Sought by the Alphas Complete Boxed Set: A Paranormal Romance Serial Page 18

  At the room’s center was a large table, and on the other side were two large dire wolves: one black, one grey. The black one was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder and he stood sideways, back arched, growling at his foe.

  “Lachlan! Rauth!” yelled Gwnne, charging towards them. “What the hell is this? Stop it right now.”

  The wolves responded by gnashing their teeth again at one another, Rauth lunging at his cousin.

  Gwynne thrust herself between them, her arms extended, palms out as though to say, “Enough.”

  “Shift,” she ordered.

  The two stood their ground, each too stubborn to obey.

  “SHIFT. You know what I’m capable of. I could burn everything in this room in five seconds flat. Don’t tempt me.”

  In a flash the two men stood on either side of her, Rauth grudgingly putting a hand to his wound.

  “Let me look at that,” said Gwynne, moving towards him. “What in God’s name were you two doing? You’re grown men. Not only that, you’re leaders.”

  “We had a small disagreement,” said Rauth, removing his hand so that Gwynne could look at the bloody bite mark in his shoulder.

  “Looks like more than that to me,” said Gwynne. “It looks like Lachlan took a chunk out of you, big guy.”

  “Oh, so this is amusing, is it?” asked Rauth, straightening his naked form in protest.

  “A little, sure,” laughed Gwynne. “I always imagined that it would go the other way. It must chap your ass to have Lachlan one-up you.”

  “My lady,” said Lachlan’s voice behind her, “I’d watch myself if I were you. He’s not entirely calm.”

  Gwynne looked into Rauth’s eyes and saw that his cousin was right; the man was seething with rage.

  “I’m kidding. Joking, playing,” she said. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind of me. Look, your wound will be fine. But what’s the problem?”

  “A man broke into Dundurn early this morning,” Rauth replied, reaching for the tunic that sat nearby on the floor. Apparently in their need to spar, each man had at least had the foresight to remove his clothing instead of shredding it in the shift.

  “A man broke into Dundurn and so you had a fight?”

  “Lachlan insists that it’s my lax security that caused the weakness in our fortifications.”

  “He was unarmed,” said Lachlan. “A human man, sent by the flyers, wandering around the castle as though he owned the place.”

  “How did he get in?” asked Gwynne.

  “We don’t know, but I suspect that he entered via the underground tunnels. There is some weakness around the bars which allow for drainage. He may have squeezed in,” said Rauth.

  “And he should not have been able to do so. It was a lack of guards patrolling that caused…”

  “Enough,” said Gwynne. “Clearly you two are having a bad day. So he broke in. So what? Did he steal anything or kill anyone?”

  “No,” admitted Lachlan. “Not that we can see.”

  “So no harm done. Except, possibly, to your male egos,” Gwynne added. “Now get dressed and go cool off, you two. This isn’t worth bleeding over.”

  “There is more to it,” growled Rauth. “Lachlan has long been questioning my authority in the castle.”

  “Well, you two are equals, are you not?” asked Gwynne, noting that blood was seeping through Rauth’s tunic. She pulled a ribbon out of her hair and wrapped it around his shoulder as well as she could.

  “I am the leader of our military,” said Rauth. “That was agreed upon long ago.”

  “When I was looking for Gwynne, yes,” said Lachlan. “We have her now. I too have duties to the wolf clan.”

  “Well, they are not the same as mine.”

  “Then tell me, cousin, what are they?” Lachlan was advancing on Rauth, his voice a low growl the likes of which Gwynne had never seen out of him. This sort of animosity, normal for Rauth, was unheard of in his co-alpha.

  “You may fold the bedsheets and see to cutting the flowers,” growled Rauth in turn, which caused Lachlan to lunge again. It was Gwynne’s hand on his chest, strong against him, which stopped his advance.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening here,” she said. “But you two need to go your separate ways. Now.”

  Lachlan turned away immediately and stormed out of the room.

  This was not good.

  * * *

  Trial By Fire 10

  The men didn’t come to Gwynne that night, or the next. She had only to presume that they were too annoyed with one another to want to be in the same room, though it disappointed her to think that even the allure of her body wasn’t enough to persuade the two to put aside their differences for a few hours.

  But when Ygrena, her servant and friend, failed to show up on the third morning for the usual ritual of dressing and gossiping about the goings-on about the castle, Gwynne dressed and headed to the wing which housed the servants’ quarters to look for her.

  As she walked, a moment of dizziness overtook her and she found herself reaching for a wall to stabilize her body, feeling faint and telling herself that it was a lack of breakfast that was causing the light-headedness. She would see to a meal a little later.

  Outside Ygrena’s door stood one of the shifter guards. He was an odd sight, given that Hallam, Ygrena’s lover, was normally with her at night. Surely the reason that she’d been detained, after all, was that they’d remained in bed late, for which Gwynne could easily forgive her on occasion. Sex was as good a reason to stay in bed as any.

  “What’s going on?” Gwynne asked him. “I do hope you’ll tell me you’re not listening at the door.”

  “Ygrena is being kept in isolation,” said the young man, his face intensely serious. “She’s unwell.”

  Well, at least someone around here has figured out contagion, thought Gwynne.

  “May I see her?” she asked.

  “You may, Lady Gwynne, but I must warn you. They think it’s the plague.”

  Gwynne’s jaw dropped.

  “Who thinks that?” she asked.

  “The medics. A man, sent by the enemy, made his way into the castle a few days ago.”

  “Yes,” said Gwynne. “I know about that. The alphas told me…”

  “We caught him and imprisoned him; they think he came through an open tunnel which was undergoing repairs. But it seems that we were a little too late; he was ill, and he’d made his way in and exposed himself to a few of the humans.”

  “Dear God,” said Gwynne. “This is terrible news.” Not only was the castle’s infiltrator himself a deadly weapon, but this news would cause an even greater rift between Lachlan and Rauth. Gwynne’s heart felt as though it would pound out of her chest. But the worst of it was the thought of Ygrena suffering, dying, and of being helpless to save her.

  “Please let me by,” she said. “I’m safe from infection, or so they tell me. I need to see her.”

  “Aye, you are safe,” said the guard, stepping aside to let her through. By now all the wolf shifters had heard of Gwynne’s shifting, of her drake form, and they knew that she would be impervious to human illness.

  When she pushed the door open she saw Ygrena lying down, Hallam by her side, holding her hand. Around the servant’s neck was the silver pendant that Gwynne had offered Hallam to give her.

  “Ygrena,” Gwynne said, moving close. The woman’s pallor tore at her. Sweat beaded on her face, in spite of the fact that she looked cold, deathly.

  And the worst part: a pink bump on her neck, the beginnings of a bubo, the swellings for which the plague was named.

  “My lady,” said the servant weakly. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t see you this morning…I…”

  “Don’t speak. Listen, I’m going to find you help. But Hallam, you need to stay by her side and monitor any changes. Please. Do it for me.”

  “I will, of course, my lady,” he said, standing.

  “There’s no time to spare. I’m going now, but I’ll be back
very soon,” said Gwynne.

  As she left the room she wondered at it all: here she was, able to travel through time and yet potentially unable to help Ygrena. Was there a cure for the plague in the twenty-first century? Surely there was; new plagues had come along to take its place and the black death was long gone, if not forgotten, in Gwynne’s day.

  But something told her that the first step was to find the woman in black, the witch by the sea. Gwynne was sure that she could help.

  She dashed back towards her quarters to fetch a long overcoat, and in so doing ran into Lachlan.

  “I need to go,” she said. “The plague…”

  “I know. Several here have it. We still don’t entirely know how the man did it, infiltrated Dundurn. But we need to help these victims.”

  “It doesn’t matter how he got in, not anymore,” said Gwynne. “Listen—I met a woman. I think she can help. She lives in a cottage by the shore. I’ll need to get to her quickly.”

  “The lady in black,” said Lachlan. “I know…of…her. But how much do you know about her, my cwen? Can she be trusted?”

  “If my instincts are anything to go by, yes. I think she means well. Very well. I think she’s good. Something about her feels…I don’t know, familiar. Like she’s one of us.”

  “Then go,” said Lachlan, stepping forward to kiss her forehead. “Bring her back here with you, if you can.”

  “Lachlan,” said Gwynne, catching his hand as he turned to leave. “Is everything all right between you and Rauth?”

  “It will be. Don’t you concern yourself with our petty squabbles, beautiful Gwynne. We’re in the difficult position of sharing authority; two men who would each wish to lead.”

  “Don’t forget who you are,” she said. “Don’t forget that you have a mate, either.”

  “I could never forget such a thing,” he said. “But you understand that Rauth and I needed time apart. We will find our way to you soon, though. I promise you that.”

  “Good. Do. And now,” said Gwynne, her voice hesitant, “Should I shift into my drake?”

  His eyes fixed on hers, their icy blue warming her as they always did.

  “If you can, yes, to get to the lady,” he said. “But you are not happy in your déor’s form. I know that. Would you like me to go with you? You could ride on my back.”

  Gwynne pondered this for a moment. “No,” she said. “Thank you. I think I can get to her faster on my own.”

  “You are perfection. You are Gwynne, my queen, and Rauth’s, and the drake is part of you. Do not fear it or reject it. Embrace it if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said, her smile forced. She felt the creature inside her every day and often denied its existence, but now it was time to move towards acceptance. Today the drake could save lives. In truth she dreaded shifting; what it did to her body, to her cells. It was as though she were anticipating a hot brand on her flesh.

  Lachlan left Gwynne and she ran then, down long hallways, pulling off her coat and leaving it on the floor behind her as she went.

  She wouldn’t be needing it.

  * * *

  Trial By Fire 11

  Once she was outside, Gwynne stood in the centre of the large courtyard and closed her eyes, peeling layers of clothing away until she stood naked beneath the sky.

  She did as she had when she’d shifted back into her human form: envisioned the drake, its golden scales shining in the sunlight. The fire that it had breathed in Lachlan’s direction. The wings, dormant on its back but ready for flight. Her wings.

  In a quick pulsing of rhythmic sounds that indicated her skeletal change, she stood, her back arcing high, looking upwards. The sky was bright above her and she didn’t pause to consider her form or the potential strangeness of it. This drake, in this moment, was simply a means to an end: she would save Ygrena, and possibly others as well.

  She thrust off, shooting herself skyward, grateful not to see any flyers around as she attempted her own first flight. The wings which had looked so weak, so thin and unable to support her weight, did so with ease as she glided upwards.

  At first she made the effort to flap them, attempting to control the great appendages. But quickly Gwynne learned to let them move almost of their own volition as her legs did when she walked, easing her body to the right and the left in order to turn.

  When she’d swooped over the castle’s outer parapet she turned in the direction of the lady’s cottage on the shore, soaring down towards the coast and its lapping whitecaps. The sight was beautiful, as was the very feeling of flight; nothing lay between her and the earth and water but open air.

  Her legs tucked themselves neatly under her as though they knew exactly what to do and for a moment Gwynne embraced her form. For the first time in ages she felt at ease inside her own body; perfectly confident in its abilities, and even in a certain gracefulness which she would never have imagined from such a large creature as she’d now become.

  What had been a long walk would only be a few minutes’ flight and for that she was almost disappointed. But for her rush to save Ygrena, she would have loved to spend more time acclimatizing to the new form. But a mothering instinct was kicking in; she had to protect her servant, her friend, her loyal companion, at all costs. Amusements would save themselves for another day.

  At last she saw it, the green of the ivy standing out against the grey stone of the cliff face: the lady’s cottage. She had only to hope that the owner would be at home.

  She landed more gently than she’d expected, and found herself standing in dragon form before the house, huffing. Small puffs of smoke shot out her muzzle; a reminder of what she was capable of. Gwynne told herself again to be human.

  And so she was.

  The lady emerged in the doorway, veil in place once again.

  “Greetings, Gwynne,” she said to the nude young woman before her. “I see that you’re not completely human after all.”

  “No, not completely. Listen—I’m sorry to do this to you, but a friend of mine—a human—is ill, as are others at the castle. It’s the plague.”

  “Oh, dear. To say that’s not good is quite an understatement,” said the woman.

  “I need your help. Please,” said Gwynne. “Is there anything you can do?”

  “I—we—can treat them, yes.” The woman seemed to pause for a moment, frozen.

  “But…?” asked Gwynne, attempting not to allow impatience into her tone.

  “The medication will be from your time, my lady. I am unable to make it myself.”

  “How do you know about treatments from my time? I thought…”

  “Don’t ask questions now; there isn’t time. Are you able to get yourself to modern Trekilling?”

  “Yes,” said Gwynne. “Though I should have some clothes on…” She could only hope that the garments would make the transition with her.

  “I’ll provide them. There is an apothecary in the town, off the main street. It’s small but will have what you need. Streptomycin. It’s an antibiotic. Go in, take some. Do whatever you need to in order to get it.”

  Gwynne wished that she had Lachlan or Rauth along. Either man shifting in the drug store would have been a big help in distracting confused pharmacists.

  “All right, I’ll do it and return to you,” she said.

  “Good. Come in,” said the woman, who moved to a dresser and pulled out some very modern-looking sweat pants, a t-shirt, a jacket and shoes. “You will have questions for me at some point,” she said as she handed them over. “But now, as I said, is not the time.”

  “No, it isn’t. But thank you,” said Gwynne. She threw the clothing on and closed her eyes. “Picture the town, the pub, the cars,” she told herself. “Go there. Move through time.”

  In an instant she felt a gentle breeze on her skin, and light droplets of rain hitting her face.

  She opened her eyes to see the Boar’s Head Pub across the street.

  A man was passing her, seemingly failing to no
tice that she’d just appeared out of nowhere. He was dressed in an elegant suit and carried a briefcase.

  “Excuse me,” said Gwynne, “Could you tell me where the apothecary is?”

  “Just behind you, down the road and to your right. You can’t miss it,” said the man, smiling at her.

  “Thank you.”

  She jogged down the road, and ran in through the shop’s door.

  There was, happily, no line at the pharmacy counter. But how on earth was she to acquire drugs without a prescription? She couldn’t very well shift in this place without risking everything.

  Finally she had an idea. “Excuse me,” she said to the pharmacist as she approached.

  “Yes? May I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’m an American college student, working on a thesis about the bubonic plague’s ramifications in England. I’m wondering if you have any of the drugs that would have been used to treat it.”

  “We do,” he said, smiling. “Actually, it’s a bit of a passion of mine. Recently I wrote an article for a medical journal on treatments. Let me see what I can find.”

  The man disappeared into a back room as Gwynne paced internally, feeling that every passing second was a year of Ygrena’s life being stolen away.

  Finally he reappeared, carrying a large canvas bag and a magazine.

  “Here’s the article,” he said, putting the bag down on the counter next to Gwynne. Its flap fell open and she could see what looked like dozens of pill bottles inside. On one label she read “Streptomycin.” So far, so good.

  “Oh,” continued the man, “And those are the drugs. We’ll get to those in a minute. First, let me show you the paper that I wrote. It’s quite fascinating. You know, I was told by a top scholar in the field that I showed great promise. I plan to write a novel, you know. Perhaps a mystery set in the middle ages, about a young woman and a ruthless thief…”

  Gwynne smiled at him, her teeth grinding rapidly against one another. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “But I’m in a bit of a hurry.”