Toho: Diaries of the Cwn Annwn Vol 7

By Jo Pilsworth

Josh Abbott knew nothing of the paranormal world. The stories told by his beloved great-grandfather were just that: stories. He wanted nothing more than to serve his country. Joining the US Marine Corps, qualifying and excelling as a Scout Sniper gave him an immense sense of pride. Then, whilst on a mission in the Middle East, he wakes to find himself in a place, where an unknown organization will teach him the true meaning of Hell.

Dylann Creed was a cougar-shifter, born of shifter parents. Blaming herself for her mother’s death when she was a child, she rebelled against her father’s need to keep her safe by fleeing the family home, and making her living as a model with the help of her high school friend and photographer, Eric. Until one day, she comes across a male cougar caught in a trap.

Josh and Dylann. Will Dylann be able to heal Josh of both the mental and physical scars inflicted by those wanting to force him to change to a creature he had not believed existed? In return, will Josh be able to help the apparently free-spirited Dylann understand the true meaning of freedom? Will Dylann be able to convince her Marine that he can embody the spirit of Toho, the Spirit of the Cougar? Will Josh help Dylann to understand what that spirit can mean to her?

Contents are suited for an 18+ readership. Contains violence, sex and strong language.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Pilsworth
• Release date: Apr 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370292073

Jo Pilsworth

Too many nights away from home led to my joining an online role-play group based on Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Dark Hunters universe, giving me an enjoyable hobby whilst in hotels on my own. As a result, I became friends with some of my fellow writers, Tracy Andrews and Donna DeBoard, who joined me when I started what was known in the role-playing world as an ‘own character’ group. Thus The Hunter’s Arrow and the worlds of the Anghelescu Hellhounds and the Negrescu Cŵn Annwn were born.When not concocting fiendish plots, I work as a Store Manager for The Works, a UK-based chain of art and craft supplies. I am supported in my writing endeavours by my wonderful husband of more than 25 years, David, and my son, David Junior.The Diaries of the Cwn Annwn consists of nine books, so far, with at least a couple more in the works. The books available here start with Merysekhmet, then Toho, Medved and Ma'iitsoh. Omega and Gemelli are in the production stage. Dare you walk in our world?

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DIARIES OF THE CŴN ANNWN: HELLFIRE PACK TOHO

Published by Jo Pilsworth and The Hunter’s Arrow Ltd

Copyright 2017 Jo Vincent-Pilsworth and Kaitlyn Bosch

Discover other titles by Jo Pilsworth and The Hunter’s Arrow:

The Diaries of the Cŵn Annwn

Alpha (planned publication May 2016)

Beta (planned publication August 2016)

Yr Ddraig (planned publication May 2019)

The Hellfire Pack

Cysgodion (planned publication Summer 2018)

Merysekhmet (published Spring 2017)

Toho (published April 2018)

Medved (planned publication December 2018)

Ma’iitsoh (planned publication early 2019)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, unless clear reference is made to an actual location. Otherwise any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Jo Vincent-Pilsworth and Kaitlyn Bosch assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work. All rights are reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which is it published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Book cover designed by Jo Vincent-Pilsworth.

DEDICATION FROM JO

The Hunter’s Arrow Ltd was a dream made possible through friendship. Without those friendships, the stories which we hope you will enjoy would never have come together. So, thanks go to the following:

Tracy Andrews

Donna DeBoard

Bethan Thomas

Gabriela Collazo

Angela Keys

Melissa Keyza

Katlyn Stone

Aiden Williams

I am fortunate to have such creative and innovative friends. If we have learned anything it is that a dream can come true. We are much more than our detractors might say, and through our stories, we have proven just how wrong they are. I look forward to writing with you for many years to come.

I also want to thank those non-writers, who have told me how much they enjoy what I have written from the early days of writing online role-play and fan fiction, to now. Your encouragement and support means the world to me.

Finally, my thanks to Karen Nethercott, Marta Jenkala and Miss TN Kiersnowska: three teachers from St Anne’s Convent School. In your own way, you started me down the journey of writing.

My friends, you all rock!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (Interlude)

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

A Note from Jo Pilsworth

What’s Next in the Diaries of the Cŵn Annwn: Hellfire Pack

Extract from Medved

PROLOGUE

wHAT IS A MONSTER? – A DIARY ENTRY FROM JOSH ABBOTT

Define monster. The small hand I was holding twitched at the sound of my voice. The white bandage around her eyes was a sharp contrast to the skin tanned by the heat of the desert. I felt a pang that her hand twitched because she hadn't realised I was there, rather than someone else, someone who might do her harm.

I had taken to visiting Fatima each day, at least while I was in camp rather than out on a mission. The bandage was a harsh reminder of why she was in the infirmary. The bandage and the skinny arm, only just released from its cast from having been broken.

Her voice was soft as she answered, hesitantly, trying to find the English words. Fatima was fourteen years old, a child still, but what had happened to her made her anything but a child. She had refused to be married off to an older man, so for the 'dishonour' she had brought to her father, someone had thrown acid in her face, all but melting her eyelids and robbing her of her sight. The broken arm had been from her trying to knock her attacker back. She had been dumped at the gate by her own mother, on her father's orders. If she was going to dishonour his name, then he washed his hands of her.

I am willing to bet that there are some who would say something along the lines of 'bloody ignorant Muslims' and mutter about the idea of marrying off a fourteen-year old. They would decry the concept of her being punished for 'dishonouring the family name'. But what they would not be willing to do was what I had managed to arrange.

I never had a sister. Two younger brothers, yeah, but no sister. I really wanted a sister. Now, that's what Fatima was going to be. I saw no reason why I shouldn't use the effect of my sniper skills and what they meant to keeping the rest of those based here safer. In the sandbox, there's no such thing as completely safe, but I made a small difference in my own way. But hey, what's another medal when you have won a couple? So, I had put my case to my CO and he had passed it up the chain in turn. It had taken time, but at last, just before Jake and I were about to leave for a mission which had come up at short notice, the visa, the letters had all come through. Most importantly, the confirmation that after a 'cooling off period' or some such shit, my parents would be permitted to adopt Fatima formally.

So, kiddo, what's the definition of a monster? I asked Fatima again.

My father used to say it was men like you. Fatima's voice was quiet. You were the invaders, the killers of innocents. You were the monsters.

Why am I not surprised? I muttered. Well, baby girl, looks like this monster has used his evilness for good effect. The papers came through, kiddo. You are on your way Stateside. My fingers touched the bandages on her eyes. Maybe they can help with this, but regardless, my Mom and Dad are waiting to welcome their daughter home.

The thin chest heaved with the sound of sobs, but no tears. She couldn't shed tears. Her tear ducts had been damaged also by the attack. I gathered my new sister into my arms. Don't cry, kiddo. Be happy. You will have a chance to settle in, and when I finish this tour of duty, you and your beautiful smile can welcome me home.

Fatima nodded against me. I will make a big banner. She promised, And I shall be the proudest sister in the world. She sat back, reaching for my hands to hold them. He was wrong, you know. You are not the monsters.

I gave her another hug. I have to go, kiddo, but I shall hold you to that promise. I smiled.

I never did see that banner. Fatima cried her first tears with her newly repaired tear ducts the day I returned after my tour, the day 'my' coffin returned home. She said I wasn't the monster, but that was what I had become. That was the role my captors forced me assume. At least, I saved her first.

CHAPTER 1

josh abbott - MEMORIES

C'mon kitty cat, you know you want to do this. The cajoling tone was at odds with the explosive sharp pain of the cattle prod. It might have caused a reaction, but it was not the first time, and Josh did not think that it would be the last.

You know the routine, kitty cat. The voice continued. Unless you want me to use this again?

Yes, Josh knew the 'routine'. Move to the back of the cell. Keep his hands visible, unless he wanted to be back in restraints. If they did that, then he wouldn't be fed. Even though he knew the food was drugged, he also knew he had to eat. If he was going to blow this joint, he had to eat and maintain his strength. He had to give the impression that he was 'behaving'.

How had this happened?

All he had wanted to do was be a Marine. He was proud to serve his country. He was proud to be a Marine. Winning the awards for marksmanship. Achieving the rank of Lance Corporal. Joining the battalion scout-sniper platoon. Completing Sniper School. Having the designation of Scout Sniper. Knowing that he was making a difference, keeping others safer through his ability to reach the most out of the way nests of the terrorists. He had seen enough to feel that his role was essential. He and Jake, his spotter, had developed something of a reputation, but to Josh's mind it was because they worked well as a team. Then came a mission when Jake had been taken ill. Weird as hell at the time but no big deal, Josh had thought. Another spotter was assigned, and the target was confirmed.

The precise sequence of events was hazy. That was the drugs. If it was just the drugs, Josh reckoned he might have held out. But it was the rest of what was done. That 'doctor'. If he was a real doctor. He had smiled. Josh had not wanted to scream. He held out for as long as he could. He told himself that he might scream, but he would not beg. He was a Marine. He would not beg.

Then the weird shit happened.

The fucker with the cattle prod had gone once they had 'encouraged' him to move to the back of the cell, so that they could slide his food tray under the door. Once they were clear, he would be permitted to collect it and take it to the back of the small room to eat in some privacy. Not much, but it was something.

Rewind, Marine! It hadn't been this way at first. He and Jake were supposed to have gone on a mission. The intel had been checked and confirmed as per protocol, but then Jake fell ill. The afternoon before they were due to head out, he started puking big time, to the point that the medic quarantined him, not sure why he was unable to keep any food down. The mission must be completed. The target would be moving, so another spotter was assigned. Not something that Josh was happy about, but needs must. It was a night mission, but nothing surprising there. His night vision was good enough that he didn't use night-goggles or had to use a laser sight. He used to joke that it was because he ate all his carrots or something like that. Whatever.

The other spotter was a newcomer to the battalion, but again, Josh thought, whatever. It was just for the one mission. Jake would recover and it would be business as normal.

Only it wasn't. It bugged Josh, that amnesia. He could not remember what happened between them leaving camp and waking up in a pristine hospital room ... with his goddamn arms restrained to the bed.

-x-

Calm down, Gunny. The voice had a slightly Germanic accent, which made it memorable, at least to Josh's ears. He could not help but notice a few other things. The restraints, for all that they had the usual sheepskin padding, felt abrasive on his wrists. The sheet which covered him was likewise. He could hear the movements around him, even though he schooled himself to not show any reaction.

Yeah, that course he had done the other year, the one loosely termed 'Survival Techniques' had taught him a lot. His limbs may not be in a stress position, but for him, a gymnast and parkour enthusiast as well as a Scout Sniper holding the rank of Gunnery Sergeant in the USMC? Being restrained was guaranteed to cause an adverse reaction. So, he forced himself to stay still. Something told him that they wanted him to react. Something told him even when he was alone in the room that he was expected to do something.

Upshot of that. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Josh viewed it a bit like his preparation for taking a shot. Calm the breathing. Stay in the zone. The external did not matter. Just the end result. And, if he was being held against his will, then the desired result was to blow this joint.

But first, he had to find out where he was.

-x-

It took 24 hours before the Germanic voice materialised into a person. Josh found himself dozing off. He knew that there was an IV line attached to his wrist, and guessed that it was feeding something into him. Given the restraints, there was little he could do to fight whatever it was. Instead, he occupied his waking hours with running a mental scan of his body and his awareness, as well as trying to recall what had happened.

The last thing he could recall was starting the climb up a hill to reach the vantage point for their target. Thinking about it, he couldn't even remember the name of his temporary spotter, which seemed strange now. Had the guy even given his name or had they just worked on rank? After all, once they were close to their position, speech was hardly part of the deal. Josh's focus had been on the job at hand, but even so, he had heard the sound of the gravel sliding down behind them in the darkness. He had turned, slotting his rifle into the back sling which he had adapted, and realised ... what? Again, it was foggy, almost as if something was preventing him from remembering.

His eyes flicked down to the IV on his wrist. What was in that thing? From the angle at which he lay, he could not see the IV pole or any sort of pump which would have been expected.

Back to the memories. What could he remember? This ... blank did not sit well with him. He didn't want to close his eyes because he was certain if he did, then he would lose consciousness again. It did seem as if he was having to fight to stay awake. His ears picked up a sound, a sort of whirring, and the need to close his eyes become almost overwhelming, along with a ... sort of furry feeling on his tongue. What was it, he asked himself yet again? What was being pumped into him? Was it connected to this damned amnesia?

Josh didn't know and that whole lack of knowledge, in a Scout Sniper who prided himself on verifying the recon himself? It was pissing this Marine off.

-x-

The fucker had a clipboard in his hands. Of all the stereotypical things to greet him when his eyes opened, it was some goon in scrubs with a clipboard in his hands. Since he had gained little by trying to not move or react to the fact that his hands, arms and legs had been restrained, he might as well try the apparent co-operation option instead.

Let's go for the stereotypical jarhead approach, Josh thought. Rattling the restraints and attempting to kick his legs, he professed confusion, demanding to know what was going on. In the meantime, he was making his own observations. The guy in scrubs had taken pains to wash. Not just daily ablutions, but unlike most people, he seemed to have very little scent to him. Josh had always had a keen sense of smell, but then a lot of people did. His voice. Germanic accent, but not German. Josh heard a beeping noise and that same whirring noise. He tensed, half expecting that furry feeling in his mouth to return.

Gunnery Sergeant, can you hear me? The doc's voice was clipped. You are in a secure medical facility after an anomaly was identified from your last blood test. You were med-evac'd out for urgent treatment.

Bullshit, was the first thought through Josh's mind. What anomaly ... sir? His own voice was raspy, his throat dry. Thank fuck! A trickle of water from one of those straw sippy cup things.

Have you ever used steroids, Gunnery Sergeant? The 'doc' queried. Incorrect and excessive use of steroids can result in unexpected side effects, which would have made you a danger to yourself and your comrades. As I said, when your blood-work demonstrated an anomaly, you were brought in for emergency treatment.

Never used steroids. Josh was offended that someone accused him of that. Not even when he had been training for gym competitions. He knew some of the guys had, but he refused to do it. He either won or lost on his own merits, not because he was filling his veins with shit.

The 'doc' didn't reply immediately. You will feel different, once the treatments have been administered. Better. He commented. There was an edge of ... satisfaction to his voice. Josh was still none the wiser.

I said I never used steroids ... sir. Josh was emphatic. This guy was just talking a total load of crock. He'd be damned if this fiction was put on his records. All he had wanted to do was fucking serve his country. He would never do something that might put that in danger. Never. Categorically not. Whatever the 'anomaly' that this 'doc' was talking about might have been, Josh knew steroids were not it.

The question was then, what had been seen in his blood work, if something had been seen?

-x-

Josh would never have considered that he might be glad for being restrained to the bed. As his body arched off the damp sheets, soaked from his perspiration, he asked himself again what the fuck was happening.

According to the Doc, and it seemed he was a real doctor as opposed to the Naval medic attached to a Marine unit that Josh was used to seeing, the 'anomaly' in his blood, which he had been told was steroids, had been significant enough to risk him going off the reservation in a big way. Didn't matter how often Josh swore he had never touched steroids, but that was what he was being told. The stuff being administered to him was supposed to allow his body to adjust and to correct the anomaly. That's where it wasn't making sense.

Surely if the problem was that drugs had been administered to him without his knowledge, call it steroids if you must, but Josh still wasn't convinced, then it was just a case of cutting the supply and letting his body work the shit out. Restraints? Yeah, he could sort of understand it, because of the risk of him becoming violent. Didn't make sense for him to be having more shit administered to him. It was supposed to 'make him feel better', but right now that was anything but what he felt.

Pain. Shit, but this was pain over and above anything he had felt before. His determination prevented him from begging for someone to end the pain, but he could not help the screams. It felt like ... all those descriptions of having exposed nerve endings? Like when the dentist left something open, only multiplied across his body. He was willing to swear even his hair follicles felt like they were on fire. As his body arched up again, straining, trying to pull free from the restraints holding him down, he could not think of anything else. Just the pain. Was this what withdrawal felt like, Josh wondered? If it was, no wonder the average addict looked so fucked up.

He had lost count of how long he had been like this. There was no day and night. The room had no windows, and the light was on constantly, maybe not fully on, but it was there. His diurnal rhythm was screwed, he knew that. Sheer exhaustion was what meant that he slept, or what passed for sleep. Sheer exhaustion and a brain desperate for surcease from this pain.

His screams were different. Harsh, almost a snarl. He tried tracking the onset of pain from the whirr of the pump administering the drugs. Were the two connected? Josh reckoned that they were, but he could not be sure. Sometimes he would hear the pump, and the furry mouth feeling would follow and then nothing. Other times, the sound of the pump seemed to herald another bout of spine-cracking pain. His wrists felt raw from the amount of time he spent trying to pull free of the restraints, and he could smell blood, his own blood. How he knew it was his ...? In a moment of lucidity, that thought stayed. How did he know it was his blood? Smelled different, a part of his brain seemed to gasp out. Smelled different?

Again, as he arched up from the bed, screaming mentally and physically, Josh asked himself. What the fuck was going on?

-x-

It seemed that his life was being filled with 'what the fuck' moments. As his mind started to wake, Josh became aware of two voices in the room. Neither seemed to be aware that he was waking, and they were both talking in lowered tones. They were not whispering, and they did not appear to have made any move to leave the room. No harm in listening in.

He made a conscious effort to not move or to permit his heart rate to change or give any indication that he was not still out cold. Who knew what you might pick up through the expediency of an overheard conversation, and damn but this was beyond interesting.

Two voices. One was the slightly Germanic accent which told him it was the 'doc'. The other accent was American, with a slightly Southern tone. No, that wasn't it. It wasn't Southern, not full blown, born and bred Southern. It was Northern, but tinged Southern, as if the speaker had lived a long time in the South, but they hadn't quite lost the 'Yankee' accent.

The latter seemed to be doing most of the talking. Sir, I have just met with our contact in the USMC. It seems that ... Gunnery Sergeant Joshua Abbott is now officially listed as killed in action. The sealed coffin has been interred and he is listed as having died with full honours. It was a lovely solemn ceremony, I was told, with his parents there and everything. His mother accepted the folded flag. Beautiful.

There was a slight snigger. Yeah, Josh thought. Laugh it up asshole. He was 'officially killed in action'? How the fuck had that happened? The guy continued. The records state that because he was tortured, his coffin was sealed. There's a body in there, apparently. Matches him physically and the face has been ... adjusted. Either way ... there was a pause, he's ours to do with as we wish. No one is going to come looking for him, and with his mortal remains officially six feet under, no one is going to think twice.

Josh nearly lost control of his attempt to hide the fact that he was conscious. But the doc was talking. Excellent. We can move to the next phase of the conversion process. His body had adapted well to the infusions. It's been over 48 hours since the last dose, and all vitals appear normal or within expected parameters. Temperature is higher. Heart rate is slightly elevated, but hardly surprising. It looks like his body has accepted the catalyst. Josh heard the sound of footsteps and the sound of pages being turned. Was that his 'records'? Did they actually keep records of what had been done to him? Yes, I believe that we can move to Phase 2. We will endeavour to convince him that it is best to co-operate. Failing that, we will use alternative control techniques to ensure his co-operation. There was a hint of a laugh from the doctor. As you said, he no longer exists outside of this facility, not alive anyway. He is our property. His life or his death is entirely in our hands.

-x-

What gave it away, Josh wondered, that circumstances had changed. He had done a credible job of appearing to wake after Mr 'Southern Yankee' had left the room, with the usual attempted stretch stopped by the restraints on his arms and legs. He had attempted to raise his head to find the 'Doc' watching him, a smirk playing on the man's lips.

Josh affected a look of relief on his face. Thank fuck. His voice was raspy, hardly surprising given how much he had been screaming recently. How long that had lasted, genuinely, he had no idea.

The doc moved around to the side of the bed, picking up the sippy cup from the table. He slid a hand under Josh's head, supporting it, before bringing the cup to his 'patient's' lips. Gratefully, Josh took a drink. There was being stubborn and there was being practical. He had not tasted anything awry with the water before, so he had to trust that it was not drugged.

Doc allowed him only small sips, which told Josh that he had not been in a position to take anything into his stomach for some time. More information to be stored away for the moment. When he had drunk sufficiently, the cup was returned to the table, and he dropped his head back on the pillow. He closed his eyes for a moment. However long he had been wracked with pain, it had taken a toll. But, equally, he felt ... alert. Yes, alert was a good description. The sensations he had noticed before seemed more acute: the roughness of restraints on his wrists, the scent of his own blood and the doc's own curious lack of scent, hearing and being able to distinguish with precision the differences in accents from that earlier conversation.

So, how are you feeling, Gunny? The doc asked, looking through the charts on his clipboard. You gave us some cause for concern recently. Our best guess was that you had an adverse reaction to what was being administered.

Like I said, doc. Thank fuck it doesn't hurt right now. He glanced down at the restraints. If I am over the worst of it, any chance of these being removed? He might not be up to blowing this joint, and given what he had overheard, Josh wanted to know more. But, he sure as hell wasn't going anywhere if he was still in restraints.

He thought it was curious that they were maintaining the habit of addressing him by rank, given that conversation he had overheard. Then again, he shouldn't have overheard it. If their intention was to convince him that somehow what was happening was ... legitimate, in order to ensure his cooperation, then he had to play along. Best guess, if they were experimenting on him in some way, which given that level of pain made sense, then they might try to idea that it was a sanctioned experiment for which he had either been volunteered or had volunteered himself, trusting that amnesia might make him forget the latter.

Let me just check your vitals. Josh submitted to the thermometer and blood pressure checks. Excellent, these results are almost normal, or at least as normal as I might expect under the circumstances. Again there was that smirk. Yeah, Josh thought, these fuckers are doing something to which he was unlikely to give his agreement.

One moment. Josh felt the sting of a large-ish needle being pushed into his neck. There. The doc looked at the monitor, pressing a couple of buttons, before again there was that smirk. I will send someone in to remove the restraints, Gunny. Should you take it into your mind that attempt to leave, please be aware that I have injected a tracking chip into your bloodstream. You won't be able to find it or remove it, but we will always be able to find you. The doc leaned forward. I know you overheard me, Gunny. This time the sneer in the doc's voice was unmistakable. Let me make it clear. I own your life now. You are dead to everyone else, including your precious Marines. I own your life and if you want to continue living, you will do exactly as you are ordered.

-x-

Well, that was an interesting turn of events, Josh thought to himself, as the Doc left the room. His fingers itched to touch the side of his neck where the tracking chip had supposedly been injected into his bloodstream. Had it? Or was the Doc just saying that because he knew that Josh had no way of verifying the claim? Well, until someone came to release him from the damn restraints, it was a moot point.