Witches & Werewolves: A Sacred Oath (19 page)

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Do I look okay?”

“Well, at least you’re not dead.”

I am both ecstatic to be alive, and extremely pissed that I almost died. I don’t know whether I want to hug, or hit, Ethan. Probably a little of both.

We are in a small, domed cavern. A single shaft of light beams down on the water from an opening in the ceiling. The sound of the rippling waves reverberates against the limestone. I would think this spot pretty and romantic, under different circumstances.
 

 
“Please tell me there is another way out of here, besides the way we came in?”

 
Ethan grabs my arm, trying to help me to my feet, but I jerk away. I know he saved us, but I still feel the need to act a little pissed off about the whole drowning thing.
 

“I can manage,” I say, and stagger to my feet on my own.

“Okay,” he says. “Follow me.”

 
Ethan strides to a passageway at the other end of the cavern. I stand there by the waters edge, shivering in the cool air. I huff and grit my teeth with indignation, still playing up the whole pseudo anger thing.
 

Ethan glances back at me. “What?”
 

I clear my throat with over exaggerated dramatics and arch an eyebrow at him. He rolls his eyes and marches back to me, scooping me up in his arms. I smile to myself.

 
He carries me into the passageway, and again we find ourselves cloaked in darkness. I wonder how he can see in the impossible blackness? It must be a werewolf thing.

 
The air grows cooler the farther into the cave we travel. Ethan’s bare footsteps slap against the limestone floor, echoing off the cave walls. I feel his strong heartbeat as he holds me close to his chest.
 

We dash through the murky cavern for what seems like twenty minutes. Ahead, a dim light illuminates the cave walls. As we draw near, the light grows brighter and brighter, almost blinding. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
 

Daylight at last.
 

We reach the cave opening, which sits high above the base of the mountain. The wind is brisk, and I shiver. My arms look like uncooked chicken skin, goosebumps rising high as sky scrapers. Clinging to Ethan as he stands at the ledge, I peer down the steep cliff. The way down is just as treacherous as the way we came up.

“Climbing up is always easier,” he says.

“That’s reassuring.”

 
Ethan slings me over his shoulder and drops down over the ledge. He finds grooves and ridges with which to anchor his grasp, and we scale down the side of the mountain. Slung over his shoulder, I’m almost upside down. The blood rushes to my head doing wonders for my throbbing headache. The ground below rushes up to meet me as Ethan descends the cliff with blistering speed. We are almost halfway down when something goes wrong. Ethan loses his grip.

 
My stomach rises into my throat as we free fall. I’m reminded of the turbulent flight we had coming into Haven hill. Ethan manages to grasp a small ledge, halting our descent. My gut smashes into his deltoid from the abrupt force. I cough with the wind knocked out of me, as we dangle from the rocks.
 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’ll be better when you get us down.”

“Sorry.”

 
Ethan begins lowering us down again, and within a few minutes, we reach the bottom. A wave of relief surges over me when we finally touch ground. Ethan sets me on my feet, and I lean back against the rocky slope, trying to catch my breath. My heart is pounding.

“Okay, If this is going to work, we need to establish a few ground rules. No more hiking, no more mountain climbing, and definitely no more swimming,” I say.

“Anything else?”

“Can we skip the part where we get attacked by other werewolves?”

“Like I said, you’re dangerous,” he says.

“I’m dangerous?”

“It’s getting late, and we need to get back.”

We’re on the opposite side of the mountain from his car. Ethan picks me up, carrying me into the woods. The sun is dipping down on the other side of the peaks, and it’s growing colder in the shadow of the mountain. My body shivers, my teeth rattle, and my damp underwear feel like ice cubes against my skin.
 

He eases through the rugged terrain, holding me in his arms, cresting the mountain pass as if he were on an escalator. He’s breathing heavier now, and I feel his heart thumping, but he doesn’t show any signs of exhaustion. It takes at least an hour to hike up through the pass to reach the East Face. He barely seems strained from the hike.
 

Ethan stops abruptly in the highland above the meadow where his car is parked. His eyes squint as he peers into the distance. Wolves are circling his car, waiting for us to return. Ethan lifts his nose up, sniffing the air.
 

“I count six at the car. I smell more in the forest.”

“If you can smell them, they can smell us, right?” I ask.

Ethan looks at me with a grave expression. We huddle behind a large pine.
 

“What do they want? Why are they after me? And don’t say I’m dangerous.”

“They believe that you will fulfill the prophecy,” he says.

“What prophecy?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“No. You’ll explain now,” I demand.

“We don’t have time now. We have got to get you home.”

“I can’t go home like this!”

“Well, we can’t go back to Devil’s Pit. And my key’s are in my jeans,” Ethan says.

“What are you going to do, carry me for 20 miles?”

“If I have to.”

“And the sun’s going down. Aren’t you going to turn?”

“It would be best if we could get you home soon,” he says.
 

“You think?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
 

“Trust me, I have a plan.”

“Come on, be adventurous,” I say, mocking his earlier persuasion. We wouldn’t be in this mess if we’d have just gone to class. I’m probably going to be expelled, and fail chemistry. And how am I going to explain walking into uncle Jake’s in my underwear?
 

Then it dawns on me that I’ve completely forgotten about Noah. We didn’t pick him up from school. I don’t know where he is, or if he made it home. I don’t have my phone to call anyone to check. My face flushes as a warm wave of panic overcomes me. My heart sinks and I feel like the worst person in the world.

Ethan picks me up, and we dash back into the forest.

CHAPTER 25

I’M STANDING ON the side of a dirt road in my underwear with my arm out and my thumb up in the air. I can’t believe I’m hitchhiking. A dark blue car barrels down the road kicking up clouds of dirt. I arch my hips and hold my thumb up high, smiling. The car rockets by without slowing, peppering me with dirt and gravel. I cough and spit dust out of my mouth.

“This was your plan?” I ask.

“Try and look sexy,” Ethan says, hiding behind a tree.

“Try?” I ask, perturbed. “Why don’t you get out here?”

 
I march toward him. “Go on. Put your money where your mouth is.” I grab his arm, pulling him out from behind the tree, and give him a good shove toward the road.

 
“We’ve seen one car in the last twenty minutes. I don’t think we should waste our opportunities,” he says.

“Come on, be adventurous,” I urge.

 
Ethan shakes his head, grinning. He stands on the road with his thumb in the air, and I proceed to heckle him the entire time. “That’s not sexy. I need you to work it, boy. I need you to imagine that you are a top model at a photo shoot for the cover of a magazine. I need intrigue. I need passion. I need mystery,” I say, having way too much fun.
 

 
I hide behind a tree as an old red truck billows up clouds of dirt, racing down the road.
 

 
“Are you ready for your close-up, Mr. Storm?” Ethan shakes his head again. “Action!” I shout.

 
This whole thing is so ridiculous, and were both snickering. Ethan tries to keep a straight face as the truck draws near. To both of our surprise, its brakes squeal, and the truck slows to a halt. It’s a rusty 50s era Chevy with a low, booming exhaust. It has a white top and red body, which has faded pink.
 

A crinkly old man, dressed in overalls, with gray hair and a gray flowing beard, leans over to the passenger side. He rolls down the window.

“How far you going, son?”

“Toward Haven Hill,” Ethan says.

The old man eyes Ethan suspiciously. “You’re not one of them weirdos, are you?”

 
“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Can’t be too careful about the kind of people you pick up these days.” The old man looks Ethan up and down again. “Name’s Harlan. Hop in.”

 
Ethan motions to me, and I dart out from behind the trees.
 

“I didn’t think there was two of you,” Harlan says.

“We could really use a ride,” I say.

Harlan looks me over, unimpressed. “I guess,” Harlan moans.

Ethan creaks open the rusty door, and empty cans of Eisenhut Dopplebock beer spill out. I grab the cans, tossing them back onto the floorboard. We squeeze into the cab, Ethan sitting between me and Harlan on the torn upholstery of the bench seat. Years of wear and tear have frayed the fabric, exposing the yellow foam cushion below. I fumble for a seatbelt, but there aren’t any to be found.
 

Harlan drops it into gear, and the truck rumbles along. None of the gauges work. The needle of the speedometer rests at zero, even though we’re probably going forty miles an hour.

“What happened to your clothes?” Harlan asks.

“Long story,” Ethan says.

“I bet,” Harlan says, flashing Ethan a toothless grin. “It’s a good thing you aren’t naked. I’ve got a rule about picking up naked hitchhikers.”
 

“Run into a lot of naked hitchhikers, do you?” I ask.

“Damn shifters. This place is crawling with them. Especially with the full moon. They rip right through their clothes when they change. Makes for a lot of awkward walks home, I would imagine,” Harlan says, grabbing a beer from a small cooler on the floorboard. “This here will keep you safe, though,” he grins, guzzling a sip.

“How does that keep you safe?” I ask.

“It’s the wolfsbane,” he says. “One swallow of this will set a shifter’s insides afire. Want a sip?”

“No, thank you,” I say.

 
Harlan slams the brakes. Ethan and I smack into the dash, then fall back against the seat as the truck skids to a stop. Harlan has pulled a pistol from underneath his seat, and is waving it in my face.
 

“I said drink it,” he commands, shoving the beer can toward me.
 

I stare at the can and hesitate.
 

“Come on, I ain’t got all day!” Harlan says.

I take the can from him and mouth a small sip.
 

“Give it a real swallow,” he barks.
 

I gulp another sip down and give the can back to him, my hand trembling.
 

Harlan turns the gun on Ethan. “Okay, stud muffin, it’s your turn!”

“I don’t really like beer,” Ethan says.

“I don’t give two shits,” says Harlan. “You put a swig in your belly or I’ve got a silver bullet with your name on it.” Harlan cocks the pistol for added effect.

Ethan takes the beer from Harlan, eyeing it with trepidation.

“Go on,” Harlan says. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

 
Ethan’s worrisome eyes glance from the beer can to me, then back to the beer. He brings the can to his lips.

“Harlan Davis?” I ask.

Harlan’s face tightens, and his eyes squint at me down the barrel of the gun as he repositions it toward me. “Have we met before?” he asks, agitated.

“I think you know my uncle.”

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Jake James.”

 
Harlan’s face knots up, perplexed, as he processes the name. Ethan pauses with the beer just at his lips. After a minute, Harlan’s face lights up. “You mean, JJ?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.
 

“Well, hell, that’s reason to shoot you right there.”

My eyes widen with fear.

CHAPTER 26

HARLAN BUSTS OUT laughing, un-cocks the pistol, and sets it back underneath the seat. “Why didn’t you say you were kin to JJ in the first place?”

I shrug.

“Give me back my beer!” Harlan yanks the beer out of Ethan’s hand.

Ethan glances over to me, relieved. I notice small blisters have formed on his lips from the trace amount of beer that resided on the rim of the can. I shudder to think of what swallowing the Eisenhut Doppelbock would have done to his insides.