The Druid Series 9: Baird (A Druid Novel) (18 page)

“This way,” Titus says.

The other three Reapers stall.

“Come,” Baird commands impatiently.

Corrin, the largest of the three shakes his head. “How quickly you take direction from the Faction.”

I do not have time for this.

Baird nods. “Yes. I have run from trouble with this one before and he did not lead me astray.”

Corrin puts his hands on his hips, his rare pale-green Reaper eyes blinking at Baird. “What if it is a trap?”

Baird tries for reason. “You delay us. Altho is a potential leader, and his fortress is compromised. A Druid female is in the open and vulnerable.”

Corrin shrugs. “Yes, but to place our blind trust with a Faction?”

“
Tell you what, dolt,” Titus says.

Baird clenches his fists in frustration. Titus just made the entire situation volatile.

“I shall go where my nose points me and fight on my own, gaining favor with the possible new leader, eh? Whilst you remain here, picking lint from your arse. Sound like an enterprising time?” Titus asked.

Baird moves to block Corrin from slicing off Titus's fool head.

“You spare him? His insults and inference?” Corrin yells.

“
Stop being a prick, Corrin! It is us against him if he traps us. You have my permission to disembowel Titus if it be a trap. If it is not, an apology might be in order.”

Corrin steps away in disgust. “My captain, I do as you wish only because you order it.”

“So be it,” Baird says. “Now let us not tarry longer. Moonlight burns while we discuss your equivocations.”

Baird turns.

Titus is gone.

While they stood wasting time arguing, his best tracker fled.

“Fuck!” Baird curses, running after Titusʼs scent trail.

Reapers follow, though Baird is too livid to care one way or the other.

*

Altho

Altho slides them up a tree, their clothing catching on the rough bark. His eyes latch onto each Were as they approach.

It has been many a season since he was unlucky enough to stand face to face with a werewolf.

Something calls them from their reclusive natures.

Altho shifts Seraphina's weight, and his hand comes away with blood.

Of course—Druid blood is a scent that would bring out every supernatural who desires it.

“
Oh dear goddess,” Seraphina says. “I cannot subdue them.”

Altho knows this. She is the natural complement to a Reaper or pure-blood Druid male, such as himself. Seraphina can be used by the Were, but it would be sacrilege, and the only gain would be an ancient genetic tie to the Were. Most Druid breeders have only vampiric lineage.

However, a small percentage have an ancient tie to the cousin of the vampire, both Reaper, Exotic and
rogue.

Blood never lies. The Were are renown, like their relative, the wolf, for having the most sensitive noses of all species on Earth. It is no small matter that Seraphina spills blood and they come.

Altho counts six of them. His hands slick, his heartbeat thudding in his ears like a river.

His hands come away empty of runes.

There are spells, but without the help of runes, they might be ineffective.

“
Do not let them take me, Altho,” Seraphina says, still weak from the Faction’s feed.

Altho knows only the slimmest of escape is possible. He utters the response she most wants anyway.

His arms tighten around her.

“
Never.”

Siana

Siana counts eight Were, many of which are too close to offer assistance to Altho. She runs instead toward the four who cover the back of the front line.

They are in half-form, and Siana is aware that while she is not at her full strength during daylight, night approaches. With it—more strength.

She closes in on the two farthest from the main pack.

They turn, their sense of smell better than hers, and she manages only one talon swipe at the back of a knee. It has its desired effect. The Were crumples, one leg no longer operational.

However, he grabs hers as Siana flies past him toward the other Were.

Siana falls, rolling to the side as the second Were leaps on her.

Her talons burst out of her left hand, spearing him on his descent. His weight drives her elbow into the ground, and she screams from the pain.

Siana scrambles from underneath him. Three more have broken off from the main knot of half-turned Were.

They advance.

Siana's eyes meet Seraphina’s for a split second. Siana has no answer to the question she sees in them.

Will they survive?

I don't know.

Siana crouches in readiness.

*

Baird

Baird stops, and Titus throws himself to the left to avoid crashing into him.

“What is that scent?” Baird asks. It thrills across his nostrils, ancient and deadly.

Titus spins around, lifting his nose, nostrils flaring.

Corrin halts as well, and the two Reapers with him raise their noses to scent the air.

Titus drops his chin. “Werewolves.”

Baird gazes at the moon that passes from beneath a cloud.

“
This is not their territory.”

Titus rolls his eyes and Baird puts his hands on his hips as he asks, “What?”

“They go where they choose if the moon is full. However, as this area stands between the Reaper stronghold and that of Altho, I wager the Druid female is the wounded party.”

“
Why?”

Titus looks at Baird seriously. “Because blood from a human, even a rare Druid male, would not be sufficient lure for the fanged ones.”

“Goddess, this keeps getting more and more complicated,” Corrin says in a disgusted huff.

Baird agrees. When he catches the scent of someone else, it makes the fine hairs on his body stand on end.

“Siana,” Baird whispers.

“
What say you?” Titus asks in alarm.

“
Siana's scent is mixed with that of the Were!”

Corrin jumps, moving toward the danger. Baird follows, though his guts tell him what he might find.

Baird does not know if he is ready for her death.

Endangerment he can rectify, but Baird never contemplated a life without Siana until he faces it in this moment.

He did not know he had a heart, until she might not be in it.

*

Seraphina

She watches them come, her eyes buggy. She is weak but not blind. Like wild wolves are of varying colors, the Were are as well.

In all the time Seraphina has made trade between other covens, she had minor dealings with the rare Reaper and even
rogue,
but she never encountered the Were—until now.

There were more than a half dozen.

“Stay close to me,” Altho says.

As though she would go anywhere. She is pressed between the trunk of a tree and his broad back.

“We have no quarrel with you, Druid. Step aside. It is the wounded female we want,” a Were calls.

Altho does not hesitate. “No.”

A second brute with downy hair over his body like ink breaks away from the first.

Altho splits his gaze between the two.

Seraphina understands the technique. They are gauging Altho. Feeling for weakness, strength.

The Were’s reflective eyes fall on Seraphina tucked behind Altho.

“You cannot protect her as we could.”

Gooseflesh spreads over her body.

He sounds oh
so
reasonable, but Seraphina is Druid. Some of her kind have ancient ties to the Were. It is not common, yet as Seraphina meets the possessive stare of the black Were, she realizes that her own genetic map might lead to the Were.

“
You have not,” the Were adds.

Altho tenses. “We were engaged by the Faction. There were many.”

The black Were's gaze narrows on them. “Yet you managed to extract yourself.”

Altho's silence serves as his answer.

Behind the two Were, a commotion breaks out. Seraphina sees Siana crouch low in the distance behind the last of the Were. A blur of metal, like a flash of lightning, strikes one of them low, and he falls. The one beside him lands on Siana, and she screams in agony.

“
Stay behind me,” Altho says, for Seraphina had moved.

She'd been unaware of doing so.

The two Were in front of them use the distraction of Siana to lunge for Altho.

He springs away from Seraphina, and she runs through the trees, sprinting in whatever direction is opposite of the Were.

Branches reach for her as her neck throbs. Blood wells, running between her breasts. Her vision fogs, turning gray at the edges.

Please do not pass out.

Seraphina slows then falls to her knees.

Feet that are not human—tipped by sharpened short claws of variegated browns, black, and cream—fill her narrowing vision.

“Little dove who takes flight,” a voice like gravel calls softly.

Seraphina begins to stagger.

Falls.

Strong arms catch her, cradling her close.

A wet tongue like erotic sandpaper cleans the pulsing wound at her neck. It makes her tingle at her throat, and in areas that surprise her.

Seraphina opens her heavy eyelids.

A handsome face peers down at her. A creamy coating of fur with silver tips covers his features.

Seraphina opens her mouth to scream, but a short talon presses against her lips. “No, we shall not alert the vampire who skulk nearby.”

He smiles, every sharp tooth is in full reveal.

Seraphina panics, wanting Altho. The sounds of fighting in the distance clamor.

“No, sweet little Druid, do not fight me—you bleed. I cannot stop it if it starts again.”

Seraphina feels her lip tremble. Yet if he had meant to kill her, he could have done it a dozen times, in as many different ways.

“I—I am with the Druid male.”

The werewolf smirks. It sits oddly on a face that is only half-human. A snout instead of a nose nuzzles her neck, and he snuffles a breath that smells like the forest, male with a touch of a scent like rich herbs.

It causes a weak response in her despite her terrible physical condition.

His nostrils flare.

“You are Were.”

Seraphina shakes her head. “I am Druid.”

His luminous eyes narrow. “You have the genetics to turn. It would take nothing to force the change. Females are much prized.”

Seraphina's heart races.

She does not desire a life with a pack of men who are wolves by the moon's fullness.

Howling rises, and Seraphina cringes.

The noise is triumphant.

Siana

A Were crawls up Siana's body, his nose hovering above her skin. “This Druid is with child and useless. She smells of the undead.”

“
Undead cannot breed,” another notes.

Siana's chest is heaving, her eyes darting around for an escape. There is none. Three of the Were have wrestled her to the ground. A Were lays atop her, and one on each arm have immobilized her.

Tears spring to her eyes. Her pregnancy is no secret, and Carrig's worse fears have come full circle.

“
We might have fun with her before we kill her,” says one.

Rape.

Siana screams, full-throated and desperate.

Howling comes from behind her, and it is the music of an engagement won.

Then a series of staccato grunts interrupt the Were's hands on her breasts. He squeezes her painfully and gets up, complacently turning.

His absence leaves her legs free.

Her captors have each arm, so Siana uses their weight and throws her legs up, striking them in the heads. They lose their balance, and her arms come slightly loose in their grip
.

When something heavy lands on Siana, at first her mind cannot put together what it is she is seeing.

She blinks as the body drops.

The Were who had groped her breasts now stares at her unseeing. His decapitated head oozes gore against her torso.

The Were on her arms jump upright.

Siana moves in a jerk, and the head falls away. She rolls to her left and hits his headless body away from her.