The Wolf & The Witch (The Wolves Of Winter Valley Book 2)

Chapter 3 - Sanctuary

Isabella POV

There was a heaviness on my chest when I awoke, and I had the distinct impression that I was being watched. Slowly, I opened one eye and looked down at my body. A big yellow eye blinked back at me. Pulling my head back as far as I could, I opened my other eye and found myself nose to nose with a big, fat, ginger tomcat. I lay silent for a moment staring at the cat and listening for any evidence of another human presence.

Nothing.

I was alone.

When I went to sit up the cat didn’t move as I’d expected, and I huffed in irritation. 

“Buenos días, gatito. ¿Te podrías bajar de mi pecho, por favor?” I whispered.

(Good morning, cat. Would you mind getting off my chest?) 

The cat still didn’t move, nor did he when I tried to gently nudge him. He was perfectly content, crouching there with his little toes pressing into my ribs and his mass compressing my lungs. His eyes began to drift closed, then popped wide again at the sound of a screen door slamming. A woman’s voice growled, then called out.

“¡Selina, ven aquí! ¿Dónde está mi zapatos?” 

(Selina, come here! Where are my shoes?) 

The screen door slammed again.

“No lo sé, mamá. Estuvieron aquí anoche,” a young female voice answered.

(I don’t know, Mama. They were here last night.) 

I shoved the cat aside and hissed when his claws scored the skin beneath the borrowed t-shirt. Rubbing a hand over my stinging chest, I forced myself to my aching feet and rushed to the small window to peek out at my surroundings. The woman stalked back into the house and returned a few seconds later with sandals on her feet and a purse slung over her shoulder.

“Vamonos,” she said as she walked off the porch and around the house.

(Let’s go.) 

The young girl stepped inside, then back out with a stack of books tucked under one arm. She paused and locked the door before pulling it closed behind her, then hurried off in the same direction as her mother. I heard the car’s engine roar to life and listened for the sound to fade, indicating that they’d left. Moving to the rear window, I scanned the field behind until my eyes locked on a large tractor in the distance. 

The coast was clear. It was time to go.

Quickly, I gathered up the remnants of my dinner from the night before and scurried down the ladder. After depositing my trash in the can in the corner, I took one last look out the back window to make sure the farmer was still in the field, then sprinted for the front barn door. I was tempted to just bolt outside and off into the trees, but I took my time to ensure that there was no one around that I hadn’t noticed, then I stepped out. I used the barn as cover and hurried around the house and into the forest. I moved deep enough into the trees to be concealed, but not so deep that I couldn’t follow the road. Despite the pain radiating through my body, I kept my pace brisk, and my mind alert, ready to start running should the need arise. 

There was a lot of ground to cover before I made it to Caracas, the temporary safety of a busy tourist destination, and the half-way point on my journey to sanctuary. Though I knew it was useless, I attempted to open a channel to Natasha.

***

Caracas was just as I remembered it. 

Busy.

The streets were teeming with people both tourists and locals crowding the sidewalks, wandering in and out of shops, and pausing for selfies or group snaps. I wove my way through them, keeping close to the buildings and trying to conceal my face from view. Diego’s reach was long, and his money could buy almost anyone’s loyalty. Caracas was the hub of his many enterprises. None of them legal, all of them successful enough to pay local law enforcement to turn the other cheek. 

A street vendor had a table filled with overpriced hats, watches, and sunglasses. I bumped the table knocking a stack of hats off the back. The proprietor waved his hands and started to curse at me. I put on my best sheepish expression and apologized profusely, then when he bent down to pick up his merchandise, I slid a pair of black sunglasses off the table and hooked them in the waistband of my shorts, walking away before he straightened again. When I rounded the corner, I tore the tags off the arm and put the glasses on, hoping for a little more anonymity.

It didn’t take long for me to discover that my thievery was a wasted effort. I turned another corner, making a beeline for the alley that ran behind a small grocery store, and heard a shout, then squealing tires. I spun around in time to see a black sedan speeding in my direction. At that very moment, a young man came through a shop’s back door to deposit trash in a dumpster and I took the opportunity to dart down the alley and through the door, he’d left open. As I reached the front of what turned out to be a coffee shop, I heard a commotion and knew at least one of Diego’s men had followed me inside. I burst through the front door and back out onto the street, running back the way I had come.

The street was so full of people that I bounced off them like a pinball off bumpers. Desperate to get away from the crowd, I sprinted across the street and turned down a less congested side street. I looked back over my shoulder to see if I was being followed and smacked into something hard. Hands gripped my upper arms as I started to teeter backward. Fear took over and I began to struggle against the hands, but they held me firm.

“Tómalo con calma,” a man’s voice said.

(Take it easy.) 

I lifted my face, forcing myself to meet the man’s eyes, expecting to find a big, hulking beast of a man staring back at me. While he was rather muscular he couldn’t have been more than six-feet tall. The light of humor danced in his light brown eyes and a smile spread slowly over his gorgeous face. 

“¿Estás bien?” he asked, releasing my arms.

(Are you okay?) 

“Si. Gracias,” I answered and took a tentative step back.

(Yes. Thank you.) 

“Lamento haber chocado contigo.” 

(I’m sorry I bumped into you.) 

I started to walk away, but he lay a hand on my arm to stop me.

When I faced him, concern had replaced the humor in his eyes. 

“¿De qué estás huyendo?” 

(What are you running from?)

It was difficult to know who could be trusted in Caracas, but something told me that he could be, so I was honest. 

“Los hombres que me secuestraron.” 

(The men who kidnapped me.)

He took hold of my hand and tugged me toward the door of the shop he’d just come out of.

“Entra aquí,” he said.

(Come in here.)

Inside, he scanned the interior of the small restaurant, then flipped the lock. He guided me back through a swinging door, and into the kitchen where a small woman with a long gray braid hanging down the center of her back stood, stirring something in a stockpot. She glanced over and upon seeing me, stopped and turned fully to face the man next to me. Her eyes, the same shade as his, narrowed as she looked me up and down.

“¿Quien es esta?” she asked, shifting her gaze to the man.

(Who is this?)

He stepped forward and kissed her cheek.

“Está en problemas, mamá. Ella ha escapado de sus secuestradores.”

(She’s in trouble, Mom. She has escaped from her kidnappers.)

Mother and son stepped to the other side of the kitchen and spoke in hushed tones. From the looks of it, the conversation wasn’t entirely pleasant. His mother was likely worried that my trouble would fall on their heads, if the men who were chasing me found out they had helped me, even by just giving me a space to rest for a minute. When the conversation ended, he came back over to me while his mother began pulling things from the refrigerator. 

“¿Hay un lugar seguro al que pueda ir?” he asked.

(Is there a safe place for you to go?)

“Iré a Anare en cuanto encuentre transporte,” I told him and prayed he wouldn’t ask me exactly how I planned to find transportation.

(I’ll go to Anare as soon as I find transportation.)

“Yo te llevo.”

(I’ll take you.)

My gaze swung back to meet his. He smiled and patted my arm. His mother came over and handed me a bag loaded with food and a couple of sodas.

“Muchas Gracias, señora,” I said quietly, tears welling in my eyes.

(Thank you very much, madam.)

She simply patted my cheek and smiled sweetly, then resumed her place at the stove. My rescuer cupped my elbow and guided me through the kitchen to the back door. He pushed the door open and peeked out, then rushed me to a small compact car parked a few feet away. After settling me inside, he skirted the car and got in on the driver’s side. To be safe, I pushed the seat all the way back and slid down to the floor, keeping myself out of view of other cars. He pulled a blanket from the back seat and draped it over me.

“En caso de que nos pase un semi camión,” he said with a smile. 

(In case a semi-truck passes us.)

I stayed hidden the entire hour and a half drive to Anare and we refrained from talking, so we wouldn’t draw unwanted attention. When I felt the car stop, I poked my head out from under the blanket. He scanned the area, then nodded when it was safe for me to climb into the seat, and pulled his cell phone from his shirt pocket, offering it to me.

“Llame a su familia. Esperaré hasta que vengan por ti.”

(Call your family. I’ll wait until they come for you.)

“No puedes esperar. Mi familia está en Estados Unidos,” I objected.

(You can not wait. My family is in the United States.)

He smiled. 

“Bueno, al menos puedes llamarlos y hacerles saber dónde estás.”

(Well, you can at least call them and let them know where you are.)

I nodded and dialed the phone, my eyes never leaving his. The phone rang three times before I heard my sister’s sweet voice.

“Hello?” She sounded confused. Most likely because she didn’t recognize the number.

I smiled and lifted a hand to my racing heart. “Nattie,” I managed to squeeze out around the lump in my throat.

“Izzy! Oh, praise the Goddess! How are you? Where are you?” Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, my big, brave, Alpha sister burst into tears.

“Is okay, mi Hermana. I’m okay,” I assured her.

“Where are you?” she asked again.

“I am in Anare, Venezuela. Where Papa found me.”

There were shuffling sounds in the background and I knew that Natasha was searching for a notepad and pen to take notes. “Can you get to the airport? I can have a ticket waiting in less than an hour.”

“Nattie, I can’t leave. I don’t have identification or citizenship papers,” I told her gently, knowing the stress and excitement was probably preventing her from thinking clearly.

“Oh, right. You’ll need those. Okay, we’ll come get you. Do you have a place to stay?” After a long pause, she cursed. “What was I thinking? Of course, you don’t. You don’t have any money or an ID. How will we find you, when we get there?”

“Bring my ring,” I said. “Nattie, I must go. I borrowed this phone.”

“Oh, okay. We’re coming. I’m calling the airline right as soon as we hang up… Isabella?”

“Si?” My heart ached. I didn’t want to hang up. I didn’t want to lose that connection to home, but I had no choice. If she was going to come to get me, I had to let her get off the phone.

“Te Amo, mi Hermana,” she said and sniffled lightly.

(I love you, my sister.)

“Te Amo.” Tears streamed unchecked down my cheeks as I disconnected the call and passed the phone back to my rescuer.

He smiled at me and tucked the phone back into his pocket.

“Gracias,” I said, scrubbing my hands over my face to wipe away the endless streams.

(Thank you.)

“I speak English,” he said. “I did not know you did also. My name is Nicolás. Mi amigos call me Nico.”

“Isabella. Mi familia calls me Izzy.” I shifted in the seat, my eyes continuously sweeping the area for any signs of Diego’s men. “Thank you, for helping me.” I reached for the door handle, but Nico laid a hand on my arm, drawing my attention back to him.

“Isabella, what will you do until your family comes?” he asked, and I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was reluctant to leave me alone.

I smiled and patted his hand. “Don’t worry about me, Nico. I will be alright. They won’t be long.”

“I could try to get you a room somewhere,” he offered in a rush.

“No, thank you. Is best our names are never linked.”

Nico pushed the blanket into my hands. “Take this. Is cold in the night.”

“Thank you. I can never repay your kindness,” I said, keeping my eyes on the floor of the car.

“Is no need, Isabella. I wish there was more to do. Take care of yourself.”

“I will. For safety, you should forget me,” I warned him.

He laughed. “You are much too beautiful to forget.” 

Blushing, I stepped from the car and closed the door. Before he drove away, Nico cast a wink and a smirk at me through the windshield.

I watched him leave the church parking lot we’d been parked in, then I hefted the bag his mother had given me and the blanket, he’d insisted I take with me and started toward the beach.