Blood Law (9 page)

As
she backed up to get a good head start, Falon ripped the long sleeves off her
shirt. She wound each piece around her hands and tied them securely to buffer
the razor wire. She heard voices. Close. Then a shout followed by a flurry of
heavy feet moving in her direction.

She’d
been spotted.

Taking
a deep breath, Falon focused on the other side of the fence. Slowly, she
exhaled and then took off. As she leapt high into the air, she felt an
exquisite sense of euphoria as well as shock. Her body was lighter, her muscles
stronger, her reflexes that of a cobra. Her feet barely touched the top coil of
wire as she flew effortlessly over the wall. She landed in a patch of soft
grass squarely on the other side of the wall. In disbelief, she glanced back
and up at the high wall she had just cleared, then sprang like a tiger and took
off for the hills.

How?
How had she just jumped like a kangaroo over a two-story-high, concrete,
wire-rimmed wall? How had she healed? Had the supernatural energy she’d
detected in Vulkasin rubbed off on her? Had sex with him infused her with some
of his power? It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Vulkasin was as
different as she was. Maybe he was like her? Maybe he was the one person who
might be able to shed some light on what it all meant. As much as she wanted
answers, she wasn’t going to stick around and find out if he had them. He
terrified her. Falon ran. Blood pumped in her veins with the velocity of ten
engines as she raced to put as much distance as she could between herself, the
blond, the wolf, and the shambles her life had become. She pushed everything that
had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours out of her head. Ostriches
had nothing on her—running was how she’d survived all these years. It was how
she would continue to survive.

Hair
prickled along her neck and arms. Her skin suddenly felt cold.

She
was being followed.

Falon
kept her frantic pace but dared to look over her shoulder. Her heart nearly
stopped.

A
pack of beasts—enormous, long-fanged, black, slobbering beasts—were hot on her
heels. Miraculously, she dug deeper and her speed increased. This time she
didn’t question it, she just went with it. A thick copse of trees was dead
ahead. If she could just get to them before . . . She tripped.

She
rolled over and hurried to her feet only to fall to her knees. Pain shot from
her left ankle straight up her calf to her thigh. She leapt up again only to
fall face-first to the loamy ground. Fresh pain radiated in hot pulses to her
groin.

Her
leg was broken, but she didn’t have the luxury to cry about it. Crawling toward
the nearest tree, she hoisted herself up and reached for the lowest branch.

She
heard their panting first. Then hot, wet breath licked at her back. She turned,
back flush against the trunk. The beasts surrounded her, their red eyes ablaze,
their fangs exposed, their tongues lolling out of their long mouths.

“Nice,
doggies,” Falon softly said, once again reaching for the branch above her head.
“Nice doggies.”

The
largest of them, looking like it weighed a good three hundred pounds, lowered
his head and flattened his ears. Not a good sign. She glanced up at the branch
she held on to and jumped on her good leg while pulling herself up. Her feet
left the ground, and she pulled herself up further. The beast below her lunged,
his jaws snatching her boot right off her foot. Falon hoisted herself up and
clung to the trunk for dear life. The beasts came at her, nearly biting off her
foot. She grabbed the next branch and climbed higher. Not high enough. In their
blood rage to get to her, the beasts tore at the bark and, like cats, they
climbed after her.

When
she could go no higher, Falon pulled herself into a tight ball and prayed to
God to save her. As if they heard her prayers, the beasts moved to the side,
parting as if they were the sea making way for Moses.

He
came in the form of that big-ass wolf she’d left lounging on the bed. Its
turquoise eyes locked on hers. Several of the beasts barked, and he growled
furiously. Like puppies, the black beasts yelped and went belly up as he
approached. Falon watched in silent awe as he moved effortlessly among them.

He
turned that big tawny head of his back toward her, and this time his laconic
eyes laughed at her. He barked. A command that Falon immediately understood.
Get down. Now.

It
was the last thing she wanted to do, but the pain in her foot was an intense
throb now, never mind that half a dozen three hundred-pound brutes were
surrounding her with Ginsu knives for teeth. Her only choice was to get down
and obey the one who was in control. The top dog, she thought derisively,
vaguely cheered by her ability to maintain her humor under such grave
conditions. She slowly began her descent and wondered why the wolf and not his
master had come after her. Where was he anyway? And how did he control the gold
wolf who, in turn, seemed to control these snarling black beasts?

Falon
didn’t give the absurdity of her questioning thoughts much mind. Her life was
one continuous movie reel of surreal. Granted, it had been cranked up several
notches recently, but given her history, that was almost to be expected.

She
focused her full attention on getting down the damn tree without injuring her
leg more. It wasn’t easy, especially since her body was shaking. She worked
very hard not to feel anything, and in less than twenty-four hours, she had
experienced the gamut of raw emotions and excruciating physical pain. She was
at a loss as to how to deal with it. So she didn’t.

It
took time and effort to maneuver down the tree while keeping pressure off her
foot, which had swollen up to the size of a grapefruit and hurt like hell. She
wrestled back tears and swallowed her fear as she carefully dropped to the
earth.

Her
fingers slipped, and her bad leg hit the ground before her good one. Falon
cried out and crumpled to the loamy forest floor. The gold wolf snarled, his
fangs displaying his petrifying fury, and leapt toward her. She had nowhere to
go but against the tree trunk. He kept coming until his nose touched her face
in something resembling a nuzzle.

A
bubble of hysteria lodged in her throat. This close, she could see the possessive
gleam in his eyes. He lunged at the big black beast that had ripped her boot
off.

Stupefied,
Falon watched the big black wolf-thing lie supine, accepting the fury of the
gold one. When he had been sufficiently punished, the gold wolf turned to her
and slowly approached. She backed up as far as she could, but the tree stopped
her progress. The wolf growled low, not threatening but reassuring.

How
was it she knew exactly what it was communicating? Thinking? Falon stilled,
holding her breath as he sniffed, then pressed his nose to the nape of her
neck. He licked her.

The
heat of his rough tongue sent a shiver of fear and, Jesus, desire through her
body. “No,” she stuttered, not liking where her deviant thoughts took her. But
he ignored her as surely as his master must have last night. His nose traveled
lower to her shoulders, then her breasts. He nuzzled her cleavage. His nose
traveled lower until he came to the juncture between her thighs. Falon squeezed
her legs shut just as she visualized his master nuzzling the same place. He had
done wicked things to her with his tongue. He had—The wolf pressed his nose
more firmly against her. Falon bit her bottom lip and caught her breath at the
warmth that followed his close inspection.

He
growled again, then looked up at her as if to say, “We’ll get to that later,”
before continuing to nuzzle his way down her legs until he came to the injured
foot. His big warm tongue flicked out.

Despite
her fear and the pain, she nearly swooned as he used his tongue to caress her instep,
around her toes, and over the—Oh God—the sharp edge of the broken bone that
protruded just above her ankle. When she looked down and saw the compound
fracture, she fainted.

THIS
TIME, WHEN Falon woke in the strange bed, there was no sign of the wolf.
Instead, its owner, the blond Neanderthal, stood at the foot of the bed,
leaning against a post with his arms crossed over his chest, glowering at her.

Raising
her chin and trying not to appear intimidated, she sat up. Flames of pain
radiated through her, and she fell back again.

Her
leg.

She
looked down to see her left leg, pant fabric torn away, replaced by a plaster
cast. The last twenty-four hours flashed in her head, alternating between
fast-forward and rewind.

Death.
Destruction. Mass confusion. Pain. Fear. And . . .

She
looked up at the great beast in front of her, then away.

. . .
awe.

Last
night he had terrified her with his magnificent anger and prowess with a sword.
Today, still terrified, she looked at him through more contemplative eyes. His
arrogant air hung just as heavily around him as it did before. More so in his
calm state. He was a man who did not ask to be followed; it was a given. A good
foot taller than her, his thick blond hair was cut stylishy short, framing a
strong, handsome face. He was dressed casually in a fitted black shirt and
black jeans.

Falon’s
cheeks warmed as her gaze swept the length of him. Though his clothes nicely
defined his wide shoulders, deep chest, narrow hips, and long, muscled legs,
she knew his true magnificence could only be appreciated in his most natural
state.

She
swallowed hard and refocused her attention to the matter at hand: What was
going on here? First that man Conan, then the man before her, Vulkasin, then
the big bad wolf, and now Vulkasin again. And all of them somehow connected to
her—did her newfound powers feed off them? Were they the conduit?

She
rewound to Conan—or Jager as he’d called himself—who’d called her Slayer and
told her he was going to take her to her people and that they were destined to
be one. Her and Conan? She shivered at the thought. And just who were the
people he’d spoken of? What was a Slayer?

She
had no people. She was an orphan, a drifter, a loner. Yet he’d known her real
name, something she’d guarded for the past ten years. That wasn’t enough to
give the rest of his statements credence though. Was it?

And
what of this man? Vulkasin. Did he know Jager? What had they been talking
about? Did he have anything to do with Mr. D’s murder? Or did he think they
were connected in some way, just like Jager had? Because now that she’d woken
up in the room for the second time, she couldn’t deny it—there was a part of her
that felt a connection. To the room. To the wolf. And, Lord help her, to the
wolf’s master.

He
continued to glower at her; she felt his gaze on her body, but she refused to
acknowledge him. Ostrich, she thought, and stared at her broken leg as if the cast
would somehow explain what the hell was going on. When it didn’t and it became
apparent the man was going to wait her out, she raised her gaze.

Those
mocking turquoise eyes stared back as if daring her to speak. His angry aura
held a tinge of red—of passion—but stronger than that was the spark of an old,
weary soul.

Yeah,
well get in line, buddy.

The
spirited thought gave her the courage to speak.

“Who
are you? Where am I? What did you do to me?”

He
put two fingers to his full lips and shook his head. “No answers until I have
mine.”

Falon’s
jaw dropped. She didn’t know if she wanted to kick that arrogant controlling
smirk off his lips or just tell him what he wanted to know so he would tell her
what she wanted to know. Both, she decided.

“What
do you want to know?” she gritted.

“What
value are you to Salene?’

“Conan?
Value?” she sputtered. “Hell if I know. I went to Del’s for a sandwich; next
thing I know that guy is ranting and spewing crap and tells me he killed Mr. D.
That pissed me off, and well, you saw the end of that fiasco.”

“Where
do you come from?”

“Like
where was I born?”

He
nodded.

“I’m
an orphan, and have been on my own since I was fourteen.”

“You
possess powers.”