Chapter One
Amaia knelt inside a
dead, hollow tree and waited. "Shh," she whispered. Though
her voice was barely audible, the bound and gagged girl beside her
would have no trouble hearing. The girl was, after all, a
werewolf—and the reason warriors from Amaia's own clan stalked
the moonlit night.
She closed her eyes and
held her breath as the warriors drew closer, their passage marked
only by the whisper of booted feet over dead leaves and soft pine
needles. She'd used too much energy already, just trying to hide from
their sight. That, coupled with the effort she'd expended dragging
the girl through the forest, threatened to drive her into helpless
exhaustion. But she couldn't rest. Not until the search party moved
on.
The girl stirred again,
whimpering, and magic flared as Amaia struggled to cover the noise. A
twig snapped, mere yards from their hiding spot.
This is it. They'll
have my head for claiming a sacrifice as my own.
It would never occur to
them she'd helped the girl escape.
She heard a deep voice
call a hoarse, ritualistic command in their ancestral tongue. It was
Itzal, the commander of their clan's warriors, ordering the team to
move on. Amaia remained motionless until the last shuffling noises
faded, leaving only the innocuous sounds of the night.
She risked a glance at
the girl, who stared at her in shock and fear. After a moment, Amaia
loosened the gag. "If I free you, are you going to fight me, or
are you going to help me get you back to your clan?"
The girl swallowed.
"Why?" Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, and fear made
it shake. She couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen, the
youngest wolf her clan had ever trapped. If she'd been even a few
years older, Amaia would be with her clan now, celebrating their
triumph. Instead, she was hiding in the forest, being hunted like an
animal.
Like a werewolf.
Amaia lowered her eyes
and started untying the ropes. "I'm taking you home because
there's no sense in it. There are always threats to be eliminated and
blood debts to be paid to the Elders, but you're a child ."
She jerked at a knot, troubled. "It isn't right."
The ropes revealed
delicate wrists sliced open by the silver threads woven through the
rough fiber of the rope. Blood oozed from the wounds, but the girl
blinked back tears and stayed silent. Huge hazel eyes stared up at
Amaia, tinged slightly golden, though it could have been a trick of
the moon. "I'm Callisto, of the Fallen Star Pack. Please help me
get back to my people."
"My name is
Amaia." She wrapped her hands around the girl's tiny wrists,
whispering a call to the demon blood inside her. The wounds healed
under her touch, but a wave of dizziness shook her. She'd nearly
exhausted her reserves, of energy and magic, and her only hope was getting them to safety soon. She reached
automatically for the knife at her belt, reassuring in its weight, as
she stepped out of the hollow tree. "I can't use any more magic
to hide us. Can you run?"
Callisto tried to
stand, but her legs wobbled and she hit the pine-needle strewn ground
with a soft grunt. "Not as a human. But if I change, it might be
enough..."
"Do it." She
didn't have the strength to carry the girl. "If they catch up to
us, keep running, no matter what. You might make it alone."
Callisto's clothes had
been all but destroyed already. She dropped them to the forest floor
without a word and tilted her pale face up to the moon. A shiver of
power skittered up Amaia's spine as the moonlight seemed to gather
around them. The girl gasped, a sound that could have been pleasure
or pain, and disappeared. In her place stood a pale white wolf, small
and beautiful. She bumped her head against Amaia's hip once before
gracefully bounding off into the woods.
Amaia followed, her
fleet steps making only a little more noise than Callisto's paws. If
they caught her, she'd be killed. But if they caught the girl...
She ran faster.
Branches and underbrush
whipped at her face and legs, drawing
Amaia knelt inside a
dead, hollow tree and waited. "Shh," she whispered. Though
her voice was barely audible, the bound and gagged girl beside her
would have no trouble hearing. The girl was, after all, a
werewolf—and the reason warriors from Amaia's own clan stalked
the moonlit night.
She closed her eyes and
held her breath as the warriors drew closer, their passage marked
only by the whisper of booted feet over dead leaves and soft pine
needles. She'd used too much energy already, just trying to hide from
their sight. That, coupled with the effort she'd expended dragging
the girl through the forest, threatened to drive her into helpless
exhaustion. But she couldn't rest. Not until the search party moved
on.
The girl stirred again,
whimpering, and magic flared as Amaia struggled to cover the noise. A
twig snapped, mere yards from their hiding spot.
This is it. They'll
have my head for claiming a sacrifice as my own.
It would never occur to
them she'd helped the girl escape.
She heard a deep voice
call a hoarse, ritualistic command in their ancestral tongue. It was
Itzal, the commander of their clan's warriors, ordering the team to
move on. Amaia remained motionless until the last shuffling noises
faded, leaving only the innocuous sounds of the night.
She risked a glance at
the girl, who stared at her in shock and fear. After a moment, Amaia
loosened the gag. "If I free you, are you going to fight me, or
are you going to help me get you back to your clan?"
The girl swallowed.
"Why?" Her voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, and fear made
it shake. She couldn't be older than fourteen or fifteen, the
youngest wolf her clan had ever trapped. If she'd been even a few
years older, Amaia would be with her clan now, celebrating their
triumph. Instead, she was hiding in the forest, being hunted like an
animal.
Like a werewolf.
Amaia lowered her eyes
and started untying the ropes. "I'm taking you home because
there's no sense in it. There are always threats to be eliminated and
blood debts to be paid to the Elders, but you're a child ."
She jerked at a knot, troubled. "It isn't right."
The ropes revealed
delicate wrists sliced open by the silver threads woven through the
rough fiber of the rope. Blood oozed from the wounds, but the girl
blinked back tears and stayed silent. Huge hazel eyes stared up at
Amaia, tinged slightly golden, though it could have been a trick of
the moon. "I'm Callisto, of the Fallen Star Pack. Please help me
get back to my people."
"My name is
Amaia." She wrapped her hands around the girl's tiny wrists,
whispering a call to the demon blood inside her. The wounds healed
under her touch, but a wave of dizziness shook her. She'd nearly
exhausted her reserves, of energy and magic, and her only hope was getting them to safety soon. She reached
automatically for the knife at her belt, reassuring in its weight, as
she stepped out of the hollow tree. "I can't use any more magic
to hide us. Can you run?"
Callisto tried to
stand, but her legs wobbled and she hit the pine-needle strewn ground
with a soft grunt. "Not as a human. But if I change, it might be
enough..."
"Do it." She
didn't have the strength to carry the girl. "If they catch up to
us, keep running, no matter what. You might make it alone."
Callisto's clothes had
been all but destroyed already. She dropped them to the forest floor
without a word and tilted her pale face up to the moon. A shiver of
power skittered up Amaia's spine as the moonlight seemed to gather
around them. The girl gasped, a sound that could have been pleasure
or pain, and disappeared. In her place stood a pale white wolf, small
and beautiful. She bumped her head against Amaia's hip once before
gracefully bounding off into the woods.
Amaia followed, her
fleet steps making only a little more noise than Callisto's paws. If
they caught her, she'd be killed. But if they caught the girl...
She ran faster.
Branches and underbrush
whipped at her face and legs, drawing
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