Dark Lies (Magic Side: Wolf Bound Book 3)

Savannah

Our paws pounded along the sandy lakeshore as the sunlight drained from the sky.

Our paws. It was a strange thought. Not my paws, because my wolf was in control. But they weren’t just her feet, either.

Don’t overthink it, my wolf chided. Two legs think too much.

I couldn’t help it. It was still too weird.

Focus on enjoying the run. Like a massage or manicure—just relax and let me do the work.

I tried to let go of my incessant human worries and focus on the scents of the beach and the animals that came out in the twilight hours of the day. Whether I liked it or not, I had become part of something bigger than myself. An us. My wolf and me.

I’d driven down to the Indiana Sand Dunes to let my wolf run in the cover of darkness, a new ritual. Over the last week, the dunes had become our refuge from Magic Side, a patch of wilderness where we could avoid the city and all its complications.

The cost of gas was eating up my dwindling cash reserves, however.

My wolf sniffed the air. Too many human worries. This is wolf time. There are many good smells here. Maybe we could catch a deer?

I could smell the animal, not far off.

“No. Not a chance.”

Just a bite? Or how about a rabbit? she pleaded.

Fine—but just chasing. No chomping. We can catch a plate of bacon on the way home.

It had been a week since my first shift, and I’d gotten a little more comfortable with being a werewolf. But there were some things I wasn’t quite ready for yet, and murdering cute animals with my own mouth was definitely not on the agenda.

Okay. Just chasing, my wolf said, being an uncharacteristically good sport. But I expect lots of bacon.

She took another sniff of the air and raced off in the direction of the rabbit scent. We wove through the trees like it was an obstacle course, kicking up jets of sand with each step. She was so fast and far more agile than my human form.

You were pretty good at track for someone with only two legs, my wolf observed as we slid beneath a fallen tree trunk and leapt over a pile of brush.

She was clearly showing off for my benefit. But what was unsettling was that she had memories of my youth. I still wasn’t sure how our relationship worked. Sam and Jaxson had told me that the wolf was just another aspect of my personality, but she didn’t feel like a part of me. She felt like another soul sharing my body.

I pushed the unnerving thoughts from my mind and drifted into the rhythmic movements, running without an ounce of control, letting someone else steer.

It’s good to run. It’s good to let go, my wolf said.

I scoffed. All I did was run. I’d been running for weeks. First from Billy and the wolves, then from demons and nightmares, and finally from Kahanov, or Dragan, or whoever the hell the blood sorcerer was.

My wolf overtook the rabbit, and when it broke right, she shot left over the top of the dune toward the beach. I could feel her elation and smell the rabbit’s relief.

We outran them all, my wolf said warmly.

That we did, Wolfie.

Yet I was still running. Perhaps only from myself, but running all the same.

Heart thundering, we dashed along the lakeshore until at last, my wolf slowed and stopped.

A million stars shimmered above us in the clear, moonless sky and reflected off the gently rolling water. I hadn’t seen so many stars since I’d left Wisconsin, and then again, maybe not this many. A deep loneliness pooled in my gut. I missed my godmother, Alma, and all her kooky yard decorations.

I needed to get back there, but I’d just been…busy.

My wolf tilted our head back and let out a melancholic howl that echoed over the water. We waited.

No response.

When the echoes finally died away, my wolf asked, Ready to shift?

I hated this part.

Shifting is so much easier with Jaxson around. We should have him run with us. He’d come, my wolf said for the hundredth time.

My heart picked up a step, to my frustration.

I had no doubt that Jaxson would be here in an instant if he had any notion that we were running alone.

I shook our head as I braced myself for the shift. We need to master this on our own. He won’t always be there for us—like when we fought the sorcerer in the cave.

I gasped as the transformation hit me like a blow to the chest. Agony raced down my spine and along my limbs as our body contorted. I tried to focus my mind on my human form, visualizing my long, pale legs and arms, thin fingers that were good at drawing, and red hair that always caught Jaxson’s eyes.

My back arched and joints popped. We growled in defiance at the pain, but the growl became a whimper as bones cracked and strained. Through tear-glazed eyes, I watched paws become fingers clawing into the wet sand.

I touched my face with a shaky hand, feeling my familiar cheeks and jaw. My muzzle was gone, leaving only a human nose and mouth. Relief flooded me as the pain began to subside.

I flopped down naked and human in the wet sand and groaned for dramatic effect. “Damn, that sucks.”

We did it, my wolf said. That’s eight times on our own.

“One small step for werewolves. One giant leap for our independence,” I muttered, still breathing hard as the residual pain echoed through my joints.

I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations of wet sand and the cold, dark waves as they raced up the shore and along the edges of my body. The feeling brought back memories of another beach on the far side of the country.

Lying in the Pacific surf nearly a week ago, I’d been at death’s door after escaping the Dreamlands. But then he had brought me back. Jaxson. I’d been hanging in darkness until his healing magic had coursed through my body like wildfire. I’d never felt pain so close to pleasure. It was like having the sun rise in your soul, like being burned from the inside out.

I had woken with a gasp in arms that were strong like the rocky shore. Unyielding. Immoveable. Eternal.

His heart had beaten next to mine, each pulse in time with my own. And when his lips had found mine, all the sensations of the world had become like sunlight on my skin. As we’d flowed together like the sand and sea, that kiss had become everything we’d ever wanted.

There were moments after each shift when I could almost feel that magic again.

Too much. I pushed the memories from my mind and staggered to my feet in the gentle surf.

Everything ached. I waded unsteadily out into the cold lake and dove in. Cool darkness surrounded me, clearing my thoughts. The sensation was familiar, comforting. It was what my magic felt like.

For a second, I let myself drift, weightless. When I couldn’t hold my breath any longer, I stood and pulled my drenched hair over my shoulders, and headed into shore.

We need to talk to him, my wolf whispered in my thoughts.

“I know,” I said as I trudged up the beach to where I’d hidden my clothes. “I will. I promise, I’m working up to it.”

Mm-hmm.

Fated mates. Totally fucked.

I grabbed my water bottle and took a long drink, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I was pooped, but I needed to get out of there before it got too late.

Shivering, I tugged my underwear and shorts over my damp skin, trying desperately not to get sand in my pants. I pulled out my phone.

Two missed calls from Casey—typical. One from Sam, which had the potential to be interesting. And a text from Aunt Laurel: Back in a couple days.

She and Uncle Pete had split town not long after I’d returned from the Dreamlands.

I’d told them about killing Kahanov and about how—as far as I could figure—he’d been possessed by the ghost of Victor Dragan. Her eyes had gone dark at Dragan’s name, and she wouldn’t say much more than, “He was a very bad man. I’m glad he’s dead. Again.”

The next day, she was gone. The only explanation had been a note on the table: Now that we know you’re safe, Uncle Pete and I must check on some things. Be back in a few days. Don’t let Casey burn the house down.

That was Aunt Laurel for you.

I sighed and snatched my shirt from the ground, then paused and touched the lingering scar on my shoulder. My fingers came away red.

Damn. It was seeping again.

After the battle in the Dreamlands, Jaxson’s magic had healed all my wounds except one—the gash where Kahanov had rammed the Soul Knife through my shoulder. Even after drinking a couple of Uncle Pete’s godawful healing potions, it still wouldn’t fully close, and it bled every time I shifted or if I moved around too much.

Time to get that looked at.

I dumped some water from my bottle over my shoulder to wash it clean, and then I pulled on my shirt, contorting so I wouldn’t have to move my right arm too much. The wound would be fine—it just needed a little more time to heal.

It and me both.