Page 33 of Hiding Nessie
‘I’m not sure I…’
‘You’re the witch, aren’t you?’ the Wulver said impatiently. ‘I’ll pull it. You staunch it.’
‘Fuck,’ Cam said under his breath.
‘You’ve got this,’ Lachlan said, propping the Wulver up by his shoulders. ‘You’ve done it for me, remember?’
He had. And Cam had thought nothing could ever top that nightmarish night, when he’d carried a bleeding Lachlan away from the loch. He’d been wrong.
‘Ready?’ growled the Wulver.
No.
‘Do it,’ Cam said.
The Wulver grasped the bolt in one sinewy fist. Cam noted the back of his hand was covered in a fine grey fur; a dark pad of skin covered his palm.
The bolt came away with a sucking noise and a fresh slick of blood through the Wulver’s hoodie. Cam rushed to press in a thick swab of gauze with one hand over the top, while his other lifted the hoodie to reach the wound from underneath. The rest of the Wulver’s body was covered in the same mottled grey fur, surprisingly soft to the touch.
His chest rose and fell roughly, rasping with pain. Cam applied a fresh gauze against his skin and waited until the bleeding seemed to have slowed down.
As he was about to pull away, an intruding voice jarred his concentration. A familiar, and not wholly welcome one.
‘Trying to put me out of business, lad? Bagged yourself a werewolf, I see.’
Bryce stood in the middle of the path, his stance easy and his gaze merely curious as he regarded the burning devastation behind them all. The flickering firelight mingled unnervingly with the ever-changing pink mask of magic over his face.
Cam carefully placed Lachlan’s hand over the gauze on the Wulver’s chest and rose to his feet. He squared his shoulders, looking Bryce in the eye. ‘You know damn well he isn’t a werewolf.’
Bryce raised his hands placatingly. ‘I can see we’re in a tangle, lad. Some wires have been crossed, eh? Let’s have a chat. No harm meant.’
‘No harm?’ Cam exploded. ‘Look around, asshole! Your buddies attacked Meredith and threatened to shoot me! They wanted to capture Lachlan! How the fuck did they know about him, huh?Why did you tell them?’
Bryce kept his easy stance, palms still outward and peaceful. ‘Thought I was working with professionals. Truly, lad. This is not how I ever wanted things to go.’
A furious snarling sound signalled the Wulver was fighting to get upright—held down by Lachlan’s stern grip as blood continued to ooze from his wound. His wolfish head swung round, spearing Bryce with an animalistic glare.
‘Do not listen to him, Walker,’ he rasped. ‘I see you, Bróccin. I see you, deceiver.’
For a moment, time stood still for Cam. He stared between the Wulver and Bryce, heard the latter chuckle and saw his mouth begin to move—dismissive words, as though the Wulver had made a joke.
‘Bróccin,’ Cam echoed faintly. ‘Elspaith’s twin.’
Bryce fell silent, regarding Cam with a poker-blank stare. ‘What’s that now, lad?’
Cam heard the Wulver slump back to the ground, accompanied by Lachlan’s frantic administrations. His heart raced, on the verge of deciphering something impossible. He stared at Bryce’s empty expression, at the oscillating pink and purple magic that contorted it in his Scorched vision. He forced himself to look deeper; to stop seeing what he expected to be there.
The twisting images converged, revealing another face. One hidden behind the layers of magic. A younger face. Chestnut-haired. With a proud jaw like his mother’s and warm brown eyes like Cam’s.
‘Who are you?’ Cam whispered, unsure anyone could hear it over the roar of fire surging in his ears again.
The Wulver claimed he’d found his parents’ killer. Someone who’d wanted to keep them quiet about the truth. Something they’d already discovered, or were about to.
Bryce looked at Cam with a sorrowful smile. ‘Don’t you trust me, Cam? Me, who took you in when you had nowhere else to go? I helped you get your life on track, lad.’
‘Who are you?’ Cam repeated, louder this time. A faint tremor entered his voice. ‘Why did my parents die?’
The young face of Bryce was like a shadow in his vision, fading in and out of view. It endeavoured to present a mournful frown, but the result was cold and lacking sincerity. ‘You know how they died, lad. Lindworm. Tragic business.’
