Circle of the Moon (Soulwood #4)

Voices sounded. Shouting. I came back to myself, just a fraction. Just enough. I gripped my bloodlust in tight reins. I owned it. My bloodlust did not own me.

Soulwood reached for me through the ground. I could feel its agitation, its desperation. More of my blood dripped on the ground from my scalp. My land responded, frantic. The leaves were keeping me from touching the ground. “I need to touch the ground. Let me down,” I whispered to the vampire tree. “Let me down, now!”

The leaves parted and my face landed on the dirt and gravel of a parking area. Scraping. But there was enough soil. “I’m okay,” I whispered to my land. “Calm. Calm.”

Both the tree and Soulwood slowed, reassured, appeased, though still worried, still ready to attack. It was strange to have both Soulwood and the tree respond to me, separate but working together. I had a single blazing image of a knight on a pale green horse, carrying a tall pole that bore a flag. On it was a living tree. Something to think about when I wasn’t in so much trouble.

“What happened?” Sam’s voice interrupted.

“I thought you’un said that tree was done rooting up everywhere and killing,” another voice said. I shifted my eyes that way and spotted Ben Aden through the leaves, the man who had wanted to marry me not so long ago. He was standing in a group of men, young and old, maybe eight or ten of them.

“We’re not dead,” I managed to say. “The tree didn’t kill anyone. Sam, it’s me. Nell. Under one of the … mounds of leaves.”

“Nell, what the Sam Hill?”

I chuckled at Sam’s choice of cursing. “Larry attacked me in the parking lot of PsyLED.” I tried to turn over using only my heels and backside and shoulders, but my arms were a raging sea of needles and stabbing pain. I had to give up. “I’m tied up. He hit me over the head. Put me in the trunk. Brought me to the church.”

“She deserves to be punished,” Larry gurgled, hoarse. “She’s living in sin, working with a man, alone, in an office all night, alone. A Jezebel! And that devil tree attacked us!”

“Nell?” Sam asked, wary. “I’m not sure what to do.”

The tree. It killed things. It was big enough and mean enough to kill people if it wanted. And it was sentient. It had tried to talk to me, if my vision was an indication. A knight on a horse carrying a Soulwood banner. Oh. No. The Green Knight? His weapon a staff made from fire-hardened wood? Was the Arthurian tale a reality? Maybe. I swallowed down the bile that rose up my throat and said, “Call the police. You got no choice, Sam. Larry attacked an officer of the law. It’ll be on the security camera at PsyLED. Photo evidence. You cut me free and I’ll—”

Sirens cut the dawn air. Cars tearing into the church grounds. Skidding to a stop. Doors opening. Occam shouting, “Arms up! Get on your knees!” A growl entering his voice. “Get on your knees!”

Rick shouted, his voice overlapping, “PsyLED! On your knees! On your knees!”

“Do it!” T. Laine shouted. “Put down your weapons!”

The churchmen started quoting their constitutional rights to the cops. Loudly. I shouted, trying to be heard over the clamor. “I’m here! I’m okay!”

Rick shouted, “Don’t do it, farm boy. On your knees!”

Sam said, “Nell?” Fear and violence in his words. Churchmen, two wereleopards, a witch, and too many guns.

I sobbed once, hard. My relief was potent, overpowering the last of the bloodlust, as much because I had been saved as because I hadn’t killed Larry. To the tree, I whispered, “You’un gots to let me go now. I’m safe.”

“I said, on your knees!” Occam growled.

“Nell!” Rick shouted again, his voice catty. He was about to shift.

T. Laine shouted something that sounded like, “Cactus est somnum.”

Sam said, softly, “No …”

I felt bodies hit the ground, solid thumps. A unidirectional sleep spell had hit the churchmen.

The leaves beneath me quavered and the rock-pocked soil juddered and shook. The vines protecting me rolled back. I rotated my hips to sit upright.

Occam knelt beside me. His eyes were glowing the gold of his cat. “Nell?”

“I’m tied up. My arms are numb. Cut me free.”

“Jeez. Your fingers are blue.”

I felt/heard something grinding, a peculiar rubbery sound, and then the bonds around my wrists snapped free and a pain shot up my arms and down to my fingers. The awful pain in my shoulders eased, to be replaced with a different kind of pain as my numb arms dangled helplessly. Occam sliced through the silver duct tape holding my ankles together on top of my socks and work boots. He sheathed the blade and carried me to his fancy car, opened the passenger door, and placed me inside. I closed my eyes, sick with vertigo. Concussion. From somewhere a cool cloth wiped my face clean of blood and vomit. I had a quick thought of a cat tongue and managed a smile I didn’t explain.

Occam took my hands and, gently, began to peel off the tape. A strong smell of solvent made my eyes water as he worked the tape off my wrists. The cleaning burned, but I didn’t say anything as he peeled. It had to be done and, unlike on TV and movies, taking duct tape off wasn’t an easy thing. The smell faded and he began to massage my fingers and wrists, working the circulation back into them.

“Nell?”

I got my eyes to open without throwing up.

Rick LaFleur was kneeling beside Occam near the open door, concern on his face. “How bad are you? I don’t smell much blood.”

I knew better than to lie. “I’m hurt. Concussion. Hands without circulation too long. But not anything that needs the hospital.” Hospital meant the paranormal ER of the University of Tennessee Medical Center. They couldn’t help me. They didn’t know what I was. They wanted to study me. “No hospital,” I repeated and closed my eyes, sick to my stomach. Occam continued to massage my hands and lower arms. “Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Feeling’s coming back,” Occam said, his voice rough with his cat. “It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“It hurts like fire ants and hot peppers, but don’t stop.”

“The guy who took you?” Rick asked. “Is he here?”

“The one still trapped with thorns is him. Larry Aden.” I got my eyes open again and indicated the prison over him.

An expression crossed Rick’s face too fast to be certain, but he looked … fiercely delighted. “Well, well. The one who tried to take our Mud?” He had gotten my message the day Larry came by and I fired into the ground. Rick didn’t wait for me to answer. He kicked at the man’s foot.

“Make the tree let him go, Nell, sugar,” Occam murmured. “We got more witnesses coming.” His long-fingered hand rested on my arm, skin to skin. I was cold, icy with shock, and wanted to curl up against his heat, but this wasn’t the time.

“Let him go,” I whispered to the rootlets that confined Larry. When nothing happened I added, “We’ll take him for punishment.”

The tree shook, all its leaves quivering. The vines whipped away from Larry, who was still asleep, leaving the thorns embedded. They’d have to be extracted by a doctor. They might be poisonous. I almost felt sorry for Larry. But not quite.

Rick cuffed Larry and picked him up. Werecat strength. He carried him away from the vines. I didn’t tell Rick the vines could follow. That might be considered creepy. More sirens sounded in the distance. Rick began to zip-tie all the men, even Sam, and T. Laine joined in, using stronger ties for the men’s ankles. I caught Occam’s gaze with my own and said, “Not Sam.”

Something flashed in his eyes and was gone, something predatory and possessive. “They were all present at the discovery of a kidnapped federal agent.” He leaned to me, closer, so I could hear the cat-growl of his words. “Be sure about this, Nell, sugar.”

“I’m sure. Sam was trying to help.”

Occam looked around and said to Rick, “Nell says some of them were trying to help.”

“That isn’t exactly what it looks like,” Rick said to me. There was no give in his tone, no … mercy. An alpha male protecting his kits, his leap of leopards.

“Nell, sugar, it does look like they all were part of it.” Occam frowned and lifted a hand as if to touch my hair, which was brighter red and leafy. “We called out the sheriff’s department, so we can’t go messing with evidence. This might get personal. Intrusive. And though I want more than anything to haul you straight back to Soulwood to safety and protection, I can’t.” I didn’t answer and he went back to scrubbing my hands. “Nell? Talk to me, sugar. Did you hear what I said?”

Prickles of nerves coming back alive bit me worse than the vampire tree’s thorns, but I didn’t jerk away. “I heard. I know. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Sorry, Nell, sugar. About the pain and the loss of privacy this might mean.”

“This stinks. Dagnabbit.”

He maneuvered in front of me, protecting me from sight, and tucked my hair back from my face. “Yeah. It does. It will.” He flipped open his pocketknife and cut away all the leaves growing in my hairline, tossing them to the ground. He was a cat, grooming me, shielding me from unwanted attention, because he hadn’t been able to protect me.





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