33. A Southern Witch

33

A Southern Witch

FLOR

W hen the woman who had helped Vanessa abduct me, who had given me over to the enemies of her pack, crumpled onto the ground only a few feet away, a hot wave of rage rushed through me.

But I knew it wasn't because of the things she'd done to hurt me, even if everyone else would think so. It was because of the way she fixed those helpless, pale blue eyes on Glen, and pleaded with him to save her.

She was a mess, but a hot one. With one of her boobs practically popping out of a rip in her dress, her disheveled state only made her look more like a damsel in distress. As she struggled to throw all the blame Vanessa's way, claiming she was talked into helping her, I could tell that plenty of the ranked shifters around us were already giving her the benefit of the doubt. A few of them cried out in protest.

Not the unranked ones, though. Every shifter who wore a collar was holding their knife a little tighter as she spoke, her sweet voice carrying and drawing the other ranked shifters closer to hear.

"Glen, you have to understand, I never meant to hurt you or the pack," she gasped. "I was only trying to protect you."

"You knocked out my true mate and gave her to my cousin to get rid of. There wasn't anything you could do to hurt me more effectively. When you hurt her, you hurt me," Glen spat out.

"She's not your true mate, though," Clara sobbed. "She should have been, but she claimed the Mountain shifter. We all saw it; we all know she's the real traitor."

I fought to control my expression. The crowd was listening to her, and we could all hear the ring of truth in her words. Even if it wasn't true, she believed it.

She thought I'd rejected Glen. She believed, at least on some level, that getting rid of me would keep him and her pack safe.

Glen's expression didn't change, even as she kept going, professing her allegiance to the pack, her good intentions in rescuing him from me, on and on. "Glen, please, you can't think I would try to hurt you. You're our Heir. You're the only man I've ever loved!"

"Clara," Glen replied gently. Too gently. "You didn't love me, and I certainly never loved you. You only wanted a position at my side, eventually, as Alpha Mate." He gestured to me. "But my place is at her side, wherever she goes. She may be Brand's mate, but she's mine as well, and I'll do anything to stand at her side. Even if it means leaving this pack."

It was a romantic thought, but the pack members near us cried out, shifting restlessly. From the darkening mood, word had already gotten around that he planned to leave. And when Clara shouted, "She's cast some kind of spell on you, Glen—can't you see? No wolf can have more than one mate," more than one or two voiced their agreement.

Brand was completely still by my side and didn't speak, but I could feel an odd frisson of worry in our bond. I glanced down and noted he didn't have a weapon. Then I realized he was shifting partially, long claws extending from the tips of his fingers.

Oddly, I relaxed. My Bearman was a weapon.

"She's got magic," someone called out. "She's a Southern witch!" The crowd milled closer, and the circle of unranked females shifted farther back, closer to the tent.

I set one hand on the hilt of my sword, ready to fight. Brand moved closer, while I scanned the crowd for Patrick and Alpha Hillier. They needed to get here fast .

But they hadn't returned, and the first bunch of assholes chained in the ring were adding their own voices to the angry outbursts. "She's the one who's trying to gut our pack, take our Heir, and cut the heart out of our fighters!"

"That's why I did it," Clara sobbed. "I only wanted to keep us all safe!"

We didn't have nearly enough blades if Clara convinced even just the ones around us that I was the bad guy here. "Someone cut her tongue out," I muttered.

"With pleasure."To my shock, it was Kristin who answered. She darted forward, and in an instant, Clara's hair was clutched in one hand, a kitchen knife at the bitch's throat, and Kristin was looking up at Glen. "May I, sir?"

Glen opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a group of ranked shifters rushed forward to pull Kristin away. I wasn't sure if they were friends of Clara, or just shifters enraged to see an unranked woman attacking one of their own. It didn't matter. The knife fell to the ground, and she and Clara were lost under a wave of angry shifters, some shifting into wolf form, snarling.

"Brand, help her!" I shouted, and he listened, though Glen was already fighting to get to her. They weren't attacking him, but they weren't helping him get to Kristin, either.

He didn't reach her before she was hurt. She let out a high-pitched shriek, and I heard a distant answering roar in the crowd. Patrick , I thought.

But then there was no time to think. The chained Enforcers were using the distraction to overpower their guards, and Brand's attention had shifted to the ones headed toward us. The fight was on two fronts now.

Crap.

Clara took the opportunity when I was standing alone for a split second to grab the fallen knife and lunge for me.I rolled to one side, then leaned away, avoiding each jab and thrust of her blade. My own sword was in the way as I dodged her desperate stabs. Her face was a mask of rage. She had to know she'd signed her death warrant by attacking me. She clearly didn't care.

I almost respected that she'd chosen to die fighting, but I couldn't feel such a thing for someone who'd betrayed her own pack. She was fast, but not as fast as me. Her training at Northern had been civilized, with sparring matches and rules.

My training had been far harsher. I'd battled every day of my life, and Del had made sure I knew there was only one rule in battle. Survive.

"Fight me, you little whore," Clara spat as I weaved under her next thrust. Her movements were increasingly sloppy, and my cheeks ached with what I was sure was a feral smile. My only distraction was Brand's fury echoing down the bond, but I closed it off, letting myself enjoy this moment. "Fight me!"

"Nah." I pulled my sword free with one hand, rolling not away, but closer to her in one smooth movement. I was done playing. "This ain't a fight."

"What?" She blinked, then looked down, to where my sword was piercing her torso. "How?—"

"This ain't a fight, you insignificant bitch. It's just my turn to take out the trash." I turned the blade and drew it upward, the sharp blade cutting through her, all the way to her heart. A small bubble of blood and spit emerged from her lips, and her eyes went blank as she died, but I didn't have time to consider what I'd done, or what the consequences might be.

To my left, I heard males roaring curses, and feminine screams. A battle had broken out, and the unranked women were in the very heart of it. The night filled with the sounds and smells of fighting. Clashing knives and swords, screams of rage and fright, growling and howling as the world devolved into blood, soil, sweat, and fear.

Too many of the ranked wolves had no idea who to defend or attack. One thing was clear: the chained shifters had chosen to go down fighting, and they were all expertly trained.

What was shocking many of the pack into a confused state was that the fiercest fighters, who were granting the criminals their wish to die in battle, wore leather collars and shoddy clothing, and fought with kitchen implements.

I watched a scrawny girl who couldn't have been more than twelve whack an Enforcer on the back of his legs with a rolling pin hard enough to make him fall, where he was immediately covered with a swarm of knife-brandishing women.

One of the kitchen maids I recognized was wielding a paring knife with terrifying accuracy, piercing everything from arteries to eyeballs faster than my eyes could track.

The rich scent of blood carried on the breeze. These women breathed it in like a welcome perfume.

Glen was still fighting the pack members who'd rallied to Clara's insanity, and I found myself facing a ragged wall of armed shifters who seemed keen on killing the "Southern witch."There were at least ten overgrown males bearing down on me, only my sword keeping them all from attacking at once.

My sword and, in the next instant, my mate.

Suddenly, Brand stood in front of me, his claws dripping with blood, his face half-shifted into a muzzle. "Get in the tent!" He threw the command over one shoulder, then roared to confront the now-hesitant males.

I almost protested—I wasn't running from this fight, and I sure as hell wasn't going to leave Brand to battle alone—when I saw two of the chained shifters slip past the flap.

Fuck. Daisy was in there, with the wounded men.

Her small voice carried. "Help! Alpha Protec—" The word was cut off.

My sword in hand, I sprinted for the tent, but ended up fighting a shifted wolf and almost tripping over a corpse. Sounds of a confrontation inside the medical tent had me running faster. I reached the canvas flap and batted it open with my sword, intent on saving Daisy. But I was too late.

She already had a savior.

Christophe was no longer in his bed. He stood on his remaining leg, with Daisy behind his back, an Enforcer on his knees in front of them both. I wasn't sure why the Enforcer was kneeling, until he made a gasping sound and fell over.

My steak knife was jutting out of the side of his neck, his carotid artery neatly severed.

I didn't have time to congratulate Christophe on his technique, though. Ralen was facing the other Enforcer, and he didn't have any weapons.I knew I could use my sword to end this quickly, but the look of despair on Ralen's face when I'd first met him flashed in my mind. This pack had taken so much from him. Most importantly, his pride.

Daisy was safe enough now, but Ralen? He needed to find a reason to live. And to do that, he'd need a sword.

Good thing I had one. I let out a short whistle and yelled, "Ralen, catch!" I tossed my sword to him, and he caught it in his one hand, an expression of disbelief painting his features.

I snatched up my steak knife—giving it a final twist before pulling it out, just in case the dead guy wasn't completely dead—then watched as Ralen and the remaining Enforcer circled the hospital cot slowly.

Daisy and Christophe joined me. The Enforcer, his hands still bound by a short length of chain, started to shift into wolf form. I hoped Ralen wouldn't let him finish the shift, since he might slip free of the chains. I stepped to one side, to block the entrance in case he tried to run. Daisy followed me on silent feet, her focus intense.

"That's one of the bad ones," Daisy whispered. "He takes our food. He took my blanket last winter, when it was so cold."

Christophe snarled at that, hobbling over to stand in front of us, but the softly spoken words had an even more significant impact on Ralen. He'd seemed worried before, but his face was now wreathed with savage determination.

"You don't deserve to be called an Enforcer." Ralen threw himself low at the shifting male. He'd gone down on one knee to lunge, and the half-shifted wolf gripped Ralen's shoulder in his jaws, biting down.

But Ralen had dropped beneath the wolf, using my sword to open up an enormous gash in his belly. The wolf howled in anguish as his guts spilled out onto the floor.

Ralen pushed the dying beast away and swung the sword high, bringing it down in the perfect spot to sever the ragged, furry neck halfway through.