Otherworld 02 - Stolen (39 page)

Winsloe walked to the water's edge, stopped, and wheeled fast, flourishing his gun. Seeing nothing behind him, he turned to the river, looked up and down it, then began pacing the bank. Clay snorted impatiently. So long as Winsloe was thirty feet from the forest's edge, we didn't dare move closer or he'd have time to shoot before we brought him down. If he waded in and started walking, we could move alongside him, staying in the trees until the forest weaved nearer to the riverbank, bringing us close enough to attack.

Winsloe finally stopped pacing. He stood at the foot of a huge oak, tilted his head back, and shaded his eyes to look up at it. Then he grasped the lowest branch and gave an experimental tug. As he slung the gun over his shoulder, Clay shot from the forest. Winsloe didn't notice. With his back to us, he grabbed the branch again and hauled himself up. It was then that I realized what Winsloe was doing. Climbing the tree. Okay, so I'm a bit slow on the uptake. By the time I leaped from our hiding place, Winsloe was ten feet off the ground. Still running, Clay crouched and sprang. Only then did Winsloe see him. He glanced over his shoulder a split second before Clay's teeth sunk into his knee. Winsloe howled. He kicked with his free leg, knocking Clay in the side of the skull. Clay hung on. Blood sprayed his muzzle as Winsloe flailed, shouting and fighting to keep his hold on the tree. I was still several yards away, running full-out. I could see deep furrows in Winsloe's calf where Clay's teeth had ripped through his leg clear to the bone. As the flesh tore, Clay began losing his grip. He danced on his hindlegs, not daring to release Winsloe long enough to get a fresh hold. I covered the last few feet and leaped at Winsloe's free leg. He kicked at exactly the right moment, catching me in the eye. I yelped and fell back. As I got to my feet, Clay's grasp slipped to Winsloe's shoe. Before I could jump at Winsloe again, his shoe slid off and Clay tumbled backward. Winsloe swung his legs out of reach, scrambled to the next branch, and grabbed his gun. We bolted. A round of gunfire rang out, but we were well clear, hidden in the forest again.

We stopped behind a thick stand of trees. Clay motioned for me to stay put, then turned and headed back for a better look at the situation. I didn't follow, not because Clay had told me not to-I'd never been good at taking orders-but because it was safer for only one of us to venture out. As much as I hated to admit it, Clay was the better stalker. If I tried to help, I'd only triple the likelihood of making noise and getting us shot.

Winsloe climbing a tree posed a problem. A big problem. Next time, I'd be a lot more careful about asking for a challenge. I knew Winsloe was smart, but I hadn't expected him to keep so cool under pressure. Given what I'd seen of Winsloe-that cocky self-importance masking an easily bruised ego-I'd thought he'd panic when he realized his life was in danger. Maybe he didn't think it was. Maybe this was all still a game to him. Unfortunately for us, it was a game he was winning. Talk about ego-bruising. First, he'd tricked us and armed himself. Now he'd gone up a tree, the one place we couldn't follow. The tree not only provided him with safety, but it was the perfect vantage point for shooting. How could we even get close-

The forest exploded in a flurry of gunfire. I bolted from my hiding place, then stopped in mid-run. I shouldn't go out there. I was safer here.
Clay
was safer with me here. But what had happened? Was Winsloe shooting blindly? Or had he seen Clay?

Another rapid-fire round of shots. Then silence. I stood there, legs trembling as I listened. When Winsloe fired again, I nearly jumped out of my hide. That did it. I barreled down the incline toward the river clearing. More shots. I stopped on the edge of the clearing, hunkered down, and crept forward until I could see what was happening. Ahead was the old oak with Winsloe perched twenty feet up, squinting south, gun poised. Other than that, the clearing was empty. Empty and quiet. Suddenly a crackling of leaves broke the silence. I swung my head north. A flash of gold darted through the trees. Winsloe turned and fired, shooting at the noise. Clay was long gone. A waste of bullets. I realized that was the idea. Get Winsloe to empty his gun firing at phantasms. A good plan, and one I would have thought of… eventually.

I considered retreating to my hiding place, but couldn't do it. I knew it would be safer to let Clay do this alone, but I'd go crazy with worry if I couldn't see what was happening. Before long, Clay smelled me there. He came over and tried to prod me deeper into the woods, but I wouldn't budge. I lay down, put my head on my front paws, and stared into the clearing. He got the idea. I needed to watch, to be sure he was safe. He settled for a quick nuzzle, then grabbed the back of my neck in his jaws, not biting but pinning my head, telling me to stay here and stay down. I grunted my assent. He brushed his muzzle against mine, then disappeared into the forest.

Winsloe emptied his automatic quickly, going through several reloads of ammunition. Then he pulled a pistol from under his jacket. He was more careful now, less willing to waste bullets on mere noises in the woods. So Clay had to be more daring. At first, he'd only come near the edge of the clearing, allowing Winsloe to see a flash of fur. Eventually, though, even that didn't work and he had to dart into the open. By that point, my eyes were firmly closed. My heart pounded so loudly I almost expected Winsloe to hear it. Eventually, though, it was over. The last shot was fired. After several minutes, Clay slipped from the forest. He stood there, in plain view, muscles tensed, and waited. Winsloe threw the empty pistol at him and cursed. Clay walked closer, slowly, presenting the perfect target if Winsloe should have another weapon stashed under his jacket. Nothing. Winsloe was done.

Now I had a plan. Good thing, too, or my ego would have been more than just bruised. This was my hunt, and I'd done almost nothing, made no plans, taken no risks. It was my turn. While Clay ensured Winsloe was out of firepower, I crept farther into the forest, found a likely spot, and started my Change.

Less than ten minutes later, I walked to the edge of the clearing and whistled. Winsloe's head shot up and he scanned the forest.

"Hear that?" he called to Clay. "Someone's coming. Guess you didn't kill every guard after all."

He leaned over the tree branch and peered down, but Clay was gone. Seconds later, Clay burst through the forest perimeter and looked up at me. His eyes flashed a question. Did I want him to Change too? I shook my head, knelt, and whispered my plan. As I talked, he moved closer, fur rubbing against my bare skin. Without thinking, I ran my fingers through his thick fur. As I finished, I realized what I was doing and stopped. My face heated. On rare occasions when the situation was reversed, and I was a wolf while Clay was human, I freaked out if he touched me. It was… well, it was too weird. This time, when I pulled back, Clay nudged my hand and licked between my fingers, telling me it was okay. And it was. Clay was Clay no matter what form he took. Yet another baby step toward accepting my own duality.

"Sound good?" I whispered when I'd finished outlining my plan.

He tilted his head, considering it, then snorted his agreement.

I grinned. "Can't argue anyway, can you?"

He gave a mock growl and nipped my hand, then prodded me to my feet. I stood and we headed for the oak tree.

By the time I emerged from the forest, Winsloe had climbed partway down, staying a dozen feet from the ground, obviously thinking Clay had run away but not willing to descend completely until help arrived. When he heard me coming, he called, "Over here!"-then saw who it was. Disappointment flitted across his face. Not fear, just disappointment. Seeing Clay at my side, he climbed to the next branch.

"How long you planning to stay up there?" I called.

"As long as it takes." His eyes flickered over my naked body, and he managed a humorless smile. "Hoping to entice me down?"

"If I could stomach the thought of seducing you, I'd have done it while I was trapped in that cell."

His mouth tightened. Amazing. Even treed by two werewolves, Winsloe was more concerned about his pride than his life. I walked to the base of the tree and grabbed the bottom branch. He only watched me. It was still a game to him.

I swung onto the first branch. He climbed higher. I went to the next branch. So did he. Beneath us, Clay circled the tree. Ten more feet up and Winsloe's stockinged foot slipped. The branch he held gave way and he grabbed the tree trunk for support. After steadying himself, he squinted at the remaining branches above.

"They won't hold your weight," I said. "But don't take my word for it."

He didn't. He grabbed a branch and tugged. It snapped in his hand. He hesitated, then lowered himself onto the branch under his feet until he was sitting on it. When I got close enough, he kicked at me. As if I wouldn't see that one coming. I ducked easily and seized his injured leg. He gasped and jerked back, nearly tumbling off the branch.

"You want to fight me, go ahead," I said as I climbed onto his branch. "But you'd better have a spare gun under that jacket if you hope to win."

He said nothing. I teetered on the branch, getting my balance. Winsloe sat still, as if resigned to this. Then his hand shot out and smacked my ankle. I grabbed the limb overhead and steadied myself. The branch beneath us swayed.

"Don't be doing that," I said. "If this branch breaks, I can jump to the ground. Even if you survive the fall, you won't survive what's waiting at the bottom."

Winsloe muttered something and made a move to settle, then slammed both hands into my calf. I grabbed his collar, hauled him to his feet, and smashed him backward into the tree trunk.

"You want to fight?" I said. "Okay, let's fight."

He didn't move. His
gaze
flicked down. I whacked his head against the tree.

"Thinking of knocking my legs out from under me? Don't bother. You do and we both fall. Now, in case you hadn't noticed, I'm not trying to kill you. In fact, I haven't laid an unprovoked hand on you, have I?"

A glimmer of cunning lit his eyes. "You want to negotiate."

"Maybe."

"Fifteen million."

"I thought we were up to twenty-five?"

"Twenty then."

"Oh, so that's how it works? Once I show some interest, the offer goes down. A true businessman."

His mouth tightened. "Fine. Twenty-five."

I pretended to consider it. "You know, Clay was right. We don't need money. We have enough. Wanting more would be greedy."

"Thirty million."

I grabbed him by the shirt collar and swung him over the side. His feet scrambled for purchase, finding only air. I shifted sideways and rested my back against the tree. When he clawed at me, I thrust him out to arm's length.

"Offer me more," I said.

His mouth tightened. I let him slip to my fingertips. He flailed, all four limbs jerking, convulsing, lashing out. I started to release my grip.

"Fifty million," he said.

"Not enough." I let him slip another half-inch. "Offer me everything."

"What?!"

I released one hand from his shirtfront.

"Okay, okay! Fine!"

I grabbed and steadied him. He gulped air, then cast a surreptitious glance at the ground and shuddered.

"Let's clarify that," I said. "What exactly are you offering?"

"My estate. All of it."

"Your personal estate? Not good enough. I want your business holdings, too. Every dollar, every share, every last thing you own. Offer me that."

"Wh-what would I live on?"

"Start over. You're a smart guy. You could make a living. At least you'll be alive. That's more than we can say for Lake and Bryce, isn't it?"

"I'll give you my holdings in everything but Promethean Fire."

I let go. He shrieked, arms windmilling. Before he fell, I grabbed him by the shirtfront, hauled him up, and bent over him.

"Wanna try again?" I said.

His shirt tore, just an inch, but the sound ripped through the silence like a chainsaw.

"All of it," he said. "Goddamn you. Take it all."

"'Cause nothing's worse than dying, right? Tell me, Ty, what would you have done if Armen Haig had made you the same offer? Promised you everything he had? Would you have let him live?"

Winsloe's shirt tore another inch. He stared at me, wild-eyed, lips moving soundlessly.

"Let me answer that for you, Ty. It's 'no.' He could have offered you millions and you still would have killed him. Why? Because his death was worth more than all the money he could give. The few seconds of amusement his death offered was worth more."

"Please," he said. "Please, I'm going to-"

"Fall? Hah. Too easy. You fall. Clay rips your throat out. Game over."

"It's not a fucking game!"

I cupped my hand behind my ear. "What's that, Ty? I think I misheard you."

"I said this isn't a fucking game. It's my life!"

"No, it's your death. Hey, there's an idea. Not a game, but a game show.
This Is Your Death.
Now, I've got to admit, I'm a bit young to have seen
This Is Your Life.
I only know the title, so I'll have to improvise. Cross it with something I do remember watching as a kid.
Let's Make a Deal.
"

I pulled him back onto the branch and helped him get his balance, keeping my hands wrapped in his shirtfront.

"You-you want to negotiate." He wiped sweat from his face and swallowed loudly. "Okay. Good. Let's negotiate."

"Negotiate? Hell, no. I'm making a deal regarding the
method
of your execution, Ty. You're going to die. That's a given. The only question is
how
?"

"N-no. No. Wait. Let's talk-"

"About what? You've already offered me everything you own. You have nothing else to offer, do you?"

He stared, mouth working soundlessly.

"You've offered everything. I rejected that offer. So you're going to die. Why? Because I finally see your point of view. You've convinced me. Watching someone die can be worth more than all the money in the world."

His face drained of blood, mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.