Not Without Juliet

chapter TEN



Chocolate did not make a good weapon when dealing with a hungry animal. When dealing with a hungry child, yes. Wolf, not so much.

Jules wasn’t a mace-and-pepper-spray kind of girl. She found that a few wisely chosen insults can hurt a thug’s feelings enough to make one back away when necessary. And in extreme cases, dropping Gabby’s name had been the only weapon she’d needed to carry. She knew he was considered a tough guy. But reputation and actions were two different things. Or so she’d thought. Turned out he was just a ruthless as people thought he was.

“I don’t suppose you’ll leave me alone just because I’m like a daughter to Gabby Skedros.”

The wolf showed its teeth and snarled conversationally.

“I didn’t think so.”

Why in the world couldn’t she have been a pepper-spray kind of girl! But no. She’d been a physics major, waiting tables at Gabby’s restaurant, Papa’s, in New York. And physics wasn’t a great weapon either.

Or was it?

The wolf was stalling. It was containing her. Probably waiting for the rest of its pack to arrive. She’d be ripped to pieces if that happened. Her best chance was against one wolf. And if Gabby’s man happened to find her now, even with his gun, chances were he’d let the wolves have her and save the bullet. Besides, he’d already told her she would regret locking him in that dark cellar.

So. One wolf. In no hurry to attack her. So she’d attack him. She could do it—she was so bat-shit scared there was enough adrenaline shooting through her veins she could jump ten feet in the air and land in a tree before the wolf thought to stop her. Of course she wasn’t willing to test it.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a long stick. It had little bark left, so it nearly glowed in the darkness, like a weapon sent from Zeus. And she wasn’t about to second guess Zeus.

She circled slowly. The wolf mirrored her steps. Another wolf howled—not so far away this time. The first wolf stepped closer.

“Aw, now, don’t jump the gun,” she cooed as she bent down for the weapon. It was far too light. There would be little strength in it. Her mind raced, searching for formulas, guessing at torque. If she could get the thing to bite down hard on the side of the stick, she could turn it quickly, maybe twist its neck. Scare the hell out of it.

Maybe. But it was a much more feasible plan than jumping up into a tree.

She refused to consider how surreal this moment was, that she was here, in these woods she’d wandered for days, without fearing wild animals. In the future, these woods had been a bit closer to society. But here, there was no society. The land was still wild.

This isn’t real, she thought, as she swung the stick like a baseball bat, wishing it was a crowbar. The wolf dodged away, then came back mad. Its growl could probably be heard a mile away and it promised that his friends were a lot more dangerous than hers.

She didn’t have a plan B, so she swung at it again. This time, the jaws clamped down on it in triumph. She tugged at it to make sure the wolf knew she would swing again if he let go—so it would hold tight. And it did. There was no give at all. Its fangs were sharp enough to sink into the wood like it was more like flesh than bone.

But they wouldn’t sink into her, damn it!

Twisting her arms as she went, she lunged forward, grabbing both ends of the stick in spite of the short end being so close to its mouth. Then she spun it, using her own body as leverage, putting all her strength into untwisting her arms.

Something snapped. She both heard it and felt it. The wolf jumped back, yipping. It glanced back at her, over and over, while it ran away, as if it feared she might come after it.

She looked down at her wimpy weapon. There, imbedded in the wood, was the wolf’s fang. Broken below the gum line. Red blood smeared across white wood.

She’d done it!

Before she had a chance to think better of it, she raised the staff over her head and whooped.

“That’s right,” she taunted in the direction the wolf had run. “Go tell your friends, baby. Don’t mess with a Physicist!”

And what if Gabby’s man might have heard her? She had no choice but to change direction again, just in case. She had a weapon now. Well, kind of. No chance she could get the hitter to sink his teeth into it, but it would give her a little false courage to get her out of the forest and to a road.

Surely, there would be a road. If not, she would climb a tree in the morning and get her bearings. If he’d gotten away from Ewan and the Rosses, Gabby’s man was in these woods too. If she gave up looking for a road and circled back, could she get to the tomb first?

If she did make it back, she would linger long enough to meet her sister, give her an earful, and get the woman to hand over her share of the inheritance. Then she’d tell the husband that his look-alike was missing and Ewan needed his help.

If she was lucky, Gabby’s man would be stuck here. He’d use up his bullets, in the darkness, on an angry wolf with only three fangs. Then, for the rest of his life, he’d have to pick fights the old fashioned way.

When the adrenaline wore off, she felt like she’d been hit by a truck. And she kept forgetting what she’d decided to do. Was she hoping to find a road? Was she hoping Castle Ross would be over the next hill? Although her legs moved just fine, she was having a hard time balancing the rest of her body on top of them, so she searched for a climbable tree. She’d never heard of a wolf climbing a tree and avoiding wolves was the only priority she could manage to hang on to.

Finally, in spite of the darkness, she found a good one. A tall thick pine tree with plenty of lifeless branches at the bottom of the trunk, then healthy ones about ten feet up that were dense with pine needles—a little camouflage after she twisted and squeezed her way up through the natural ladder. Every time she figured she’d gone high enough, she pushed herself up a little higher. The only things that could get to her then were squirrels and birds.

And hopefully, they were all asleep.

She picked a sturdy spot and sat down facing the trunk. She hoped the tilt of the branch would keep her from falling backward. Then she wrapped her knee over one branch and tucked the toe of her boot under the next. If she started to slip in her sleep, her leg should catch. The pain would wake her up and she’d be able to save herself. But there was no question about it, she would sleep. She was lucky she hadn’t collapsed already.

Her hair was the most convenient cushion to protect her cheek from the bark. She then hugged the trunk and laced her fingers. Her coat protected her skin. Once she realized she wasn’t at all uncomfortable, she tried to imagine her worries, one by one, falling to the ground like so many brown and crunchy pine needles. It was the last thing she remembered.

When she woke, Jules found that she hadn’t moved a muscle. The sky had a strange blue glow and mist swarmed like a shallow river against the forest floor. She could almost taste the pine sap in the moist air. She didn’t think it had rained. Surely she wouldn’t have slept through that.

A bird flapped its wings above her head, then settled again. Dawn wasn’t far away, and she was afraid Gabby’s man wasn’t either. If she was lucky, he had stopped to sleep too, and if she moved quickly, she could put a bit more distance between them. She would head east for a little longer, then turn south toward Castle Ross.

She made her way back to the ground feeling pretty refreshed considering she’d maybe only slept an hour or two. After walking about a mile to the east, she found a small track that could be called a road. The feeling of safety, of humanity, increased with each step on the rutted dirt. Someone had been there. Someone would be there again. Someone with two legs and no fangs.

“Woohoo,” she said, but only in her smallest voice, just in case. A moment later, she came around a bend and found herself in the dooryard of a little cottage. It looked almost lived in. Her first instinct was to move away, quietly, before she woke someone. She really didn’t need any help, after all. Of course she was starving, but she didn’t need anything quite so much as she needed to get back into that tomb.

But.

If someone inside knew a good wolf-less road that would lead her straight back to Castle Ross, she’d be a fool not to ask. Of course, when the sun came over the trees, she’d know which way was east. The problem was, she wasn’t quite so sure how long she’d actually gone north. She’d checked the North Star a couple of times, when she’d been able to see through the trees, but there was a chance she’d gone in circles. What if Castle Ross were due south?

Damnit.

All that wondering drained away her confidence and suddenly, she didn’t dare take another step without a little guidance. Of course, there was also a chance that no one lived in the little cottage, but she wasn’t going to wait until the sun came up to find out.

She walked to the door and knocked. “Hello?” She knocked again. “Anybody home?” Then she realized she needed to speak Gaelic and repeated herself.

The door creaked wide, but it was too dark to see who opened it. She stepped back so she wouldn’t seem too threatening.

“Oh, we’re home, lassie,” the man said as he stepped out into the yard. “It just doesna happen to be our home.”

The laughter of more men—many more men—came from inside, and Jules stepped back, but the first man hurried around behind her.

Hadn’t she just gone through the same thing with the wolves? Easier to escape one than the whole pack?

She had just decided to turn and rush the guy behind her, maybe knee him where it counts, when another man emerged and her chance was gone. This one was a lot taller and had to bend over to get through the opening. When he stood, long curly hair fell around his shoulders and in spite of the blue cast of the sky, she recognized his face. Laughing hazel eyes. Slashing brows.

Gabby’s man. Only now, he was wearing a kilt and looking a little too at home in the fifteenth century.

“Juliet Bell.” He tossed his head, to swing his wild mane out of his smug face. “You should have let me out.”