Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels) (41 page)

Is this not as much fun as you thought it would be?

He would have loved to say it out loud but he had to stay alive and it was getting harder now. The Wolf’s mood was volatile, changing constantly, and never for the better.

Hunting my son was going to be fun, wasn’t it? But he’s beating y
ou, you psychotic piece of bat-shit. He’s beating you.

Seth pressed himself against the cottage wall, trying to melt into the shadows, staring hard at an industrious little spider as it ran up and down the spokes of its web. Anything to take his
mind off his arms, and his burning throat, and his empty stomach. And the desiccated corpse in the cot bed, and Suil who slumped in the opposite corner, blood congealing on his throat, dead eyes
locked on Seth.

Rory had been here. And Kate’s witchcraft was immaterial: Seth could smell him. He could feel the empty space where he’d been, he could sense his fear and determination and his wild
hope. Rory had curled up in the bed there and slept in Hannah’s arms, and for that Seth forgave her everything.

Gods, he thought, what wouldn’t he give to curl up safe against Finn? They didn’t get long in the end.
Gods, let her be alive
. And Jed, and Sionnach. Let everybody be alive.
Rory was. Rory was alive and free and he’d been here.

And now he was far away. Rory had eluded the Wolf by the skin of his hide, slipped past him like a rat in the night, doubled back and wasted every mile and every minute the Wolf had pursued him.
That tiny smile frozen in death on Suil’s face: Seth knew why it was there, and so did the Wolf. That was why the man was raging, storming, hacking furniture apart in his fury, kicking the
walls, stamping glass and crockery into shards.

Seth cringed into the shadows and waited his turn. The secret of Rory’s escape had died with Suil, and the Wolf might be ragingly angry at his own lack of foresight, but he was hardly
going to take it out on himself, or on a corpse.

Seth didn’t mind making himself obsequious and puppyish. He didn’t mind taking the punishment, but he had to survive it. Rory could not evade Kilrevin forever; in the end he’d
be caught. Seth couldn’t die before that happened. Afterwards, fine, he’d die. That would be okay. He wished he could be with Finn one more time but it would be okay.

N
o
, don’t think about Finn.

To take his mind off her he glanced up. Mistake. The Wolf, pausing in his manic rampage, caught his gaze.

‘Look at me again, Murlainn, you lose an eye. You won’t be needing them, after all.’ The Wolf kicked a last chair aside and strode towards him.

It was the irony that was so galling. Not so long ago he’d been Captain of his own dun and father to his clann: all those things the unwanted boy in him had yearned and hungered for. Now
he was a grovelling cur and all he wanted of the useless gods was to live till he knew his son wouldn’t die.

So was that so much to ask?

‘There’s something I’ve always wondered about you, Murlainn.’ The Wolf leaned over him. ‘When I kill you, will you be screaming for your mother, or your big
brother?’

The hell with this. The hell with it. He smiled an open sexy smile. ‘Neither. I’ll be screaming for
your
mother.’

N
o
t my soul, you bastard
, he told himself as the Wolf grabbed his hair and slammed his face against the wall, making blood explode out of his nose.

I’m damn sure you’ll make me scream. But it’ll still be my own voice.

‘I always think this hill-climbing lark must be easier,’ I said, breathing hard, ‘if you’re not scared of heights.’

I gripped a rock in my right hand, afraid to move my feet, which were jammed against the heathery slope. I’d glanced down once and had vowed to myself never to do it again, though not
looking was almost worse. The imagined void was even huger. There seemed so little surface to the hillside, and such an awful lot of empty air beyond it. Most of my body mass was in the air part of
the equation. And the rocks beneath were very large and jaggy and
hard
.

Seagulls whinged above me. Gull-sniggers, I thought, and my annoyance gave me another few seconds’ courage. All the same, my hands were trembling so much as I hauled myself after Rory that
my fingers began to cramp. It had looked so easy from the beach as we gazed up at the dark mouth of the cave in the hillside. It hadn’t seemed steep or even particularly high. It had looked
like a child’s scramble. Clinging immobile to the flank of the hill, I thought that now, from halfway up, it was very, very high and steep.

‘I can’t,’ I said, barely audible even to myself.

‘You’ve got to.’ Rory turned to stare down at me.

‘There’s no way up.’

‘My father says there’s always a way up,’ said Rory, ‘and there’s always a way down.’

‘Oh. Does he?’

‘Yeah. Course, he also says the way up might be slower than you want. And the way down might be a hell of a lot faster.’ He giggled.

‘Ha feckin’ ha.’ I shut my eyes.

Rory’s fingers clamped on my wrist and he hauled on me so that I had no choice but to scrabble with my feet. He pulled me on up and up, so that I didn’t have the option of stopping.
Then I was tumbling forward after him onto level ground, a grassy sheep track some twenty metres below the cave, and the slope was briefly at a reasonable, tame angle. All the same, I gripped tufts
of grass in both fists. I knew I was theoretically safe but there was a chance the hill might throw me off in a last spiteful convulsion.

Gradually my breathing slowed. The earth stopped moving beneath me; the heaving hill had gone back to sleep.

‘Look,’ said Rory.

Staggering to my feet, I looked, and for a moment I understood his happy grin. I could see the entire world, blue and summery. The hills were far away, and the clouds were wisps of mare’s
tail, not solid looming banks of stratus. The sun shone warm on my bare arms and for a few seconds I forgot about imminent death.

The last twenty metres didn’t seem so bad, with the safety net of that broad sheep track beneath us. When we stumbled into the cave mouth, I lay and gasped till my chest stopped heaving,
while Rory crawled to the entrance on his belly and gazed out at the sheet-metal gleam of the sea and the shimmering molten horizon.

‘I don’t want to die,’ he said, half to himself.

‘Good-oh. ’Cause you’re not going to.’ I shuffled over to him and snuck my arms tight around his waist.

‘You know he’ll catch up now.’

‘Yeah. But this is a great vantage point. He won’t get near us. You’ll get a clear shot if he tries.’

‘Uh-huh. Exactly.’ Rory scratched his neck. ‘I hid out here once before. When Sionnach finally talked me down, he thrashed me within an inch of my life.’ He stared
emptily at the gun. ‘The only place I could think of, but it is perfect. Don’t know if I’ll be able to shoot him, that’s all.’

‘Just you think of Suil and Teallach,’ I reminded him dryly. ‘And that poor little tour guide. And Finn. You’ll be able.’

‘You still don’t have to stay.’ Nervously he poked at the trigger; I wanted to slap his hand. ‘Maybe you want to change your mind now? You’ll have enough time. I
reckon a full day before he gets to us.’

I grabbed a handful of his hair, shoving my face close to his. Then I called him something rude. And then I pulled his face right against me and kissed him.

‘Go back to Sheena and Groper Marty? And never know if you’re alive or dead? I don’t
think
so.’ I kissed him again. ‘I’m not leaving, so get used to
it.’

‘Okay,’ he said, blushing as he grinned. ‘We’re in it together.’

‘Hey-ho. We’ve got time to kill.’ I made myself comfortable against the rock wall, and yawned, then smiled my sleepiest and most seductive smile. ‘And teamwork means
it’s high time you took the initiative.’

Later Rory fell asleep quickly, curled against me, his blond head in my lap. I didn’t fall asleep myself till I’d stared down at his sleeping face for quite a long
time, tracing my fingertip lightly along his ear and chin and cheekbone. We weren’t safe, yet he slept more soundly than he had since we’d left the dun. Perhaps, now he’d made his
decision, there was nothing more for him to fret about. Leaning back against the rock I felt sleep creeping up my spine, numbing my neck like warm chocolate.

I wasn’t about to fight it.

I woke in that very sudden way: you think you’re fully alert and then your brain spins when it realises it isn’t ready to see or hear. Letting my head fall back on
my arm, I lay on the gritty cave floor, the weight of Rory’s head no longer in my lap. I let reality dawn properly, then, blinking, I sat up and wriggled round to peer at the cave mouth. Fear
needled the back of my neck. Rory sat silhouetted against blue morning light, twisting the silver bangle violently against his wrist.

‘He’s coming,’ he said, and ripped off a thumbnail in his teeth.

My heart tripped and thumped, and my head swam. Well, this was it, and better now than waiting endless days, getting cold and hungry and weak. But there was something awful in Rory’s
voice. I didn’t understand that, because this had been his big idea. He should be excited now, or relieved, or plain terrified, but his voice held only dull despair. Scrabbling forward to the
cave mouth, I leaned out as far as I dared.

Rory watched blankly over my head. ‘You see,’ he said, defeated. ‘He’s coming.’

He pointed at someone climbing the precipitous hillside. I squinted down, frowning.

The man did not look like the Wolf: too small, too lightly-built, and why would the Wolf be climbing this insane slope hands-free? Unbelievable, I thought, as my stomach contracted with terror.
He was struggling up the hill with his hands behind his back. And then, below and to the right, the Wolf himself appeared over the curve of the slope, an instantly recognisable bruiser, climbing
strongly with the use of both hands and grinning up at Rory.

‘He’s coming,’ said Rory in that dead voice, ‘and he’s won.’

As I watched, the leaner man with the black hair lost his footing and began to slide. He flung himself forward, practically gripping the hillside with his teeth to stop himself falling. His foot
caught a rock and he saved himself, his leg trembling as it took the weight of his body. When he had a secure foothold he lifted his face and looked straight at Rory.

Seth.
Not immediately recognisable, with a week’s black beard growth and his face bruised and swollen and streaked with blood, but it was my uncle. I knew his grey eyes, and his
high cheekbones, and the familiar strands of hair falling across his eyes, limp and dirty now. I sucked in a horrified breath. Rory was absolutely silent but I slithered across and propped myself
beside him, gripping his shuddering arm very hard.

‘He’s okay,’ I muttered. ‘He’s okay. He’s not going to fall.’

Seth’s eyes slewed to me and he smiled, a big white grin in his dirty and mutilated face. No, I thought, he’s not going to fall, because I’m not going to let him. No point in
my block now. Tentatively I reached out, flailing with my mind, but his own block was absolute. He looked away. Doggedly he jammed his foot into the hillside and went on climbing.

He was a metre or so from the sheep track when the Wolf put on a burst of speed and overtook him easily. Rory’s hands shook as he raised the gun but the Wolf was leaning down now, grabbing
Seth by the hair and dragging him up to temporary safety. Each plummeting grip of sickness in my belly was overtaken by another, in horribly rapid succession. I could see Seth’s hands now,
and I knew why he was climbing without them. They were handcuffed behind his back.

The Wolf swung Seth to his feet, and Seth smiled up at Rory. He looked altogether brighter at the sight of the gun. I felt the panic race through Rory like an electric current as he aimed it
downwards, jerking at the trigger.

‘Thank God that didn’t work,’ I muttered, leaning across and carefully releasing the safety catch. ‘You have to breathe, Rory. And squeeze it really gently.’

He gave me a quick glance and then looked back towards the two men. Shutting an eye he fired. The gun barked, earth and grass spat up from the edge of the cliff, and Rory was flung back by the
recoil.