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Where was he? Where were his men? What was he supposed to do now? Being naked in the woods did not leave him a great many options.
Think.He’d led a powerful army. He’d enjoyed victory in battle after battle. He’d managed to come before a goddess and keep his life. He could figure out what should happen next.
Do something worthy.Flidae’s words echoed in his head. He only had to do something worthy and he could go back home to Ireland. He could go back home and… and what? Clearly killing for money in wolf form was not something Flidae approved of, and he had no guarantee the other four men would do something worthy as quickly as he did. He also had doubts they would pledge any kind of allegiance to him considering what had happened. What good was a leader without men to lead? He’d also have to face the anger the men were throwing his way as Flidae chastised them. They probably wouldn’t follow his command anymore.
Why should they?He’d done the unforgivable to men who had only showed him loyalty. He’d disregarded their will. He’d made life-altering decisions for them that were not his to make.
He’d been greedy. Just as Flidae had said.
Sitting, Reardon rested his elbows on his bent knees and held his head in his hands. That empty feeling in his chest nearly overwhelmed him. He’d fought alongside his men for so long, shared quarters with them, dined with them. They were his brothers. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly alone.
But he was alone now. No link to his men, his new wolves, his beloved Ireland.
With a growl, he shifted to wolf form and took off at a run through the unfamiliar woods, weaving between trees as dirt and leaves churned up under his large paws. The warm air—so different from the cool rain he’d shivered under only moments ago—settled in his fur as he streaked through the forest, the scent of earth filling his nose. It didn’t smell like Ireland.
He came to an abrupt stop at the base of a huge pine tree, his lungs heaving. Although his senses were still sharpened, that connection to nature he’d always had when in wolf form was gone. Severed. Flidae had meant what she said about him not being under her protection. He felt separate and the sensation disoriented him.
He ran for a few more minutes, the night sky barely visible through the dense canopy of maple, birch, and beech trees. Running was the only thing that made sense right now. The only thing he could be successful at after being banished from the only home he’d ever known. He lived a brutal existence, but it was the existence he’d chosen… or the one that had chosen him. Either way, he was made to lead, to fight, to win. The defeat he’d experienced today at Flidae’s hands destroyed him. The guilt over turning his men without their consent tore out his heart.
Reardon McAlator officially had no one. This shouldn’t have been a big deal. He’d made a life out of ripping apart men in battle, of counting his rewards, of searching for his next contract. Now he had to do something worthy.
What does that even mean?
Worthy work to him was leading his army to victory. He had no army, no opponents, no battle, no king ready to pay him and his men handsomely for their skills.
He was just a wolf running in the dark woods. Woods he didn’t know. Where was he going?
And where are all the people?
Did no humans exist in this time and place Flidae had banished him to? Had his men ended up in more populated places? More dangerous places?
How could he have brought this on his most trusted men? How could he ever hope to make it up to them should they be reunited?
Reardon pushed his wolf form harder until the woods streaked by in a blur around him. His only plan right now was to run. Run fast. Run until he couldn’t run anymore. He appeared to still have his strength, so running forever was a distinct possibility. Maybe he could outrun this horrible situation Flidae had put him in.
No. I put myself here.
He had no one to blame but himself. The burden rested on his shoulders alone.
After sloshing through a shallow stream, he stopped for a moment to take a drink, then picked up his former gallop until a sudden, excruciating pain bit at his back right leg. A howl tore from his throat as he fell, his nose digging into the dirt and leaves. He panted, twisting in agony for a few moments, trying desperately to stay conscious. It felt as if someone had set his back leg on fire and soon that fire would consume him.
Get up. I’m stronger than this.
Hell, he’d been stabbed and sliced with swords and spears for most of his adult life. Whatever had just happened to his leg should be nothing in comparison.
Only it felt much, much worse.
Inhaling, he attempted to raise his head and look at his leg. An iron set of teeth had a crushing grip on him. Blood ran through his fur, warm and slick, and was that bone jutting out? A wave of nausea rolled over him and he looked away, not usually so squeamish. Maybe Flidae had taken more from him than he’d realized.
He considered his options for getting free and, unfortunately, he could only come up with one doable course of action—shift back to human form so he could use his hands to pry open the jaws. Shifting back to human was normally not a monumental task because he was used to the metamorphosis at this point, but what he didn’t look forward to was the increase in pain he would feel. The human body was not as tolerant of pain as his wolf form was, but he could see no other way of releasing himself. In his hybrid wolfman form, his clawed hands would be as useless as his paws would be. Only human hands would work.
And I’ll die if I stay like this.
For a long moment, he contemplated dying, pondered letting himself go, but it wasn’t in his nature to surrender. Ever. Clearly he was willing to do whatever it took to win… even betray his brothers in battle and anger goddesses.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he channeled his energy into shifting, but a snap of a twig nearby made him stop. Shuffling sounded and a circle of light bounced around amidst the dark trees. Voices traveled to him on the humid breeze.
He was not alone in these strange woods.
