Bailey Bradford - Southwestern Shifters 07 - Revolution (4 page)

The only thing familiar to him was a church, and Jameson, never a religious man, was loath to go inside it. However, Luuk was shaking so hard Jameson was scared he was going to drop him, and he was freezing his balls off. He was worried about frostbite for Luuk, along with everything else, so Jameson stumbled towards the large structure and hoped the doors weren’t locked. Even if they could just go inside and get warm, maybe it would help.

Jameson made it to the top step, having no recall of climbing the stairs. “We’re almost there, Luuk. Just hang on for me. Hang on for me,” Jameson muttered, aching for some reassurance from his mate. “Luuk, hang on,” he repeated louder, fear sharpening his voice and words.
The doors loomed large and Jameson wondered if he’d have the strength to pull one open. He edged closer and gripped the handle, the metal bitingly cold against his palm and fingers. A gentle tug and the door opened, warm air wafting past it to slap at him, stinging his skin.

Jameson blinked, unable to figure out how he understood Polish all of a sudden, when it dawned on him he was hearing heavily accented English and there was an old, stooped priest standing inside, looking all…priestly. Jameson supposed he was a priest, but what did he know? He might not be in a Catholic church, although he thought Poland was largely Catholic. With his luck he had stumbled into some Druidic temple where they sacrificed strangers.

“I can see that you need help,” the old man said slowly, as if the words were unfamiliar, although it was probably just the language. “Bring him in—come, come.”
Jameson was too tired to question it so he stepped inside as the old man called out a name or…hell, he could be calling the police or the pack, Jameson wouldn’t have a clue.
A younger man, probably in his fifties, came out from a room at the back of the church. He took one look at them then rushed over, talking in a language Jameson didn’t understand for a few moments before turning to them.
“Father Piotr says you are in need of help.” He looked Jameson over then held out a hand. “I am Father Norbert, and we shall help you, but if you or the man you are carrying is in trouble with the law, we must know.”
Jameson shook his head. “Not the law, no. We’re travellers who are lost. We were hiking…” He trailed off, thinking if there was a hell he was surely going there for lying, but what else could he say?
“Very well then. Let us help you carry him. What is your name?” Father Norbert asked.
Jameson gave the abbreviated version of his name, James, and left it at that. They could think he was just an idiot but he wasn’t willing to risk using his last name or Luuk’s. “This is Lowell, and he’s been hurt, on his side, and I think he ate something poisonous when we were lost and starving…”
Such a ludicrous story, to Jameson, who knew there wasn’t a fucking thing to eat in those mountains. There was snow and the occasional animal if they could catch it, but not berries and such. Not anything poisonous that he knew of, at least.
But the priests didn’t question him, and later, he helped them clean Luuk’s wound, which was already festering and infected—and it shouldn’t have been, not with their healing abilities.
“Is the poison from here”—Father Piotr touched one small patch of inflamed tissue— “or did he ingest something?” He pinned Jameson with a non-judgemental look, and Jameson wanted to trust the man so bad, wanted to be able to share the concerns and fears for just a while. Could he take such a risk?
Father Norbert grunted and scratched his neck as he averted his gaze. “We have promised to help you. You have told us you are not criminals. Have you lied?”
“No,” Jameson croaked, “I haven’t, we aren’t. But there are those who want us dead, and I can’t tell you why. I’m sorry but I can’t.”
Father Piotr nodded. “We accept that, and so, can you now tell us, did he truly eat anything—?”
“No,” Jameson interrupted, “he hasn’t. Neither of us have had a decent meal in…” Longer than he cared to remember. Jameson ditched the thought. This wasn’t about him. “He was shot, and it should have just been a scrape, really”—
healed already
—“not…not this. And he should be awake!”
Jameson hadn’t meant to shout that last part, but Luuk’s pulse was growing weaker, and damn it, he was so afraid…
“So poison, maybe on the bullet.” Father Piotr gestured to Father Norbert. They didn’t speak but something passed between them, because Father Norbert stood and left the room. “He shall return with the medicines we hope will work. We have modern medicines, and more…traditional ones. I am believing it is the older ones that might help Lowell. There are things that work better on otherly types.”
Jameson’s stomach crystallised into a ball of ice. Father Piotr knew…and so did Father Norbert, who could even now be calling someone! Jameson leapt up, prepared to do whatever he had to do to keep Luuk safe.
Father Piotr didn’t move, just looked at him all calm and soothing and what the hell was up with that?
What is he, some shifter whisperer?
Because Jameson was beginning to trust the man, and his instincts were telling him he could.
“How?” was all he asked.
Father Piotr shrugged. “Both Father Norbert and I grew up in a very small town at the base of the mountains you must have come through. We saw things, and perhaps, because of it, we are more open-minded than many other priests. In fact, my sister became a wolf, and I do not think her lacking a soul for it. Her and her husband are not demons by any means, although I would not share any of this with anyone besides Father Norbert, since it was his half-brother she is mated to.”
How did that even happen? Jameson supposed Father Norbert’s mother or father had found a shifter mate or been found, whatever, after his birth. Probably way after, because otherwise he doubted the priest would be here instead of with a pack.
“We will not hurt you, and will not question you anymore.”
Jameson nodded, then looked at Father Piotr. “And please, don’t mention us to anyone, not your shifter family members, no one. Please.”
Father Piotr agreed easily, then asked the same of Father Norbert when he returned. Jameson had expected questions about what he was but didn’t get any. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought he’d be grilled. So far the priests were cool and they already probably knew everything they’d ever wanted to about shifters.
Jameson just hoped he wasn’t wrong to trust them.

Amidst the bustling of the two priests, something occurred to Jameson. As exhausted as he was, worn down inside and out, he couldn’t relax while Luuk’s care was in others’ hands, and certainly not when he was so afraid Luuk was edging out of this life.

Jameson could still feel him, his presence warm inside his mind, a comforting sensation, so familiar and beloved. But that was all he had right now, just that feeling. There were no reassuring words or thoughts, and that terrified him. He didn’t know if Luuk’s body was trying to conserve strength to fight this battle of survival, or—no, he couldn’t think anything else.

Jameson narrowed his eyes as he watched Father Norbert hand a steaming cup of whatever concoction they’d made. Father Norbert had told him what was being mixed together, and while most of the ingredients weren’t ones Jameson was familiar with, he sure as hell recognised the strong scent of garlic. It burned his nose and he rubbed at it as the cup was brought to Luuk’s lips.

“Wait!” he snapped out, his mind finally throwing out the piece of the puzzle that had him on edge despite the priests’ claims of good intent. Jameson slapped the cup out of Father Piotr’s hand, stunning the old man as well as Father Norbert, who squeaked before flinging his hands up and bellowing, “Do you know how hard it was to get that mixed properly?”

“Get away from him,” Jameson snarled. The priests were between them and the doorway, but Jameson didn’t care. He’d do what he needed to in order to get Luuk out of here. “Touch him again and I’ll rip you in half.” He had no qualms about threatening the other men. If they’d intended Luuk harm… Jameson had already figured out they were liars.

“What has happened?” Father Piotr asked. His wrinkled brow became more so as he looked from Jameson to Luuk then to Father Norbert. “What has changed? We have promised to help.”

“English,” Jameson bit out, wedging an arm under Luuk’s shoulders and propping him up so it’d be easier to put him in a fireman’s carry. The priests had spoken English to him before ever having heard him speak. How had they known to do that? He could tell the priests were befuddled by his one-word explanation and didn’t care. Jameson grunted as he lifted Luuk. He was so tired and weak himself, but the adrenaline surge was giving him the boost he needed to rescue his mate.

He knew exactly when they figured it out though, because Father Piotr closed his eyes and muttered “Palant,” while Father Norbert gave an emphatic “Gówno!” What the words meant he couldn’t be sure, but he’d bet they were curses.

“Get out of my way,” Jameson ordered, knowing his strength might ebb quickly. “Or else.”
Father Norbert scrambled back and Jameson thought it was going to be an easier escape for a moment—until the priest slammed his back against the door and spread his limbs out.
As if that would stop me.
Jameson called on his wolf, bringing it as close to the surface as he could without shifting. Damn it, Father Norbert look terrified and soft in the middle, and Jameson wasn’t so sure he could carry through on his threat after all.
“I can,” he told himself, and maybe the Fathers, too.
Father Norbert however, didn’t move, but the scent of his fear was stronger than the noxious mixture he’d carried in moments earlier. Jameson took a step forward, lowering his head. Inside his wolf was wild, prepared to protect his mate.
“Stop this!” Father Piotr shouted with a surprising amount of command in his voice. And for an old guy, he proved he could move rather quickly, darting to put himself between Jameson and the other priest. “You stop this right now! Use your senses!”
“It’s my senses that tell me you are both liars, and therefore untrustworthy,” Jameson spat out, so tired and angry he felt dangerously close to just losing it.
“We’ve lied about nothing,” Father Piotr said, “nothing. I spoke English because I was foolish, yes, but having you come here, knowing the both of you are still alive—”
Jameson swayed, frigid inside. He had to exert every bit of control not to attack right then. “What do you mean? Who do you think we are?”
Father Norbert said something Jameson didn’t understand, but he had the thought to use his intellect, his and his wolf’s, rather than just pouncing. Had he seen or heard, or even scented any signs of deceit from the priests? Granted, his instincts might be rough, but then again, perhaps not. Years of depending on them for survival had honed them to a point where even being ready to keel over from exhaustion likely wouldn’t dim them.
Right now the older men seemed to be bickering, with hands gesturing and frustration clear in their expressions. But did he sense anything else? Jameson lowered Luuk to the floor and stepped in front of him. The priests stopped talking and squawking. “Don’t move,” Jameson said. He shoved his clothes off, his audience gasping then averting their gaze, but standing still.
In seconds he’d shifted. Jameson approached them, everything sharper in his mind and senses in this form. If he’d have been expecting the priests to shy away or cower in fear, he’d have been wrong. Very wrong.
“What a beautiful coat you have,” Father Norbert murmured, and he proved his nativity or stupidity—Jameson wasn’t sure which—by stepping around Father Piotr and reaching out to stroke Jameson’s fur. Even a soft growl from Jameson got him a cluck of tongue from the priest. And a scratch behind his ear.
Father Piotr squatted, his knees popping so that it made Jameson’s hurt in sympathy. “We have told you of our family. They have in turn told of their lost leader and his mate. Many have begun to lose faith that their true Alpha Anax will return, and many who fought for him have been killed or imprisoned. There have been rumours of sightings, and when I saw you outside on the steps, I remembered the rumours, and the drawings and sketches passed in secret of you two. There are many shifters, and yes, even some people, looking for you and Luuk. I have even heard tell of the Alpha Anaxes of other countries sending over guards to find you recently.”
Jameson’s head was spinning with the influx of news, and the part about guards from other countries and Alpha Anaxes—what was he supposed to make of that? He remembered the unfamiliar scent of the other shifters in the forest hours ago. Would shifters from far away have a different smell to them?
“Please, we truly only mean to help.” The older priest sighed and plopped onto his butt. “Too hard on my knees.” He turned watery blue eyes on him. “Jameson.”
Hearing his name in someone other than Luuk’s voice just sounded weird, and…and wonderful. Even in wolf form, his eyes burned, and Jameson had to struggle not to shift. He wanted to trust these men so badly, it scared him. Could he?
“Jameson,” Father Piotr said again. “It’s a strong name. We have not contacted anyone, not even our family shifters, to tell them you and Luuk have been found. We would not, without first gaining your permission. We also understand that trust isn’t given but earned. Unfortunately, I do not think your mate has the time for you to dither over this.” He nodded just as Jameson heard Luuk’s breath hitch, felt his presence flicker, and it terrified him as nothing else could.
Jameson shifted, scrambling to Luuk. “No, no no no,” he muttered, scooping Luuk into his arms. “You can’t, Luuk, no. You can’t…” Jameson rocked and exerted every bit of power he could through their link, clamping mental tendrils around Luuk, coaxing and binding, no longer paying attention to the priests. There was no reason to. If he lost Luuk, he lost everything. The priests could kill him or turn him in if they were so inclined.
Or they could save Luuk, he realised, fear jabbing his gut and heart as hands appeared, the stink of the mixture strong and coming from the fumes rolling off the cup one of the priests put to Luuk’s lips. Jameson didn’t take his eyes off Luuk to see which man gave it to him. He was afraid if he looked away, if he let that bond loosen at all, Luuk would leave him.
“You have to fight, Luuk. You have to. Don’t leave me here, you don’t want to leave me here. I know you’re tired, so tired, and I am, too, but don’t be a coward and take the easy way out. Stay here with me and fight!”
Jameson’s desperate thoughts and words flowed as rapidly as his tears. He held Luuk as more of the stuff was poured into his mouth, bathed his face in kisses and licked away the tears he’d spilled on Luuk’s skin. All the while, the priests remained beside him, chanting or praying, he didn’t know which.
Eventually one of them got up. Jameson heard him but wouldn’t look away from Luuk’s pale, drawn face. A few minutes later the priest returned with another cup, and so it went. Jameson lost track of everything but his mate and the fight to keep him alive.
And so, when Luuk finally took a deep, shuddering breath, Jameson’s heart stopped. Then Luuk’s lids fluttered, as if it was a great weight on them, before he opened his eyes in narrow slits.
“Oh God,” Jameson gasped, thinking he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than Luuk’s golden-brown eyes just then. It only lasted for a moment, then Luuk sighed softly, and closed his eyes. But his presence in Jameson’s mind, in his heart, was stronger, and Luuk curled onto his uninjured side and snuggled to Jameson.
The priests whooped, startling Jameson into twitching, then he smiled, and wondered if things truly were as the priests had said, and what Luuk would think of other Alpha Anaxes coming to his aid. It made Jameson’s smile broader imagining the look on Luuk’s face when he was told this information.
Uncaring of his nudity, Jameson lay down on the floor and kept Luuk against him. He didn’t think he’d ever let him go after this scare. He was so tired, and hungry, but none of that mattered. He had Luuk, and they seemed to have an odd set of friends in the two priests. One of them handed him a large pillow while the other flapped a blanket over them.
Jameson settled in, but he was unable to sleep despite being so worn out. Didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful, or content for now, but he’d come so close to losing Luuk the fear was still a living thing prodding at his nerves. He would guard his mate while he slept, and when Luuk woke up, if he was stronger, then Jameson would rest.