounds like sex.”

“Eroica? The human town? Why would she go there?”

“Gee, why don’t I invite her to tea and ask about her plans? I’m sure she’d love it.”

A snarl sounded through their link. Impressive. He’d have to learn how to do that. “How about after you find Baba Yaga, you head to your den for the winter?”

Kyril bristled. Of course Hans wanted him gone. While Hans brought the pack back together last year, he’d ignored them for about a century before then. Ignored his pack brothers.

They were supposed to be family.

Now Kyril snarled. Family. Right. He’d been on his own since he was a kid. At one time, he’d believed in the pack, but they let him down. Since then, he’d taken the old ways of the vulk to heart—walk a solo path. The vulk didn’t need anyone except the pack. Their creed was to protect Ulterra and protect the pack. That was it. Other people were liabilities. Vulnerabilities. He relied on himself and himself alone. That worked best, and it was the traditional vulk way. The right way.

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