Garoul: Silver Collar Part 6

Emily turned away and didn't answer. She went back to digging in the mud and watched out of the corner of her eye as Luc placed the quiver on top of the pile of c.r.a.p she had pulled out of the mud.

"More treasure," Luc said, sounding pleased with herself, and she patted her latest find. So far, she had collected a boot, a crushed bottle of water, the forceps from Emily's surgical pack, and now the quiver with its arrow. She was the strangest creature, Emily decided, and thought of their nest and the little pile of objects Luc had piled beside it to comfort Emily and aid her recovery. And despite her bed companion being a werewolf, Emily couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a sound sleep. It just goes to show how cracked I am.

"You're not putting all that c.r.a.p in my RV." She pulled her thoughts in a more practical direction. Best play along with this ridiculous Canada road trip until another avenue for escape opened up, and it would. One look at the mud-splattered packrat opposite her confirmed that Luc was not used to playing captor and prisoner. She probably ate her prey rather than try to preserve it. "Why are you going to Canada anyway? Isn't Little Dip your home turf?"

"I'm sort of persona non grata at the moment. Well, at most moments." Luc grinned at her. She was having a good day grubbing about in the mud. "Moments that roll into years that roll into a lifetime."

"Why's that?"

This got no answer. Luc had located an item of particular interest under the dirt and was trying to work it free. She ignored the question.

"What did you do?" Emily asked again.

"Nothing." Luc's voice was harsh. "Aunt Sylvie had to get rid of me in case the police came along with questions. She said I was too wild to talk to any police. There'd only be social services and stuff. She sent me and my family away." Then she fell into a brooding silence still working away in the mud. Emily was unsure of this sudden mood switch, and worked on in silence herself. What had Luc done that made as secretive a family as the Garouls have to hide her away? And why was Luc so upset at their protection? Because it was more of an expulsion than anything? It sounded like it had happened some time ago.

"What age were you when you went away?" she tried for one more question. It felt important to know.

"Nine," came the clipped response. "Hey!" Luc sprang upright, triumphantly waving a sc.r.a.p of fabric. "My backpack." Her mood had flipped to happy again in a second.

"My backpack. Well, some of it," Emily said, making out a flap of Gore-Tex with a buckle attached.

Nine. They sent you away when you were nine years old? It was easy to imagine that child. In a way, she stood there before her, even now. Hurt and bitter, and still as wild. Luc set the tattered mess with the rest of her booty. What possible use can a sc.r.a.p of backpack be? Luc's attachment to the backpack was perplexing. Emily had noticed the surrept.i.tious sniff she had taken before laying the rag with the rest of her "finds." Well, she is a werewolf. Why should I expect anything like normal?

Emily nearly missed the glimmer of gold as it slid through her fingers and slithered back into the mud. She plunged her hands in after it; careful not to let Luc see she had found something. After a frantic grapple, she unearthed the broken chain. The key was still attached. Quickly, she dropped it into the top of her boot and felt it slide down to her ankle. Relief poured through her. She had the key. She was still in control.

"You finding anything over there?" Luc called.

"Nope. Guess you got the good spot."

"You betcha. Look what I got." She pulled the Winchester from the mud. "It's a beauty, isn't it?" Filthy as it was, a keen eye could make out the sleek lines of a cla.s.sic piece of weaponry.

"Give it to me," Emily demanded, voice tight.

Luc snorted. "Sure. I'll give you a loaded gun. After all, you're so trustworthy."

"Give me it," Emily said again. She reached out her hand. With a grim laugh, Luc flicked the safety and pumped out the sh.e.l.ls until the rifle was emptied.

"Here." She threw it at Emily who caught it in a white-knuckled grip. Luc looked on curiously. "What's the big deal with the rifle?" she asked.

Emily turned her back with no answer.

"Hey," Luc called. "What's your problem? You got the gun."

She was right behind Emily, breathing down her neck. She had moved soundlessly and at lightning speed. "Have you found more ammo?" she asked, her tone sharp.

"No." Emily tried to move away, but her upper arm was seized. "Let me go. If I had bullets for this, you'd be the first to know." Even as she said it, she knew there was a round left in the chamber. Luc had not checked the chamber, and Emily knew the Winchester inside out. It should not be crudely pumped out. It was one of the first lessons her father had taught her. One sh.e.l.l was always left in, the one that killed the stupid or the unwary. Was this her chance to escape once and for all?

"So why are you crying over an empty rifle?" Luc asked, unaware of the danger she was in.

Emily remained silent, conscious all the time of the key and its fine chain biting into the sole of her foot.

"Why?" Luc pressed. "Tell me."

"It was my father's," she heard herself saying.

"Oh." Luc's gaze fell to the weapon resting in Emily's hands. "Does he hunt, too?"

"He's dead."

"Oh."

"The Garouls killed him."

"Oh." Luc looked both surprised and uncomfortable at this news. "You sure? Doesn't sound like them. They usually turn tail and run."

"I'm sure." Emily let her bitterness run out. What was the point of hiding it, especially from a Garoul? Even as she spat the words, she knew she looked guilty. She had one bullet left, and there was a Garoul standing before her. Wasn't this what she was all about? Revenge? Her grip on the rifle tightened.

"The whole of Lost Creek is sure." She glared into Luc's face, not bothering to hide her anger.

It was a bad tactic, Luc was equally belligerent. Emily realized it was Luc's way, to brazen it out toe-to-toe. Not the smartest of moves given that Emily had the loaded gun.

"Yeah, like the three wise men and all their brothers live in Lost Creek. There's never been an ounce of sense come out of that place. What evidence have you got? Anything could have happened. Hunting is a dangerous sport." Her dark eyes blazed, but she could not hold Emily's stare. Instead, her gaze flitted away.

"I know what's tru-" Emily words were cut short by a low, ominous growl.

Luc stiffened, blood draining from her face. They turned in unison toward this new menace. Before them stood another werewolf. It was huge. Its silver-streaked fur glinted in the morning sun so that its entire body shone hard as steel. Its eyes glowed like amber and were full of sharp intelligence, and now they narrowed into slits of raw anger. Its entire body shook with the ferocity of its growl. An answering rumble of warning came from somewhere in Luc's chest. In her human form, it was not as deep or fearful, but its intention was clear enough. Luc stood between Emily and the newcomer, refusing to back down. The air was laden with tension. Emily's knees weakened. She was unsure what exactly was going on, but knew a fight was brewing. That much was evident in the posturing and growling.

"Is it a Garoul?" she whispered.

"No. It's a big, f.u.c.k off racc.o.o.n. Now move toward the RV, nice and slow," Luc snapped in a low voice, without breaking eye contact with the other werewolf. "When I say run, do it. And don't look back."

"I have no intention of looking back. What about you?" Emily asked, her voice shaking. "Are you going to fight it?"

Luc gave a curt laugh. "Do I smell stupid?" she muttered. "I'll puff out my chest and strut around for a few minutes, then make a bolt for the woods. It will follow me and you get the h.e.l.l out of here. Okay?"

"Okay." Already, Emily was sidling toward the RV, her eyes glued on the new werewolf. It seemed content to let her go, concentrating on Luc only. She reached for the driver's door with her free hand, the other slick with sweat on the barrel of the Winchester. This newcomer was a Garoul, and it was after Luc, and Luc alone. Was that why she was being allowed to leave in one piece?

A shadow slid through the tree line to her right. There were more of them! Was it coming after her? Maybe she wouldn't be escaping after all. She pulled herself into the cab. What had Luc done to have her pack come after her like this?

"Luc," she called, her voice shaking. "There are more of them."

"Of course there are more of them. That's why it's called a pack. Get out of here. You're wasting time."

Even as Luc spoke, Emily could see a third Were emerging from the shadows. It slid toward Luc on her blindside. Luc had not seen it. She was focused on the huge female before her.

"Luc-"

"Shut up and go!"

The Winchester burned in her hand. She raised the rifle. There was one shot in the chamber. She was sure of it. Luc had not emptied the weapon as well as she thought she had. Emily aimed at the figure creeping up behind Luc, yet her finger wavered on the trigger. She had a vicious beast in her sights, but she knew from recent experience it was a human, too. She couldn't do it. She couldn't kill it.

She raised the rifle skyward and fired. The world around her exploded. The forest became a whirlwind of action. A riot of birds burst from the treetops and filled the sky with raucous cries. The forest seethed, its shadows boiling over into the clearing in the form of several werewolves. They barreled past the RV ignoring her. Luc bolted for the tree line. The silver werewolf sprang after her with incredible speed. Emily threw herself into the cab and fumbled with the ignition. The RV lurched forward a few feet then stalled. She jerked on the key to restart it and ground through the gears until the old engine screamed and she shot forward, gathering momentum.

To her left, she could just make out the top of Luc's dark head disappearing down the scree slope left by the mudslide. She was sliding over shale, keenly balanced and throwing herself toward the banks of the Silverthread. Menacing shadows pursued her, pouring down the slope, flitting from tree to tree. They slipped through the depths of the forest like wraiths. Then the RV rounded a curve on the logging road and she lost sight of the chase.

Emily concentrated on the rutted tracks and drove on as fast as she dared. She was wracked with fear and worry. Would Luc survive? Could she outrun an entire pack in her human form? Emily suspected she couldn't. But Luc was wily. She would make for the river and let its currents do the running for her. The ferocious waters of the Silverthread would wash her away. And later, somewhere farther downstream, Emily imagined a huge black werewolf surging from the river, shaking its s.h.a.ggy pelt until the water drops flew like a million tiny diamonds, and the sun cutting clean across that silver collar.

Chapter Fourteen.

Emily was a local girl. She knew the forest well. Like all Lost Creek brats, she had grown up playing under the woodland canopy and splas.h.i.+ng about in the creeks and eddies of the Silverthread. Now she drove along the old back roads that hugged the line of the riverbank, searching out the shallow places where a swimmer could easily exit. Well, easily exit if the swimmer were human. Lord only knew where a werewolf could pop up. Anywhere it d.a.m.ned well wanted, she supposed. She was anxious to make sure Luc had gotten away okay. Because she's worth a fortune...and intrinsic to my research, she reminded herself. But it rang hollow. Her worry was genuine, and it was not centered on career prospects.

She was running out of options when she turned into the last waterhole before hitting the main road through to Lost Creek. She parked the RV and got out to walk along the riverside. The bank was dappled with golden splashes of suns.h.i.+ne and the silvery waters rumbled below, swollen and violent from last night's rain. She wandered several yards in one direction and then the other before giving up the search. It was a hopeless task. She was fooling herself if she thought she would stumble across Luc.

Emily perched on a toppled tree trunk and shucked off her boot. The gold chain with its key spilled into her palm. It winked up at her in mockery. What the h.e.l.l had she been trying to do? Her fingers fumbled as she fixed the broken links. Revenge herself against the Garouls for the death of her father, garner acclaim, and project her otherwise mediocre career skyward? Jesus, I spent last night snuggling with a werewolf. It licked my ear. It saved my life. Emily sighed and dropped the chain around her neck. The key lay cold again her breast. If Luc had survived, she would be miles away by now. What would she do about her collar? Emily broke off bits of bark and threw them at the water roaring past her feet. One way or another, Luc was gone. Disappeared out of her life forever. The thought left her feeling hollow.

It was time to head home. Uncle Norm would be worrying himself sick. It was okay to be out all night when she was on a hunt, but usually she'd return in the early morning with a kill for the freezer and begging for a hearty breakfast. With one last searching glance up and then down the river, she made her way back to the RV.

She fished her keys out of her pocket when suddenly, he was there at her feet from out of nowhere. The little ginger dog sat blinking up at her. His chocolate brown eyes swam with a sad, sweet hopefulness that melted her heart instantly. His long ears were littered with twigs, leaves stuck to his matted coat, and his muzzle was covered with dried mud. His silky whiskers quivered under a wet, oversized s.h.i.+ny nose.

"Where did you come from?" she asked, looking around for his master. No one appeared. She turned her attention back to the dog. He didn't have a collar and sat with perfect patience staring up at her, a picture of utter dejection. "Are you lost, my love?"

Her friendly tone got an immediate response. The little dog raised his paw and patted her knee. His tail wagged once then flopped, as if the energy involved had been too much. He looked exhausted.

Emily opened her RV door. "I guess I-" In a flash, he had scrambled past her and up into the front seat. Seemed he could find that bit of extra bounce when needed.

"Okay," she said, a little surprised at this sudden enthusiasm. "Looks like you got yourself a lift, mister. But your paws better be cleaner than your snout."

Bemused, she climbed in after him and started the engine. They took off, swaying down the rutted track. Beside her, her companion sat bolt upright in the pa.s.senger seat keeping a vigilant lookout through the windows.

"Where, in the name of Pete, did you find that?" Uncle Norm scowled at the dog sitting at Emily's feet.

"Found him in the woods. Do you recognize him? I thought he might belong to someone in town," Emily said.

Uncle Norm shook his head. "Sure don't look like no hunting dog to me. All folks have around here is hunting dogs, and he ain't no hunting dog. Look at those legs. I seen longer on gra.s.shoppers."

"Well, I can hardly take him back." They watched the dog as he wandered around the kitchen, sniffing for crumbs, shedding dead leaves with every movement. "I suppose I can always take him to the pound at Covington," she said. The dog continued to circ.u.mnavigate the kitchen, his tail waving high and happily, unaware of the dire conversation going on overhead.

"I'll get him a can of dog chow for the meantime. He won't find much to eat down there. I was cleaning yesterday," Norm said, glaring at his leaf-littered kitchen floor. With a solemn shake of his head, he made for the door that connected his house to his store. He cleaned every day. His house was always spotless.

"Okay." Emily plonked down at the kitchen table. Her legs had begun to tremor, and she was exhausted. I've just seen a pack of werewolves.

"Don't worry," Norm called back. "I'll pick something out for you, too. How about some eggs?"

"That would be great, Uncle Norm," she said, aware her voice was weak. "I'll make coffee." Werewolves. Dozens of them.

She sat for a few minutes, too tired to make coffee just yet. And they let me go? The dog came over to her and sat on her right foot. She reached down and scratched his head with a shaking hand. I can't believe I'm still alive. Will they come after me? Is Uncle Norm safe? The dog leaned into her touch and licked her fingers.

"You are a real cutie, aren't you?" she said, thankful for the distraction. She could feel her chest tightening. The old panic was gathering, ignited by her thoughts. An unsavory aroma itched at her nose. "Phew, I think someone needs a bath." She smiled as he slunk off to the farthest corner and shot her a hurt look. Already he was a remedy.

"Did I say a bad word?" She laughed. If he knew what a bath was, he was definitely someone's pet and not a stray. Someone somewhere was missing him. Maybe she should call the local police to see if a small ginger mongrel had been reported missing?

"Here we go." Norm was back, moving slowly around his kitchen. He opened the dog food and spooned it into a dish, then stood and watched as it was gulped down in seconds. "He was hungry."

Next he threw bacon in the skillet and began cracking eggs into a bowl. Emily did her share and started up the coffee maker. She plopped back into her seat and watched her uncle prepare breakfast.

"Good night out there?" he asked.

"So so," she answered.

"Nothing for the freezer?"

She sighed. "Nope. So-so is a gross exaggeration."

He grunted and turned his attention to the stove. The dog was now glued to his leg hoping for sc.r.a.ps. "Did you sleep in your RV?"

"Yeah. Best money I ever spent buying that thing."

"You look like a hippie driving that."

Emily smiled. It was an old, soft argument. She waited for Norm's usual spiel about camping under canvas when he was young. How hunting was somehow a tougher pastime in his day. He always forgot she had been there, too, on special nights, snuggled down in her sleeping bag between him and her father.

"I can go under canvas, if I need to," she said. "I have all the equipment. It's just the RV is safer if I can park it in a good spot." The last good spot had been the logging camp. It had been a lifesaver after the mudslide. A sense of desolation crept over her. It had been a little sanctuary for both her and Luc. Well, until she poisoned her way out of it.

"How'd you get that s.h.i.+ner?" Norm asked.

"Walked into a tree." She gingerly touched the puffiness around her eye. "Can I use the washer?" She changed the subject. "I got a heap of dirty clothes."

"Sure. I'm done with it. Yesterday was laundry day. I did your bed linen."

"Thanks, Uncle Norm. I don't know what I'd do without you." She watched him slip a piece of bacon to the dog. While his back was to her, she quickly swallowed down her Lexotanil. Her hands were shaking badly and her T-s.h.i.+rt was sticking to her back with sweat.

"What's his name?" Norm nodded at the dog.

"I don't know. He doesn't have a collar or name tag."

"Dog needs a name." He set her breakfast plate in front of her.

"He'll be in the pound tomorrow. If someone's looking for him, they'll find him there." She lifted her fork and made short work of her breakfast.