Maverick did not as Verity had expected head towards the fence line, but headed in the opposite direction, to where the cattle was penned. He released her hand and vaulted the gate, releasing it from the inside and then pushing it open through the sticky mud rank with animal faeces and urine, the bottom pole scraping up the top level of the scum, reminding Verity of a concrete laborer smoothing the surface of a path.
When the gate was fully open, Maverick pulled off the plaid shirt he was wearing without releasing any of the front buttons, tossing it to Verity. “Hold this, witchy, and try not to lose yourself to lust, eh?” He winked as he toed off his filthy boots, and wriggled out of his jeans, revealing a body that was, by any standards, Verity thought as she averted her eyes, delicious.
“I have four mates at home,” she said. “All of them beautiful. I think I can control myself around you, Maverick.”
“Stronger females have tried,” he replied cheerfully and shifted into his wolf.
She looked in genuine curiosity having never been this close to a shifted werewolf, and exclaimed at the massive, thickly blonde pelted wolf who shook himself out and stretched as if rising from a nap before casting her a very human grin and trotting around the pen. He leapt the fence to the rear of the pen, and she realised he meant to drive the cattle out, grabbing his boots and clothes up and pressing herself back against the fence as they suddenly moved forward.
The wolf jumped the fence to land beside her and shifted back into the man, his tangled blonde hair hanging loose around his face. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it back on in the same manner as he had removed it, before dragging on his jeans. “We have to get a wriggle on, witchy,” he said as he thrust his feet into the filthy boots. He grabbed her hand again and set off at a trot across the moonlight fields, in the wrong direction again, she thought.
“Shouldn’t we be going in the other direction?” She wondered.
“Sure, if you want to get caught,” he replied cheerfully. “Watch out, rabbit hole,” he lifted her suddenly before setting her down a few strides along. “Your night sight is as bad as your sense of direction. The city is this way. That way takes you further into the sticks.”
“Oh,” she felt pretty foolish.
“Not your fault,” he said easily. “Not like you came via road, right, so you didn’t get to see which was way in? Alatar just magicked you a doorway.”
“Honestly,” she confessed. “Even if I had come by road, it wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“Well,” he flicked her a grin over his shoulder. “I was being polite.”
The fields seemed to stretch forever in every direction but behind, where the house and fire pit were slowly withdrawing onto the horizon, the warm golden glow like a beacon. “Why did you set the cattle loose?” She asked him.
“Two reasons,” he paused and inhaled, then changed direction slightly. “The cattle will cause a bit of chaos and keep them busy rounding them up before they destroy the vegetable garden and crop. Too busy to wonder where we are. And, by the time they realise that we are missing, the scent will have been muddied and confused by them all crossing and moving about.”
“You really thought this out,” she didn’t know whether to be wary or troubled by that.
“Not really,” he replied. “It is just basic stuff for a werewolf. Not so much for a witchy because you don’t have our noses.”
“The cattle won’t destroy the crops, will they?”
“They will nibble it a little, but they will be noticed before they do too much damage,” he assured her. “They are my pack. I wouldn’t endanger them.”
“If they are your pack, why are you so eager to leave them?”
“Werewolves aren’t like witches,” he said. “The moment we take our wolf form at maturity, our place in the pack is determined. It is what it is, and you cannot change it.”
“Witches aren’t too different,” she told him grimly.
“I doubt to the same extent,” he replied as the ground rose suddenly. She could smell water, hear it. A small creek crossed the property, she realised. “I hope you are not going to be fussy about getting a little wet and muddy,” he pulled her up the bank. The other side was steep, and they half slid, half walked pressed against the wall of dirt.
As her fingers found purchase in the roots that jutted out of the earth, she hoped that she didn’t stick her fingers anywhere they shouldn’t go. They reached the ground, scraped and muddy. There was a lip of earth along the edge before the creek, but Maverick stepped into the water. “The water will hide our scent, as well,” he told her.
She toed the bank trying to find an easier entry than he had used and gasped out a shriek as she encountered a spider web, the heavy body of the spider shaking before her and the moonlight catching silver across the threads.
Maverick paused. “Drop onto your bum and ease under the bottom line of the web. Honestly, witchy, don’t your kind use spiders for snacks?”
“Maybe normal witches use spiders for spells,” she did as he instructed, and entered the water in a crouch, drenched to the knee. She shuddered at the icy bite. “But I am a healer. We don’t tend to use spell components.” She slipped in the slick of the mud underfoot and would have fallen if he had not caught her.
“No need to take a bath, you don’t smell that bad,” he snickered at his own joke. “Come on. They will have rounded up the herd by now. We can hope they haven’t thought to count heads, but your brother might decide to peek in on you. Who knows? So, let’s get a wriggle on, before the wolves howl.”
Spurred by that thought, she splashed along at his side with quicker steps. The water drenched her trousers making the limbs heavy and awkward, her shoes squelched with it, and the cold sucked at her energy reserves. She saw the glint of metal ahead and saw that the chain mesh fence was strung overhead. Someone had tried to fill the gap created by the creek’s passage through the edge of the property, but the poles that once had been driven into the bank now hung free, suspended on the chain mesh.
“My lady,” Maverick pushed the heavy metal to the side, creating a gap for her to wriggle through. When she was on the other side, he followed, letting it fall back into place behind them. “Ta-da,” he said proudly. “We are now outside of pack lands. The city lies that way,” he pointed towards a horizon hidden behind the rise of the bank. “Some people might take the road, but we are not that stupid. We are going cross country.”
They followed the creek, and she felt the edge of the glamor and wards pass over them. “We are out of the glamor,” she told him.
“Is that so?” He considered the distance. “Went for further than I thought it would.”
They continued their wet path until he decided they should climb the bank. “Here,” he hooked her fingers into the waist band of his jeans. “Don’t get excited, it is just a tow.” He pulled her up the steep bank behind him in this fashion, picking his way up carefully and using his hands to find purchase in the roots and soil.
As they reached the top, she collapsed onto the ground on her knees, breathing heavily, cold, sore from her wet trousers chafing her skin and from many grazes and scrapes earned during the journey, and exhausted.
“Good idea, witchy,” he crouched next to her. “Take a breather before we put in the next haul. Then we will find somewhere to cuddle up for a couple of hours before continuing to the first town.”
The term cuddle up should have been alarming, she thought, her teeth chattering, but she doubted that Maverick would take advantage of the situation. There was something behind his joking that quite clearly said that he wasn’t interested, a feeling that was mutual.
“At the town,” he continued, his eyes scanning the land around them. “We will steal some dry clothes and shoes, and food, if we can find it.”
“Steal clothes?” She slid a look at him.
“Lots of empty houses,” he pointed out. “People who have fled their homes ahead of the winged menaces, hoping to find shelter elsewhere. Something we also need to be wary of,” he added. “It has been a while since I have been off the run, but from what I hear, the winged Hellions form into groups and are having a great old time terrorizing the area.”
“They are not all bad,” she said thinking of Charon and rubbing the ache that immediately formed between her breasts. “They don’t have any choice,” she said. “They are forced to participate in these attacks, and if they don’t make it to the exit, they get stuck here.”
“Sure,” he straightened and reached out a hand, pulling her up. “But when they kill you, it won’t make a difference what their childhood traumas are. You are still dead at the end of it. So, let’s avoid our feathered foes, eh?”