BITE THE
Bullet
A Crimson
Moon Novel
Chapter 1
Northwest wilderness along the Canadian border. . .
A howl tried to climb up her throat but she swallowed it down until her lungs felt like they were going to burst. Her human side refused to give the wolf free rein. Not like this.
Sasha licked her lips, trying to find the Lieutenant Sasha Trudeau that she'd been before the full moon, before the heat. With Max Hunter on her flank, the lines between her wolf and human selves became more blurred. They had to find Fisher and Woods, the last two guys on her ambushed Paranormal Containment Unit squad. Familiars. She hated the term and preferred to call them friends.
Sweat slicked her body beneath layers of clothes. The frigid night air felt good against her face. Hunter had told her what to expect; so had his grandfather, Silver Hawk. As an alpha Shadow wolf mate, Hunter would know; as her lover, he would have warned her. But that was just it—there was no understanding this unless one experienced it. They'd said that, too. Yet, they were males. How could they even attempt to describe transforming from human to wolf during the burn that came with being in a female heat? What they'd conveyed was only secondhand knowledge. The mates had no concept; the insanity that came with this defied definition.
Besides, the moon was a gorgeous, radiating disk above her, impossible to escape. Sasha stopped running for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut, panting. The sensation of an abrupt wolf-change so near the surface of her skin strangled her reason. Suddenly the backpack she carried felt too heavy; it had become an onerous appendage just like her suffocating parka, thermals, boots, and jeans. Thick fabric restricted her being and made her want to scream with frustration. Labored breathing filled her ears. It was hers. Scents from the pristine environment stabbed into her sinuses and caused her to take in gulps of air through her mouth.
"Sasha ... baby, just let her go," Hunter said in a sensual murmur as he loped to her side.
"No!" she shouted, hugging herself and bending over to pant harder.
"It's natural, a part of—"
Her low, warning growl stopped his words. "I want to be in control of me!" Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let them fall. "Can't you understand that? I'm a goddamned soldier!"
Hunter backed away from her with a nod and leaned against a tree, cloaking his form in the shadow of it. He'd instinctively done so as if he could tell that his mere presence was making her testy, and she appreciated his innate understanding that it had.
Sasha glimpsed where he'd been standing and then released
a hard breath of relief that she could no longer see him. It was difficult
enough catching his wondrous, earthy male scent when the winds suddenly shifted
or hearing his easy footfalls in the snow that made shivers dance up her spine.
Seeing his handsome, six-foot-five, muscular body peel out
of the shadows had literally sent an irrational jolt
through her system.
There was something about the way his long, jet-black
ponytail had come loose on the run to spill onyx velvet over his thick
shoulders ... but that was nothing compared to the expression on his rugged
face or the lingering question that
burned deep within his intense, amber-rimmed irises. When he'd absently licked
his lush bottom lip just before shadow-blending, she'd almost gone to him. But
no. She would remain in control, would remain focused on the mission. Shadow Wolf
or not, she had a job to do.
What she needed was distance and time to pull herself
together. Slowly straightening, she lifted her chin and kept her eyes on the
horizon, giving him her back. She re-fused to even look in the direction of
where he'd been. What would be the point? It didn't take rocket science to know
that he was staring at her. She could almost feel his hot gaze penetrating her
back. He'd been looking at her like that all night.
Regardless, she was a military-trained, Special Ops,
fighting machine, Sasha reminded herself as she began to pace. Squad leader of
the Paranormal Containment Unit— PCU's top gun. The only genetic mistake that
had made it out of the moonlight madness alive. Two of her men were still
moving under radar behind Shadow Wolf territory lines, and she had to bring
them in. The United Council of Entities was having an international meeting in
Damn the moon and any genetic defect she harbored! Despite the pressures of being what amounted to a double agent, the wolf was controllable, the clan elder had said! Mind over matter. That was the only way her kind had remained concealed for centuries. They were different from the outlawed species of demon-infected Werewolves that they hunted, a breed abomination that fed on human flesh and had no choice but to follow the phases of the moon. The transformation-burn would pass.
Sasha yanked back her hood and raked her fingers through her hair, noting with dismay that it had thickened on the run. She closed her eyes and turned her face up to the luminous disk in the sky and shuddered.
"It's different when you're in heat, baby," a very deep voice murmured from the shadows.
"What would you know about it? Screw you!" she shouted, whirling on the sound of Hunter's voice as it began to circle around her.
"Definitely an option I wish you'd consider."
Sasha snarled. If Max Hunter had laughed, she would have lunged at him and gone for his throat.
"I told you after that last time, no matter what, not until we were out of range of my men, your men, and the whole clan!"
"All right, I'm sorry," Hunter said in an amused tone that irked her to no end. "You ready to run some more or do you want to make camp and eat?"
"I want to get to the Shadow clan base camp tonight, not tomorrow," she snapped.
"Not advisable," he said flatly, coming out of the shadows with his arms folded. "You need to allow your condition to . .. mellow."
"My condition?" She felt her hands slowly begin to ball into fists at her side.
He nodded and stared at her hands. "As beautiful as you are, you might make me kill one of my own men in this condition"
She flipped him the bird and almost growled when his only response to the rude gesture was a dashing smile.
"Uh, yeah," he said, smirking. "My point, exactly."
"It's only twenty more miles! In a flat-out run, we could make it!"
Total frustration engulfed her as she began to walk back and forth before a stand of trees. "And you've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to enter a Shadow Wolf clan camp that has two of your best friends there, with me smelling like I've been knocking boots on the trail. I have some freakin' pride, Max Hunter. I'm a squad commander, and I will not have my men even remotely think that I delayed a recognizance with them because of some personal bull! Never happen. Not after all they've been through—especially them."
"I hear you," Hunter replied calmly, slipping into another shadow. "Understood."
"Good! I'm glad we've gotten that straight, because if you haven't noticed, every body of water we've passed is frozen solid."
A deep baritone chuckle echoed throughout the glen. "So, at least you've thought about it. Now I feel better. Slightly."
"No, I didn't think about it!" she shouted, her voice carrying against her will.
"Be honest, Sasha. You've weighed the logistics and come away with a negative conclusion. That I can accept. I told you before I am no liar—and the last person I ever lie to is myself."
"Kiss my ass, Max Hunter."
He stepped out of the shadows with his head tilted and dropped his backpack in the snow. "Gladly."
She drew her nine millimeter on him and he simply smiled, now flashing canines.
"Like I said, I try not to lie to myself, and my condition isn't wholly stable, either."
She stared at him but didn't lower the weapon. He didn't seem the least bit concerned by its presence.
"We need to make camp here. I've gotta eat," he announced and glanced down with a weary sigh. "You're not the only one subject to clan embarrassment; you do realize that, don't you?"
"We keep moving," she said through her
teeth.
"Suit yourself," he said, unfazed, and began
to unzip his parka. "This is moose country."
"So you aren't coming?"
He smiled a wicked smile. "Not yet."
She turned away from him and holstered her gun again, determined not to allow him to see her hands tremble. Her angry footfalls turned into outright stomps in the snow when she heard him unzip his jeans.
"You need a guide," he called out behind
her. "Until you're scented in as a non-hostile clan member, they'll hide
from you ... will also hide your men for their safety."
"Then stop messing with my head and come
on!"
She didn't turn around as she'd yelled out her response. The last thing her nerves could stand at the moment was the sight of Hunter's dark, stone-cut body in the buff. They'd never see eye-to-eye on the point, anyway, so what was the use of arguing? He claimed status as a warrior, she was a soldier—the difference being, according to Hunter, warriors chose their own missions and fates, whereas soldiers took orders. Problem was she now had two hierarchies to serve. As the alpha female of their pack, she, too, was a warrior . .. and her pack status was supposed to supersede any military rank any day, according to supernatural law. Blah, blah, blah.
Yeah, so what, she still worked for the brass and he was his own loose cannon leading a local pack and the frickin' North American clan. She doubted they'd see Hunter's point in a military court while being court-martialed for literally getting waylaid while on an important mission to find vials of missing biohazardous materials. Oh, yeah, that would go over big. Like trying to argue with the feds about taxes—losing proposition.
Remembering the philosophical debate made Sasha grind her teeth as she trudged in the snow and tried not to think of Hunter's deliciously naked form hidden by the shadows. His silver and amber amulet was probably stunning against his rock-solid chest, too—but she was not going there.
To her way of thinking, some things were a matter of personal ethics; as a soldier, she had a job to do first and foremost. There was no time to be self-indulgent. The military didn't give a rat's ass about things like phases of the moon, natural ebbs and flows of Shadow Wolf menses, thermo-combustion properties within one's bloodstream, or the acute pain involved in repressing a howl. She wasn't even supposed to exist. As far as the brass knew, she didn't—well, not as a Shadow Wolf, anyway. She and the other members of her squad had been a laboratory mistake, and in order to not be added to the most wanted and hunted target list, she had to maintain her human presence at all times.
"Sasha, you have to stop running with all that gear on," Hunter called out, nearer to her than she'd wanted. "You'll drop from heat exhaustion holding back your wolf and pressing on like this bundled in layers under a full moon. It's dangerous!"
"Go to hell!" Had he any idea how much
politicking had gone into her and Doc Holland convincing the generals from
Special Ops Comm that she needed her own budget, her own Special Forces
Paranormal Team, and to keep her so-called informants, like him, off radar?
"I'm not stripping out here or changing!"
"Then slow your pace and walk it off."
"Fine. Are you coming with me, then, or
not?"
Sasha slowed her pace to a trot, breathing hard. Cold
air knifed her lungs and she hated that Hunter was right; she was burning up.
Acute pain made her fight against a whimper. She could tell that Hunter was
undecided. He claimed he was going to make camp and needed to eat, but yet he
was following her, torn. That was the problem, they were both torn. But she had
to remember what was at stake: lives. Human lives. She should have taken the
meds Doc had developed, but doing so blinded her to so much of the
preternatural world that she needed to see. One week clean and she could see
Fae auras. Two weeks clean and she'd been able to see the subtle mesh of scales
beneath the skins of those who hailed from the Order of the Dragon. Phantoms
announced themselves to her nervous system now even before she saw them,
bristling the hairs on the back of her neck. Without meds muddying her
perception, she could scent other Were-beings, especially other wolves, a half
mile away. And Vampires made her snarl while still vapor. Meds might have made
her survive the heat with less duress, but they definitely wouldn't make her
job in
Bottom line was, she had to focus—had to collect her
squad members Fisher and Woods from the Canadian border, and then double back
to the big shindig in
As it was, HQ didn't even know that Fisher and Woods
had made it out of
Hunter clearly didn't get it. There were also hundreds of decisions to address, like whether or not it was safer to keep Fisher and Woods on the books as dead or let it be known that these two guys with a little natural wolf in their DNA posed no threat to people.
Annoyed that Hunter had neither answered her nor sounded like he was following her, she began to call out to him again, causing her voice to bounce off naked trees and frozen earth.
"My guys have been shifted around the damned globe, and it's been nearly a month since I could shake the brass at the base and get a free pass to handle things my way. Now I'm supposed to show up late and—"
"The time lapse did them good," a low, even voice said, standing close enough to her that she could feel his breath. "They needed time to learn what they were, just like you did. My pack brothers have been educating them to the ways of the Shadow Wolf."
"Oh, great. Just fine, Kung Fu," she said, now picking up her pace to a panting jog. "So they'll really be clued in to my so-called condition. Well, ya know what? You're really pissing me off! Maybe I don't want my guys to know all of that. Haven't you ever heard of things being on a need-to-know basis?"
"They won't be able to scent it, only other Shadow Wolves. They're just familiars."
"And knowing that your men will know makes me feel better, how?" Sasha began running faster, not sure of the direction but needing to move.
"They know you're my mate. Period. What occurs between a life-mated pair is natural. Known. No shame." His voice had slipped out of the shadows at her side along with a wisp of warm breath against her ear before she'd veered off from the sensation. "There is nothing more for them to know."
"We have been over this already, Hunter! I told you I wasn't ready for the life-mate commitment. We're lovers, true, pack mates, but—"
"Decide under the moon. Making love to me when you need to isn't a sign of weakness or a criminal offense; nor is being my mate. Let the pack, or even the clan, assume what they will. They don't have to know what parameters define our so-called relationship. It is unimportant, as long as you and I know the truth. Period."
"What!" She stopped running and folded her arms over her chest. "That is such a crock. It's about respect. When I meet a new clan, I require that—that's what's period, mister. I'm not going down to New Orleans weak and waltzing into an international diplomats' meeting under the whispers of foul rumors and—"
"Why would your body following the natural rhythms of ancient Shadow cycles and also having a mate challenge your respect? Now I'm confused."
She turned, following his voice as he circled her. "Because it does—don't try to cloud the issue."
"How? You are trying to layer Western patriarchal concepts about female weaknesses over a culture that does not understand that. A strong she-Shadow is just that—a strong she-Shadow. Her being in heat only makes her stronger, more desirable ... it doesn't impact her authority. You're my pack alpha, Sasha—even if you have yet to commit to being my life mate. And while I would hate to see you fight for dominance at the clan level to take a lead role as North American clan she-alpha, I have no doubts that you would prevail. I admire that." He paused and she could hear the strain in his voice as it echoed through the trees and she tried to follow it, her ears keen.
Suddenly his voice exited the shadows on what felt like a sonic boom, containing so much force and passion that it gave her a start. "The International Federation of Shadow Clans, even the Werewolf Clans, view a she-alpha in phase with much awe and respect—and screw the flaky Fae Parliament or the lesser voting blocs coming from the Mythics and phantom feudal lords! And you know we don't give a damn about the Vampire Cartel. How can I make you understand?"
Sasha closed her eyes and counted to ten as her voice dropped to a disgusted mutter. "Oh, my God... I cannot believe I'm standing out here in the damned forest arguing philosophy with a male wolf."
A low growl of discontent made her open her eyes. "I do not believe this conversation, either, Sasha. It makes no sense—especially when the moon is full."
"You think I'm enjoying this?" she shouted, suddenly defensive and not sure why. "I didn't ask for this, okay? And it's the first time I've felt so out of control—why now, huh, when I have everything else to contend with? And, so what, I was raised with a Western perspective where we're used to compartmentalizing things!" She was practically stuttering she was so upset and had begun to walk in a tight circle. "Why now? At the most inopportune time— damn!"
"Because of me," a deep voice murmured, stalking her as it resonated between the trees.
"Gimme a break." She leaned against a tree and closed her eyes, beginning to feel fatigue weigh on her.
"How many times do I have to tell you I am no liar?"
If she wasn't so frustrated she would have smiled at his peevish tone. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, all right," she muttered. "Your grandfather said this first time would happen because I had finally been around my own kind."
"Correct," a low rumble ricocheted from nearby. "You and I had been intimate, your senses heightened to male Shadow pheromone . .. now your body has adjusted to no longer only being with humans—each phase will be like this."
"Every time the moon goes full? You have got to be kidding me!"
"No ... like Grandfather told you, just when it's
your time ... and I've taken herbal precautions, as always, so you don't have
to worry about a pregnancy before you're ready."
"Glad this shit only happens once a quarter, then," she volleyed back, and was met with eerie silence.
Sasha pushed off the tree and strained to listen for Hunter, and then let out a hard sigh. "All right, I'm sorry—I didn't mean it like that... about you or kids. I just hate being out of control, okay?"
Silence met her. Now she had to deal with a wounded wolf, too? Oh, puh-leease! The absolute insanity of being in this predicament made her finally throw her head back and bowl.
"You think you're the only one who hates being out of control?" a low, tense voice said behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder and then turned slowly. The most beautiful jet-black specimen had stepped out of the shadows, eyes blazing deep golden fire. He was absolutely breathtaking and stood no less than three feet at the shoulders. A silver chain around his neck dangled with a large hunk of etched amber that matched the one she also wore. All she could do was watch the sinew knead beneath his glossy coat as the moon shone blue-black against him. And then, just as suddenly as he'd appeared to her, he was gone.
Why that made her frantic, she wasn't sure. Why just a glimpse of his wolf had coaxed out her own, she would never truly know. But her backpack hit the snow, and she stripped while running, almost laughing as her wolf broke free to hunt his in the shadows.
Their mission became fuzzy as the primal overtook her human mind. Yes, they had to find the black market sources of demon-infected Werewolf contagion. Yes, they still had to find out if remnants from Guilliaume and Dexter's rogue Shadow Wolf faction had made it out alive after that weasel Dexter did . . . needed to know the real role any Vampires played in all of this going forward. She never trusted the species. Needed to rendezvous with her guys that were operating in the shadows in a way that even her brass at NORAD didn't know about... but this thing that had her in its grip was so welded to her DNA that she couldn't have fought it if she'd tried—and she had really, really tried.
Hunter headed for a virgin carpet of snow, untouched powder along a lonely slope. Stars winked against midnight as though a thousand diamonds scattered on black velvet. Didn't she understand this was as much a part of who she was as the uniform she wore? More so, as it came from within. And in this form she was so beautiful... incredible silver coat that reflected slivers of the moon, just like her clear gray eyes.
Wanting to witness her hunting him, he gave her wide berth, circling her on the slope and hanging back, just so he could face her head-on. Intense joy filled his chest as she lowered her head, growled, and began to stalk him. Oh, yeah . .. do me.
Laughing inside, he tilted his head, released a playful yelp, and began running again, loving the chase. He knew what they had to do, knew what was at risk. Their job descriptions were the same—exterminate demon-infected Werewolves and any supernatural threat to humanity.
It was simply a matter of style that created differences between them. Anticipation knotted his stomach as he heard her gaining on him. For centuries his kind hunted according to the natural laws of the universe; she was led and directed by those with no innate understanding or respect of natural ebbs and flows. Perhaps one day she would see the wisdom of the elders, but tonight he really didn't care if she did or not. As long as she kept chasing him ... as long as her incredible body hunted his ... as long as she became his mate and gave into an urge that was as basic as breathing, they could square up their differences in the morning.
The sudden absence of sound made him glance over his shoulder just in time to see Sasha go airborne. She collided against him with a thud; willingly her prey, he rolled over on his back and gave her his throat. The sport had gone out of resisting her. Glistening white teeth rested on his Adam's apple, pinning him down. He closed his eyes and released a mournful howl, his man-shape returning naked and shuddering beneath her she-wolf. He wanted her so badly, he didn't care if she got angry and bit him; he'd heal.
Unafraid, his fingers reveled in her thick, soft coat, soon sliding against heat-dampened skin as she shape-shifted right into his arms. The snow at his back began to melt the very second her hot body blanketed him and she took his mouth, coaxing a groan up his throat.
"Just once, like this, out here, tonight," he murmured, stuttering promises into her mouth as his hands traveled over her smooth backside. "Then we'll get back on mission. I swear—I just can't function like this."
The truth finally broke him as he lost his fingers in her thicket of brunette hair, cradling her skull. It was impossible to think, much less remain rational as she dragged her voluptuous five-foot-seven-inch frame up his body in a molten sweep. He was beyond pride. She was in heat. The moan she pulled out of him was damned near a howl.
Skin against skin was making him delirious. Steel-gray eyes pierced his as her silver and amber amulet grazed the similar ward he wore against his chest. His trembling hands soon covered her breasts, his thumbs gently caressing her taut, caramel nipples. She winced with a soft moan, encouraging his fingers to tease her pebbled flesh all the more. Breaths growing shallower, he watched as a combination of agony and pleasure overtook her expression. Beyond articulating, his mind focused on one word: please.
She didn't answer him directly, but pulled his bottom lip between her teeth for a second before kissing him harder. He took that as a yes and nearly lost his mind.
Within an instant he'd flip-rolled her so quickly and with so much force that her body left a deep impression in the snow. Melting snow by the second from heat and friction, the slick sound of her, the puddle forming at her back, the sound of her voice, his, all of it echoing off the night, the trees, the very sky itself caused him to enter her on one hard lunge.
Creamy, café au lait skin filled his palms as her breasts pressed against his chest. Her voice fractured the night and his spine, contracting every muscle in his groin with her earthy wail. But it was her scent that had stolen his judgment, just like the feel of her tightening sheath dredged his sac, the all of her demanding recompense for denied release. It wasn't his fault, he'd tried all evening and she wouldn't hear of it—now she was breaking his back .. . and he loved it, loved her, couldn't stop if she'd shot him.
Every hot sweep of her silky hands over his ass caused a shudder, and he cried out when she clutched the halves of it to bring him against her even harder. There was no way to drag enough air into his lungs through his nose. He had to break the suffocating kiss or pass out with a hump in his back. But leaving her mouth, tearing his away from hers, was just as painful. All he could do was throw his head back and cry out her name to the understanding moon.
She released so hard that it felt like her spine might snap from the sudden arch. Her fingers couldn't hold enough of his broad back, nor could her thighs seem to anchor themselves around his waist tightly enough. She needed him inside her but the ache of each contraction that traveled up her canal to devour her womb put jags of his name in her mouth. Every exhale was timed with his deep return to her body. As she thrashed with pleasure, his name was soon broken cries sent forth into the relentless wind.
Tears stung her eyes, his thrusts making her crazy, while the full moon made her entire body wax anything but philosophical. She was still shuddering when he rolled them over with her belly cemented to his, his fingers caressing her back. His large hands sent warmth across her skin. Resting on his hard body was like laying against hot stone on a cool spring day.
Damp, temporarily sated, she could feel his heart slamming against hers through ribs, muscle, and skin. Her amulet was precariously tangled with his, just like their legs were. Both panting, she ran her fingers through his wild spill of hair.
"We need to pitch a tent... go back and recover the dropped weapons and supplies," he finally said, gasping. "Hunt down dinner."
She just nodded, hadn't yet caught her breath. He leaned up and suddenly kissed her, forcing her to look into his eyes as he held her face when he pulled back. His gaze was so furtive she thought the man was going to throw his head back and howl.
"I can build a fire, melt snow, make enough water for you to wash up in the morning ... but with you in this condition, I'm gonna have to do this again tonight. Especially after we hunt. I'm just being honest."
Sasha simply closed her eyes and nodded again. Some
things were just natural. The man was definitely no liar.
Chapter 2
Full awareness slowly returned as Sasha opened one eye and squinted against the morning brightness. It felt like she'd been hit in the back of her head with a sledgehammer, but she could only smile at the memory of last night. Sun bounced off the snow and created a reflective glare that made it seem as though headlights were focused in her direction. The last thing she remembered before she'd shuddered and passed out was Hunter's strong arm around her waist as he kissed the back of her skull, mounted her, and repeatedly told her he was sorry. Hell, she wasn't.
Little by little she was able to tolerate the filtered light coming through the tent wall. A cool vacancy at her back told her that Hunter was already up, awake, and on the move. She strained to hear him through her mental haze and then inhaled deeply to pick up his scent. What a night. . .
Struggling to sit upright, she pulled the thick sleeping bag around her. It felt like she'd been in a prize fight... then she remembered. Oh yeah, the moose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, taking a moment to relive the joy of it all. The sultry scent of a morning fire teased her nose, and soon the smell of grilling meat drew her out of her private reverie to find her clothes.
She shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight as she
opened the tent flap and peeked out. Hunter looked up at her from the sizzling
spit with a smile. Hunger made her stomach growl, but the look of him squatting
by the flame, jeans drawn taut against his thighs and only a thermal T-shirt
hugging his ridiculously chiseled chest and abs, threatened to get her started
again. He knew it, she knew it, the situation balanced dangerously on a razor's
edge and could be seen smoldering in their eyes.
The issue was, whoever crossed the line first would
dictate the next Shadow dance. But as badly as she wanted to just hang out in
no-man's-land with him, making love and forgetting about the rest of the world,
she couldn't. They both knew they had a mission to complete, even if he'd been
right about taking a brief break. She saw that in his eyes, too—the
conflict—the same one that must have shone in hers.
Hunter stood slowly, unfurling his fantastic body from
the squatting position he'd been in. The sight of him was nearly paralyzing,
but her mind seized on the almost eclipsed priority: the mission.
He simply stared at her, meat sizzling on the spit beside
him. If he threw back his head and howled, she'd lose it. He seemed to know
that and it made his expression become more serious. No. It was only a mental
whimper.
They couldn't allow the trail to Dexter to go cold;
the brass had already delayed them enough with questions and reports and
bureaucratic nonsense. Then again, a general had had his face ripped off in his
own home, so a paranormal inquisition was bound to be had. It also didn't
matter that she and Hunter had blown away almost all of the offenders involved.
The brass wanted everyone and everything involved in
"the situation," as it was termed, "cleaned up"—code word for "exterminated"—with
vials of missing Werewolf blood toxin returned. The Shadow
clans wanted that, too. Yeah. She and Hunter could do that; the exterminating part, without question. It was the
returning the missing vials part that was going to be problematic, especially with Hunter in his condition. Ultimately she had to have a conversation with Shogun, but if
another male approached
her—especially a Werewolf— right now, at least,
there'd be bloodshed. For all she knew, he might even snap at one of his own
pack brothers.
If only Hunter would stop looking at her like that...
They had to remain focused, now that they'd gotten
last night out of their systems. He had to understand that the edges of her
brain were catching fire with him staring at her as though
she were breakfast.
Finding the vials would take time, some diplomatic
negotiations between other paranormal species, which often required bargaining
chips or deadly force, not that it mattered to her much which way things went.
But the process was time-consuming. They had to strategize. She hated
that part of the gig, the diplomatic part. Most times diplomacy failed. It
didn't work in the same human terms people had come to expect. Working with
entities was not like sitting down at a UN summit. She could only imagine what
a session at the United Council of Entities would be like. However, on the flip
side, the way human-nation negotiations had been going lately, voting at the
UCE might actually be a more civilized process.
What the brass would have to begin to accept was that
preternatural species were an alien culture to theirs, and each one had their
own history, culture, belief systems, abilities, and prejudices. That's where
the similarity between those so-called supernaturals and humans stopped. The
same rules didn't apply. They took negotiations to a whole different level.
Deadly force was acceptable at the bargaining table, which, truth be told, was
more effective than sending whole nations to war. Still, she'd have to get used
to seeing a supernatural world leader jump across a table to rip someone's
heart out. Oh yeah,
She was staring at two hundred and twenty pounds of
alpha male enforcer. How did one explain this part of her reality to the brass?
Clearly one didn't. Sasha swallowed hard and looked away from Hunter as she
came close to the fire and warmed her hands over it.
Negotiators were also enforcers—in fact, that was part
of the negotiation most times. Entities from the demon realms didn't do things
just to be nice or for the greater good. One had to show them how it was in
their best interest, or let them know that you could kick their ass, and then
had to be prepared to back up the challenge if your bluff got called. Hunter
was most definitely a bluff buster, not that she was so shabby herself, but
damn.
Opting for humor as an escape clause from the
volatile, Sasha dramatically finger-combed her tangled hair away from her face,
picking twigs out of it to make them both laugh.
"Good morning. I made breakfast," he finally
said, his voice mellow and gracious. He shook his head, chuckling, and walked
back to the fire.
She let out a slow breath of relief when he turned his
back. The sexual standoff had ended. For a moment she thought he was gonna go
straight wolf on her; it was all in his eyes. Instead of imagining the glory of
that, she tried to focus on the metal cups on the ground filled with instant
black coffee.
"Morning. Thanks," she said, trying to keep
her voice as casual as possible as she picked up a steaming cup and cradled it
between her palms. The heat felt good in her hands, even if the strong brew was
bitter. She glimpsed the moose carcass in the brush fifty yards away and then
sent her gaze toward the fire. "Some night, huh?"
He looked up from the fire he'd been poking with a
stick and gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah."
She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow as he tossed
her a bowie knife and broke the charred stick in half, offering her a skewered
steak. True, it was an obvious lure for her to come closer to him, but she
couldn't resist.
Warily she approached him, half expecting that he
might pounce on her like he had the night before. However, gentleman that he'd
now transformed back into, he exchanged a steak for a quick kiss.
"Okay, you were right. We needed the break before
pushing on. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
His smile widened as he walked away from her and
pulled another set of thick, crackling steaks out of the flames. He sighed
heavily as he rammed the spit into the ground, suspending the meat between
them. "No, but I'll take what I can get this morning."
She didn't respond. What could she say? Sometimes
silence spoke volumes and she was hoping this would be one of those times.
He didn't look at her as he settled himself on the
ground beside her with his coffee and a meat-laden stick, and allowed his voice
to bottom out on a mellow, philosophical tone. "I would have preferred to
hear—"
"All right, all right, I get it," she said,
laughing. She set her coffee down hard, sloshing a bit of the ebony substance
on the frozen earth before slicing at the hot, juicy meat. "But we've got
to—"
"I know," he said quickly, not looking at her, and
then bit into his steak without cutting it, slightly burning his mouth.
"Just a passing thought."
She allowed a soft laugh to slip out around the next
bite she took, enjoying the companionable silence between them while feasting
beside him. Breathing, the sound of meat tearing, chewing, and the natural
stillness of the snow-covered landscape, all of it was the way of the wolf.
Under any other circumstances she would have fed him and he would have fed her,
but that would have definitely started a Shadow dance this morning, something
they didn't have time for.
The sad thing was she couldn't stop watching his mouth
while he ate. It was totally ridiculous how much that one part of him had
become her focus . . . loving the way the muscle in his jaw worked hard ... the
way the natural juices and hot fat from his steak made his mouth glisten—okay,
she just had to stop.
"I collected some snow in the canteens and let it
melt," he finally said in his easy baritone, leaning back on his elbows
as he chewed. Using the skewer as a pointer, he motioned toward a pile of
heated rocks. "Water should still be warm."
She noted where he'd motioned and tried to keep her
voice even as she replied. It was so sweet that he'd remembered and had even
gone to the trouble to warm it up for her. 'Thanks . . . appreciate it."
He gave her a sidelong glance, then bit into the last
of his steak. "So did I. Thanks."
Okay. There was no way to respond to that, so she
would just eat the remainder of her breakfast, go clean herself up, and help
him break camp. How the hell was this man gonna act this morning if she got
naked in the wilderness? For that matter, how was she gonna act under said
circumstances?
Sasha stood and stretched. Enough. Even with
the cold wind whipping, it was a wondrously clear day. An intensely blue,
cloudless sky seemed like it was made brighter by the stark white snow beneath
it. That's what she'd focus on, the beauty around her, despite the sudden,
intense warmth that made her hair damp at the nape of her neck.
Reflex sent her hand there to lift her tousled mass of
now too-long curls as she walked, hoping the cool breeze would provide relief.
But her fingers collided with raw, sensitive skin that was healing. Damn,
what a night. . . Then panic seized her as she felt for her silver chain
and the amulet she rarely took off, even to shower. When she turned to look at
Hunter, his was gone, too.
"Max, last night. .."
Her voice trailed off as he got up in one very slow
but extremely fluid move and threw his stick in the fire.
"Yeah ... I know."
Her mouth went dry but she pressed on. "The
amulets—"
"Were in the way," he said calmly, his eyes
beginning to take on a luminous amber hue.
In the way? The question shot through her brain so
quickly that it must have shone in her eyes.
"I'm sorry.... I popped your chain by
accident." He smiled but it somehow didn't reach his eyes.
She didn't back up, didn't move forward, but studied
him very, very hard for a moment. "What happened to yours?" Why she
couldn't fully remember troubled her to no end.
"You don't remember?" he asked in a low
rumble that made her womb contract. "I don't know whether to be hurt or
flattered."
Okay, something was definitely not right about this
whole exchange. She glanced at his neck, the place where a thick silver rope
should have been and was quickly becoming very, very worried by the deep,
almost burnlike rash that she hadn't noticed before. Scavenging for an explanation,
she told herself it had to be a friction burn.
"If I pulled it off you like that," she
said, quietly alarmed, "I'm so sorry, Max. I didn't mean to ..."
He held up his hand and came closer, his gaze cornering
hers. "Believe me, I'm not complaining." His hands found her
shoulders as he gently took her mouth. "Last night was fantastic."
Yeah, okay, no argument there. But when he broke their kiss her eyes were fastened to
the wounds around his throat. With trembling fingers she touched the very edges
of the gashes, and instant alarm almost made her body go rigid. However, she
tried to play it off and act like nothing out of the ordinary was rocketing
through her screaming mind.
Shadow Wolves were supposed to be impervious to silver.
Unlike the creatures they hunted, it was their ward, then difference, their protection.
They were supposed to quickly heal from wounds, and a minor scrape from a
popped chain shouldn't have left an oozing sore. In fact, her hands had
healers' energy and shouldn't have sent enough pain into the site to make him
wince and drop his embrace.
"You okay?" Her eyes sought his.
"It's just a little tender. No big deal."
"Hunter, we have to go get them ... if we dropped
them along the way, ya know? They're too important to just leave out here,
especially on our way to a UCE meeting after we go get Woods and Fisher."
He smiled a tense smile. "The chains broke in the
tent. I wrapped them up and put them in the backpacks for safekeeping since the
clasps are broken—we'll get them fixed when we make camp with the clan. There's
always a silversmith around. No problem."
He pecked her forehead with a kiss and she watched him
walk away. It was a logical explanation, but his delivery was way too cool for
her liking. Clan leaders needed their amulets to be able to hunt beyond demon doors.
It denoted not only their rank as being stronger than a local pack leader, but
Hunter's signified his high rank as the North American alpha. Their amulets had
been handed down within his grandfather's clan for generations upon
generations, and now Hunter couldn't wear his? Broken clasp or not, it should
have been shoved into his jeans pocket, on his person, in a vest, somewhere
easily accessible, and not at the bottom of a backpack. Uh-uh.
Plus, the scent from the wounds that lingered wasn't
right at all. Memory stabbed into her brain as she walked toward the canteens
completely freaked out. Images of Rod's demon-infected Turn battered her mind
as she clumsily retrieved the water Hunter had left. The Werewolf scent she'd
also picked up was slight. Maybe she was psyching her own self out. That had to
be it, buggin' because her hormones were all over the map. But Rod broke out
like that, too, if silver even came near him. What the fuck was happening?
Hunter was a Shadow Wolf!
Her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely
grab the canteen's straps.
"I'm gonna take a short run while you wash
up," Hunter called out. "I think that's best."
The sound of his voice nearly made her jump out of her
skin. Any other day, she would have laughed and shot him a sarcastic one-liner.
Today all she could do was swallow away anxiety and speak softly. "Okay,
baby. See you when you get back."
~
Nausea made his stomach roil. Sasha had to believe he
was just giving her privacy. Terror caused his heart to slam inside his chest
as he ran. He always knew this day would come. Fate was a cruel, merciless
bitch. Impressions stabbed his mind with each footfall until the cramps made
him stop, bend over, and hurl.
Panting, sweating, he kept his eyes squeezed shut. Images
collided against one another inside his brain, forcing him to bite his lip to
keep from crying out. His mother. Her full womb. A huge predator. The sound of
her scream. Flesh tearing. Sudden cold. He was on a blanket of snow, wailing.
His grandfather took aim. There was a loud noise. Hunter's body recoiled. He
was supposed to be a Shadow Wolf, not this hybrid blend of good and evil.
He pushed himself away from the tree and staggered toward
fresh snow and dropped. He had to get the scent off him before he reached his
pack brothers. They wouldn't understand. Doc
Only three times before had the battle within his
blood occurred. When it did, his grandfather had been there as an ally. Silver
Hawk became the wise pack elder, Silver Shadow, and had sweat with him until
the purge was complete. So had Doc Holland the first time he'd gone into convulsions
as an infant. They'd said it happened the moment the umbilical cord had been
severed from his mother's dead body. Doc gave him the antidote as a last-ditch
effort that worked. The next one Silver Hawk anticipated in a vision quest,
removing him from the pack to take a spirit walk as his body changed from a
boy's to a man's. It had been the most humiliating transition in his life but
had saved him execution at the hands of his own pack. Then Doc had shot him up
with meds just as he'd approached his twenty-fifth birthday, just before his
alpha maturity spike ... and he'd battled from top pack rank to top clan rank
... all under one full moon—unheard of. They hadn't spoken of the incidents
since.
And, yet, the old man had tried to warn him in his very
innocuous way, telling him that severe environmental or emotional disturbances
could affect the delicate truce within his metabolism. Foolishly, or maybe
stubbornly, he'd ignored the warning to let Sasha go out of phase before
pushing onward. The old man had been right. He'd never been half of a mated
pair, had never experienced the intensity of a she-Shadow heat, because he'd
been shunned as a potential mate within the multipack North American clan. Even
if Sasha hadn't formally claimed him with words, her body had—they were
operating as a single entity, which had been enough.
Absolute defeat seized him as he tried to use handfuls
of snow to purge the Were-scent oozing from his pores. But it would be in his
hair, his skin, and now his clothes. His mouth tasted horrible; he understood
Sasha's previous concern. They needed hot water, soap, clean clothes. Going
into an armed Shadow Wolf pack camp trailing infected Werewolf scent was
beyond dangerous—it was a death sentence. Suicide for them both. Pushing ahead
past a local pack to find a Shadow Wolf clan encampment made up of many local
packs would be no different than putting a nine millimeter to their skulls and
simply pulling the trigger.
Hunter stood still and then slowly turned to study his
location. That was all there was to it; they'd have to travel through the Rocky
Mountains, come out on the Canadian side, borrow real facilities, then and only
then try to make contact with his home pack.
~
As soon as she was sure that Hunter was out of range,
Sasha ransacked the backpacks until she found their amulets. He'd shoved them
to the bottom, rolled in layers of clothes. The clasps had been broken. She
took shallow sips of air, gently trailing her fingers over the tender spot at
the nape of her neck and then up the back of her scalp to where a small knot
had formed, trying to focus, trying to remember.
They had transformed on a Shadow run. He'd picked up
the trail of large game—a bull moose. It was too big; she'd tried to signal
him. Hunter was larger than she'd remembered when he'd transformed again; two
hands higher at the shoulders, larger jaw, barrel chest. His eyes held
something in them that frightened her.
Sasha shoved the amulets back where she'd found them
and began to pace inside the tent with her eyes squeezed shut. "Oh ... God
..." It was coming back in fits and starts, jags of horror that she wanted
to forget.
He'd outstripped her on the run. The animal they
hunted turned and lowered its mantle. Hunter went up on his hind legs. Sasha opened her eyes and hugged herself with a start,
breathing hard. He hadn't brought it down like a wolf. One powerful swipe from
a forepaw had snapped a damned bull moose's neck!
How could she not remember? How could she not remember!
How could she not remember? She tore around the tent looking for
weapons, blood pressure spiking when she couldn't immediately find them.
Cupping the back of her head, she bolted out of the
tent. Panic perspiration made everything she wore stick to her skin. Images of
Hunter crouched over the carcass, snarling as he devoured the animal's heart
and liver, brought her other hand over her mouth to keep from hurling. She
could see it all clearly now—blue-black night, steam rising from fresh-kill
that had been opened and gutted. Oh, God, oh, God, when did she fall and hit her head?
Backing away ...
She'd come to a skidding halt. Their eyes had met. She
was so stunned that she'd changed back into her human form and stood. He did too, then cried out and yanked the
chain from his neck. She'd spun to run, caught a low-hanging branch, and went down. Then she was inside the tent. His arm was anchored around her waist. She squeezed
her eyes shut again, remembering his impassioned voice choking out a ragged
apology behind her.
Hunter had purposely knocked her unconscious and the reason why broke over her in horrifying clarity.
Hunter was infected.
She felt a scream of rage and grief build in her
throat over the thought that something like this was happening. But she
swallowed it. There would be time to grieve later. Survival was imperative and
she needed to find her gun.
Chapter 3
Clarissa McGill pulled the unmarked military car to a
stop before a dilapidated building in the ninth ward and looked around. The guys
with her in the four-door Ford sedan just gaped for a moment, stunned. Even
after the cleanup, evidence of Hurricane Katrina still pocked a devastated New
Orleans. She dragged her stubby fingers through her short, blond bob, cringing
that her hair was damp and oily again. But that was the Big Easy—constantly
humid. At least it wasn't summertime when the extra fifty pounds of heft she
carried could give a person a heart attack in the shade.
In this environment, one could literally wring the air
out and make a puddle from it. Polyester pants and a top were stifling, but
jeans on a long drive would have felt like stomach surgery sans anesthesia. To
her way of thinking, New Orleans had more things than thick humidity to give a
grown man pause, anyway. That was the least of the bioteam's concerns.
She scanned the house again to be sure they were at
the right address. The region had primordial stamped all over it.. . she bet
the beginning of a lot of species probably came up from the swamps here, the
Mississippi Delta, and down into what was now the Everglades. She and Sasha had
to stick together on this as the only females in the PCU, and not follow the
guys' lead. Clarissa squared her shoulders. Female intuition was still more accurate
than Bradley's satellites and Winters's databases.
However, no matter what she said, she knew that being
the team's biologist and psychic wouldn't amount to a hill of beans—she could
tell by looking at the guys' expressions that they trusted their own eyes more
than her second sight right now. At forty-three years old, she'd had enough
experience with frightened individuals on paranormal-monitoring missions to
know that. She didn't have to try to read their minds to know what they were
thinking: The place they were supposed to hole up in and set up a base station
in was a rodent-infested dump.
Mark Winters, their resident computer specialist and
the feisty, youngest member of the team, gave her a glance of concern. Fear and
uncertainty dueled in his hazel eyes and made his baby face seem even younger.
His mousse-spiked hair now seemed wilder, given his expression, and she
wondered if he'd make it through the night without jumping out of his skin.
"Okay, maybe it's me," Winters said, his
voice hitching as he glanced around like a nervous rabbit, "but this
looks like downtown Baghdad after Shock and Awe. There's no sign of even NOPD
down here—like, do the New Orleans cops even drive down these streets? Why
can't we just mosey on down to the French Quarter where it's been rehabbed?"
Bradley sighed, his normal long tether of patience
clearly wearing thin by the strain. He blotted perspiration from his forehead
with the back of his forearm and then returned his horn-rimmed glasses to the
bridge of his aristocratic nose with a precise shove. But as he leaned forward
to address Winters from the backseat, he still looked over the tops of his
glasses with steel-blue eyes as though he were an annoyed professor. A distant
streetlight and the moonbeams danced across his prematurely graying salt-and-pepper
hair. Clarissa stifled a smile and waited for the cool retort that she knew
Bradley would deliver with perfect British diction.
"Sasha said to go off radar and undercover. This
is undercover, and probably the best place to get word from the local
warlock community about what's shaking." The shadow from Bradley's
athletic frame and the confident tone employed by his ten-year-age seniority
loomed over Winters's skittish, lanky build within the vehicle. "Besides,"
Bradley continued, undaunted when Winters didn't immediately challenge him,
"I need a comm post where a maid won't accidentally trip over my satellite
gear or, worse, cross a divination circle I've laid."
"Hey, you're the dark arts specialist, not me and
Rissa ... so if you get a lead, we can just as easily low jack you and pick you
up on a screen from a nice little bed and breakfast." Mark's voice
faltered as he glanced around at the desolate scene beyond the car windows. His
gaze stayed locked on the mud-stained, dilapidated, leaning structures and
abandoned houses as feral dogs roamed the shadows with their noses to the
ground on the perpetual hunt for garbage.
Bradley released a weary sigh. "Isn't going to
happen. The power of three, blah, blah, blah, and we were given express orders
not to split up under any circumstances. So, where I go, you go. Now stop
whining and get your skinny ass out of the car."
"What happened to all the FEMA funds, huh?"
Emboldened by fear, Mark crossed his arms over his narrow chest, challenging
his older teammate. "I thought they said on the news they were rebuilding
this entire area, but it still looks like the storms happened yesterday. Not to
mention, we'll probably all walk out of here with some kinda deadly bacterial
infection or frickin' cancer from the toxic sludge hanging around. You can't
shoot a virus! And what about those dogs? They could have rabies. You can even
see their rib bones. Like, what if they're werewolves too hungry to turn into
anything more than mutts? They could still be deadly, ya know—if a bunch of 'em
gang up on us."
"Get out of the car, Winters," Clarissa
said, smiling. "That's one of the reasons you got cholera shots and they
sent a biologist along—moi. So, if you start feeling a little queasy .
. ."
"Yeah, not to mention, if you start having the
yen to howl at the moon, let McGill know, kid," Bradley said, teasing Mark
as he opened the back passenger-side door.
"I knew something was wrong when they gave us
freaking cholera shots, mosquito nets, and a bunch of crap to ward off malaria.
I thought we were going somewhere exotic, like the Amazon—not somewhere in the
supposedly developed free world! This is the freakin' U. S. of A., are you
hearing me? Why does Trudeau get to gallivant off to the pristine wilderness,
huh? This shit is for the birds—and need I remind you that the murder rate in
New Orleans has jumped like ninety percent since Katrina?"
"Precisely why we're here," Clarissa said,
running her fingers through her short, blond hair again and turning her stout
frame around in her seat with effort. "So knock it off. We're to feed
Trudeau the ground intel she needs. We know that the spike in murders and
lawlessness is fueled partially by economic issues, but also something else.
The entire graveyard system here was compromised by the flood. Everything that
should have been buried floated to new locations and/or was exposed to the sun.
Great location to have conversations with the dead, undead, and a few species
in between."
"Correct," Bradley said, leaning into the
car with his arm draped over the hood. "This is one of the way stations
for paranormal black market activities and is still the reigning capital.
Between local voodoo priests, warlocks, resident seers, and swamp madams, not
to mention the old Vampire aristocracy, and a few zombie kings, we ought to be
able to begin to pick up some patterns. But the Big Easy is on the comeback.
All statistics aside, it doesn't all look like WWIII here, so relax."
"Or get shot, or eaten, or turned into a
zombie," Mark muttered.
Bradley shrugged and rounded the car to open the
trunk. "Yeah, one of the above, or you could look on the bright side.
Maybe you'll just get bitten by a cute female Vampire and live forever."
~
A sleek black wolf, slight of build, dashed through the
underbrush. He released a rallying howl that made Bear Shadow look up from the
card game he'd been engaged in with Woods and Fisher. The massive warrior stood
slowly, lifting his nearly three-hundred-pound, muscular frame out of the
groaning wooden chair. Woods glanced at Fisher, cards frozen in their hands.
"What is it, dude?" Fisher asked, his voice
tight and nervous.
Woods's line of vision studied the way the huge Ute
Indian's ears moved slightly. If something crazy was about to go down, then he
and his partner, Fisher, needed ammo. In hand-to-hand, Fisher was good with a
knife— tall, lanky, a Kentucky-bred blond who had seen his fair share of
trailer park brawls. Add that to the Special Forces training they'd had, and it
was all good. But, still, from what he'd seen of the Shadow Wolves, even he
wasn't sure he could take one down—and he had a height and weight advantage on
Fisher.
Woods raked his fingers through his dark brown hair,
which was almost shoulder length now, and a far cry from his once clean-cut,
military appearance. Ragged stubble bordered his jawline. It had been a little
over a month and a half since the brass thought they'd died in action, and now
something was about to pop off that could indeed end their lives. He could tell
Fisher was thinking the same thing; it was in the way Fisher had smoothed his
palm over his reddish-blond beard. Bear Shadow hadn't answered Fisher's
question, but kept tilting his head like a huge hunting dog listening to the
forest beyond the cabin window. Something was wrong; it was a killing season—he
could feel it.
"Is it your clan contact? Is the lieutenant with
him?" Woods pressed, panic bubbling within him.
"Wait here," Bear Shadow commanded in a low
rumble. 'Trouble. Our lookout picked up Werewolf scent in the territory."
Within an instant he'd opened the cabin door, slid out
of his clothes to transform into a massive brown wolf, and then was gone.
Woods and Fisher simply stared at each other for a
moment.
"Even though it's more elegant than what we saw
Rod go through, it's gonna take a long time for me to get used to seeing them
do that," Fisher admitted quietly.
Woods nodded and got up to lock the door. "I just
hope I don't have a gun in my hand if I see it at night. Hard to tell who's on
our side or not."
~
Xavier Holland's private cell phone vibrated on his
hip. As project header and head geneticist for the PCU, his study subjects had
to have twenty-four-hour access to him. But they were more than lab rats to be
studied and watched. They were friends . .. family, young people who had been
terribly abused by the hand of fate.
As soon as he saw the non-number in the display he
walked outside to his backyard. He could never be sure if his Colorado home
just outside of the NORAD complex had been bugged again, even though he'd been
given the strictest assurances that it hadn't. Supposedly this was a brand-new
day, new era of brass after General Donald Wilkerson's death. Sasha Trudeau had
proven herself, no less than he'd proven how bad the genetics experiments had
gone under Wilkerson's mania.
But he'd been a Special Ops military man too long to
believe the hype. Eyes were still everywhere. Old blood samples treated with
demon-infected Werewolf toxin that could potentially cause a pandemic outbreak
were still missing. On the third ring, he picked up the cell phone that had
been procured by underground means. He knew the caller's voice, and this person
wasn't generally given to communication by technology or panic. However the
strain was clear in his voice the moment he said hello.
"What's wrong?"
"He's had a spike again. Fourth one in many, many
years. You were there for the first three. .. . This may be the last one before
we must do what breaks my heart."
"Are you sure?"
Silence.
"Yes. It came in a vision."
"How bad?"
"I don't know, but my sense is bad."
"Have you been in communication with him?"
"No."
This time Xavier Holland was quiet. Sasha was with
Hunter. The bond between the elderly men on the phone went all the way back to the
beginning of both young warriors' lives. They would have to speak quickly
without disclosing names. If Silver Hawk had called him, with his voice tight
and rough, his Shadow voice, then his old friend was on the move.
"Do you have some of the antidote left?"
Holland waited, worrying, not sure how to do a handoff under the severe
scrutiny that followed the general's assassination.
"It is old, possibly expired . . . could do more
harm than good," Silver Hawk finally said.
"Perhaps a Silver Shadow could line this cloud of
worry?" Xavier said cryptically, inviting the old Ute to come to him in
Shadow Wolf form, hopefully undetected.
"Perhaps ... but where is there no worry, my
friend?"
Xavier glanced around his backyard. "I meditate
daily out in the yard while gardening ... to reduce stress, especially by my roses."
"That is a good method—man, nature, and the Great
Spirit."
The call connection went dead and Xavier Holland kept
his eyes on the horizon. The call had lasted just long enough not to be traced.
Now all he had to do was figure out how to get a few filled hypodermic needles
out of the labs at NORAD and secreted away beneath his roses.
~
Sasha looked up quickly, bowie knife in hand. Hunter
had returned but hadn't taken any precautions for stealth. Unlike his normal,
nearly silent footfalls, he'd simply trudged back through the snow and passed
her almost without looking at her to enter the tent. Moments later he emerged
with a toothbrush in his mouth and one of the canteens in his grip, and then went
to stand before the dying fire to brush his teeth.
"Guns are downwind from the tent by the moose carcass.
Just wanted a fighting chance to explain before you opened up a clip of silver
shells on me."
His tone was weary, his delivery flat before he spit
out foaming toothpaste on the ground. The residue in his mouth made him look
rabid and she glanced away to shake the terrible thought.
Sasha sheathed the knife in her back jeans pocket but
didn't move toward the weapons stashed by the carcass fifty yards away.
"What happened?" she asked more quietly than intended.
Hunter didn't turn around or immediately answer, just
kept brushing his teeth, every so often spitting against the embers, which
responded with angry hisses. His eyes finally met hers, and the expression in
them was a mixture of sadness and defiance.
He lifted the canteen. "I take it you won't be
needing this?"
She didn't answer, just stared at him.
"Yeah, thought not," he said in a disgusted
tone, then opened it up and doused his hair, face, and shoulders with its
crystal-clear contents.
She watched the pure mountain water cascade through
his long, jet-black hair, wetting his dark skin till it glistened. Sadness so
profound made her lungs feel like they were about to burst within her chest. It
just wasn't fair! She couldn't go through this a second time. After having to
put down Rod, how did one take out a lover, a friend, someone who'd been her
partner, her most trusted companion in life, only six weeks later? Sasha
blinked back the tears as she watched the water spill over Hunter's abraded
neck, trying to shake the memory of her hands caressing that part of him to
travel over his bulk of muscles along his shoulders and down his back.
When she'd had to shoot Rod during his transformation,
her heart had shattered. If she'd have to put a bullet in Hunter's skull, she
knew she might as well have to put one in her own. As it was right now, she
could barely breathe from the grief. She couldn't even get her body to function
as a soldier's. Her mind told her to go get the stashed weapons, but she
couldn't move. Soon her arms were around her waist and her voice repeated her
previous question on a very shaky murmur that sounded like a plea.
"What happened?"
"I got infected," he said, flinging the spent
canteen away from him. "Didn't know it at the time, but shit happens."
Paralyzed, she watched him angrily stride away toward
the carcass, kick it over, and extract a sack from beneath it. She didn't move
as he neared her, flung the weapons in her direction to catch, and began
breaking down the campsite.
"When we went after Guilliaume and Dexter. . .
through the demon doors in the other realms?" She held the satchel of guns
and ammo clips loosely at her side.
"This shit began before I was even born," he
said through his teeth with a snarl. "You know how my mother died—you know
how Doc saved me with Pop."
"But it's been dormant for all those years!"
she suddenly shouted as though arguing with God. Bottled up emotions were
making her entire body tremble as she began to talk with her hands and then
suddenly cast away the weapons bag. "You're a Shadow Wolf, born naturally,
not made in a fucking petri dish like me! We can't get the demon-infected
Werewolf virus, and that's why we're the only ones best suited to hunt them. I
don't care what happened when you were a baby! Your immune system threw it off.
You've lived with it, beat it, the infected Werewolf virus was—"
"Always dormant
in my system, Sasha! That's why I was a goddamned outcast to the clan, even though
I was strong enough to take alpha status!"
She rounded on him, preventing his retreat toward the
equipment. "No. This was an aberration. Something had to screw with your
metabolism, and we've gotta find out what it was."
He released a hollow laugh. "I already know what
it was. I'm staring at the catalyst."
"That is complete bullshit," she
said, moving with him to shadow his attempts to get away from her. "We've
been together for over a month."
Hunter stopped trying to evade her and stared at her
head on, counting off the charges with his fingers. "Do the math, Sasha.
My mother was savaged while I was in her womb and I got the virus directly into
my bloodstream before my grandfather could cut me out and sever the umbilical
cord. Contagion hits an infant's system. The only reason I lived through the
convulsions or even survived without brain damage is because Doc was there with
meds. I spiked in puberty, then again at twenty-five when all wolves spike for
dominance battling. Now—"
"But you weren't re-infected for over thirty
years," she argued, ignoring his logic.
"Yes, I was. The second incident of close contact
happened on the wrong side of a demon door—open wounds, blood and saliva
flying as two males battle to the fucking death. I'm still standing."
Hunter stalked away from her, dragging his fingers
through his soaked hair and then shook it out wolf-style. "Third contact
incident," he said more quietly, as though the reality and emotional
fatigue had finally hit him, "was fighting my own infected clan brothers
when we went after the rogues up in Delta, Colorado's Uncompahgre National
Forest. What's the old saying, baby? Three strikes and you're out?"
"Until I hear that shit from Doc or Silver Hawk
... until the bloodwork proves it. . ."
"You'll what?" he said, turning to face her,
his gaze hard. "Sit with your back against a wall and a gun in your hand?
Sleep with one eye open, watching me for signs of transition to the species of
abomination?" He stalked away from her and began yanking out tent stakes, now
yelling. "I don't even fucking know what I'll do! You think I want my
woman around me taking a risk like that?"
"I can defend myself," she said, shouting
back and lifting her chin. "Even against you, now that I know. So until
we know for sure how far this has gone, or if your system is self-correcting,
then—"
"I had blackouts last night!" he shouted,
flinging the stakes away. "Goddamned blackouts! During that time I
could've been a beast and wouldn't have even known it!"
Humiliation made him walk away, sucking in huge
breaths as he tried to scavenge calm from the surrounding environment. It had
never been this bad before. When he'd been with Silver Hawk, he'd never lost
full consciousness. His inner Shadow Wolf was always connected to his human,
the link unbreakable. Last night, something very fragile in the balance
snapped.
"You weren't a beast," her calm, gentle
voice said from behind him.
"You were out for twenty minutes. What do you
know?"
A firm hand on his shoulder made him flinch away.
"I'm still standing and don't have a mark on me
this morning, that's what I know."
He had no answer for her and didn't try to retreat beyond
the tree he was now leaning against. Hunter closed his eyes, not wanting to
admit that her words offered balm but drenching himself with them nonetheless.
"Let me try to heal the obvious wounds, and I'll
keep both amulets on me, not in the backpacks."
When he didn't answer and didn't try to shrug away,
she took that as a yes. Slowly and very carefully she touched his shoulder,
testing for acceptance, and then stood in front of him.
"I'm not giving up on you," she said
quietly, her gaze searching his until he looked away. "We will use this
hand we've been dealt."
"How?" he grumbled, now looking at her with
fury in his eyes.
"If you carry a little of the predators' scent,
and some of its strength, you might be able to pass yourself off as a
transitioning member in human form . . . once the moon is out of full
phase."
She waited a beat to allow the concept to sink in.
"And you can pass me off as your rogue mate ... a she-Shadow, just like
Shadow Falcon had been, willing to participate in any illicit activities you're
involved in. This way maybe we can get those rogues who are immersed in the
toxin trade to view what happened up in the Uncompahgre as a territorial
battle, not a raid by the preternatural authorities. It's our best lead to
Dexter to lure him out of hiding."
"Yeah, well, that would be an airtight plan,
except for one variable."
She looked at him, now resting both palms along the
broad width of his shoulders. "What variable?"
"Me," he said flatly, his gaze searching
hers. "I don't know how this thing inside me is going to affect my mind,
ultimately. What if we're out among an infected Werewolf pack and you think my
actions are part of the ruse, only to find they're
not?" Hunter shook his head no. "Too dangerous, too unpredictable—and
for it to work, I'd have to tell my pack brothers to fall back. I'd have to go
in submissive, unless I'm prepared to dominance-battle a demon-infected alpha
were alone ... and I'm not."
He hesitated, his gaze boring into hers. "That
would be the tipping point, Sasha—if I got cut again. Plus, the other side will
only take an infected male and possibly a female at his side, perhaps vice
versa, one at a time—not dragging a Shadow pack with them." He looked at
Sasha hard and then traced her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You'd be
by yourself with no backup in a den of virally infected male Werewolves ... not even able to be sure that you
could count on me. Think about it, Sasha. What would happen if—"
She closed her eyes and gently stopped his words with
her finger against his lips as she laid her head on his shoulder. His loose
embrace tightened slowly as he kissed the crown of her head.
"Then I'll be sure to take dead aim and shoot you
first," she murmured.
Chapter 4
Hands that had delivered unbelievable pleasure the
night before now pulled excruciating pain from Hunter's body as he and Sasha
sat facing each other Indian style on the cold ground. It felt like a ring of
fire encircled his neck, and he kept his eyes closed and jaw and fists
clenched, too proud to cry out.
Sweat coursed down his temples, the bridge of his nose,
his chest, and back as Sasha worked, dredging the poison up until his body
began to slightly convulse. The stench was something undetectable to a normal
human nose, but as a Shadow Wolf it was an offense like none other. Even an
average dog might take issue with the infected Werewolf signature leaking from
the lacerations left behind from a silver burn.
The whole of it caused nausea to assault his stomach
once more, and the only thing he could think of was that the woman had to
really, deeply care to even address something as foul as this.
Sasha wiped the perspiration from her forehead on the
back of her arm, keeping her face away from her wound-soiled hands or his skin.
Seeing her do that tore at his pride; they shouldn't have been swapping spit
the night before or anything else for that matter. If only he'd known before it
had been too late. Never again. The only saving grace was the fact that her
unpolluted Shadow Wolf system would eventually purge it, he hoped.
"I need to get this crap out of your pores ...
get you into a hot tub with Epsom salts, something to help pull it out of your
skin."
"I know—we can't do a full purge out here without
supplies," he panted, then leaned his head back, taking advantage of the
brief rest break she allowed. "I can't carry the backpack or wear my parka
... the scent will adhere to the fabrics and won't come out. Eventually gotta
burn my clothes and get new ones."
"You sound like you've done this before?"
Her hands remained on his collarbone like hot coals.
Pain, fatigue, and emotional exhaustion made him
confess with a nod. He'd told her as much, but the fact that she was asking
again meant that she was unsure if this had been a rarely occurring thing or
something that he'd dealt with regularly. Long pauses interwoven with deep
inhales accented his bursts of words. "When I was twelve—second seizure.
Sweat lodge with Silver Hawk. Third time, just before the onset of alpha
maturity ... he was there, too. I told you that, remember?"
"Then you're sure this is only the fourth
seizure?"
Again he nodded, wishing they didn't have to relive
the humiliation of his youth. This time she didn't speak but just gave him a
curt nod and kept working. When the pads of her fingers traced over the
abrasion again, he winced.
"Sorry," she murmured, "but I gotta get
as much of it out as possible."
"Do it. Otherwise my pack brothers will attack on
sight, no questions asked. You have to also get the scent of me off you and
this contagion off your hands . . . just in case they don't understand and rush
us."
He stopped talking for a moment and held his breath as
she flat-palmed the wounds. Intense, stabbing pain balled his hands into fists.
There was so much that he had yet to teach her about the Shadow culture she'd
never been raised in. Sasha had to restore not only his normal scent but there
could be no significant abnormalities in his aura. Each identifier was used to
tell which pack within the clan one hailed from, one's rank, one's history. A
change in any of those family markers caused chaos within the wolf pack and
then fanned outward to ripple through the entire clan.
"Every pack within the clan has been waiting for
this to happen . . . waiting for my grandfather to be wrong. It's why I was
shunned as an eligible mate. They wanted to put me to death as an infant, but
he was the North American clan's overall alpha male, then, and wouldn't allow
it. But the rest tolerated my existence while spreading rumors that I could
pass this genetic aberration on to my kids. Now I will finally shame him after
all these years."
"Listen, Max," she said, taking her hands
away from his wounds for a moment so he could rest. She gripped his shoulders
to make him hear her through the pain. "Yeah, okay, your system is going
haywire, but up until this point it merged with your Shadow Wolf, created some
kind of hybrid that made you incredibly strong, able to go through the demon
doors unlike the others, and gave you a battlefield advantage against the
enemy."
Sasha waited until Hunter opened his intense, dark
brown eyes and stared at her. "Yeah," she said. "You represent
an unknown, but up until this point you've been stable within the pack, as well
as the clan. Something triggered this spike—it had to be more than me."
When he gave her a half smile she staved off the comment
she felt bubbling within him by squeezing his shoulders tighter. "Think
about it," she said, cutting him off before he could even say anything.
"The first time was when you were a newborn. Toxin hit your system and you
began a demon-infected Werewolf transition. Doc shot you up with the same meds
he gave me, Rod, Woods, and Fisher to keep the bad wolf at bay. Your system was
so new that it needed the outside assistance, something to sway the balance so
your brand-new immune system could go against a virulent invader."
She watched him slowly take in her words as his shoulders
relaxed under her hands. "Imagine a just-delivered infant being shot up
with influenza and nothing to counteract it?"
Hunter nodded and she pressed on, needing to heal his
mind and spirit as much as she knew his physical being required a purge.
'The second time, your entire metabolism shifted in
puberty—I'm assuming at twelve that's what set it off. Like any normal human's
would be at that time, your entire system was in hormonal flux and the
recessive strain of this thing wrestled the Shadow Wolf within you for
dominance. Twice in a row, the Shadow Wolf in you won. But I bet the second
time you didn't need as strong a shot from Doc as you did that first time, did
you? Then, when you hit alpha maturity and were ready to battle for your place
in the pack and the clan, again your body changed and the recessive trait came
forward—but, again, I bet you didn't need as much of the meds as you did when
you were an infant. Right?"
"No," Hunter said slowly, his unblinking
gaze holding hers. "You're right. I didn't. My grandfather had the needles
beside his loaded rifle and told me to make my wolf fight to survive, to make
it stronger than the demon-wolf. Somehow I knew he'd rather shoot me himself
than allow me to go on out of control. Then he tossed all but one of the
needles in the fire and picked up the gun and waited."
"And you won."
For a moment they stared at each other, saying
nothing.
"And I won that second and third time."
"And now that you're a man, you're even stronger.
Your wolf is unconquerable. You went through it last night and are yourself
this morning. That means you're gaining immunity, regardless of whatever might
have set it off again."
"You sound like you've been with the
shaman." His mouth smiled but his eyes burned with deep appreciation.
"You've lived within a pack, within the
clan," she said quietly, her gaze roving over his handsome face. She
stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, the side of it that hadn't touched
a wound. All she could think of was how he'd stayed with her and had healed the
horrible gashes along her torso that would have made her own top brass give the
order for her to be shot on sight, not understanding. Then, he'd fed her when
she was too weak to eat, gave her a bath to cleanse her wounds. How could she
ever forget?
Her voice became a low, thick rumble as she tried to
get through his male barriers. "You've scented paired she-Shadows in heat
before, and this didn't happen. Don't allow this thing to infect your mind or
to rob you of your perception of who you are."
When he looked away, she rested her damp forehead
against his bare chest. "It was a combination of things— the previous
fight, my condition, the full moon, the tumble we took through the demon
doors. This will pass, Hunter. We'll get Doc to look into it, Silver Shadow,
too. But I don't want you to give up on yourself before you've given yourself a
fighting chance."
She lifted her head and stared at him, her voice thick
with emotion as her hands went back to the task of sealing the wounds around
his neck. "I won't give up on you. I can't. I demand that you fight this
thing the same way you fought it—no, harder than you did as a kid. You owe your
grandfather's honor that much."
Finally he nodded, his gaze trapping hers.
~
The plan had been to come out of the mountains on the
Canadian side and head toward an innocuous little motel, hotel, B&B,
whatever, to restore Hunter to his formerly dignified scent, but twenty-plus
snarls along the tree line changed all of that. When she felt Hunter bristle
she slowly eased off her backpack and carefully found the edge of a silver
chain inside her jeans pocket with two fingers.
Extracting one amulet and then the other as though
holding a pair of guns with two fingers, she dangled them with her arms
outstretched from her body.
"We've been battling a demon all night,"
Sasha called out, hoping the truth-laced ruse would explain the scent that had
alerted the pack to kill mode. She clearly needed to tell them something that
might buy her and Hunter precious time. If they saw her holding silver, maybe
she could cover for Hunter. It was worth a try. But she had to do something
quickly. He was physically spent but in a very fragile state of mind—so fragile
as to make him insane enough to lunge into full attack mode if he thought his
pack rank was being challenged. His low snarl told her all she needed to know;
she had to keep talking.
"We need sanctuary, not attack! Look at the
broken clasps on the amulets. He gave them to me to carry to protect his mate,
after what we'd been through, and in case we got separated again."
She was no liar, nor was she a fool. Hunter had given
her the amulets for her protection, to be sure. The problem now was that she'd
openly said she was his mate because the packs dealt in absolutes. Later she'd
worry about the fine points of the ruse. Right now they needed a safe haven.
That part was no lie. It was all in the wording, though. Shadow Wolves could
scent a he a mile off, so she had to give them something with a rock-solid
basis of truth.
Although the threatening snarls had abated, pure
silence was often more deadly. She and Hunter turned slowly in unison as they
felt the invisible pack circling. Part of her monitored the tension in Hunter's
jaw by the pulsing muscle moving beneath his skin; the other part of her monitored
the dangerous vibration of the pack that was closing in on them.
Then just as suddenly as they'd been cornered, something
indefinable in the very air around them eased and a huge, naked Ute tribesman
stepped out of the shadows. It wasn't that he was so tall, but it was his width
that made her jaw nearly go slack. The man was built like a small truck. His
line of vision locked with Hunter's but held unmistakable relief. He crossed
his massive chest with a battle-scarred clenched fist and forearm and she
watched Hunter return the gesture.
"Our apologies, brother. We couldn't be
sure."
Hunter nodded. "No apologies required, Bear
Shadow. You were doing your job as pack enforcer. We expected no less."
"You know the way to the outpost?"
Hunter nodded. "Yes. By heart, as always."
Bear Shadow glanced at Sasha, who still held the
amulets out from her body and hadn't moved. He raised one eyebrow and offered
Hunter a sidelong glance with a half smile, not seeming the least bit concerned
that he was having this entire conversation in the buff. One by one curious
male wolves slipped into plain view from behind trees and out from the shadows,
each a magnificent creature in varying hues.
"I would have given her my ward, too. We will
clear the way and have eucalyptus water waiting . . . and food. You can then
tell us of the battle and we will plan to hunt the creature as one."
In the blink of an eye Bear Shadow had become a massive
brown wolf again and he threw his head back and howled. The mournful song was
picked up by twenty or more voices coaxing Hunter's call to join theirs, and
then they were again a part of the shadows. Gone.
Sasha slowly lowered her arms and then tucked the
amulets away into her jeans pockets. It had been the most impressive display of
pack cohesion and strength she'd ever witnessed. There would have been no way
that a lone Werewolf could have won against such a band of brothers,
demon-infected or not. If somehow she and Hunter had been considered the enemy,
she now understood his very practical fear for her safety—they might have been
able to stop some of them, but certainly not all before being overrun.
Bullets only worked if you could get to your weapon,
and the pack moved like the wind. That, too, would have been very unlikely. One
of them would have ripped off her arm before she could've pulled a nine, and if
she and Hunter transformed, without a means of ambush, a twenty-plus to two
ratio was suicide.
Hunter picked up the backpack without saying a word
and hoisted it over one shoulder. In truth, what was there to say? There was no
longer the need to keep the scent he trailed off their gear; the pack had
temporarily bought the ruse. She'd now finally seen with her own eyes what they
were up against. Hunter didn't have to elaborate.
The real question was, however, how long would they
buy it, and what would happen under a full moon while the watchful eyes of the
interclan pack were on them?
This was some very serious shit, for more reasons than
one. Sasha walked quietly beside Hunter, not even glimpsing his profile. Each
pack within the regional clan had an alpha male that had sent out their primary
enforcers to investigate the wayward Werewolf scent. Those guys weren't even
the top wolves! And if Hunter's own strongman, Bear Shadow, had been prepared
to take him out for the good of the whole North American clan, then the possibility
of serious dissension in the ranks was afoot.
The Uncompahgre incident involved rogue pack members
across the clan moving illicit toxic substances in order to change their rank
and financial position. Trust was therefore null and void. Hunter had explained
the political fallout more times than she'd wanted to remember. All packs had
been made vulnerable, thus very touchy and subject to extremes in martial law.
She just hoped that the mini-purge had worked and that
Hunter could hold it together while they were around each pack leader. All
they'd need was for a bit of the Werewolf virus to surface at an inopportune
and deadly time. Then again, what was she saying? If this thing finally took
him over, there was only one decision to be made, and it would have to be done
in a very detached, unemotional way. There was no sense trying to put one's
head in the sand. Hunter needed immediate evaluation.
Sasha kept walking in silence beside Hunter. Maybe
that was it; she wanted to know for sure before a permanent, irreversible
decision was made. At least that was the partial lie she told herself. If there
was ever a time for the Great Spirit to hear prayers it was now. The only other
alternative was to get him away from the pack, using a very good explanation
... but if he was infected, she alone would have a nightmare on her hands.
Sasha chewed her bottom lip as her mind continued to
burn with questions. She glimpsed Hunter quickly from the corner of her eye,
but his gaze caught and trapped hers as they walked quietly side by side. The
same questions she'd had haunted his silent stare and she no longer had to
wonder what he was thinking.
~
"Aw, man, you smell like pure hell!" Crow
Shadow laughed as Hunter entered the small clearing in front of the outpost
cabin.
"Good to see you, too, brother," Hunter
muttered and folded his arms over his chest.
"Drop your gear in the yard, man," Bear
Shadow said with a smirk, holding his nose. He motioned toward an old-fashioned
tin tub near an outhouse twenty-five yards away that had thick plumes of steam
and eucalyptus wafting from it. "We gotta hose you down in the yard before
you come inside."
"Trudeau!"
Woods and Fisher burst out of the cabin with a unified
shout and bounded across the knotted pine porch and down the steps, practically
lifting her off her feet in an excited reunion.
"Shit, Lieutenant! We thought you were a
goner!" Woods hugged her tightly and made Fisher wait his turn.
"I thought we were goners, dude,"
Fisher said, laughing and wrestling to join in on the group hug. "What're
you talking about?"
"You guys are a sight for sore eyes," Sasha
said, slapping them both on the backs and then cuffing their necks to pull
their faces against hers.
Family. This was all that remained of her military family,
save Doc and the inside team that by now should be in New Orleans. But these
guys were in the trenches with her, carried weapons, laid in the mud on
missions next to her. There was a different level of bond.
The merry threesome swallowed hard, smiles bright,
each one too much of a soldier to let emotion seep all the way out, but it was
felt. Relief, joy, sorrow, hard experiences—too much to gel out all at once in
front of strangers. The stories needed time and several cold beers, if not Wild
Turkey, to gain form and substance. For now, just seeing who had made it was
enough. Then came the awkward quiet. The moment of silence for the ones who
didn't make it.
"Butler," Woods finally said in a reverent
tone and shook his head.
"I know," Sasha said.
"Doc told us on sat-phone while we were on the
move trying to get back to North America." Fisher's voice dropped to a
pained murmur. "Nobody else made it out, either."
Sasha nodded but didn't say more. Memories washed
through her like a dirty rain. Fisher's serious blue eyes became moist as he
stared at her for a moment, and then just as quickly the unshed tears dried as
he dragged his fingers through his unruly
blond hair. He was gaunter than she'd remembered, his body more angular.
But Woods had oddly seemed to fill out and become broader, heavier. He'd grown
a beard and it was hard to tell where his almost shoulder-length brunet hair
and the thick growth on his chin began and ended. Stress was an individual
thing, affected people differently.
Still, trauma shone in Woods's liquid brown eyes. No
telling what horrors these men had seen as their commanding officer
transformed into a beast and then turned on the squad. To have that happen,
survive it, only to have their own Black Hawk airlift turn the heat on them to
try to "clean up the situation" was inexcusable.
Before she could really dwell on it or allow her unspent
rage at the brass to make her irrational, she opted for proper pack
introductions. Later they could bitch and vent in their beer. There was another,
more pressing situation at hand that they all needed to survive. Hunter.
"Guess you guys have met and hung out with Crow
Shadow and Bear Shadow long enough to know they're pack lookout and
enforcer," she said, giving each Shadow Wolf a nod of utmost respect.
"This is the pack's alpha, as well as the North American clan's alpha, Max
Hunter. Good man to have at your side in a firelight. Seen him in action."
Woods, the more dominant of the two remaining men on
Sasha's squad, stepped forward and extended his hand. "Good to know
you."
Hunter stared at Woods's outstretched hand, jaw pulsing.
'Tell your familiar I've got toxin on me, but it is good to know him and your
other one." Then without another word Hunter spun on his heel and walked
away toward the steaming tub, then began to strip.
Sasha opened and closed her mouth and then stepped
into the vacant space Hunter had left. "He's really fucked up right
now," she said loudly, fury roiling just under her surface as she stared
at Hunter's back and then returned her gaze to her stunned men. "After
what we went through last night, give him a minute. Generally he's not so rude
and is good people."
"It is true," Bear Shadow said, seeming
unfazed. "Max Hunter is a man you can count on." He loped away with a
smile and motioned toward the thicket with his chin. "Gonna rustle up some
steaks—Crow, man, you get the beer and bottles from the locals. But take the
truck."
Crow Shadow caught the keys Bear Shadow tossed and
winked at Sasha. "Make Hunter refill the tub for you. No offense. You're
not as bad as him, but it splattered you. Get Woods and Fisher to bring you
both some clean gear from the house when you're done. Burn everything in the
yard—damn!" Within the space of a blink, he'd merged into a tree shadow
and was gone.
"I still can't get used to this shit,
Trudeau," Woods said, glancing around nervously once Crow Shadow had disappeared,
his voice almost a low whisper. He kept his eyes on Hunter while speaking to
Sasha between his teeth. "Like, what the fuck are we doing here? What's
the new mission? Our damned lives are way out of control—there's no more
normal. Half the time I don't even know what the hell they're talking
about."
"Yeah, and what did he mean, 'tell your
familiars'? He meant like family, right?" Fisher asked in a nervous burst
under his breath.
"Yeah," Sasha muttered, glaring in Hunter's
direction. "I'm sure that's what he meant."
Chapter 5
She walked across the yard fighting mad. Yeah, okay,
Hunter had some Werewolf shit with him, but that was still no reason to be rude
to her men—her family! Not to mention if he couldn't hold it together under
non-stressful conditions, he was a dead man walking into a clan council
meeting, or whatever kind of powwow the packs were planning for tonight. If he
made it past all of that to the United Council of Entities meeting in New Orleans,
once Vampires sniffed him out, it'd be all over but the shouting. Seeing him
act like this told her everything she needed to know. They had to get out of
there stat and down to Doc in Denver somehow, before heading to New Orleans
with the rest of her team.
In a few fluid strides, Sasha had reached the tub.
Whatever wrangle they were going to get into, it had to happen fast. Woods and
Fisher had gone into the house to get clothes and towels, and would be back
soon. Rank was still rank, whether military or wolf pack. The last thing her
men or Hunter's needed to witness was a shouting match between squad leaders.
Although common sense told her that tone and the way she phrased the question
would significantly determine the outcome of Hunter's response, he'd plucked
her last nerve till it felt like raw meat hanging off a bone.
"And your problem would be?" she asked in a
low, lethal tone between her teeth as she rounded the tub. She couldn't have
censored herself if her life depended on it. "What gave you the right
to—"
"They'd better learn protocol and learn it
quick," Hunter snapped and then doused his hair. He came up from the water
with eyes flickering amber and his canines elongated. "They're familiars
and I'm not their problem. If they address pack leaders so casually during
these tense times, their dumb asses will cause a shape-shift and they'll find
themselves with their throats between an alpha's teeth."
"You could have suffered their ignorance and told
me so I could clue them in. Do you have any idea how freaked out these guys
are? I don't even know what the hell protocol is, and I sleep with you! How in
the world are they supposed to just know all this mysterious
crap?" Sasha gripped the edge of the tin tub and stared at Hunter so hard
she was practically leaning in the water. "It's not fair!"
"It never is about fair—and you know it. It's
about rank. What about any of this is so-called fair? Are you insane?"
He let out a disgusted breath; she snatched the thick,
square-cut, homemade bar of soap from him and practically slammed it against
his head as she began soaping his hair.
"They aren't telepaths. This culture is brand-new
to them and your men should have told them."
"Who said they didn't?" Hunter snarled.
"I know Crow Shadow and Bear Shadow; they would have versed them on
approach protocol first! What it is, Sasha, is that your men are unpracticed,
and at a full clan meeting that can get them severely reprimanded—and if they
fight against a reprimand, it could get them killed. The wolf culture is rigid,
you know that. My snub was to make them think— just like you would have done in
boot camp with new recruits that improperly addressed your rank."
Frustration practically made steam come out of her
ears, but the man had a point, even though she wasn't altogether ready to
relinquish hers.
"That's all you had to say, Hunter. You could
have barked orders at them to address you properly, then told them not to make
the same mistake tonight or they'll get jumped. Woods and Fisher aren't stupid.
In fact, those guys are the salt of the earth and are solid squad in a
firefight. They don't know their roles cold yet. But I'd put money on it that
with a little time, they'll be awesome lookouts, will be able to run
interference with human forces, courier messages between the shaman, you name
it"
"All right. I hear you," Hunter finally said
in a grudging tone. "But they have to learn quickly."
"What the fuck were they supposed to do, Max? Genuflect
when they saw you? Or do the happy freakin' puppy dance? You tell me—because
right now you're being a real ass!"
He turned so quickly in the water to face her that a
huge splash sloshed on the ground. "They were supposed to wait for me to
approach them—remain stock still," he said through his teeth.
"I scent them, determine if they can pass my inspection or not If
they walk forward aggressively toward an alpha that doesn't know them like they
did with me, with that G. I. Joe military stare that would bristle even a beta
male, they'd get their asses kicked. In the eyes, Sasha? A stare-down?"
"They didn't mean it, they've been military
trained all their lives ... oh ... shit."
"My point exactly. What is normally the way things
are done in one culture is a complete offense in another. You're also a damned
diplomat and know what I say to be true."
"I know, I know," she muttered. "You're
no liar."
Incredulous that she didn't immediately get it before
simply because they were her men, people close to her, his voice trailed
off into a furious grumble. To his mind, that was all the more reason she
should have also been appalled and corrected them on the spot. They were her
familiars, not his!
"No damned familiar is to ever look at a pack
leader in the eye until he's given them the right to look up—sons-of-bitches
needed to lower their heads and look down... a direct, in-the-eye stare?
Unheard of. A handshake, not chest-cross—one of them, the goddamned dominant
male, reached for my swing arm? Bullshit! The alpha from Toronto would have
yanked it out of his fucking shoulder socket. We don't play that."
The more Max grumbled the more outraged he became,
until he was so indignant that all he could do was turn around and fold his arms
over his chest while Sasha angrily began scrubbing his hair.
"Jesus... What
the hell is in this stuff?" she said, making a face and ignoring his
diatribe. She needed a moment to recalibrate her emotions and to amp down the
fight hormone surging through her. "Smells like Witch Hazel cured in
gasoline."
"Yeah, it's got Witch Hazel in it, plus white
willow bark, white sage oil, and about twenty-five other herbs to kill the
Werewolf stench. Smells like hell in the tub, but once you rinse off, whatever
demon splatter you got on you is gone for good. Then your own body chemistry
neutralizes it."
"And I've gotta wash my hair with this stuff,
too."
A half-smile tugged at Hunter's mouth. "You don't
have to do anything, Sasha."
"I know one damned thing I have to do," she
muttered, rubbing harder to build lather, "is to get my men, along with
your ornery, surly ass, out of here with however many other testosterone-pumped
alphas. Right about now, New Orleans by way of Denver sounds like a plan. We
get out of here before nightfall, hop a plane from Yellowstone Regional
Airport to—"
"Why Denver, then New Orleans?"
"Doc is in Denver," she said flatly.
Hunter hesitated. "I don't think, given this
unresolved crisis, that now would be a good time for you to go to the U.C.E.
meeting. I can take my chances alone, and cannot afford a delay in Denver
to—"
"Listen, I've got a squad down there in New
Orleans, resources, and my people were from there. I'm going. Period. I can't
make you stop in Denver to see Doc; that's your choice. But you damned sure
can't stop me from going to the U.C.E. meeting." She yanked his hair back
and ignored his smile.
"Then why not Toronto—you don't have to get your
intel from a dangerous annual U.C.E. meeting. My grandmother was Haitian and
from there—that corridor has a large population of people who know how to
access the supernatural realms. Our Shadow Wolf allies are strong along the
Canadian—"
"Because I
said so" she whispered with a quiet, threatening snarl in his ear.
"I am not going to some highly populated, pristine city in the
opposite direction of the action, with you possibly going buck-wild as a
demon-infected Werewolf down in a city that has already experienced
catastrophic human losses. We clear? I'm a soldier, and it's my job to put my
life on the—"
"You're also my mate and I wouldn't be who I am
if I didn't care what happens to you."
She looked away from him. The words were right there,
climbing up her throat to yell that she wasn't really his mate and had just
said it to pass muster—but the words caught in her larynx. She couldn't cough
them out. The dynamics of who they were and what they were to each other was
changing on the fly and that made her nervous.
"Until we know your contagion is under
control," she said in a calmer voice after drawing several breaths,
"we head south where I can get to Doc, Silver Hawk, and whatever else we
need in a more sparsely populated zone ... and because the Big Easy is still
the paranormal black-market Big Apple, and there's also a big Haitian
population there, too, if we need to go that route—any questions?"
"Why didn't you just say so?" he said,
smiling broadly and teasing her. "You don't have to be so touchy about
it."
She ignored him and flung the strong soap into the water,
then dug her fingernails into his scalp and scrubbed hard. His change of mood
was truly freaking her out. Was it the water that was pulling out the last of
the toxin? Was it the fact that his normal Shadow Wolf system had finally
absorbed the infection and had quarantined it? Not knowing was the worst. Then
again, the niggling thought that by her not challenging the "my mate"
comment was viewed as acquiescence gave her pause. But now was just not the
time to get into all of that.
"Ow, that hurts," he said, now chuckling and
trying to lean away from her.
She wound his long thicket of soapy black hair around
her fist, yanked hard and spoke into his ear with a menacing whisper. "If
you ever treat my guys like they're golden retrievers again, I will promise
you it'll get ugly between me and you."
"Okay." His smile widened, and just as
suddenly, he reached back, grabbed a handful of her parka, and flipped her into
the water. She fell with her arms and legs sprawled over the tub edges, and
splashed half of the water out onto the ground. The sound that exited her was
a combination of a yelp and a shout. She threw a punch, but he dodged it,
making her scream with rage.
Hunter's hard belly laughs only turned her sputtering
into a colorful range of expletives. It took her a second to get hold of the
side of the tub and push herself up. Completely pissed off, she put a muddy
hiking boot in the center of his chest and unsnapped her parka, almost angry
enough to draw on him.
"I couldn't resist," he said, laughing
harder and dropping his head back. "The need for new clothes and boots,
about a hundred-fifty bucks—the look on your face, priceless."
Woods and Fisher were on the porch with fresh towels
and clothes in their arms seeming bewildered for a second, and then they
slowly began to laugh.
"I owe you," she said, resisting the urge to
laugh with them. "And when I come for you, it's gonna be really, really
bad, Hunter."
She shoved out of the tub using Hunter's chest for
leverage and causing him to release an uhmph sound with the forced
expelled air.
"Can't wait. Tag, you're it," he called
behind her as she stormed away.
Fisher cast his bundle of towels and clothes on top of
the pile Woods held and grabbed a huge bucket off the porch, laughing as he
headed toward the pump to get more clean water. "Dude, let me warn you
that Trudeau has a real bad temper and a very long memory."
"Seen her in battle," Hunter said, unfazed,
and stood. "Know that to be true." He jumped out of the tub, using
one hand on the edge of it to propel him over the side and then hit the muddy
ground with both feet in a gymnast's landing.
"You're still dirty and soapy!" Sasha called
over her shoulder, stomping toward the water pump.
"Lucky you didn't get shot, man," Woods
said, still laughing, and then heaved his load into the porch rocking chair
before grabbing a few logs to put on the fire in order to make more hot water.
Sasha refused to even look at Hunter. There was no way
she could, anyway. It was bad enough that she was soaked to the drawers and as
angry as a wet hen. Now he'd add insult to injury by letting her men see her
facial expression change when she saw his sculpted perfection all soap-slicked
and wet? Was he crazy? Oh, and just because he'd used her dousing to break the
ice with her men wasn't gonna save his mangy hide, even though judging by the
expressions on Woods's and Fisher's faces, all was forgiven. Her men were
having a field day.
Fisher held the bucket while she pumped water. It was
cold but not freezing like it had been at higher elevations. She blocked out
all the sidebar commentary and listened for the huge splashing sound of the tin
tub emptying ...she could hear Hunter fidgeting about behind her, yucking it up
with Woods. Okaaay.
She grabbed the half-filled bucket before Fisher could
take a breath, spun into a shadow and came out with an icy splash that sent
Hunter's voice booming. She flung the bucket at him and ran.
"You had mud on your chest and soap in your
hair!" she shrieked laughing, dodging him. 'Tag, you're it... and oh,
yeah, by the way—payback is a bitch!"
~
As long as he was eating and drinking and the sun
hadn't set yet, Hunter seemed fine. Even his coloring that had gone slightly
ashen during the initial healing, was back to its warm, smooth brown with
reddish undertones of vitality. On the surface, all was well. Crow Shadow and
Bear Shadow seemed oblivious to any anomalies within Hunter. The other Shadow
Wolves were still a short ways off, wisely following the dictates of pack life
since the beginning of time—namely, replenishing themselves and getting well
rested before a hunting full moon. Even her guys seemed relaxed as they
bombarded Hunter and his men with questions that she was too distracted to
absorb.
Anxiety threaded through her like a C4 trip wire. Her
entire system was hotwired and booby-trapped, waiting for the smallest thing to
trigger outright panic. She had to get Hunter out of there before true
nightfall, but how? Any ruse she came up with would raise suspicion. Then
again, what if things had gone too far and she really did need the entire clan
force of multiple regional packs to battle a ridiculously strong demon-infected
Werewolf on the loose? The fact that she was even hedging her bets was the root
source of the distraction.
Everything military within her told her to put down a
known threat without blinking. Yet everything else within her told her to give
the man—one of the most honorable ones she'd ever known—a fighting chance. It
was impossible to make this anything but personal, and by the same token, if
an innocent person got killed because she'd failed to act, she'd never forgive
herself.
"Isn't that right, Trudeau?"
She looked at Woods with a completely blank stare.
"Earth to Lieutenant, do you read me?" Woods
said with a half smile.
"Sorry, guys," Sasha said, her mind still
trying to synthesize a hundred different options at once.
"He was explaining how each one of us got
different symptoms," Fisher said, dropping his voice low. "Like how I
could always hear and smell real sharp, that was the extent of it—like Woodsey,
maybe run faster than the average guy, but nothing too out of the norm."
"Other than getting horny as hell during a full
moon," Woods said, laughing hard and turning his beer up.
"Hey, no offense, Lieutenant, but goes without
saying," Fisher said with a shrug and a huge grin, and flung a bottle cap
at Woods as Crow and Bear knocked bottles and laughed.
Although Hunter didn't comment, his smile was impossible
to hide as it wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle when he turned it up.
"But seriously, Trudeau," Woods said, his
smile fading a little. "When did you know ... like, how did you finally
find out they'd been screwing with genes in a Petri dish? Or find out that they'd
lied to us all, and that whole thing about us being bitten when we were kids,
and having that as a fucked-up memory, was all staged bull—sorta leaves a real
bad taste in your mouth, pardon the pun." His gaze was intense but within
the depths of his eyes there was a haunting sadness. "All this time I
thought my people were from West Virginia... only to find out the donors, I
guess, were."
"Plus coyote or frickin' timber wolf—no offense,
guys," Fisher said in a mildly bitter tone before polishing off his brew.
"Puts a whole new spin on the word 'kin,' ya know."
"I found out the night Butler died," Sasha
said in a quiet voice.
"What, the brass told you what happened in
Afghanistan?" Woods looked at her hard and Fisher stopped rocking on the
back two legs of his chair to give her his full attention.
All eyes were on Sasha as she glanced at Hunter, his
expression unreadable.
"I always knew I could do stuff, was
athletic," she said, holding Woods's and Fisher's gazes. "Thought
that's what made me a natural for what we did. Also knew I had to take meds
because I was given the same story about the Werewolf virus. Like everybody
else, I didn't know that I was a part of Special Ops Project Sirius, code name
Operation Dog Star." She turned her beer up and then set it down hard on
the table, now studying the condensation it made on the wood.
"Butler, rest his soul in peace, went down in the
desert... then our own choppers fired on us," Fisher said, leaning in, his
eyes glancing at each intense pair that met him around the table. "These
guys had our backs, thank you much—but I'm not following all the
politics."
"Yeah," Woods said in a low, nervous tone.
"Like, we only got a chance to talk to Doc in fits and starts—you could
tell he was worried about surveillance. Crow and Bear had us laying low; Doc
said we had to disappear ..."
"How about you open up that bottle of Wild
Turkey, brother," Bear Shadow said calmly, looking at Hunter.
Hunter nodded and reached for the bottle on the sideboard
behind him, along with a fistful of shot glasses.
"Butler didn't die in Afghanistan," Sasha
said flatly and then accepted the filled shot glass Hunter slid across the
table.
"Well, where the fuck did he die?" Woods
said, accepting a shot glass from Crow. "I saw us open half a clip—"
"He died in his townhouse," Sasha muttered,
cutting him off and throwing back a shot.
"Whoa . . . How'd—"
"When I went over there to try to find my team,
was looking for leads," she said. "He changed on me, transformed—and
let's just say he wasn't himself."
Fisher and Woods were out of their chairs, backs
against the doors, looking at Sasha wide-eyed. Fisher still had his chair,
brandishing it as Woods's line of vision recklessly hunted for a weapon.
"He was strong as an ox, Trudeau. When he turned
into that thing there's no way you could have gotten out without getting
bitten!" Woods's eyes had become frantic.
"One silver slug in the chest, clean at
point-blank range," she said, holding their stares and using a low,
modulated tone to ease them off the wall. "I had the one-second hesitation
advantage that you guys unfortunately didn't." She belted down another
shot and slid refreshed glasses across the table. "Transformed, he wanted
me as his lover."
Fisher slowly lowered the chair and both men returned
to the table. Fisher turned the chair around backwards and sat down hard.
"Damn," Woods said quietly. "Yeah ... I
can see that."
"That's when I found out that my reflexes were
faster than the normal human's, that I could ... that I could respond better
in a firefight against that kind of a target— and believe me, I hate that
particular demon more than you'll ever know."
"Tell them the rest," Hunter said quietly,
his voice firm but not harsh.
"When they mixed up your test tubes, you were
just given a little wolf strain." She chuckled sadly and sipped her shot,
then set it down with a wince. "Me, they mixed in the real McCoy—Shadow
Wolf. Rod... from the beginning, he never stood a chance. He was mixed with
demon-infected Werewolf, straight with no chaser."
"Get the hell out..." Fisher said, raking
his fingers through his hair.
"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "I can
transform. But I don't turn into what Rod did."
"Oh, shit," Woods whispered, rubbing his
palms down his face.
"I think you can imagine what that was like,
finding out under duress and not quite sure of the differences in species ...
ready to put your own weapon in your mouth to save yourself from becoming a
cannibalistic beast." She closed her eyes for a moment and pushed back
from the table. "If it wasn't for Hunter, Doc ... Silver Hawk— I don't
know what I would have believed."
"This is why we told you as much as we could
about our kind," Bear Shadow said, glancing at Hunter and then at Fisher
and Woods. "But there were things that were only right for your she-Shadow
to disclose. That was not within our right."
Sasha offered Bear Shadow a nod of respect and then
returned her attention to her men. "Bottom line is this, gentlemen. Our
brass set up this project twenty-five years ago. Rod was the first, and the
crazy bastards used bad Werewolf virus trying to create a better soldier, one
that could go against whatever slithered out of the supernatural realms. These
black holes they were finding within the local atmosphere, and even on the
planet's surface, were not solely from erosion due to the effects of global
warming, nuclear blasts, or anything else. The portals between worlds have
always been here. Our instrumentation just got adept enough to actually see
demon doors. Our technology has also made the seals weaker—by how much, we
don't know."
"But what gave them the right..." Tears
stood in Fisher's eyes.
"Nothing," Sasha said flatly. "But
don't lay this at Doc's feet. He was a pawn, too, and did what he could— that's
why the three of us didn't wind up like Rod."
"What did he do, Trudeau?" Woods said, his
gaze going out the window with disgust.
"Doc knew this genetic dabbling was insane,"
she said without apology in her tone. "So rather than infect a whole team
of embryos, creating time bombs waiting to detonate—he did the only humane
thing possible within all this madness while the brass was breathing down his
neck and swapped out the bad Werewolf toxin for whatever wolf DNA he could get
his hands on. Mine happened to come from this pack... which is a very long
story, one I can tell you guys on the way to New Orleans this afternoon."
"New Orleans? Today, and not tomorrow
night?" Crow Shadow looked at Hunter for a moment, and then he glimpsed
Bear Shadow.
Bear Shadow stared at his hands as he spoke to Hunter.
"Pack leaders from the entire North American clan are expecting an
inter-pack summit tonight, and as overall clan alpha ... It could be viewed as
a significant snub, or worse, a weakness, if you do not open the strategy
session under this full moon."
Sasha watched Hunter's expression cloud over as Bear's
eyes pleaded for him to reconsider. But she also knew that Hunter couldn't lie
without tipping off his pack brothers to the fact that something was seriously
wrong. Ransacking her brain for her best diplomatic skills, she dusted them off
and put a truth-laced bluff on the table.
"He's gotta go before the trail goes cold ... has
to find out more about this thing that we wrestled with last night, but got
away."
Hunter's gaze bored into hers and she couldn't tell
whether or not he was pissed off or going along with her.
"That would be the only circumstance that would
make sense," Crow Shadow said, glancing between Hunter and Bear Shadow.
"Look, we already know that traitor, Dexter, got
away," Sasha said emphatically, holding everyone's line of vision
hostage. "Sure, we got Fox Shadow and Guilliaume, and most of their crew
of Shadow traitors who stole Werewolf toxin to sell on the black market,"
she added, pressing on when they didn't cut her off. "But we didn't get
all of the vials, that's one issue. That definitely doesn't need to be
auctioned down in the Big Easy."
Hunter nodded and let out a weary breath and then
rubbed his palms down his face. "The other issue is, if there's still any
beta Shadows out there who are crazy enough to shoot up with the stuff, and we
know from what we saw it do to some pack members that this crap is more
addictive than crack."
"What the hell..." Woods held his shot glass
mid-air as he stared at Sasha and then Hunter.
Fisher shook his head. "Just when you think
you've heard it all."
"Oh, here's the best part," Sasha said with
a hard gaze on her men and then sent it toward Crow and Bear. "An authentic
Shadow Wolf blood transfusion is the only thing that can bring a hyped-up
Shadow back down once they've shot up—or they can't control their shape-shifts
and begin to lean more and more toward being an infected Werewolf the longer it
stays in their system. This isn't like getting bitten by a normal Werewolf. No.
When you see this beast, you know something's beyond supernatural about it—it's
completely demon." Sasha pushed back in her chair and ran her fingers
through her hair. "Pure Shadow blood works like Valium once those rogue
wolves who shoot up with it to come down from the toxin."
"Then any Shadow Wolf out there is at risk of
being abducted for their blood." Bear Shadow pushed back from the table
both incredulous and enraged.
Sasha nodded. "You see, gentlemen, what they stole,
and what caused General Wilkerson to get his face ripped off, was virus gene
spliced and encoded into human DNA spirals—which is what makes it so potent for
the Shadow Wolves. It merges with their human side, and their immune systems
can't seem to reject the Werewolf virus that's been so thoroughly encapsulated
into the human DNA string."
"That's fucking insane," Woods said, shaking
his head. "And betas are shooting up with this shit?"
"You'd be surprised what lesser-ranked beta males
would do for a shot at the title," Bear Shadow said with a snarl.
"Punk bitches."
"Correct," Sasha said, obliquely monitoring
Hunter's poker exterior. "Buyers of this crap don't want the ugly side
effects, just the Shadow Wolf-on-steroids instant high and strength. Not to
mention that if the sellers decide they can't make enough cash on the remnants
of the virus they have left, they could always just sell it to a superpower
that wants to replicate the experiments our brass did to create soldiers. Every
human military lab around the world wants a little of this stuff that's so hard
to get a hold of— simply because the donors aren't exactly cooperative."
"So you think this thing that you fought last
night fled to New Orleans?" Crow Shadow's gaze bored into Hunter's.
"I think it might go there," Hunter said
coolly, sipping his shot of Wild Turkey.
"If you wanted to unload bad product in a hurry
on the supernatural black market, as well as catch Shadow Wolf diplomats
unaware and having a good time, heading to the conference site makes
sense." What Sasha didn't say was that her team had done some divinations
and also had strong leads pointing toward the Big Easy.
'True," Bear Shadow argued, "but my concern is
still with the view the clan will have. Many of the brothers from our pack were
unfortunately involved. Those misguided assumptions and winds carrying bad
rumors must be quelled."
"All the more reason for our pack within the clan
to suffer the heaviest casualties and to walk point on the seek-and-destroy
mission." Hunter folded his arms over his chest and stared at Bear Shadow
until he looked away.
"What about a compromise?" Sasha said,
knowing that making Hunter's men suspicious in any way would not be to their
advantage. She waited until all eyes were on her. "What if Hunter rallied
the alphas, now, before sunset— told them of the New Orleans plan ... they
could fan out, watch for activities in potential pop-up zones where Dexter
might function, as well as be on the ready to send in reinforcements in case we
got in trouble... my guys would go with me to link up with the rest of the
paranormal unit already setting up a base of operations down there to recover
the stolen vials. Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow could temporarily merge with the
packs on patrol to watch the backs of our remaining pack members—but by them
helping the regional effort, it shows solidarity ... and the pre-moon briefing
would show that there was no intent to bristle anyone with a diplomacy
snub."
For the first time since the sun had come up on this
day, she saw Hunter's shoulders completely relax.
Chapter 6
Eighteen million acres of pure wilderness separated
him from his grandson's exact location. Yellowstone National Park covered thirty-four
hundred square miles in Northwest Wyoming alone, but cut through the
neighboring states of South Dakota, Montana, Utah, Nebraska, and Idaho, and
then folded into the uncharted wilderness of the Canadian border. Individual
packs had tracked the remaining rogue members to this region, and then lost
the trail here. Therefore, the packs would convene the clan. A hunting party
was gathering.
His grandson was at extreme risk, if any
irregularities occurred. This was simply the way of the Shadow Wolf.
It had been a long time since the pack, or even the
clan, had called him by his warrior name, Silver Shadow. He double-checked the
prefilled hypodermic needles tucked within the inside breast pocket of his
bear-skin coat and kept walking.
Melancholy filled him. The sharp wind and his memories
made his eyes water. There was a time when his howl alone would make the birds
go still for miles. However, or many years of retirement now as a clan elder
shaman, the other pack leaders referred to him as Silver Hawk. His human name.
If they ever pushed him, though, he would prove to them all that he was still
to be respected as a formidable alpha He would stand by his grandson, Max
Hunter—pack-named Wolf Shadow—until the very last... if Max was not beyond
reclamation.
It didn't matter that he was not at the gathering site
by his own design. He'd needed the time to collect the medicines and to
investigate things for himself without watchful pack eyes. But word still came
to him through the murmurs of the trees and carried on the wind and stole into
his visions. Once a seasoned warrior, a champion of the hunt, always he would
be that.
Silver Hawk squatted by the thick tracks in the snow,
mentally sizing up the massive paw prints, and then inhaled the frigid air. The
way the bramble was broken and trees scarred, something had ripped through the
forest with impunity.
He stopped at a ravaged tree trunk to pinch hair
fibers between his thumb and index fingers, judging from their coloring, scent,
and coarseness what creature had once owned them. His nose led him the rest of
the way, so did the bloodied tracks in the snow that led out of a snow-covered
mound.
Warily, he approached the site, his instincts keen,
bowie knife drawn as he peered into the dark opening. Squinting with disbelief,
he reached in and extracted a severed head.
A thousand-pound male grizzly had been slaughtered
within its own hibernation den up at Hoodoo Creek? At least it wasn't human
remains. But then, the Great Spirit made no distinction. A life was a life. For
this noble animal to be slaughtered for no reason was against the laws of
nature. The bear coat he wore was not mere vanity. It had been won and claimed
during his early initiation rites, and all of the animal had been both used and
revered. The carnage he held in his grip now, however, was pure sacrilege.
Slowly inspecting the gruesome discovery, he saw that
the bear's hide had been ripped off at the neck and then pulled inside out over
its skull like an eerie hood. The brains and back of the skull were gone.
Crouching low, Silver Hawk reached in and grabbed a
huge paw in an attempt to try to drag the heavy carcass out of the den, only to
have the paw and the forelimb come away from the shredded body in his hands.
The animal's four-inch claws were broken off, as
though the poor creature had done everything it could to back up and defend
itself within the small space. The bear never stood a chance.
He didn't need to see more to know what had happened.
Something much more powerful than the almighty grizzly had entered the den head
first, surprised the hibernating animal in a frontal attack, tore its head off
its muscular shoulders, and dismembered the forelimbs that struck out in
self-defense. There was only one thing he knew of that was strong enough or
insane enough to do that.
The question was why? Was this a territorial marker,
for sport, for the rich, fatty protein stored in hibernating bear meat, or all
of the above?
And it wasn't the first such attack. A huge black bear
had not only been killed but eaten within the Greater Yellowstone Northern
Rockies, and natural timber wolf packs had been savaged in Hidden Valley.
Silver Hawk more carefully studied the severed limb by his feet and dug into
the den with both hands, lugging out what should have been, judging by the paws
and skull size, a thousand-pound animal.
Scant viscera and practically no meat left on the
bones answered his questions. Something was bulking up on thickly fatted meat
supplies that human flesh was too problematic to immediately provide... if one
were in hiding, a single grizzly already fattened for the winter offered as
much meat as four healthy men.
This predator was smart. This predator was in hiding
and preparing. There could be more than one, and in all likelihood there was.
The elderly warrior turned his face toward the
blustery wind and looked out at the limitless mountain range. It was still
technically winter, and the bears wouldn't be on the move for almost a month,
awaiting the true spring thaw, so it couldn't have been one of them gone mad.
It had to be something unnatural and strong enough to ambush an eight-foot
half-ton king grizzly in its prime. There was only one predator that fit the
bill.
He just prayed to the Great Spirit that it wasn't Max.
~
Sasha pulled Woods and Fisher aside before they all
reached the clearing. It was important for them to understand what she was
just now beginning to fathom.
Huge, aggressive, battle-hungry alphas had come to
represent the North American clan, hailing from the Rockies, the Yosemite
range, the Sierra Nevada, the Great Lakes region to the Catskills, Poconos, and
Appalachians, all the way to the Grand Canyon, and down to the Texas panhandle,
as well as the swamplands of the Gulf and back out to the Everglades, with a
significant contingent from the Yukon to the Torngat Mountains by the Labrador
Sea. Every fierce warrior would be in attendance. There could be no screwups in
diplomacy. Even the packs as far north as those from Alaska's Brooks, Alaska,
and Aleutian ranges would also be there.
Once Hunter had given her that much to go on, her mind
filled in the blanks. Most of these leaders were mated males. That meant she
had to be seriously on point to hold the respect of the other strong
she-Shadows and not have her rank challenged. The prospect was positively
medieval to her mind, but instinctively she knew that to argue was foolish. It
was what it was, a culture unto itself. Like it or leave it, she had to put on
a good diplomatic show.
The North American clan was massive, as it had been
for centuries, richly populated with strategically located and very strong
packs hidden among the United States' and Canada's wealth of natural mountain
ranges and forests. If the threat spread, it also wouldn't be long before packs
from across the Mexican border would enter the fray from the Sierra Madre
Occidental.
That couldn't happen—not just because the contagion
didn't need to spread, but also because it would bring in the clan leader from
another hemisphere, where an alpha challenge could go down between the
territories. Hunter's condition was dicey enough without that added complication.
Problem was, this was all impromptu. She had about as much of a clue as to what
might go on as her bewildered squad. There just hadn't been enough time.
"Okay, guys," she said in a tense whisper,
holding Woods's and Fisher's complete attention. "I'm making this up as I
go along, never did this in my life. I don't know if Hunter has ever done this
full clan thing. But I do know this: Keep your eyes lowered, and only speak
when you are spoken to. If you blink wrong at one of these big SOB's, you could
lose your throat and there won't be jack shit I can do about it"
She held their gazes, constantly monitoring the extreme
tension within them. "The alphas move like lightning and will not
hesitate to make an example of what they perceive as a threat to their rank.
Think five-star general on PCP and steroids—keep your distance and give them
nonchallenging vibrations at all times. If you trust me, stay cool, don't even
flinch like you're going for a weapon, I think I can get you out of here
alive."
"You think?" Woods whispered, his gaze on
the tree line.
Sasha could literally see the hair standing up on the
nape of his and Fisher's necks as Hunter moved forward with Crow and Bear.
"Give me your weapons, then," she said, looking at Fisher. "One
false move and you could upset the balance of power."
"We should cover you and Hunter," Fisher
argued.
Sasha leveled her gaze at him and then at Woods.
"No. You shouldn't. That's Crow and Bear's job. You're only on
communication today. When you get to New Orleans, you're the squad's
early-warning system and muscle while me and Hunter aren't around ... and I've
still gotta figure out how to bring you in to them while explaining that you
aren't dead or infected." She pointed to the center of Woods's chest.
"But right now, you are stone. A statue," she said in a low warning
tone. "Now give me the damn gun."
Grudgingly, Woods and Fisher disarmed, and Sasha
shoved a nine millimeter into the front of her waistband, and another in the
back. She gave them a look that told them to stay by the big, black F-150
truck, and she walked forward into the clearing to stand six o'clock scout to
Hunter with Crow and Bear flanking them both, sensing multiple shadow presences
that she couldn't yet see.
The moment she was in position, Hunter glimpsed her.
His eyes suddenly changed and became all wolf. He threw his head back and
released a rallying howl that caused the hair on her arms and neck to rise. The
tone was so forceful that it felt like it had wrapped around every cell within
her to suddenly expand her lungs, climb up her throat, and make her wail join
in with his, setting off Crow Shadow and Bear Shadow in a chain reaction.
Chills of anticipation ran through her as another long
howl from Hunter jolted her system. Soon the call was answered by a range of
vocals echoing through the clearing, calling the meeting to order, calling
forth the most primal instincts within her being.
They were magnificent as they stepped out from the
shadow line of trees, warriors from every ethnicity and hue, their eyes all
wolf, flanked and backed by their most trusted soldiers and their mates.
Hunter stepped forward, yet his rigid carriage told her
and his men not to move. Slowly a large, tanned, blond male came forward, a rim
of amber surrounding his crystal-blue irises. He and Hunter appraised each
other, and then Hunter extended a warrior's forearm handshake. They parted with
a smile, crossing their right forearms over their chests.
"Yosemite treats you well, my friend,"
Hunter said, his smile widening.
The handsome blond wolf chuckled and then inclined his
head toward Sasha with a curious grin, as he tipped his cowboy hat. "And
the Rockies have been very good to you, I see."
"Jason, you are living proof that they can't
teach an old dog new tricks."
"Oh, I get it. In front of your woman I'm just
Jason, not Lion Shadow. Just disrespect me, why don't you."
"Stop drooling and I'll properly introduce you,
then."
Hunter laughed, and the moment he did, fifteen alphas
walked forward and a rowdy reunion was on.
Still, Sasha didn't move. It was like watching a
fraternity come together to whoop it up at a tailgate party after a March
Madness football game... but she also knew that the males could go from
laughing to a death match in the blink of an eye, depending on how much alcohol
and testosterone was in their systems. And although that "your woman"
crap thoroughly grated on her, she'd have to address it later—much later. For
the sake of diplomacy, now was not the time.
So she waited and watched. She kept a mental catalog
of who approached Hunter and in what order, which ones smiled falsely, which
ones' voices laughed but where the laugh didn't come from the gut or the heart
and only from a political mind. Right off the bat she didn't like the burly
brunet from Florida—his good ol' boy tone and shifty eyes made her hackles
immediately go up. Fuck Bob. She'd watch him like a hawk.
The brothers from the Aleutian territory, however, put
her at ease. They were shorter, stockier, and their low-key approach seemed
genuine. Three redwood-sized Canadians just made her gape. They were taller
than Hunter by a full head and, like him, seemed to share mixed parentage that
was hard to define. But she could tell that they were way more easygoing in
manner than Hunter could ever be. Her best guess was that was why Hunter
probably seemed more alpha than Jorge, Micah, and Peter in the eyes of the
clan.
However, the Shadows from the eastern ranges completely
fascinated her with their sophisticated aloofness. She could imagine them
walking along the streets of Manhattan or Philadelphia, unnoticed, not a soul
aware of what they truly were, slipping between Wall Street and fashion mavens,
entering and exiting bars like thieves in the night or disappearing between the
tall shadows of towering buildings as easily as disappearing into God's
country.
Yeah.. . while she liked Tomas and Anwar's cool style,
a style that would fit in well in New Orleans if they needed backup,
their politics worried her. Although the alpha from the Appalachian Range
seemed like a lean, country tangle of gangly arms and legs, his eyes were honest.
She'd seen that kind of soldier before; in fact, Fisher was like that.
Misleading, might even say something politically incorrect, but once you were
in his bosom, you were family for life. Could probably shoot the eye out of a
needle and outrun a NASCAR racer. Okay. Jimmy Ray passed her internal radar
inspection.
She collected impressions, layering them to scents,
voices, eyes, body types, trying to see their wolf without a transformation
taking place. Soon she could envision each magnificent coat—snow white, amber,
chocolate brown, mixed timber, gleaming honey, husky markings ... yes, she
would know them in an instant, would know them in a full-out hunt. Would know
their familiars, their flanks-men... and their mates.
A low growl made the group go still. A tall,
voluptuous brunette stepped beside the Everglades contingent, her eyes a
narrowed, challenging glare.
"My sister was badly injured at your hands, and
that was never fully addressed."
For a moment, Sasha stared at her, an irrational spike
sending more adrenaline through her than was probably necessary. "If your
sister is who I think she is, I wouldn't admit that in public. She challenged
my rank and then was found to be involved in the betrayal that brings us all to
this clearing—so get out of my face."
Sasha had delivered the warning on a low growl as the
group parted. The challenger glanced at her husband just enough to quickly draw
Sasha's line of vision behind her. Armed familiars were quietly circling. In an
instant Sasha had a weapon in both hands outstretched in either direction.
"If you value their lives you'll call them back,
or I'll -drop 'em the most efficient way
without breaking a sweat by calling my wolf." Sasha could feel movement on
the periphery cease.
"After the threat to our region is over, we'll
finish this."
"No," Sasha said. "We'll finish this
shit right here and right now! Either we have a cohesive clan or we do not. If
not, then anybody with a problem needs to be rooted out from the core as we
speak. That's how it stole in and festered among the Shadow packs before;
we're only as strong as our weakest link."
"What would you know about the ways of—"
Sasha had advanced on the female so quickly and had
backhanded her so solidly, while still holding a nine millimeter, that it felt
like she'd dislocated her shoulder. "I know you didn't see that coming,
bitch—that's what I know. Anybody else got a problem?"
A few half smiles greeted Sasha as she took a
wide-legged stance and waited for the downed challenger to decide how far
things would go. She tossed her weapons to Hunter, whose expression hadn't
changed as he easily caught them in each hand and stashed them in his
waistband. The female on the ground glared at Sasha but didn't immediately get
up as she wiped blood from her mouth and the gash that had opened her cheek.
"Fine," Sasha said as the embarrassed
she-Shadow slowly stood and went to her mate's side, still glaring yet humbled,
for now. "Then let Hunter do what he's gotta do."
She thought she saw pride burning in Hunter's
hard-to-read eyes, but she was still so furious that she'd been disrespected
that she couldn't be sure what she actually saw. There were still flecks of
light dancing in her peripheral vision like aimless, lit floaters brought on
from the sudden burst of rage.
Regardless, there was no mistaking the slightly amused
tone of Hunter's voice before the clan got back down to hard business. The only
thing that began to de-escalate her from a flat-out field battle was that the
other she-Shadows seemed extremely pleased that she'd knocked the snot out of
the one named Barbara. In fact, she was oddly looking forward to getting to
know those female warriors.
Each she-Shadow had battle-honed expressions and
warrior's bodies to match, and there was something very honorable in the depths
of their eyes. For once to no longer be the only one of her kind, the lone
female in the group, felt really good. Maybe for the first time in her life she
wouldn't be an outcast. A band of brothers had been great, but a band of
sisters was something she'd always wished for.
Finally calming with that thought, Sasha stepped back
and relaxed her shoulders, which seemed to make the rest of the clan reduce
their state of readiness for a brawl.
"Well, now that you two have met—Barbara meet
Sasha, and vice versa," Hunter said, beginning to walk around the middle
of the circle with his hands clasped behind his back. "Glad we got that
out of the way, because, as you are all aware, we have a serious threat to
address. We have intelligence that the hot trail we lost in the Rockies picks
back up in New Orleans—and we need to address the issue before the UCE
Conference tomorrow night."
Concerned stares met Hunter's before Jason spoke up.
"What about the recent bear mutilations,
dude?" Jason glanced at the Canadian shadows and several members from the
Rocky Mountain Range. "As recently as last night what's on the move fed
here."
Pure tension coiled itself around Sasha's vertebrae
one disk at a time. The Aleutians nodded and the elder of them spoke slowly,
his icy gray, huskylike eyes a strange contrast within his native face.
"It feeds with purpose, strengthening like one
lone rogue male. To abandon the hunt here would leave the back door wide
open."
"Well said, brother," Hunter replied, his
voice calm and yet commanding. "This is why we take a point team to New
Orleans while keeping the back door tightly guarded. If it becomes suspected
that a Shadow Wolf has become demon-infected and is on the loose, then I'm sure
the Vampire Cartel can sway the other voting blocs at the United Council of
Entities to allow an open wolf hunt."
Jason nodded, his gaze hard. "Our Werewolf
cousins could possibly vote with them, given there's been no love lost between
our clan and theirs. It would take the heat off of them and redirect it toward
us!"
"Word ..." Anwar said, slowly circling.
"In Philly, we call that bullshit foul. That's why I can't stand Vampires.
But I wouldn't put it past those dead mothafuckas to try it—have all the wolf
clans at war with each other."
"Yeah, hombre" Tomas said with a
snarl. 'Then the Vamp Cartel gets a vote to do open season on any wolf that's
potentially infected, and for the first time in history they can pop us in the
streets along with the Werewolves— infected or not."
Jason growled. "If it goes there, we might have
to call for a coalition between Shadow Wolves and Werewolves."
"Perish the goddamned thought," Jimmy Ray
said, and then spit on the ground. "What's your take, Hunter? How do we
play this so we don't get played?"
"We have to set up a containment field for
whatever's feeding here, but also keep it from trying to get to the marketplace
in New Orleans." Hunter rubbed the tension from the back of his neck as he
spoke. "We have to clean up after our own and keep this from hitting the
the Big Easy. That's just as much of a danger as the one potential rogue
hunting in North Country, maybe more, because of all the politics
involved."
Sasha hadn't breathed nor blinked. Shogun had said the
same thing when he'd approached her in South Korea— his clans had sought the
courtesy to be able to clean up after their own. Normal Werewolves wanted to
be able to capture, execute, and/or contain the demon-infected members of
their ranks without a full-scale wolf hunt. Innocent, uninfected Werewolves
had been slaughtered in wolf hunts for years, spurred on by the malevolent
intent of Vampires. Humans had also been guided by whispers and rumors of where
to find these wolves . . . whispers transmitted through Vampire murmurs and
phantoms in their employ. Now that could happen to Shadow Wolves.
It also slowly dawned on her, what if all this
business with bad blood toxin was a very well-orchestrated plot devised by
Vampires to wipe out their most formidable opponents—shape-shifting wolves of
any breed? Both Shogun and Hunter had said that if the wolf clans stuck together,
their Federations would pose the most significant, allied threat to the Vamps'
power structure. The conspiracy theory required time, resources, and
proof—something Sasha didn't have the luxury to employ right now, not with a
higher priority threat looming.
Random thoughts bounced off her synapses, colliding
with both her conscience and common sense. Last night... what if the huge
predator feeding with purpose was the male beside her... the one who'd
experienced blackouts? Conversely, what if the pack didn't buy the plan and
demanded a hunt prior to heading for New Orleans? Even crazier, what if they
went for it? She couldn't have Fisher and Woods travel with her and Hunter.
Until she knew Hunter was stable, she had to get her
guys joined up with a safe base of operations that the rest of the team
provided. Exponentially complicating matters, how in the world could she get
to the isolated team in New Orleans to warn them that Fisher and Woods were no
longer MIA, but that the brass couldn't be notified until she had an off the
record conversation with Doc? If she broke the airwaves with a sat-phone call,
the transmission could be intercepted. Trying to reach Clarissa by shared
vision was too sketchy and next to impossible to give her anything beyond
impressions that the guys were still alive. The phenomenon wasn't an exact
science like a damned telegram!
The variables before her made her head hurt, but she
couldn't even begin to focus on that now. At the moment a tense silence filled
the glen as the other alphas considered the change in plans Hunter had put on
the table. Finally Tomas gave a curt nod, causing a ripple effect in the group.
"We've got enough muscle here to bring down that
bitch, Dexter, no matter what he feeds on or shoots up with. Makes sense to
tighten the noose here, flush him out, and intercept any courier he might have
sent down to The Big Easy," Anwar said with a rumble.
"Definitely gotta interrupt his cash flow from
this shit," Tomas said, pounding Anwar's fist.
The Great Lakes Shadows gave the nod, too. Detroit and
Chicago were in. That rippled assent from the Alaskans, Canadians, all the way
to the Appalachian Shadows. Jason gave a shrug and a smile to count his vote as
a yes. The Everglades grudgingly nodded, but the Texas range Shadows almost
seemed as disappointed as Jimmy Ray that they weren't going to New Orleans on
the first run.
"We got your back," a barrel-chested Navajo
growled, and then slapped five with Jimmy Ray. "You make us second
wave—forty-eight hours, two moons, and we'll have a pack in New Orleans. That's
definitely our neck of the woods."
"You know what they say," Jimmy Ray added
with a sly grin, chewing a twig. "Don't mess with Texas ... but I can tell
ya what we do with people who mess with clan up in the hills where I'm
from."
"No, Jimmy Ray," Jason said with a
good-natured laugh. "I don't think you need to go into all of that in
front of the ladies."
Sasha just looked around the group in complete amazement.
They functioned just like a field military tactical unit. There was no long
debate, no Congressional-style filibustering. No decision by committee. The way
of the wolf was clean and efficient. Just as soon as everything had come to a
head and had been discussed, it was decided and over.
Chapter 7
"Can you get these guys some new ID and to a
chopper that'll bring them out of the mountains with some plane tix to New
Orleans for tomorrow?" Sasha asked Bear Shadow once they'd pulled up to
the small cabin and disembarked from the Ford.
Her gaze was intense and she ignored the disgruntled
expressions Fisher and Woods had. "I don't want them traveling with me
and Hunter during a full moon where we could draw an attack... they might have
a little wolf in their genes, but if these guys get bitten, it's over. There's
nothing in their systems to fight the demon-infected Werewolf virus, and most
people don't survive a Werewolf attack, anyway."
"Agreed," Hunter said, looking at the pitch
of the dropping sun. "No sense in bringing them this far to have them die
on American soil from the same thing they'd been running from."
"Your request is not a problem," Bear Shadow
said. "Crow is an excellent lookout and can make sure they get off the
mountain with the truck. We'll get your amulets repaired and you both can head
out with supplies in the other vehicle. I'll join the hunting party the
old-fashioned way." Bear Shadow smiled a very satisfied grin as Hunter
pounded his fist.
"You hunt well, old friend."
The two men stared at each other for a brief moment,
but soon Woods's and Fisher's complaints broke the calm.
"We don't get a choice in the matter?" Woods
argued. "We just found you again, Trudeau."
"And I want to keep you alive and whole, now that
we've been reunited," she said in a weary tone. "I don't want to be
searching the forest for your body parts. Understood?"
"And we wanna have your back," Fisher said,
folding his arms over his chest. "Besides, we don't even know where we're
headed, where they are in New Orleans, and I'd put money on it that they're so
undercover you don't either."
Hunter looked hard at Woods and Fisher for a moment
and then turned his gaze on Sasha. "Home them to the others on your
squad."
"Do what?" Sasha stared at Hunter, totally
confused.
'They are familiars. Home them. That is how my men
could find them so fast. Their minds are a beacon within a pack."
"I am so not following you," Sasha
said, rubbing her palms down her face in frustration. "My men need an airtight
way to rendezvous with my team without getting their heads blown off."
"I'm all for the last part of that," Woods
said, pounding Fisher's fist.
"Yeah, dude. Been there, seen it, done that, and
ain't trying to have another friendly fire incident again," Fisher said,
nervously jamming his hands into his jeans pockets.
Hunter glanced at the two disgruntled soldiers and
then turned his intense gaze on Sasha again. "They're rare, only a few
born during the life span of the pack's alpha she-Shadow. They are always hers,
because she is the one who could be most vulnerable to attack while pregnant
and while the pack's Shadow males are on a demon hunt."
"You have got to be shittin' me," Woods
said, then hocked and spit. "That's why Doc did this to us?"
"Of all the low-life, twisted—"
"Hold it, fellas," Sasha said, trying to
stem a mutiny. "We don't know that." An uneasy feeling slithered
through her consciousness. Doc wouldn't have premeditated something like this,
would he? She stared at Hunter. Had they both been set up in the ultimate arranged
marriage, complete with a pair of familiars? Sasha felt the muscles in her face tighten as she tried to keep shock and horror out
of her expression.
All eyes went to Hunter.
"He did you a favor," Hunter said flatly,
seeming oblivious to her alarm. "From what I understand, your general
Wilkerson wanted every embryo in the experiment infected with Werewolf
virus."
"This was a better out, if Doc had to do a bait
and switch, guys, trust me. Like I told you, Doc's meds only held the full
Werewolf flipout for twenty-five years. Ask yourself, how old was Rod when he
really started getting weird?" She was babbling, repeating history for
them ... maybe repeating it for herself so she wouldn't have to think the worst.
Woods and Fisher stared at each other for a moment.
"Right after the birthday party we had for him up
at Ronnie's Road Hawg," Woods said, relaxing and his voice becoming sad.
"Seems like it was yesterday," Fisher said
quietly.
"A familiar is an honorable position in the pack,
and a rare one," Hunter said, lifting his chin. "In the
past, legend holds, they were created by the Great Spirit to walk
among humans with a wolf's reflexes and savvy, but without alerting the
demons—in order to carry visual messages to the shaman. The goal was to always
protect the royal offspring from humans, intrapack aggressors, or the demon
wolves . . . future leaders depended on this."
"Yeah, well, how come we've never heard about any
of this shit?" Woods's voice was strident from emotional fatigue.
"Every time I ask a question, you guys say 'legend has it,' but what
frickin' legends? I've never heard of any of this stuff!"
"History is replete with legends of these
wolf-den-raised human children all the way back to Romulus and Remus,"
Hunter replied calmly. "But they were hardly the first."
He waited a beat until slow awareness began to dawn
within Woods's and Fisher's eyes. Crow Shadow and Bear Shadow simply shrugged
as though they didn't understand what the big deal was about it.
"Early-warning protection is the primary function
of the familiars," Hunter said matter-of-factly. "It's their job to
recall the pack in the event of a double-back settlement attack... that, and
being excellent advance lookout scouts." He then turned away from Woods
and Fisher and spoke in a low, calm murmur to Sasha. "As you know, my
mother wasn't so lucky to have living familiars available during her
pregnancy."
Sasha continued to stare at Hunter without blinking,
still feeling total outrage slowly simmering within Woods and Fisher. Maybe it
was also simmering within her. Could that past history have been enough to make
two old men collude to this degree? If she was going to keep her head on
straight, she had to jettison the insane thought for now. Just let it go,
Sasha, she mentally told herself. You just have to let it go.
"Close your eyes," Hunter said and then
turned to Woods and Fisher. "You, too."
Hunter waited for the anxious threesome to comply before
he closed his eyes and slowed down his breaths while Crow Shadow and Bear
Shadow stood beside the truck, watching.
"Envision who you want them to track and locate
... remember what the others on your squad look like, the sounds of their
voices, their scents." Hunter waited until he heard Sasha's breaths quiet
and slow to steady inhales and exhales. Soon Woods's and Fisher's matched hers,
and he continued to wait until they were all completely in sync before he spoke
again.
"Can you see them?" Hunter asked, waiting
for Sasha's disgruntled squad members to stop resisting. Little by little he could
feel the tense vibrations around them ease.
"Whoa..." Fisher murmured with his eyes
closed. "I can literally smell Clarissa's perfume. She wears that stuff...
Angel, right?"
"Right," Sasha said quietly.
"Yeah, she does," Woods finally said. "There's
a lotta garbage on the street where they are, though."
Hunter smiled and opened his eyes. "Sasha...
they'll be able to find the others now."
She opened her eyes with Woods and Fisher. "Now that
was cool."
"Yeah, but what do we tell Clarissa, Bradley, and
Winters when we get there?" Woods asked Sasha, still clearly concerned.
Sasha gave him and Fisher a big hug. 'Tell them that
for reasons you can't disclose, your death had to be staged so you could be
more effective. Also tell them that I'm hunting something crazy with my, uhmmm,
indigenous guide and that a call to the brass about you right now could be
intercepted and thus compromise the operation at this point. You take the image
of me hugging you guys directly to Clarissa, understood? As resident psychic,
she'll be able to interpret from it. That's your calling card to get you
allowed in and not shot at the door when you find the hidden team. They're
living like a sleeper cell on our side right now and could be a little edgy, so
take standard entry precautions. Wear silver, a blessed religious symbol, you
know the drill, so they don't think you're an entity using a bogus body image.
Let 'em know that I'll be there within forty-eight to seventy-two hours—and in
the meantime, start looking for clues but be careful. Don't ever split up. You
guys move as a unit."
~
Anxiety shadowed relief, no matter which way she
turned the plan in her mind. Sure, she'd literally helped Hunter dodge a silver
bullet at the interpack clan meeting, but was it the right thing to do? Only
time would tell.
But she'd thought she'd pass out when Bear Shadow had
gotten the broken silver chains on their amulets repaired and tried to give
them to Hunter, who stepped back from his own man as though Bear were holding a
rattlesnake. The only saving grace had been that Bear had misinterpreted
Hunter's response as a forceful command to give the amulets to her, of course
to doubly protect his mate who was in heat. The mental replay made Sasha
inwardly cringe.
At least her guys, as well as Hunter's, were out of
harm's way for a moment. Crow could get Woods and Fisher to a small, regional
chopper service by truck; then before nightfall the chopper could get them to
the regional airport that would have much lower security than a huge
international airport. Even if they had to take a crop duster out of the area,
the pack had influence that would ensure her men got in the air before the moon
was up.
Crow would then recognizance with Bear and the two
would merge into the larger clan where there was safety in numbers—just like
Woods and Fisher would soon be with a small squad again.
She had to stop worrying. If her guys had precariously
made it all the way from the Afghan border, across Russia, and into Alaska,
and then down into Canada with relatively no help, they could damn well make
it from the Rockies down to Louisiana... she hoped.
Sasha released a quiet rush of air as Hunter drove in
silence. She kept her gaze on the late-afternoon sun, as though staring at it
long enough would keep it from setting. For the first time in a long while she
found herself dreading the unknown that would come with nightfall.
Their regional exit plan was slightly modified from
that of Woods's and Fisher's. Unlike her men, they'd drive to a remote pack-owned
guest lodge that the pack had conveniently closed for the winter when the
outbreaks began. That would be their temporary base of operation. Everyone
involved believed it was a part of their data-gathering strategy ... they'd
hunt by moonlight, pick up on the trail that had a trajectory toward New
Orleans, and in the morning push onward to a ranger station that had pack ties
and a chopper to get to a regional airport and ultimately out. She would call
Doc on the road and meet up with him in a remote location in Colorado before
heading south.
It sounded logical, practical even. But in her heart
she knew that her reasons went far deeper than just protecting Woods and
Fisher. There was no way she could have Hunter in a populated area if his
condition was unstable. That would be like walking through a mall or a small
airport with no safety on a gun and firing at random, hoping not to hit anyone
or anything. Just plain irresponsible.
And they couldn't go to any of the other nine area
lodges that were open. Those human vistas that boasted of no TV or Internet
connections were magnets for families, honeymooning couples, and elderly
retirees who were seeing the broad brush beauty of the country for the first
time. Innocents. On the flip side, if anything was tracking its own kind and
Hunter turned out to be a magnet, better to be in a location that was vacant
but had been set up like a small artillery bunker.
"You finished gnawing on that bone?" Hunter
said casually, no malice in his voice.
Sasha briefly closed her eyes and rubbed the tension
away from her neck. "Is it that obvious?"
"Pretty much," he said, but kept his eyes
forward as his huge hand enveloped hers. He brought her knuckles to his mouth
and hesitated, before slowly releasing it. "I'm sorry .. . about
everything."
She took up his hand again, squeezed it, and brought
the wide expanse of knuckles to her lips. "So am I."
"They'll be all right," Hunter said quietly,
his eyes on the desolate road.
"I want you to be all right," she
confessed, saying it out loud for the first time.
"I can't promise that." He gave her hand a
short squeeze before gently extracting it from her hold.
"I know." She stroked his jaw with her
knuckles and then sent her blurry gaze out the window.
"You did real good back there with the clan.
Earned respect. The clan needed a strong alpha she-Shadow to build cohesion
... one with true professional training. None of the others have a weapons
background, none are as adept as you with technology, or have been intense
diplomatic negotiations with other species ... I daresay none have ever blown
up bridges or set C-4 detonators. I think you chipped Barbara's front tooth,
and a lot of the she-Shadows will follow you for that one gracious act alone.
As you may have guessed by now, she's been a pain in everyone's ass for a long
time. Her tribal name was Shadow Hawk, elder sister of Shadow Falcon, but when
she moved to Florida she became Barbara—go figure."
"Yeah." Sasha's voice was flat and monotone.
His compliment and his attempt at small talk to make her smile fell on deaf
ears.
What could she say? She didn't care about pack or clan
politics. None of that mattered to her in the least right now. It was a hollow
win if she had to drop the one person in the world that'd clued her in to who
she really was. Didn't he get it? If it weren't for him, she would have still
been shooting up with antiviral meds that suppressed her Shadow Wolf ability,
because even Doc didn't know how to refine the formula for different strains of
the species.
And then there was the not-so-small matter of what his
grandfather and Doc may have done to create her, as well as Woods and Fisher,
in some very crazy plan ... old men playing God. She just prayed this was all
coincidence, a confluence of unnatural events that looked suspicious but
weren't orchestrated. However, years of being a realist told her such was
probably not the case.
Sasha swallowed hard, unable to even look in Hunter's
direction. This was the same man who'd shown her how to Shadow dance, had
released her spirit to the complete freedom of merging with nature in all its
wondrous forms ... of being able to catch the edge of the shadows that passing
birds cast and literally fly to the next shadow, only to emerge from a tree line
or side of a building, temporarily retaining the properties of the shadow she'd
borrowed.
Watching the shadows loom long in the late-afternoon
sun, she remembered it all, everything good and honorable that he'd done. He'd
brought her back to herself, had even taken her on a spirit walk back to her
dead mother... had made her Shadow quiver from a Shadow caress until her body
had no longer been her own. They'd gone through demon doors together to emerge
champions of the hunt. Now she was supposed to just snuff out the man who had
transformed the taste of fear into a righteous howl of the Shadow Wolf?
It would be like pulling the trigger on Rod all over
again, but so much worse. Rod was her friend, a comrade in arms, a mentor, a
crush ... but she'd never fallen in love with him. This was something wholly
different, something so rooted to her core that its very existence frightened
her. She froze. Did she just quietly admit that this thing with Hunter was
possibly deeper than the physical? Oh, shit...
Still, she was a soldier. She'd never argue that
soldier versus warrior point again. Hunter had even been right about that.
Warriors had choices; she didn't. If Hunter turned into the unimaginable, she'd
simply have to kill him. She had no other option.
~
"Laissez les bon temps rouler!" the MC called out from the stage, making his smooth
tenor voice carry above the Zydeco music. He was glad to see Fae peacekeeping
forces in the house. They raised their glasses from the bar to salute him in
thanks for the free drinks, their opalescent auras flowing over their clothes
like northern lights.
"I agree, let the good times roll, Ethan," a
burly Elf shouted, lifting his ale.
Ethan jumped down from the stage and smoothed out his
navy blue suit and red silk shirt before attempting to wade through the crowd
to get to Dugan's side. He was proud of his French Quarter establishment, had
worked hard to build it and then rebuild it to its original historic luster
after the flood. The Fair Lady, named for his pretty Gaelic wife, Margaret, had
a solid reputation in the supernatural community for being a safe, fun place.
No human tragedies were allowed on the premises, either, and it had taken quite
a bit of bargaining to get the Vampires to agree to that house rule.
Keeping his ear to the ground and plying customers for
information helped ensure that everything remained peaceful. His mole would
know what was about on Bourbon Street and beyond. This was the primo hour,
dusk. Happy hour in more ways than one. It was still too early for the Vampires
to arrive and have their pick of the most attractive clientele, but the other
entities that patronized his establishment had begun to filter in.
As he pushed through to the far side of the bar, he
was careful not to collide with lithe Phoenixes that were delivering succulent
crawfish, Cajun-spiced meats, red beans and rice, and aromatic bouillabaisses
to diners. He only employed the best magical chefs that could literally put an
ecstasy charm over the food his patrons consumed.
Shamefully, though, his secret crush was Suzette, a
redheaded, alabaster-skinned belle that teased him mercilessly. As he brushed
past her his stomach did a little flip-flop of excitement just from the sensual
near miss.
But he was thoroughly, irrevocably married and didn't
mess around. For that, Suzette tortured him every chance she got. Theirs was a
sexy private game of look but don't touch. She gave him a slight pout and let
him see the fire burning in her eyes before turning away to set down plates on
the customers' table. One day maybe she'd allow him to hold her while she went
up in flames. For now, he was happy when she'd caramelize the crème brûlée in
the kitchen while he watched.
'To Ethan," several archers said as he passed and
slapped their backs.
"Stay as long as you like, ladies and gentlemen.
Soon, the dancers will be on."
"From the Order of the Dragon?" A bright
smile crested on a handsome Fae's face, causing dimples to form small divots in
his ruddy cheeks. He knocked his glass of ale against his friend's, swept his
long, auburn hair over his shoulder, and then turned up his glass to his mouth.
"And before the Vamps come with their ungodly charm—we might get lucky
tonight, old boy."
"Just for you, Monte," Ethan said, forcing a
smile and picking up his pace. What had Dugan learned?
Peace. That's all he wanted was peace. Ethan patted
shoulders and ordered more free rounds on the house as he passed clusters of
Fae infantrymen. If everyone just stayed calm, then his newly rebuilt
establishment wouldn't receive any additional damage. How many insurance claims
could one man turn in without drawing unwarranted attention?
Ethan blotted the perspiration from his forehead and
then away from the balding horseshoe on his scalp, and continued to appraise
the crowd as he made his way over to Dugan. Tall, lean, athletically built Fae
had arrived with silver-tipped arrows in their quivers. That was a good thing.
No matter what hue of skin they owned, from the bluest black to the most
porcelain white, if their opalescent auras flowed like a multicolored, easy
stream and their hue-changing eyes continued their slow, kaleidoscope color
prisms, then all was well.
He reached Dugan just as the sound of motorcycles
roared outside. A general cheer went up from the bar, and Dugan pulled him
against his barrel chest in a friendly bear hug.
"A sight for sore eyes, you are!" Dugan
said, laughing, lifting Ethan off his feet and crushing him against his Fae
fatigues.
Ethan twisted in his friend's grip, trying to get out of
the way of his itchy beard. "You, too, but put me down."
They laughed as Dugan dropped him gently, and all eyes
went to the door. Long-legged, buxom beauties sashayed in to cheers and hoots,
each donning brilliant-colored leather outfits that seemed like various stages
of undress. Red, yellow, electric blue, black. The guys at the bar were
practically foaming at the mouth, and even Ethan had to admit to himself that
it had been a coup to get them to agree to arrive before dark.
"I love how ya work, Ethan," Dugan said,
shaking his head. "You know those big bruisers they generally travel with
are surely on their way, yes?"
"Absolutely," Ethan said with a smile.
"But they said they'd attend once the sun set. They're being paid for the
fireworks displays."
"Fantastic ... that should be hours, and they
left these ladies all alone for so long?"
'They're only worried about Vampires and Werewolves.
Sorry to say, the Dragon brothers aren't really that concerned about us."
"Ah, but they should be," Dugan murmured,
leaning forward with a leer as he stroked his beard. "We and the Dragons,
like the Order of the Unicorns and other Mythics, have long forest histories,
yes? A little elfin magic ... a brownie spell or a gnome curse could coax one
of these flippin' gorgeous—"
"Could have my establishment burned to the ground
by a fire-breather," Ethan warned with a tense smile. "The ladies are
professional entertainers and just for show. You know I don't dabble in the
flesh-peddling trade. I want no parts of owing the Vampire Cartel. I don't even
allow succubae or incubi on the premises without a Vampire escort."
"Don't be so touchy," Dugan said, still
watching the Dragons line up to ascend the stage. "I know, I know—no
spells or charms."
"Well, good, as long as we have that clear."
Ethan sat back and ordered a Scotch on the rocks. Now he'd have to wait. Dugan
always wanted a little extra courtesy for sharing information. "After the
Dragons dance the poles, the Phoenixes will be doing a little strip and burn,"
he said in a soft voice, trying to mollify his friend.
Dugan said nothing but simply sipped his ale with a
lopsided smile tugging at his thick cheek as he watched the dancers line up.
Gorgeous ladies from the Order of the Dragon flanked the restaurant still
wearing their helmets that had black shields, and as one, they removed them,
allowing red, blond, black, platinum, auburn, and every hue of hair one could
imagine to spill out in varying textured tresses. Silken hair, long dreadlocks,
curls, each Dragon was as different as her tight leather outfit, and their
variety drew loud applause as they blew fire kisses and mounted the stage.
"I can see why those big bastards with the spiked
leather jackets usually escort them," Dugan said with appreciation,
watching intently as the music changed and the dancers took to poles that
lowered from the ceiling. “But it is so unfair that you have to fight a damned
male Dragon to get one to even look your way."
"Ah, leave it for the Vamps who deal in sleight
of hand and mind raptures... or the Weres who can simply muscle their way
through." Seeing an in to the conversation he really wanted to have,
Ethan landed a supportive hand on his buddy's shoulder. "I might have some
influence with a very pretty Serpentine who works at a friend's bar... where
the rules are a little more relaxed, though ... I wouldn't know by personal
testimony, but I have seen them work the poles better than the Dragons."
Dugan almost spit out his beer, laughing. "Your
attempt at a bribe is so subtle, Ethan. That is what I love about you—you're
as innocent as a newborn lamb. So, what has you worried?"
Ethan looked around and leaned in. 'There are rumors
that some bad blood—demon-infected Werewolf—got out into the human population.
Not like one escaped as they do from time to time, but this was human-made
toxin in vials. Shadow Wolves are involved somehow, they say. Could be
Werewolves ... I don't know. The other Were-clans, like the Big Cat Federation
and others, aren't in it because it's wolf-based DNA this time ... but... I was
wondering if you'd heard?"
"Talking to Vampires again, or did they whisper
this in your ear?"
Ethan looked away and then looked down into his
Scotch. "I take no sides, especially at UCE Conference time. I try to stay
neutral and out of things ... but when I hear things that could affect my
livelihood, thus my family..."
Dugan looked at Ethan over the rim of his glass and
set his ale down carefully. "I guess in the bar business you hear a
lot."
Ethan nodded, his eyes nervously darting around as
Dugan smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket for him.
"Dugan, don't think ill of me for remaining
neutral. I have a wife who's working over in the hospital to consider—you know
Margaret is a healer, and we've both tried to blend into the human population
without incident. Our children ... they're not even in kindergarten yet. If a
war starts, my family could be at risk, my establishment trashed again after I
just rebuilt.. . and I would so worry about Margaret contracting any contagion
as bodies started coming into Emergency. I just want—"
"Peace," Dugan said, landing a reassuring
hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Don't worry, my friend, that's why we're all
here. But, you know, sometimes peace has a price and you have to take a
stand."
"There've been so many rumors, how do you know
who to trust, or if they're even real?' Ethan's gaze searched Dugan's for an
answer.
"The rumors are true, insofar as something that
shouldn't have gotten out of human hands did. We were all sent down here by the
Fae Parliament and we got down here well in advance of the big meeting to scout
out potential problems. Before we take sides, we have to unfurl the truth—and
that is a nasty, wicked knot, from what I can tell. But," Dugan added with
a wide grin, "how could I allow a man's establishment to go up in flames
...especially when he has the number for a sexy Serpentine for me?"
~
Any minute now, the sun would go
down, and his contact could meet him. Between what he'd sold,
what had been destroyed by Hunter and his bitch, and what
he'd used, the product was almost gone.
Even at a premium price, there wasn't enough left to
be sold to individuals to produce the necessary profit to
pay black market scientists to try to duplicate the
formula. There was only one way to get more of it, assuming
that the U.S. military had gone back into the labs to
refine or stockpile it.
Getting into NORAD had initially seemed impossible,
but he'd been the one to come up with the genius plan to get into the maximum
security facility that was two thou-sand feet beneath a
mountain of granite and behind twenty-five-ton steel doors. It was about having
the right tools for the job—Vampires that could assume any human form or travel as mist. They just had to be convinced
it was in their best interest. Then, retina scans
notwith-standing,
and every other conceivable security
precaution be damned, he'd done it.
A strange alliance had been formed once between his
kind and theirs. As long as the Vampires thought their
human blood supplies were in jeopardy from a vaccine against the Werewolf virus, they had agreed to a partner-ship. It had helped his ruthless but useful allies decide to assassinate the general who'd suddenly grown a
con-science, shifted gears, and then mandated the rushed vaccine development. Fool. Wilkerson didn't have to worry
about Werewolves as much as he needed to worry about
Vampires that hated the vaccine-tainted blood almost as badly as the actual
Werewolf virus that they detested. Vampires were such purists—and duplicitous
motherfuckers.
But that was the thing that was making his hands tremble
as he waited in the graveyard for them to show themselves. There could be no
way to know what a Vampire might do just for sport.
He needed another hit.
~
"Look at him." Francois sniffed behind a
lace handkerchief with disgust. He tossed his long flaxen hair over his broad
shoulders and stared at the broken Shadow Wolf that had just put a needle in
his arm. "Positively pathetic. They can't even control their shifts after
it begins to deteriorate their systems. Sometimes they try and only a part of
them transforms, leaving a half-human, half-naked growling, slobbering
mess."
"And they're eating bear meat and derivations of
their own species ... timber wolves?" the elder Vampire said with a cool
sneer.
"It is unbelievable, Etienne. They do it for the
adrenaline rush to help the drug last longer. Next they'll be eating their
own kind."
"And this poor bastard wants to form another
alliance, after betraying us once already?" Etienne smiled, his dark eyes
alight with excitement within his agelessly handsome face. "He must be
high."
The two male Vampires laughed quietly, sending their
voices on the wind as mere vapors.
"How quaint," a seductive blonde murmured,
giving Francois a light peck on his cheek as she materialized. Her catlike
green eyes dilated as she stared at the oblivious Shadow Wolf that had slumped
against the mausoleums.
"Desperate," Francois said seductively with a chuckle, stroking
Etienne's lush onyx curls.
"Ah ... desperation. How completely
delicious," the young woman said on a sultry breath, twirling her golden
tresses around one delicate porcelain finger as her fangs crested.
"Shall we indulge this fool, Etienne?"
Francois waited, anticipation dancing in his dreamy hazel eyes. "What say
you?"
Etienne pursed his lips for a moment, placing a graceful
index finger against them. "It presents a bit of a conundrum," he
said after a moment, watching the fallen Shadow Wolf from his hiding place amid
the broken tombs. "For the longest, the Shadow Wolves hunted our worst
enemy, the Werewolves. But there was always a visceral love-hate relationship
with the Shadow species, which would just as well hunt our kind when we feed,
too. The Shadows are more insidious, I believe, because they are not directed
by the phases of the moon ... and to see one like this, so completely
devastated, gives me pause. If they begin eating their own, hmmm ... might they
begin to actually also hunt and eat Werewolves?"
Francois drew back from Etienne with his palm flattened
to his chest, feigning shock. "Appalling," he whispered, making the
female Vampire giggle. "Mon Dieu. I am aghast at the insinuation of
outright cannibalism. Even among Werewolves, they draw the line at that bestial
be-
Etienne tugged on his lace shirtsleeves and offered
Francois a droll smile. "Let us think this through and remain open-minded,
mon frère. If
the Shadows lose their minds due to a virus gone berserk and begin to eat their
own kind, especially demon-infected Werewolves—"
"Which should pack quite an interesting wallop to
their adrenaline-starved systems," Francois said with a sly smile,
finishing Etienne's sentence.
"Oui, rather
than competing with us and preying on humans," Etienne observed with a
casual flip of his wrist.
"Ah, I hate it when the Werewolves pollute virgin
bloodstreams all over this planet," Francois said with a sniff of disdain.
"They are like huge vermin. Weasels."
"But if the wolves are eating each other, perhaps
they might be way too consumed to bother with pestering us?" Etienne
released a coy chuckle at his own joke, drawing the lithe blonde closer to him.
Francois smiled with a grand sweeping bow, his fangs
lengthening as he sent his amused gaze across the graveyard. "Anything,
as always, in the name of detente, Your Grace. Then let the good times
roll."
Chapter 8
Vibrations were tense inside the vehicle as they
drove, so thick that it felt like something oppressive and invisible was
strangling him. Try as he might to diffuse Sasha's worry, that was impossible
as the sun set.
He couldn't blame her. The best he could do as he
watched the last of the light wink at him before it fell behind the mountains
was to grip the steering wheel tighter and step on the gas. This was a
dangerous time for the wolf—twilight, when the blue-gray shadows blanketed
everything and the moon was waiting her turn to promenade the sky.
Then there was the other insistent problem that had
gone dormant within him while the packs met... Sasha's fantastic scent.
Although he'd never say it to her unless he was looking for a black eye, it had
everything to do with the big alphas' acquiescence to the plan. Arguing with a
gorgeous she-Shadow in heat was antithetical to male wolf DNA, but had
everything to do with what probably made Barbara crazy enough to challenge
Sasha on a moot point.
The wolf within him was winning, the darker it got
outside. The air inside the vehicle cabin was stifling. He could feel beads of
sweat forming on his brow. His T-shirt was wringing wet beneath his parka.
Hunter glimpsed the thermostat. The heat wasn't even on. He clenched his jaw
for a moment, feeling his canines about to rip through his gums, and inhaled
deeply through his nose, then hit the window button.
A blast of icy fresh air felt like a sharp slap across
his face—one he desperately needed. It had never been this hard to control the
wolf before the moon was up. Hundreds of insane thoughts tore at his mind like
savage teeth and claws. The woods were calling him on either side of the vehicle.
Only five more miles and they'd be at the abandoned lodge. He had to breathe
through his mouth. Damn, she smelled fantastic. Wolf burn had started as
a molten, stabbing pain in his gut that now radiated through his chest, lungs,
limbs, and groin. A repressed howl was making him shudder. Tears of agony
blurred the darkening stretch of road before them.
Unable to stand it any longer, he stomped on the
brake, burning rubber in a skidding, careening stop, threw the gears into park
in the middle of the road, and then jerked his attention to Sasha.
The barrel of a gun and a very level gaze met his anguished
stare.
His hand hit the door handle. "You have to drive
the rest of the way alone. ... I'll meet you at the lodge."
"As what?" she said through her teeth.
"You'll meet me at the lodge as what, Hunter?"
Their gazes locked for a moment.
"I honestly don't know."
He was gone before her trigger finger could twitch,
merging into the all-pervasive twilight. Her mind on autopilot with a survival
imperative, she was in the driver's seat, had slammed the door shut, and
gunned the engine within the next blink, not even sure where she was going.
The only thing that was clear was she had to get out
of the open ASAP. The lodge had rifles, pump shotguns, automatics, and the
monster shells that went with them. There'd be a sat-phone there, shortwave
radio, and probably enough crap lying around, like a nasty bleach and ammonia
combo or alcohol and fertilizer, to do MacGyver proud.
Any way she viewed it, out here, a huge predator
playing chicken with an F-150 traveling at ninety-five miles per hour on a
single-lane stretch of road flanked by trees wider than the truck—anybody could
do the math. It wouldn't be pretty for the non-seat-belt-wearing human being
behind the wheel. But she wasn't prepared to set down her gun and wasn't in a
position to turn loose the wheel in order to fasten a seat belt.
Call it a premonition or pure fucked-up fate, but a
herd of spooked deer rushed the road like an impenetrable brown sea that might
as well have been a concrete wall. Body after leaping, fleeing body became an
instant horizontal barrier. When seconds mattered, there was only one option
if she didn't want to become road pizza—and that was to bail.
She landed on all fours, all wolf, tattered clothing
floating down around her and boots dropping with a thud as the unmanned
vehicle plowed into deer bodies, flipped twice nose over rear bumper, and
finally stopped somersaulting with a shattering crash on its roof, then
exploded. So much for seat belts.
But the panicked animals kept coming, jumping over
flames, into flames, hurdling metal and glass strewn in the road, some breaking
their legs on their fallen, dead sisters. Panicked, they didn't even stay in
formation but widened and narrowed the thick wave of bodies as confusion sent
sections of the massive herd in different directions.
Common sense told her to push forward, try to jump
over them, somehow head toward the lodge they'd blocked. Only, there was no way
to get on the other side of them until the last one crossed. It was as though
the entire forest was emptying itself out on one side. Sasha instantly took
cover as rounds began to go off inside the crushed vehicle.
Precious seconds passed, and then she saw her opening.
Unfortunately, so did the thing that had spooked the herds.
It came out of the woods on massive hind legs standing
ten feet upright, a bloodied, twelve-point buck's head in one humanlike fist
with claws. An outrageously huge, bald, human male erection bounced and glistened
as the thing inhaled and exhaled. Sasha briefly closed her eyes. Yeah, she was
gonna have to kill him. But to do that, she had to get to the ammo at the
lodge. Right now, even in wolf form, she was no match for what he'd turned
into. She kept her gaze steady and moved only as he moved, staying downwind
from him.
Thick, yellowing saliva leaked from between distended,
gnarled canines, and the beast's broad, barrel chest was only partially covered
by a ragged coat of matted fur. She could still see skin and nipples beneath
the sparse hair on its chest, and its thick, tree-trunk-like limbs were
sculpted with visible ropes of endless muscles. A great howl set her teeth on
edge as she hid in the shadows, and then cringed as a pair of yellow glowing eyes
swept the terrain.
Seeming agitated by her concealed presence, the beast
flung away the buck head, dropped to all fours, sniffed low on the ground, and
then stood again, howling with rage. It rushed the overturned vehicle and,
seeing that she wasn't in it, roared with fury as it picked the truck up by the
axle, lifting it overhead, and flung it against a line of trees so hard that
two of them snapped from the force, not the weight. If it hadn't been winter,
with enough snow to stop and absorb the heat, a national treasure would have
been set ablaze. It then grabbed the remaining sections of the wreck, flinging
them in a monstrous tantrum that felled trees from whirring car doors and broke
limbs from flying bumpers.
Glass made the road glisten as though coated with a
layer of newly formed ice. A bit of fabric suddenly drew the beast's attention.
Sasha remained as still as stone as the huge predator tracking her lowered its
snout to the crotch of her jeans, inhaled, moaned, and then went into another
furious tirade, sending shards of glass into the snow-covered foliage on either
side of the road.
Fallen deer bodies took the brunt of the abuse as the
irrational beast spent his frustration on them. Each carcass got dismembered
as it tore them limb from limb, gutted them, and then finally hurled them away.
It was solely an act of violence; the beast ate nothing but had destroyed
everything in its wake. She was just glad that its temper tantrum had cleared
the road of most of the hazardous debris so that hopefully no lone trucker or
family of tourists would collide with it and die.
While the predator's gaze continued to sweep the terrain,
his nose snuffling the air as though unconvinced no one else was near, Sasha
didn't move a muscle. She'd hunted this particular demon before and knew enough
to know that there were only two effective ways to come out of demon-infected
Werewolf hunts alive—blindside it in a human form to attack it with powerful
ammo, or go after it in a wolf pack and be prepared to get good and bloody for
the trouble.
Since neither dicey option was available, she stayed
in a low, hidden crouch among the shadows during the entire twenty-minute
ordeal. Then the beast looked straight at her and began moving in a blur like a
locomotive, heading right for her. Reaction time vaporized. She didn't even
have time to roll out of the way, much less meet the brute in a jaw-locking
hold that would have probably ended badly with her face ripped off. Two seconds
from direct impact, he leaped and sailed over her shadow-hidden frame and then
disappeared into a shadow of his own.
She was out. Sasha ran the shadows as though the devil
himself was on her trail. Seconds mattered, minutes were a gift. Every
insistent thud of her heart meant she'd cheated death yet again. But the grim
scene before her that brought her skidding to a halt meant someone else hadn't.
A huge flatbed timber hauler was jackknifed off the
road. Long skid marks showed where the trucker had tried to avoid something.
He'd been traveling in the opposite direction as she'd been, headed east,
while she'd been headed west. Sasha sniffed the air that was still laden with
diesel fuel, brake fluid, battery acid, smoke, and blood. She needed to know
how soon before or after her collision with the brute this accident and
slaughter had happened.
The trucker's load of logs told the story of something
incredibly strong converting trees into fireplace tinder. One huge log had been
horizontally rammed through the driver's-side window and door. The CB radio had
been ripped out of the cab and pitched twenty-five yards away, left hanging by
cables from the trees. Sasha glimpsed what had been a section of a red plaid
lumberjack shirt and coat, knowing there was no use in looking for a survivor.
The gore on the shirt was testimony enough.
Same deal with the ranger's squad car. The front window
was smashed in and the cruiser's metal roof peeled back with wide claw marks
dug deeply in it. From the looks of things, she could only imagine that the
beast had probably landed right on the hood as the poor man was driving, and
that was when the ranger had veered off the road and hit a tree. Fifty yards
out she saw his arm still clutching his gun with his sheepskin jacket and
uniform sleeve still covering it.
Judging from the radio's trajectory, part of the truck
driver might have also followed it in the air. No doubt the trucker's panicked
call is what lured the ranger to the site. Helicopters would be on the scene in
the morning and probably crawling all over the lodge, since they'd find a third
supremely wrecked vehicle, hers.
If she lived through the night, she'd be gone by dawn.
All she'd need would be to have some rightfully panicked Oakies haul her ass in
for possible vehicular homicide and fingerprint her, and then run her prints.
Sasha kept moving, warily selecting shadows to enter, not sure which ones were
safe, and then she froze.
Her and Hunter's amulets had been in her jeans pockets.
Her ripped jeans and abandoned clothes and boots were several miles back in the
direction of sure danger. Whatever was looking for her had obviously cut a
swath from the lodge back to her, and it was clearly very pissed off that she
was somewhere naked, in heat, and unavailable.
It took a moment for her to force her mind to accept
it—Hunter had fled the vehicle, headed at top Shadow Wolf speed toward the
lodge. He was laboring not to transition. Turned on, turned out, and straight
flipping. If the beast within finally emerged, he would have doubled back for
her to head her off at the pass. Whatever got between them would have become an
instant casualty. He was too far gone, had actually killed two innocent humans.
There was no wait-and-see, fall-back position left.
Tears stung Sasha's eyes as she turned away from the
carnage and headed back toward the wreck farther up the road. A little piece of
silver and amber was all she had left of him .. . and until she got to an
automatic with real silver shells, that was unfortunately also the only weapon
she had.
~
He stared at Crow Shadow's truck through wary wolf
eyes. What the hell was Crow Shadow doing here, when he was supposed to be
shepherding the two familiars to a pack chopper station? Hunter looked at the
hastily parked truck in the lodge entrance that still had the door slightly ajar
and the motor running. Skid marks said the driver had been in a hurry. Where
was Sasha's truck? She should have been here by now.
~
Breathless and senses keened she arrived at the lodge
and allowed her gaze to tear across the main courtyard entrance. Crow Shadow's
truck was parked at a haphazard angle, motor still running, with blood on the
seats, the steering wheel, the dashboard, and the ground. Nausea roiled within
her so strong that she almost dry heaved. How could he attack and eat his own
pack brother? Horror permeated every cell in her: Woods, Fisher.
Hunter's scent was unmistakably thick in the air—along
with the undeniable pungent blend of infected Werewolf trail. What if her squad
hadn't gotten out by chopper?
Sasha narrowed her gaze as she slipped into shadows
along the side of the building, hunkering down as she crept past the pine
veranda. The front door was open. Understatement; it was hanging off its
hinges. Whatever was looking for her was most likely still inside.
Unfortunately, that's where the weapons she needed were, too. Plus, Hunter knew
this lodge; this was his home court advantage. No doubt he knew every nook and
cranny of the building, where the pack would have stashed ammo, and he'd be
waiting laying for her to stumble foolishly into an ambush. Same dealio with
the demon doors. He'd been the one to show her how to track a predator to and
through them. Now that he was a full-blown demon-infected lycanthrope, he could
probably pass in and out of them at will, no ward needed.
Scouring the terrain for anything she could use, her
line of vision went back to (he truck. To her mind, it was a bomb on four
wheels. All she needed was something to detonate the fuel tank as she sent it
crashing into the lodge. After that, was anybody's guess. But if Crow Shadow
had been dragged from the vehicle as quickly as he obviously had, then chances
were there was something left in his truck to work with. The entire pack
traveled with weapons, ammo. Sasha sniffed the air; there was no residue in it
from unspent rounds.
Now the only problem was transitioning to the weaker
human body she needed in order to make use of the dexterity of hands.
It only took an instant for her lithe female form to
step out of the shadows and begin ransacking the truck. To her horror the glove
compartment, flatbed, even under the seat were vacant. Not even a tire iron
remained.
Shit. Okay, new plan. Send the truck crashing into the
front as a diversion to draw the beast outside, enter the building from behind,
use walls and furniture to block its counterattack until blinding chemicals
like bleach or ammonia could be located, and then get the hell out, turn, and
fire.
Admittedly, it was a fool's errand and a really bad
plan. However, given the circumstances of two to three slaughtered men, her
being naked in freezing temps in the wilderness, and not a damned weapon on her
that would work, it was the best shot she had.
Sasha slid into the truck's driver's seat, shuddering
from the contact of ice-cold leather against her skin. In a strange way, she
now wished she'd claimed the ranger's gun from his severed arm—just for the
sake of being able to blow the gas tank from afar—not that the regular bullets
would have done anything to the creature. Even the pump shotgun or rifle she was
sure the ranger had in his trunk would be useless against a raging Werewolf.
She quickly jumped back out of the truck feeling
claustrophobic and assumed her wolf form. It was beyond obvious now that to
fortify herself against this predator, she had to go back to the second crash
site, transform to human, get whatever weapons and blankets she could scavenge
from the ranger's cruiser, and run naked, concealed by the shadows, back to
set up a perimeter outside the lodge to kill the beast. There'd be no way to
carry all the supplies while in wolf form. It was always a decision between
using the power-body of the wolf for an attack or speed, versus the agility of
the human form.
The shadows, however, had betrayed her. Preoccupied,
her mind racing, she'd slipped into a sliver of darkness that contained a
familiar scent and a low, warning growl.
Lunging toward the sound, blind, she made her objective
a swift first strike. A whoosh of air passed over her, causing enough of a back
draft to tell her that what had avoided her had been huge. Her worst fear
realized, it smelled like Hunter.
Time didn't permit her to look back. Seconds granted
her a head start. Propelled forward by a raging will to live, Sasha bolted
toward the second crash site, her focus laser. Danger was on her heels; she
couldn't hear it but knew it had to be close. Flash-fight hormone made the
quick transformation back into human form so painful she cried out. An echoing
howl reverberated through the glen, but it told her he wasn't as close to her
as she'd thought. She didn't have two seconds to question why not. It was a
gift. Period.
A frozen, blood-coated gun was in her hand, and she
didn't have time to be squeamish about breaking dead fingers to get it in her
grip. A single shot opened the trunk. A pump shotgun, a blanket, a tire iron, a
bright yellow rain poncho, flashlight for the battery—she scavenged whatever
she could find like a pack rat, rolled everything but the tire iron and shotgun
in the blanket, and leaped into a shadow to disappear.
The thing she circled was wild in the eyes, knocking
down trees with its massive fists, just punching them out of his way as he
barreled through the forest hunting for her. She had to get back to the lodge,
had to double back before the beast sensed her location.
Sasha brought both amulets that she wore to her lips
and kissed them and then ran toward the truck that was her only hope of escape.
With the shotgun she could detonate the tank. A tire iron could take out an
eye.
Out of breath by the time she reached the truck, she
jumped in, backed the vehicle up in a screeching roar, bounced onto the
asphalt, and burned rubber down the road.
At a hundred twenty miles per hour, the F-150 would
pack a punch when it blew. The moment a huge black wolf figure leaped onto the
road on all fours, she opened the door and threw out the shotgun and tire iron
as the beast charged with glowing gold eyes. Two seconds later, her wolf fled
the cab, but by the time she'd drop-rolled to the ground she was all woman;
naked, ornery, and then up again, going for the gun.
Anticipating her move, the beast sailed over the
truck. Sasha went down on one knee, held the shot steady, and fired.
The blast from the truck caught the beast midair and
in the gut. Entrails splattered the road, the line of trees, and stunk to high
heaven. Her target might have been down, but she wasn't leaving that to chance.
Tire iron in one fist, pump shotgun in the other, she ran to where the beast
lay beneath the burning flipped-over vehicle.
There was no time for emotion. She had to do what she
had to do. The Max Hunter she'd known had died within the shell of his inner
beast. Casting away the shotgun, she used both hands to raise the tire iron
above her head. One of the beast's eyes eerily rolled open to blankly stare at
her. She used that as her cue to ram the tire iron through its huge skull.
Only then did she walk away, pick up her cast-off
weapon, and puke. This was so much worse than Rod's death on so many levels.
There weren't enough shadows to hide her tears as she watched the Werewolf
carcass burn with a shotgun in her grip.
Another pair of golden eyes fifty yards away and a low
snarl jerked her attention from the charred remains that were crumbling to ash.
On her mark it was a race to the lodge. There was another one, a smaller one!
It was charging straight for her. She had to get inside before it did to find
the artillery stash. But she could feel it flanking her, its wolf in the
shadows easily outrunning her human form. If she dropped the shotgun, she could
change to she-Shadow—but she was no match for one of the beasts as a wolf.
A sudden invisible collision knocked her out of her
shadow run and to the ground hard. The shotgun clattered to the road. A huge
black wolf with the beginning of a Werewolf transformation and a very familiar
scent signature snatched her by the leg with a human fist and yanked her
toward him. Her she-Shadow came up fighting, canines bared, snapping at his
groin when he went up on hind legs, but he backed up from her feral onslaught.
Then a whoosh sound made them glimpse a figure that had entered the
battle—it all happened in milliseconds.
The beast that was on her stumbled backward, wailing
as something like an arrowhead dug into its shoulder. It clutched the wound
site with its left hand and began scrabbling at it, then dropped to its knees.
Seeing an opening, she circled him, prepared to lunge, until she saw what it
had yanked out of its shoulder and who had put it there with a bow and arrow.
Another hypodermic needle hit the creature in the neck
at the jugular. That last shot was delivered by an elderly man with tears in
his eyes. The bewildered expression on the beast's face gave Sasha pause ...
as did the warm brown eyes that normalized as he fell forward spread-eagle in
the middle of the dark road.
Chapter 9
“Some full moon, hmmm? Lovely shade of aquamarine
tinting it," Francois remarked with a toothy grin. He walked around the
half-dazed creature before him and then covered his nose with his hanky.
"You really must do something about your hygiene when you transform,
Dexter. This is just awful."
Dexter lunged at the Vampire. "Do we have a deal
or not?" he growled.
Francois easily sidestepped the aggressive move. His
gaze then narrowed to a withering stare and his voice dropped to a lethal,
hissing whisper. "Do not let the velvet and lace fool you, mon ami. In
your condition and at my age as an undead royal, I could snatch your heart out
before you could toss back your wretched head to howl."
"Do ... we ... have ... a deal?" Dexter
snarled, panting out the question as his jaw began to elongate.
"Since you cannot even control your shape-shifts,
perhaps we could have this conversation another evening?" Francois
retorted with disdain.
"Or another day," Dexter growled,
unfurling his growing form to block Francois's leave.
"You dare threaten me with a daylight tomb
invasion?" Francois reared back, instantly materialized a kidskin glove in
his hand, and struck Dexter across the face before tossing it on the ground.
The two entities squared off and Dexter smiled.
"You might want to pick up your glove. You don't
want to throw down the gauntlet too soon."
With a sneer, Dexter swept the buttery soft glove from
the graveyard floor and flung it at Francois, who caught it with one hand.
"My Vampire friend, need I remind you that,
unlike any other species that walks the planet, our noses can find you.
That's why full moons make you boys so nervous and why you hate the Werewolves
so. Because that's when we come alive. That's when we're on the prowl.
Hybrids like me can wipe out your biggest food competitor... and at the end,
doesn't it always come down to the most primal aspects of life—food, territory,
mating privileges, hierarchy on the food chain?" Dexter chuckled and a
low, rough sound exited his deformed snout. "Don't look so put off. Surely
an entity as old as you remembers the fundamentals. Civilization hasn't washed
that primal directive out of your cold, dead DNA yet, I'm sure."
Francois's lip curled. "What is running through
my DNA is revulsion for—"
"Careful, careful," Dexter said, baiting his
opponent. "I might become offended. I'm not your problem. This isn't
between mutated Shadow Wolves and Vampires, the original battle has always
been between you and your oldest arch rivals in the underworld—purebred
Werewolves."
Dexter began walking in a slow, threatening circle.
"Shadow Wolves have never polluted the human blood stream. Our bites and
scratches do not enter the human system and turn them into infected Werewolves.
The demon-infected members of the wolf breed attack and eat humans and cause
public alarm, further poaching on what you perceive as the inalienable right to
human blood. So, be clear on who your true enemy is ... and now, in this state,
your enemy has become our delicacy."
"Then don't you forget," Francois sneered,
"that we, Vampiri, are blood specialists. And don't ever forget
your place. We are the only ones who can possibly slip past the security of a
human paranormal military installation, or mind-daze a weak sentry. Only we can
duplicate a human's body with such exactness that we can pass their retina
scans or any other technology. Even with that, now that they've been breeched
once, the humans will have put precautions in place that give us pause."
"We had a deal!"
Francois looked at Dexter and snarled. "We had a
discussion. Previously, we had a deal—which you rogue Shadows reneged
on."
"You know that we still have enough toxin to sell
to the highest human bidder on the military black market— enough that could
make us extremely wealthy with resource perks that we'd be sure involved
daylight tomb raids." Dexter smirked. "What human doesn't want immortality
without the daylight and blood hunger handicap?" He leaned against a grave
marker and raked Francois with his gaze. "What if Werewolves became more
plentiful from the toxic military experiments in foreign nations, while they
employed a small army of very strong Shadows to daylight hunt and capture
Vampires to experiment on?"
"I would be very, very concerned if this unsubtle
threat were not coming from a junky," Francois said evenly, carefully
folding his glove into his breast pocket. "Before you cry wolf under this
flawless, moonlit sky, I will advise you to remember that we're your only hope
of getting to whatever stash of the toxin you need to shoot up with, and we're
the only ones that know how to... shall we say, drain a body while keeping it
alive to produce more blood so that you can get your sweet Shadow Wolf blood
antidote. Don't threaten me."
Dexter's gnarled canines glistened in the bright moonlight
as the Vampire stared at him with venom in his eyes. "My infected Shadow
brothers are single-minded. They want more of the product in exchange for our
thinning the ranks of Werewolves ... but we won't forget the disrespect
delivered by a Vampire if things don't work out the way we'd discussed. So don't
fuck with me. Before I left the Shadow country, as future security
dictated, I infected enough brothers to have a pack of my own. And do you think
I just came down here for Mardi Gras?"
Dexter leaned close to Francois's face and snarled
again with a low chuckle. "There's enough infected Shadows down here to
overturn whatever graves Hurricane Katrina didn't wash away and open to the
sun. New Orleans has more hidden Shadows than you can know."
Francois nodded with a blank expression and watched
the deformed creature lope away from him. Etienne silently materialized beside
Francois and both Vampires kept their gaze on Dexter's retreating form.
"So, my performance was bon?" Francois's
mouth turned up at the corners, giving Etienne a wicked smile without looking
at him.
Etienne's gaze stayed with the retreating wolf but his
sinister smile was for Francois. "Très bon . . . merci. Très, très
bon."
~
Sasha stood, numbly gaping, adrenaline and disbelief
battling within her, as she watched Silver Hawk calmly approach the wolf on the
ground. He cloaked his grandson with his bearskin coat and then tossed her his
doeskin shirt without looking at her. Sasha caught it with one hand. Then he
calmly drew an Indian blanket over his shoulders, staring at the fallen with
ancient eyes. Watching the elderly Ute Indian work was nearly an out-of-body
experience. His dignified carriage seemed weary but not broken.
Despite his incalculable age, he fearlessly rolled the
wounded creature into the coat and, still stooping beside it, took in a deep
but measured breath, hoisted over two hundred pounds of dead weight onto his
shoulder, stood slowly with a grunt, and then lifted his chin and began walking
toward the lodge.
She extracted the gore-stained tire iron from the
ashes by the wreck, then followed Silver Hawk's steady, plodding gait,
witnessing what seemed to be the old man's former muscular structure come alive
under his burden. A deep V of sweat made
his blue and gray plaid flannel shirt that he'd worn beneath the doe-skin cling
to him and she could almost envision his power and strength when he'd been in
the full bloom of his youth, knowing now where Hunter had inherited his.
Silently they entered the gravel road courtyard of the
lodge, yet her eyes remained transfixed on the body Silver Hawk hauled. She
stayed close to him, understanding without words that he didn't want her help
in carrying his burden, but would accept her defense if attacked by another
beast. It was an odd understanding, indeed.
Remorse filled her as they slowly made their way up
the front steps of the main building, knowing full well that she might have to
break the old man's heart and exterminate his grandson right before his eyes.
No parent should have to bury their child; no grandparent their grandchild—and
neither should have to witness their execution. This was so far-flung from the
natural order of things that all she could do was keep her gaze steady on the
body Silver Hawk carried and pray that it didn't twitch. Her nerves were so
wire taut that the slightest move would have possibly been enough to make her
drive the tire iron through Hunter's skull on sheer reflex.
Although total darkness engulfed them once inside,
save the blue-white shards of moonlight, Silver Hawk navigated past the
destroyed registration desk, turned-over lobby furniture and splintered pine
floorboards, through a massive dining room that was now a wreck. Cold air unnaturally
whipped through what should have been a warm, cozy space. She peered at the
shattered glass and wood sections that had obviously once been large French
doors that led out to a pine deck for summer breezes and al fresco dining.
It had taken only a few seconds while passing through
for her gaze to absorb enough impressions to reconstruct the scene. A beast had
entered the building through the side deck doors, run amok through the dining
room, turning over tables and chairs, searching for something or someone, and
then had barreled through the establishment heading for the front doors where
maybe it heard the sound of Crow Shadow's truck ... then it had exploded the
front doors off the hinges as it came out to attack.
Sasha kept walking, following the resolute old man
before her who carried an immeasurable burden. She watched him go to the chef's
center-island butcher's block in the middle of the huge, industrial-size
kitchen and bend one knee. Very carefully he slid the weight he'd been carrying
off his shoulder, allowing the body wrapped in the coat to hit the table
surface with a gentle thud. Then, with the coat at the fallen wolf's back,
Silver Hawk quickly covered the body with the blanket that had been on his
shoulders, almost as though performing a silent ritual in his mind. The care
the old man took put tears in her eyes and as she looked away she saw the
arsenal he'd amassed in the kitchen.
Pump shotguns, semiautomatics; the distinctive scent
of silver hung in the air so thickly that it put a metallic-taste on the back
of her tongue. The heavy silver saturation had to be caused by an airborne or
liquid version of it... silver nitrate, colloidal silver, silver shrapnel in
fine dust flakes, something. No wonder the beast hadn't come back here.
Her attention was divided between scouring the environment
and watching Silver Hawk slowly check Hunter for injuries beneath the blanket.
Finally, he pulled the blanket back by degrees. The muscles in her arms, back,
and legs tensed in readiness to spring forward with the tire iron, lest Hunter
wake up not himself.
But rather than witnessing a half-transformed beast,
Hunter was in his human form, eyelids rapidly fluttering as though his mind
were trapped in some horrible dream.
Again Sasha glimpsed the weapons that were collected
on the stainless-steel drain board. "How bad is he?" she finally
asked, moving closer as Silver Hawk inspected both arrowhead wound sites.
"There are fatigues and long johns . . . socks,
boots in the cabinet," Silver Hawk said in a quiet voice, motioning to the
far wall without looking at her. "The worst of it has passed. Dress. You
will not need your wolf again tonight."
Although she obliged his request, she kept her eyes on
Hunter as she quickly crossed the room, selected warm clothes from the stash
that was available, and dressed in a flash. Until she pulled on the heavy wool
socks, she hadn't completely realized just how cold she'd been. A hard shiver
shook her until her teeth chattered, and she gratefully slipped on a pair of
hiking boots.
There was no need for her to say a word as she passed
the elderly man who'd extracted an ancient medicine rattle from his jacket
pocket when she'd offered it back to him. He declined the jacket and simply
covered Hunter's nudity with it, and then began a low hymn in a language she
didn't understand. She gathered a nine millimeter and several clips to stash in
her waistband with equal purpose. No matter what Silver Hawk hoped, or whatever
she prayed, she wasn't convinced that the danger had passed.
"Give me his amulet," Silver Hawk commanded,
reaching backward for it, still keeping his focus on Hunter.
Sasha complied, but sensing what the old man was about
to do, she also held Hunter in her gun sight.
Ever so slowly, with his voice escalating in the
chant, Silver Hawk lowered the amulet to Hunter's chest. The moment it made
contact with Hunter's skin, he arched hard and his eyes rolled back in his
skull, exposing only the whites. Undaunted, Silver Hawk dropped the talisman
and increased the rattling chant, and then put a hand in his pants pocket to
quickly extract a fistful of shimmering dust.
Sasha watched in horror as the elderly man rimmed
Hunter's body with the silvery concoction. If that didn't sit him up and turn
him straight insane Werewolf, she couldn't imagine what else would.
Weapons at the ready, she kept a clear shot aimed at
Hunter's skull. But the second Hunter went into a hard convulsion, Silver Hawk
threw his head back, howled, and then looped the silver chain of the amulet
over Hunter's head. The most difficult part of it was watching the suffering.
Unintelligible roars of a wolf in pain to the very human
cries of a man dying a thousand deaths made her sip in shallow breaths and
barely release them. Tears leaked down Silver Hawk's weathered cheeks, his pain
no less profound than the necessary torture he inflicted upon his grandson. Yet
witnessing Hunter's purging made her bones hurt as unnatural joints popped and
cracked, twisting his limbs in and out of the wretched Werewolf half-transition,
broke his jaw, and then realigned it—the wails of agony he released sounded
like he was burning alive in a molten pit of silver.
Torn between going to him and putting him out of his
misery, she was rooted to the floor where she stood, completely obedient to
the old man's nonverbal cues. But when Hunter began calling her by name, if it
weren't for the old man's steady hand signal to back off, she would have
honored Hunter's request. She knew what he wanted, she would have begged for
that, too.
Soon blood began leaking from his skin and her gaze
became a feral question in her eyes as it ricocheted between Hunter and Silver
Hawk.
"The demons will reclaim that which is theirs,
bite by bite," the old man said in a gravelly voice. "Part of him is
beyond the demon doors and he must survive it alone."
"Sasha!" Hunter arched again, his nails
elongating to rake the table. "Shoot me!" His voice broke on an
anguished sob, his eyes not his own. "If you love me, shoot me!"
"Don't," Silver Hawk commanded, stepping in
front of her leveled weapon. "Or you doom him to be trapped betwixt and
between forever. Let them eat away that which is theirs to reclaim."
She was blinded by tears as Hunter's wails escalated,
and her throat was so tight that for a moment only her mind could sob. "Oh
my God, they're eating him alive in the Shadow realms? That's why he's
bleeding? Can't we do something?"
Instinct propelled her forward; two strong hands
caught her by her upper arms as Hunter yelled her name again.
"I'm his alpha enforcer ... he even asked me to
be his mate," she whispered thickly.
"I know. But if you love him, you will let him
come through the doors a free man."
She stared into a pair of aged eyes, focusing on the
depths of knowledge within them, trying to blot out the sounds of agony that
echoed off the kitchen walls and stainless-steel fixtures. A shudder of nausea
racked her, and Silver Hawk's hard squeeze into her bunched biceps helped her
remain steadfast. His body blocked her vision to the center island. But the
awful sound of Hunter retching finally made her have to turn and dry heave.
When she looked up, Hunter was leaning over the side
of the butcher block vomiting a brackish mixture of blood and meat that she
didn't even want to consider the source of. His spine had risen under his skin
into huge, thick humps, each vertebra evident through skin stretched so tautly
over it that the flesh had become white. Then just as quickly as his spine had
distended, the sound of cracking, snapping bones echoed through the room.
Helpless to do anything but hold on to Silver Hawk's
arms, she saw Hunter throw his head back, screaming as his spine realigned
itself. The moment the last disc in his back normalized, he dropped to the
table, panting, sweat and tears running down his face.
Silver Hawk slowly released his viselike grip on her
upper arms and nodded, then turned to walk back to stand by Hunter's side.
'The worst is over," the old man announced.
"This was a very bad moon."
~
"Trudeau wasn't lying when she said we could find
all we'd need stashed in this joint," Winters said, gaping as they entered
the steel cage reinforced attic. "When did she haul all this up
here?"
"Better question is how?" Bradley said,
clearly impressed.
"Probably had a deployment team drop-ship it to
specs or, knowing Trudeau, had some layers of unnamed contacts that even the
brass doesn't wanna know about broker it in and set it up. This is all
pro," Clarissa said, marveling as she unlocked the cage and touched the
bars. She leaned her face forward and sniffed and then ran her fingertips
across the shiny surface. "Silver paint job, but I'd lay odds that there's
actually silver in the bars."
Bradley nodded and looked overhead. "Sprinkler
system, in case they try to burn us out, first and second floors with panic
rooms and steel walls. She had to have this designed with some serious shit in
mind."
"Yeah, but, like, how'd she get this done in a
month?" Winters walked over to military crates that lined the far side of
the room within the cage. "Sweet Jesus ... she's got a MLRS up here."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clarissa said, her voice
bottoming out on a horrified murmur. "I thought we were monitoring, not
going to war... what the hell do we need a multiple launch rocket system for?"
"It's a steel rain, for sure," Bradley said,
going over to the crates, his expression now ashen. "Not precise, but can
hit a target in a hundred and twenty seconds that would take a car forty-five
minutes to drive to ... so, uh, maybe she's thinking of a preemptive strike?
Hell, what's your take on it, Rissa? You're the resident psychic."
"I'm telling you, whatever she's got us
monitoring is bigger than HQ knows, gotta be," Winters argued, pulling
back tarps. "She's even got a metal storm up here."
"Oh, shit," Clarissa murmured, going over to
the weapon that looked like a small pipe organ set in a box.
"You tell me what we need with something that can
fire a million rounds a second, huh?" Winters said, his voice becoming
shrill. "Like, I do computers, Bradley does radar, you do the blood and
bio thing, we might be military but we're really not what you call front line
personnel." He looked at the group, pure terror in his eyes. "Like,
I've read up on this stuff, but do you really know how to load forty-millimeter
rounds in this sucker, or grenades—yeah, it launches grenades from each one of
these pipes, plus it can kick a quarter million rounds a minute and the
explosion alone will collapse your ear drums and sinus cavities if you're
anywhere near the blast."
"I sure hope they're sending in the Green
Berets," Bradley said in a tight mutter. "We've gotta set up the systems
ASAP to connect the infrared security cameras and night-vision monitors. After
seeing this, I've got a really bad feeling that it's gonna get worse before it
gets better."
"Ya think?'' Winters fussed, walking around
checking out gear. "At NORAD I felt safe. We were in the middle of an
entire base, not a strategic tactical unit in the field with no real walls or
fortification. There, we were dug in deep. But she's got all sorts of IEDs—and
what do we need with Improvised Explosive Devices? Us?"
“To booby-trap the perimeter, in case something moves
on us," Clarissa said, her voice far off and her gaze wandering. "Now
I better understand the dirt on the first floor and in the yard. It was brick
dust and hallowed earth. Floors one and two are buffer areas and where we can
eat and sleep by day, but as soon as the sun goes down, this is command
central." Clarissa motioned toward the crates of medical supplies, food,
and water rations, and shook her head as she stared at an inflatable raft and
orange life jackets. "She thought of every
eventuality. I'd also lay odds that every round in here is
silver-laced one way or another."
Bradley nodded and picked up a large gun that had
multiple barrels. "She's even got handheld metal
storms." He tossed one to Winters. "Takes nine millimeter
shells, fires sixteen thousand rounds a second, with an electronic firing
system—which means it can't jam and the only moving part is the bullet. Guess if we're down in Werewolf
and Vampire country, along with zombies and whatever else, we gotta give it to
her—at least she didn't send us down here ass out."
Chapter 10
His body hurt so badly that the mere act of breathing
was agony. Each breath that required his diaphragm to lift, and rib muscles to
expand and contract, sent stabbing, blinding pain into the offended area. The
only reason he'd rolled over onto his side to puke was so that he didn't choke
to death—but he now cursed his own foolishness, because that might have been a
legitimate way out. To just fucking die was all he wanted.
Slowly he opened one eyelid by a slit to stare at
Sasha. He'd never forgive her for having so little mercy. It would have been so
easy; she had dead aim. The silver residue hanging in the air was making his
skin crawl like mites were feasting on him. He'd hollered his vocal cords raw.
Scratching at the millions of mites infesting his skin would mean he'd have to
move an arm, crane fingers, and lift a limb to rip at the itch when every
muscle already felt like it had been filleted from his bones.
He heard his grandfather moving about and running
water. So many tears had already slipped from the corners of his eyes that they
were parched like his throat. He only cracked open one eye again when he heard
a huge sloshing sound. Sasha and his grandfather had wet the blanket and were
bringing it toward him. He shook his head no, too weak to do more, and then
cried out when they lowered the warm heat onto his skin. They were the
monsters, not him.
But slowly as he calmed, he realized their intent had
worked. The viral itching had soothed. A soft hand caressed his cheek and slid
carefully beneath the nape of his neck to slightly incline
his head. The press of plastic against his bottom lip made him open his mouth,
and he was rewarded with cool, room-temperature wetness that he greedily drank.
Water spilled down the sides
of his mouth and his neck, and he kept guzzling until the bottle had been
drained. Panting, he fell back against the table, feeling his insides begin to
cool and settle for the first time since the moon had come up. Somewhere in the
distance he heard the rattles again It
was complimented by his grandfather's soft shuffle and low, resonant chant. He
just prayed with all his heart that the old man wouldn't touch him with
anything else that would begin the agony all over again. Then he remembered how
Sasha had let him suffer. He opened his eyes and pulled away from her, furious.
"You'll live, I guess," she said flatly.
"You came through the—"
"You didn't pull the trigger," he said
through his teeth, paying dearly in degrees of agony for his pride and the
slight movement.
"No. I didn't. You're right," she said, no
apology in her tone. "Want me to do it now, though?"
He closed his eyes.
She walked away from the table and holstered a gun in
her waistband.
He opened an eye and stared at her, not sure if she'd
decided to oblige him or not.
His grandfather had stopped chanting and put down his
shakers very slowly as Sasha picked up a pump shotgun and checked to see that
it was loaded. The way she broke down the barrel, snapped it back in place, and
trained it on him told him it was.
"Where are Woods's and Fisher's remains?"
"I don't know," Hunter said carefully,
watching her expression fade from worry to cold fury.
"You don't remember where you ate them? Then
where's Crow Shadow, since familiars don't warrant memory?"
"Are you insane?" Incredulous, Hunter tried
to sit up.
"The evidence is damning, but not necessarily as
it may seem," Silver Hawk interceded. "I may be his blood, but I am
also a clan elder. My knowledge of his soul is not clouded by my love for
him." Silver Hawk looked at the foul mess on the floor where Hunter had
upchucked. "He did no abomination, this I know."
"No disrespect, Silver Hawk ... and my deepest
sympathies for even having to take this position in your sight, but—"
"There are no human pieces in that refuse,"
the old man said calmly. "That is all undigested moose from an earlier
time, maybe as much as twenty-four hours ago. Use your nose." He looked at
Sasha with an unblinking gaze. "When they cannibalize their own, there are
whole parts—they eat so ravenously. The smell of human flesh is also different when
it comes back up."
She pulled back the weapon and walked away, suddenly
needing air. "Jesus." The nape of her neck was damp with perspiration
and she briefly lifted her hair up off her shoulders as a nervous habit. There
were obviously two beasts out there—one had clearly savaged the trucker and
ranger, was probably what had spooked the deer, too. The other one had to be
Hunter. Why that only made her feel slightly better, she wasn't sure.
"I need to know what happened out there," she
said, leaning against the wall on one hand, mentally fatigued. The shotgun was
by her side but pointed toward the floor. Sasha rested her head on her arm for
a moment before turning to look at Hunter. "I have to know how severe the
transformation was ... and if it's going to happen again."
"We all do," Hunter replied, his voice raw
and his tone flat. He pushed himself up with effort and eased himself off the
table with a wince.
Two pairs of eyes followed him over to the sink as he
turned on the water and adjusted the temperature to as warm as he could stand
it, then put his head under the faucet. If Sasha was going to blow him away, he
really didn't care. Maybe she'd be doing him a great service, albeit late in
the pain game. Right now he felt filthy and was focused on remedying that,
since it seemed he had to live for the next few moments, anyway. To be dirty,
matted, and flea-infested in whatever transformation had bested his Shadow-self
was a pure violation of the meticulous wolf within. This was not the way of the
Shadow Wolf. A dignified end was in order. He'd earned at least that over the
years of protecting the clan.
Grabbing the industrial-size, antibacterial soap, he
squeezed a huge amount into his hair and began scrubbing, then yanked the
sprayer hose out from the sink as far as it would reach and rinsed off in the
middle of the floor.
Blood, dirt, sweat, and grime cascaded down and off
his hair and body as he continued to take a makeshift shower, furiously
lathering every inch of himself. Thick globs of brownish-gray soap splashed
onto the floor and then raced toward the concave drain at the center of the
room. He continued the process until the suds were pristine and the water
clear; he didn't even want to glance in the direction of the butcher block
table. It looked like someone had performed an autopsy on it. Maybe they had.
Between slamming open cabinets and yanking open
drawers, he found enough towels to reasonably dry himself, and then found the
supplies stash to get dressed. Baking soda offered a toothpaste alternative to
chase the horrible taste out of his mouth. The entire process had taken less
than five minutes, but it was time he'd needed to think, to remember, to piece
back together his own sequence of events while Sasha and his grandfather
remained mercifully silent.
"I got back here in Shadow Wolf form,"
Hunter finally said, firmly planting his foot against the wall to tie a hiking
boot. He looked up from the task and held Sasha's gaze. "The moon had
risen and so had I—you were in heat and whatever else was in my system was not
to be denied. I needed air." A tremor of satisfaction threaded through him
when she looked away, although he wasn't sure why.
"When I got here, though, something was
wrong." Hunter put his other foot against the wall and tightly tied his
boot laces. "Crow Shadow's vehicle was just as you'd found it—"
"I smelled you all over it, Hunter."
He put his foot down hard on the floor and stared at
her. "I'm sure you did. I went right to it, scented it out to try to figure
out what happened. All his weapons were gone. His blood was everywhere like
there'd either been a struggle or a slaughter. I don't know which it was."
"Then what happened, son?" Silver Hawk
asked, his eyes unreadable and his voice the balm of wisdom in the room.
"I ran the perimeter searching for a Werewolf
signature, but got nothing ... it was really bizarre. The lodge hadn't been
entered, that much I could tell on the first round. So, I went in and began
collecting ammo." Hunter tipped his chin in the direction of the weapons
pile. "But then I heard a huge crash, and I knew what it was before I saw
it." He looked away toward the window, shame singeing him so deeply that
his face felt warm. "I couldn't control my shape-shift. It was male, had
invaded my space, my mate was en route—it was war."
Sasha raked her fingers through her lush thicket of
velvety hair and hearing her do that made him glance at her.
"The kitchen has two doors—one way in, one way
out, so the wait staff doesn't bump into each other. I came out on the far
side," Hunter added, again using a curt nod and the direction of his chin
to indicate which door. "The demon had crashed in through the dining room
deck ... but it was bigger than I'd expected." He looked away again, not
even sure how to articulate the level of insanity that had coursed through him
at that moment. "I should have shot the damned thing, but was already
fully committed to my wolf. The fight took us through the lobby and then the
front door."
What he didn't say was that the cinder-block punch the
beast had lobbed sent him in a sliding sprawl into the lobby, where it had been
everything he could do to avoid the massive jaws and claws that came at
him—that's how things had gotten so torn up in there. It was sheer momentum
that had kept the beast hurtling forward and through the front doors as it
lunged at him and he'd ducked. This hadn't been like a typical barroom brawl of
evenly matched opponents. No. This was more like one entity trying to avoid
being massacred while the other uprooted tables and chairs and anything the
other had used as a shield. He wasn't ready to admit that part to Sasha, much
less his grandfather.
"How many times did it bite you?" his
grandfather asked, his voice tight and his expression haunted with clearly
visible concern.
"None," Hunter muttered. "He just
damned near broke my jaw."
"When he punched you, did he break the
skin?" Sasha's intense gaze captured his.
"Yeah." Hunter finally looked away toward
the moon beyond the windows. She had no idea how much he hated admitting that
the demon had split his lip clean open with a bloody fist, and in the course of
trying to stay alive by avoiding another massive blow, he'd licked away his own
blood.
"Your system was already compromised from birth.
Plus, given the circumstances you were already battling, it's no wonder that
introducing new infection into your bloodstream completely impacted your immune
system." Sasha's body hit the wall with a weary thud as she ruffled her
hair up off her neck again. Then she looked at his grandfather and spoke to
Silver Hawk as though he wasn't in the room. "But Hunter was struggling
with this since last night. That's what worries me. He'd been going through
symptomatic spikes before he got sucker-punched."
He hated being clinically spoken of in the third
person and he growled his displeasure. Both Sasha and Silver Hawk jerked their
attention toward him.
"I'm sorry, but it's true. Your grandfather needs
to know the full scope of what we're dealing with here. If
silver Hawk hadn't shot you with antitoxin, who knows what would have happened."
"The flux will pass," Hunter muttered in a
surly tone. "It has before, will this time—"
"No," Silver Hawk said very carefully.
"This time even the demons are not
themselves."
Both Sasha and Hunter stared at the elderly warrior.
"I felt the demon-infected Werewolves on the
move, their presence. I knew one was hunting in our territories. I saw what it
did to the grizzly and the other bears; their kills were very strange. Then I
came upon a carcass of one of their own that had not just been destroyed in
battle, but the carcass was eaten. No living scavenger would dare approach the
half-human, half-wolf form, not even one that had been left dead for days in
the snow."
Silver Hawk looked away, but his voice remained steady
and his chin tipped up a little higher with ancient dignity. "I did not
know if this predator had become you, because I could feel you struggling with
an inner beast. I could only pray to the Great Spirit that your Shadow Wolf
would prevail." He looked at Hunter with intensely sad eyes that leaked
compassion. 'Tonight your Shadow won. But there are many more moons to come.
Then there is also the UCE Conference. That is my deepest concern."
"After all these years, what set it off,
Pop?" Frustration scored Hunter's mind, causing him to punch the wall as
he began to pace. "All right, I admit it—I was starting to come unglued
before more toxin got into my bloodstream, but I don't want to believe that.
.." He looked away from Sasha and spoke to the window. "Something
significant had to set it off."
"I agree," Silver Hawk said after a long
pause, both men now speaking in a diplomatic dance around the subject of
Sasha's heat.
"Okay—can we just stop talking in riddles, gentlemen?"
Sasha walked forward and folded her arms over her chest. "First of all,
yeah, all right, night one was pretty intense. However, I'm not buying that
Hunter's entire physiology just blew a gasket over me. Would be highly
flattering, but highly unlikely. And trust me, after all this, I am so
not in the frame of mind for that, you have no idea. I know Hunter
has to feel the same way, with pack brothers missing, attacks at random, and
the physical trauma he just experienced ... so what's spiking the old virus in
his system?"
Humiliation wound another layer of tension around his
spine when his grandfather looked away, trying to swallow a half-smile. Sasha
had no concept how much focus and control it required to be in the same room
with her, even now.
"Sasha's got a point, Pop," Hunter finally
conceded. "It felt like something just hit me out of nowhere."
"When I tracked you to here," Silver Hawk
said, his expression growing serious, "I thought there was only one
beast. You. Then I found evidence of more than one... which gave me the hope
that I had not arrived too late. I had wanted my own answers, therefore I did
not go to the calling of the packs. But I did follow the trail they were
supposed to take after I collected more medicine from my friend. It seems as
though the beasts are also following the packs that are left in the region.
That is what I do not understand. Infected Werewolves have traditionally tried
to hunt as far away from our packs as possible. Only once in my lifetime did
they double back in retribution."
Silver Hawk looked out the window. 'That was how your
mother was lost, but since then, our retaliation had been so thorough that
they'd been practically made extinct in North America. Now they have cast a
shadow on the northern-most Shadow Wolves."
Sasha stared at Hunter for a moment and then turned
her gaze on Silver Hawk. "You saw how Hunter acted once infected Werewolf
toxin entered his system. He already had the strain in him, so maybe a dirty
blood hit so close to healing from a previous battle just made what was latent
in him go full blown. Maybe his system just couldn't tolerate another infection
so close to the last one he'd thrown off?'
She began to pace, scratching her head, and watching
her was beginning to produce vertigo. Instant recall of her glistening, café au
lait skin coming out of the bath she'd taken outside the pack house shoved its
way to the forefront of Hunter's brain. Even though he tried his best to
ignore the visual stimulation as he watched her lithe form move beneath layers
of fabric, that was next to impossible. She was in
heat. She was his mate. Regardless of her claims that
they weren't that serious yet, or the trauma she'd spoken of, some things were basic and embedded in
millennia of evolution. The scent she trailed superseded
anything else in the room and awakened his libido with a ferocious yawn.
"That had to be it. I was with him after we
fought in the Uncompahgre ... he was fine for a month," she said, her gaze
distant. She sent her line of vision beyond them as though seeking the moon for
relief. "I wanna get him to Doc for some off-the-record lab
analysis."
His grandfather nodded as the room fell silent. Hunter
folded his arms over his chest, needing to think long and hard about submitting
to lab tests. Sasha's eyes held a silent plea that was hard to ignore and it
was his turn to allow his gaze to seek the dark horizon.
It wasn't that he disagreed with her approach or had a
problem with the pack's long-time, secret family friend; it had more to do with
his very real apprehension about what Doc Holland might ultimately find. Words
were not sufficient, even though he knew she was waiting for some verbal
response that he couldn't freely give.
Silence echoed in the kitchen while the faucet dripped
and refrigerator motors quietly hummed. He wished he could draw her into his
arms right now and express how much he loved the way her razor-sharp mind
aggressively attacked the problem. More than that, show her just how much he
loved her... and how her hesitation to take his life, even after what she'd
thought he'd become, had forever affected him. She'd even gone back for their
amulets.
Saying nothing but feeling everything, he allowed his
gaze to land where the large, etched piece of amber framed in silver hung
between her unrestrained breasts. Perhaps it was the insistent, cool stream of
air that flowed through the kitchen, or the heat of his gaze, not that it
mattered, but after a moment he could see her nipples tightening under the
quilted thermal undershirt fabric.
With effort he dragged his gaze to meet hers, wishing
for a fleeting moment that they were alone. The conflict she wrestled with
burned deeply in her intense, wolf-gray eyes. Anguish, hope, questions,
fury—he'd seen the entire spectrum of emotion wrench her ... even down to the
gentle caress she'd offered with a sip of water, a last act of compassion
before she might have to destroy a beast that had done the unthinkable. Her
eyes had said, Hunter, forgive me, I love you. In that brief ellipsis of
time he knew she would have done what was necessary as a strong warrior, but it would have destroyed a piece of her
soul. For her, now, more than himself, he prayed that he'd
purged this latent beast within him.
"Hunter," she said softly, "just
consider it once we get to New Orleans. I know there's no time to stop in
Denver like we'd talked about, but let Doc look into this . . . see if there's
anything he can do. You had been all right... it was a month of. .." She
turned away and wrapped her free arm around her waist. "You'd been okay
for a long time."
Hunter nodded. "All right. I trust Doc with my
life. But the tests can't interfere with the
UCE Conference. There can be no signs of weakness at those
talks."
He leaned on a set of stainless-steel cabinets, absorbing
Sasha's voice on more levels than his grandfather could fathom. Why did she
have to remind him of the nights they'd spent together for a month after the
battle in the Uncompahgre? Just a brief reminder sent hot images flooding
through his mind. The way her cheeks flushed as she avoided his eyes, he could
tell the memory had awakened something within her, too.
"I didn't have the toxin in my system to the
degree that you did after we came out of that firefight," she said as
though choosing each word with great care, and then finally looked at him.
"The more I think about it, I bet a lot of other Shadows from the various
packs didn't, either... but what about those that had?"
"What are you talking about?" Hunter pushed
off the cabinets. "I was the only one in the clan shunned for having the
latent disease. I'm the only one with the birth defect because my mother had
been attacked while carrying me."
Silver Hawk nodded and then briefly closed his eyes as
though jettisoning the painful memory. "What my grandson says is true. He
was the only one across all packs and clans of this era to have two wolves
within him. We have been feeding the honorable one for many years, hoping to
starve the dark wolf to death."
"Do we know how many beta males actually tried the
illegal substance, though?" Sasha's frank question made Hunter and Silver
Hawk simply stare at her.
"Sure," she said, pressing her point,
"maybe the real hard-core toxin junkies died that night trying to take a
stand in the Uncompahgre with Fox Shadow, but what about the ones that tried
shooting up with the stuff a couple of times and then swore off it? They would
have been compromised, just like you—and easy to re-infect... and they would
home to a pack. That is the way of the wolf."
"That is the way of the wolf," Silver Hawk
murmured as though his thoughts were a million miles away. "They are,
indeed, moving like a pack, not lone rogues the way demon-infected Werewolves
normally hunt—and their eating habits are even more deadly; they will eat their
own kind."
"And are driven ravenous by a she-Shadow in
heat... not necessarily a top consideration for the run-of-the-mill Werewolf.
True, male Weres appreciate she-Shadows in that condition ... just like a male
Shadow can appreciate a female Werewolf in said condition, too—but it's not our
general preference. What was out there looking for Sasha was on a mission, like
one of us. It was a corrupted male Shadow Wolf, had to be, raging for Sasha
like that." Hunter stared at Sasha, nodding slowly. "But how? How did
the toxin in that man get to me? There's been no incidents since we put Fox
Shadow down hard."
"Now you're talking about issues in my
territory—the military's concern with weapons of mass destruction. This one I
went to school for, fellas." Sasha gave them both a look and then began to
pace. "Biohazards and biogenetic weapons that have a hundred different
effective delivery systems are one of the things I'm deployed to track,
isolate, and destroy."
Hunter found the edge of the sink to lean against;
watching her mind hunt and wrestle the issue with a strategic defense against
the danger to the pack was making it really hard to focus. It was so damned
sexy to witness that he could barely breathe.
"This particular virus is insidious,
gentlemen." Sasha's gaze swept past his grandfather's and pinned him
against the sink. "It's worse than the Vampire strain, which has control
factors. As I'm sure you're aware, Vampires can actually determine when they
want a victim to turn into one of their kind; Werewolves can't. Demon-infected
Werewolves can't. It's an equal opportunity agent of cellular destruction that
can get into the bloodstream if ingested, through a cut, a direct blood
exchange, or a saliva swap. That's why this one is considered the most
formidable because it could easily morph into a pandemic outbreak, if not
contained. Even I could be a carrier."
"Even though we were both battling the beasts,
Sasha, you didn't have the toxin that heavily in your system, so there's no way
you could have given it to me. Besides, I haven't picked up any Werewolf tracer
in the pack. If our supplies had been poisoned, I would have assuredly picked
up the toxin scent," Hunter countered.
"Maybe," his grandfather said carefully.
"Under normal circumstances, yes. And those that had been infected could
have easily hidden themselves from their pack alphas until they felt the scent
had sufficiently diminished."
Sasha's gaze found the drain in the center of the
floor at the same time Hunter's sought the window.
"Yeah, well, like I said," Sasha finally
added, "somebody figured out how to get it into your system."
"Son, you were bitten and scratched during the
last battles behind demon doors and in the Uncompahgre. You then healed quickly
as our kind can do, but it was a new and fragile balance inside you. A
concealed viral attack on your system, at a time when your defenses were down
and you were least disposed to be aware of even the most extreme changes
..."
Hunter looked away and then walked to the far side of
the room.
"Think back," Sasha said, imploring him with
her voice as she neared him from behind. "What did we eat, what did we
drink? You had been all right for damned near a month after going through
freaking demon doors, now this?"
"We gathered supplies, like always, from a safe
pack outpost." He turned and looked at her, seeing it step-by-step in his
mind, unable to stop staring into her wide, gray eyes. "We ate at one of
our diners—then we set out to head up into the mountains."
"And the later it got, the thirstier you
got," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "You drained an entire
canteen..."
Hunter closed his eyes. "My plate at the diner
had to be spiked, and then the water... you never ate, just watched me...
because..."
"Of my condition," she said quietly,
nodding. "I was too wound up to stomach anything—I just wanted to keep
moving and reach where we had to go."
He nodded. "Yeah. I remember. And after I left
the tent, I polished off the other canteen and packed them with fresh snow,
then melted it over a small fire that I built into a larger one for the
morning, so you'd have water when you woke up."
Hunter opened his eyes, his gaze seeking Sasha's and
holding it. His body ached for her in the worst way now; the throb that being close to her produced was almost
unbearable. They both shared a silent understanding and danced a
quiet shadow dance of souls, leaving out the most intimate details of their
interaction, skipping over sections of what had
transpired. There was no need to elaborate before the wise
old man, who could most likely read between the lines,
anyway. But as a matter of courtesy and a matter of privacy, Silver Hawk just nodded with a grunt.
"It was in the water; it always is," the
elderly man announced. "The body
is made up of this element, and to poison a people and
drive them from their lands, take their water—or
pollute it."
They didn't ask what he'd meant. Hunter knew from
experience that there were just some old wounds, which current-day events
sometimes touched and disturbed, that took his grandfather further back in time
than he wanted to
go. He was just grateful that Sasha
seemed to understand that and had let it go with a
simple nod.
Chapter 11
Clarissa dropped her steaming cup of coffee in the middle
of the attic floor. It slid from her hand so effortlessly that it seemed like
it fell in slow motion as her eyelids began to flutter. The multiple computer
screens and surrounding technology had felt like it was closing in on her as
her vision blurred. Bradley caught her before she also fell and shattered on
the floor like her cup. Winters was right there with a chair on wheels for her
to slump into.
"What is it, Rissa?" Bradley said, rubbing
her hand and then stroking her bangs back from her damp forehead. He stooped
beside her, panicking, and turned his attention toward Winters. "Get a
cold, wet paper towel and some water."
He continued to squeeze Clarissa's hand and stroke her
hair as she began to loll her head from side to side. Then for several seconds,
she stopped breathing and opened her eyes in a glassy, unfocused stare.
"Clarissa! Talk to us!"
Winters rushed over with the cold compress and placed
it on her forehead. Her once-normal, creamy complexion was waxen and flushed.
Bradley began shaking her more roughly, his voice tight, sharp bursts of
commands.
"Breathe, Rissa. Talk to us—what do you
see?"
Seconds passed and then she suddenly took a huge
in-hale and her eyes focused.
"They're alive and headed this way." She
searched Bradley's and Winters's faces for an explanation.
"Who's alive?" Bradley pressed, wiping back
her bangs and bringing the water Winters handed over to her lips.
"Second Lieutenant James Fisher and First
Lieutenant Darien Woods," she gasped.
Bradley was on his feet. "That's a Vampire ploy
if ever I heard one."
"I went through that body-double shit with
Vampires before, and almost got a slug put in my head from the brass for
allowing one into the labs by accident. I'm not proud to admit it, but that's
how they got their hands on the toxin in the first place. Never again. Don't
let 'em play you, Clarissa." Winters's gaze hardened, adding years to his
normally youthful face. "Those men died in Afghanistan. Reinforce the
perimeter with—"
"No," Clarissa said, gasping. "I need
to tell you about the other images they're sending me. They'll rendezvous with
us during the day tomorrow, wearing silver, garlic, or whatever else we
require as proof positive."
"You sure?" Bradley said, his tone strained.
Clarissa nodded with a weak smile. "They pass
muster."
"A coupla hours ago you guys wanted to know if
Sasha was sending the Green Berets. Well, from what I understand, they're
it—with a cavalry coming a day or two behind them."
Winters wiped his palms down his face. "Leave it
to Trudeau to resurrect two supposedly dead guys for the mission."
Bradley found the edge of a desk and sat down with a
thud. "I swear this job is gonna give me a heart attack one day."
~
"We need to move. This place is no longer
safe," Silver Hawk said quietly, breaking Sasha's trance.
Sasha quickly dragged her attention away from Hunter
and nodded. She'd been so wrapped up in the sound of his voice and the earnest
intensity of his eyes that her responses fell a beat behind what made good
common sense. Damned right they needed to move. What was wrong with her?
"I know there are several grounds trucks in the
garage area," Hunter said and then sent his gaze toward the door.
She briefly studied Hunter's rigid posture, monitoring
the tension that ran through his body and wafted from his aura, then glimpsed
Silver Hawk who had discreetly averted his eyes. "Okay, let's mount up,
then."
It was time to click into her military mind. There was
nothing like the immediate threat of danger to put things in perspective. Sasha
began loading her arms with weapons and that definitely helped her focus. But
seeing Hunter do that nearly unraveled whatever newfound focus she'd claimed.
Call it twisted, but there was just something about watching him set his jaw
hard. .. and watching the steel cable network of muscles he owned move beneath
his tight thermal shirt and fatigues.
Oh, yeah, her system was compromised by a very definite
condition. This was ludicrous. Ten minutes prior, she'd been ready to
deliver a silver slug to his skull, and now after some rhetorical conversation
she was ready to jump his bones?
Horrified, she followed Silver Hawk out of the kitchen
loaded down with artillery, trying hard not to look at Hunter's impressive back
... or that delicious dip in his spine, or his very tight, absolutely gorgeous
ass that one could bounce a quarter off of.
A cold slap of air and the real dangers of an ambush,
however, stopped her mind from vacillating. The threesome moved like the wind
itself, sliding from shadow to shadow in stealth silence until they reached the
garage.
Entering a building in a hostile environment was
always dangerous. Hunter eased his weapons stash to the ground and took two
nine millimeters, motioning with gun barrels for her and Silver Hawk to round
the building. Now everybody needed to be on point until the all clear was
given.
Silver Hawk's expert tracking was something profound
to witness. Sasha watched the old man get down low on the ground on all fours,
close his eyes, and tilt his head, and she saw the edges of his nostrils
slightly flare as he deeply inhaled. Pointing, he indicated fresh tire tracks
that led away from the exit, and she squinted, noticing that there weren't any
footprints or paw prints to compliment the tire tracks.
In a lithe push-up that should have belonged to a man
one-third his age, Silver Hawk rose with a bewildered expression on his face
and then placed an open hand against the side of the building. Sasha remained
very still as she waited for his assessment. He then held up two fingers in a V shape. It was her turn to tilt her head.
Vampires?
Hunter rounded the building and gave them a thumbs-up.
Nothing had barreled in there in Werewolf form, but Silver Hawk held up a hand
and gave Hunter his gun before slipping into the smoothest wolf transition
she'd ever seen. His clothes simply melted off his body and were left in a
small pool on the ground with his doeskin moccasins.
From that silent transformation the most majestic creature
she'd ever seen emerged. As the cold wind blew she could see that the huge
wolf's coat was snowy white beneath silver gray edging, and his wise, aged
eyes seemed to hold the depths of many lifetimes. Silver Hawk, now transitioned
to Silver Shadow, glimpsed back once and then leaped through a shadow into the
unknown.
Sasha started forward, worry for the old man's safety
rising in her like a sudden tide. Hunter placed a hand on her shoulder. But
he'd gone through a Shadow door alone!
Frantic, she gave Hunter the signal that had freaked her
out. The second she opened her forefinger and middle finger in a V she could see his expression harden. Silver shells
would only slow that particular entity down, not kill it. They'd have to expand
their arsenal on the fly, if that was what was in the garage.
The double doors creaked open eerily. Two barrels
pointed at it, Hunter on one side of the doors, Sasha on the other. A low howl
snapped their forearms back. Hunter swept up his grandfather's clothes and
tossed them to him as he and Sasha quickly entered the building.
"I have checked the trucks they left behind and
they haven't been tampered with," Silver Hawk said, dressing quickly with
his back toward them. He indicated with a quick nod to an empty mechanic's bay
where a truck had probably once been housed. "They siphoned the blue one
for gasoline and took the fuel can," he added, pointing at drips on the
floor and then toward the tool rack on the wall, "plus took some chains
and tools, but everything else is as it should be."
"If Vampires were here in a garage and took those
items, then it would have to have been lower-level ones, like henchmen, who
couldn't materialize what they needed out of thin air." Sasha's gaze tore
around the well-equipped garage. "Doesn't make sense."
"Maybe they got chased here by whatever were-pack
was on the loose," Hunter offered, going to collect the stash outside that they'd set down. "Or maybe they're
in on this bull again?"
"Yeah, but what's their angle this time?"
Sasha folded her arms over her chest, thinking. "I thought once burned,
twice learned was the way Vampires viewed the world?"
"Do not forget," Silver Hawk said, his gaze
holding hers, "that particular entity never lets a grudge pass
unaddressed. Perhaps all of this is a part of a much larger game being played."
That thought had definitely crossed her mind more than
once. Sasha nodded but didn't comment further as she found the keys to a Dodge RAM 1500, climbed in with
Silver Hawk, and backed the red vehicle out into the driveway. Within moments
they'd all loaded as much artillery as they could fit into the cab and still
ride in relative safety, and the rest went under a tarp in the flatbed.
"Where to?" Sasha turned in the driver's
seat and looked at Silver Hawk, then Hunter.
"This thing is following the packs' normal route
from north to south, tracking over familiar ground. If it was made from one of
us, an infected Shadow Wolf, then it clearly knows our safe
houses."
"That's what had to have happened here at the
lodge," Hunter said. "It knew the building as well as I did, and
every move I made, he was right on me."
"Maybe that's why the Vamps came here—they could
be tracking the infected Shadow too." Sasha stared at Hunter for a moment
and then sent a seeking gaze toward his grandfather.
"Which could be disastrous down in New Orleans at
the Conference. All they need is evidence to present and they can open a Shadow
Wolf hunt, it's in the bylaws." Hunter rubbed his palms down his face.
"Damn!"
Silver Hawk nodded and looked at Sasha. "You
yourself said you had picked up on unusual Were-demon energy and a trail that
seemed to be on the move headed toward New Orleans—this was why you were
sending your team there to investigate. That is why I think we should move
outside of our normal bands as we make our way south."
"Pop is right," Hunter said, opening the
window and resting his elbow on the metal door frame. "If we've got infected
Shadows on the move, and don't know how many— the last place we need to go is
along the old route."
Sasha backed the truck out farther and turned it
around to head out of the lodge grounds. "Yeah, but the only problem there
is we'd have to take this payload to a civvy motel, and then pray to God that
we don't have to get into a firefight."
Hunter looked at his grandfather, who was wedged between
him and Sasha. "You're the best candidate for offering oblations to the
universe. I don't think they listen to me up there too much."
~
Evidence of lower-ranking Vampires at the scene of an
infected wolf attack was completely baffling. The two species were
archenemies, and except for one very spurious, independent, rogue alliance that
had ended disastrously with the Vampires being double-crossed, there was never
an occasion where they'd peacefully cooperated with each other before. Under
normal circumstances the two species abhorred each other. Therefore none of
this made sense.
But they had tried to do an alliance once, and the new
pressure that human technology and awareness was placing on the supernatural
world was perhaps no different than what was happening to the ecosystem. Humans
tended to flush things out of their natural habitats.
Sasha kept her eyes on the dark road, senses keened
for another ambush with Hunter and Silver Hawk riding
shotgun. Just like overzealous real estate development ate into the natural wilderness, which then had bears eating
out of backyard garbage cans, or wolves eating farmers' domesticated chickens
and cows, maybe something was going on like that with the supernatural
wilderness?
Too bad Vampires were experts at blocking psychic
invasions and were pretty good at giving as well as they got in that
department. So it wasn't going to be easy to do a vision
quest or a divination to get the full story. Those approaches worked better on
the preternatural wolf phyla. Sasha let out a weary breath. New Orleans was
going to get ugly. For now, she had to focus on one issue at a time, namely
getting them all to a place where they could rest, eat, and recuperate for a
hard travel day in the morning.
Silence filled the cab on the monotonous, three-hour
drive to a truck stop motel. As sleazy as the joint was, she still prayed for a
vacancy.
It was almost midnight and her mind was so weary from
flipping the variables over and over in her brain that she was punchy. The only thing keeping her upright was
adrenaline and frustration. She didn't even want to think about the latter of
the two issues. It would pass; it had to pass. She and Hunter had to remain on
point for danger at all times ... but damn the moon was a sexy beast tonight.
Hunter was out of the vehicle before she had rolled to
a stop. She just looked away from him through the windshield for a moment and
then slammed the gears into park with an attitude. The door to the vehicle was
still wide open and she couldn't even look at Silver Hawk. Unfazed, the old man
slid over and closed the passenger-side door.
"They have a diner. We should eat," he said
simply.
Sasha nodded but kept her gaze straight ahead.
"As soon as Hunter comes back."
"I should patrol... you both should rest. This
would be best."
She kept her gaze forward and could feel the muscle
pulsing in her jaw as she ground her teeth. "We can take shifts so you can
rest. You've been tracking all day and have to be exhausted. You did an amazing
healing and that had to take a lot out of you ... no disrespect intended,
sir." She glimpsed him from the corner of her eye. "You've been our
ace in the hole... if you hadn't shown up with meds ... I don't know what would
have happened."
A strong, age-weathered hand cupped her cheek and made
her look at its owner.
"Daughter-Shadow, listen to not my words but my
eyes and my heart. I will patrol; you rest with your mate. The trauma that you
have both endured is profound, just as the battles you have fought and are
fighting at this moment. Lay down your burden to heal your spirits. In the morning,
I will sleep as you two drive, will do as old men do and sleep on planes,
trains, buses, whatever conveyance we select. No one will be the wiser, for I
am just an elderly old man." He smiled a toothy grin and nodded; moonlight
glinted off his long, silver braids that hung down his chest. "But come
nightfall, know that I am wide awake and still all wolf."
She was left mute and mildly embarrassed by Silver
Hawk's deep insight as he withdrew from her and slipped from the truck. The old saying that Doc had once told her, every shut eye ain't sleep, came immediately to mind as she watched the old man's
straight, proud back.
Still, Silver Hawk hadn't left her much choice. She
had to wail in the vehicle until Hunter returned, given the hefty load of
weapons under a tarp in the back. Sure, one could claim they were going
hunting, but some of the stuff they were toting with automatic rounds would
give any ranger serious pause.
Before long, she saw Hunter exit the small
registration building and lope in her direction. Although his return staved off
the nervous energy that had her bouncing off the walls of the truck interior
while she waited, watching him take those long, fluid strides of his was truly
messing with her mind. His body moved with such commanding grace ... his eyes
had found hers, had locked in on her gaze and held it as though a focal point
to guide him through the night.
Maybe that had something to do with her eroding mental
state; she couldn't quite articulate it even to herself. But one thing was for
sure: she was going to have to explain where Silver
Hawk had disappeared to and didn't have a clue.
Hunter opened the passenger's-side door and slid into
the seat. He hadn't broken eye contact and the hunger in his stare was so
blatant that it finally made her look away.
"I got three rooms," he said in a quiet
rumble and then pushed a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.
She nodded without looking at him, knowing that was
best. Instead she stared at the dashboard for a moment while trying to stave
off the burn his touch left. As it was, she could barely
breathe, feeling his energy wash over her in a thick blanket of desire.
"Two are adjoining ... have a door in between.
The other is down the row a bit."
Hunter's gaze hadn't wavered. It wasn't necessary to
look at him to know that. She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry.
"Where's Silver Hawk?" he finally asked just
above a murmur.
"I don't know," she said quietly. The moment
she looked at him his gaze trapped hers. "He said we should eat, he would
take first watch and he'd sleep as we drove in the morning."
"God bless him," Hunter whispered.
For a moment neither of them spoke and then she pulled
out of the daze and rubbed her palms down her face.
"Wait, wait, listen. This is crazy," she
said.
He nodded slowly and licked his newly healed bottom
lip, causing it to glisten in the moonlight. "Insane."
"No," she said, not as strongly as intended.
"What I mean is—it's dangerous, we all have to stay alert and on point,
and you've got some madness spiking through your system that..."
Her words trailed off as he looked away and lifted his
chin. She hadn't meant to offend him or call him a virus carrier, but damn, for
all she knew he was. The moment blown, his next statements became a crisp
series of logistics.
"You're right. Bad lapse in judgment—blame it on
the moon. So we get this artillery stashed in the rooms, I'll call Silver Hawk
and work out a patrol schedule with him so he can get a few hours of shut-eye
tonight. We all eat at the diner together."
Sadness threaded through the ache within her. Damn,
she hadn't meant what she'd said to come off the way it
did. She wanted to reach out and touch him as he turned and opened the door, giving her his fantastically ripped
back to consider.
"We'll keep the door bolted between the
rooms." He tossed her a room key and jumped down
from the truck. "I'll walk, meet you over there."
For a moment she didn't move, couldn't. The man had
turned her on so badly she had to grip the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking. When he threw his head
back and howled for Silver Hawk, she closed her eyes and
allowed a private shudder to claim her. Drive. She had to get out of Hunter's magnetic tow for a minute to be able
to function.
He watched her pull off, needing distance and a cold
slap of air to help steady him. The long ride in close confines, the look on her face just now when her breathing had hitched—damn, he was so hard he could barely walk
across the driveway.
"All is well?" Silver Hawk appeared and
stepped beside him silently.
"Yeah, Pop. We're all going to the diner to eat
after we unload the truck, should do it as family ... stay together, I can take the first shift after—"
"Son, look at the moon." Silver Hawk smiled.
"The imminent
danger has passed." He motioned with
his chin across the driveway. "Look at her. Let me take
the first shift."
Hunter shook his head no and set his jaw hard. It took
three failed attempts at opening his mouth for words to
form. He thrust a key
into his grandfather's thick hand and let out a hard
breath. "I still might have virus in my system—it's best if I take the
first shift." Humiliation stabbed his pride and propelled him forward, but
his grandfather caught his arm.
"You purged enough to almost stop your heart.
Torture yourself if you must do penance—I'm going to the diner. She is a fully
matured she-Shadow and her system is very strong. Your nose is ruined for the
night to anything but her. I would feel safer to take the first shift, given
your distraction . . . and I left a few more shots of antitoxin in the glove
compartment if things get completely out of hand." Silver Hawk added with
a sly half-smile. "You are no longer a carrier."
Thoroughly frustrated, Hunter watched the old man take
three long Shadow leaps and disappear. "Yeah, tell her that,"
he muttered under his breath, crossing the driveway in pain.
Chapter 12
Too many conflicting thoughts fought
for dominance in his mind: Protection. Danger. Sasha. Sex. The virus.
Carriers. Sasha. Sex. The future. The
pack. Sasha. Sex. The clan. The predators. Sasha. Sex... and that lovely,
gorgeous ass of hers. Honor! Food... Sasha—sex.
His hands were trembling by the time he'd reached the
truck. She probably saw it and that's why she'd tossed him a shotgun with an
attitude. He caught it with one hand, not even looking at it, still studying
her rear view.
Admonishing himself, he tried to keep his focus on the
truck, but watching Sasha reach and bend and lift was carving a hole in the
wrong side of his brain. Especially with a motel room so, so close.
"Okay, Hunter," she said, whirling on him. "This
has got to stop." She jumped down from the flatbed of the truck
and glared at him.
He nodded, never losing eye contact with her.
"Just tell me how ... and I'll gladly oblige." S
he let out an exasperated breath and brushed past him
with an armload of artillery. He hurried to open the motel room door for her.
She stopped him at the door with a hard look.
"I, uh, guess I'll take the rest of it next
door."
"Good idea," she said. "Maybe leave
some heat and a coupla clips under the front seat of the truck for Silver Hawk
in case he needs to re-up while out on patrol."
"Right. Roger that."
Hunter moved quickly to get the rest of the weapons
into his room, nervous energy and frustration making his motions jerky. He
didn't disagree with her. Sasha was right. He did need to stop drooling over
what wasn't going to happen for a very long time, if ever again, just for the
sake of his own sanity and pride. He'd been here most of his adult Shadow Wolf
life, banished by the pack females because he had a little extra something
crazy in his DNA. Now it had finally gone full blown at a very inopportune
time. But he wasn't sure what was worse, never having been with a she-Shadow
and not having a mate, simply quarantined to human females, or experiencing
the incomparable—Sasha.
Before he could even tease himself with the thought
that she'd make love to him again, first Doc had to test him and outcomes had
to be proven ... probably another full moon phase had to pass without any trace
of the beast. That was the only safe and logical thing to do. Plus, they all
had to live through the mission—this personal bullshit didn't have anything to
do with anything at all relevant to what they were dealing with now.
But as he watched Sasha go into her room and kick the
door closed, he had to remember to breathe.
The slam reverberated through him as he brought the
last of the weapons into his room. It was symbolic. He set them down on the
dresser and stared at the door that adjoined their rooms. Even though he told
himself to leave it latched, he still found himself crossing the small space
that hosted two twin-sized beds. He lied to himself that he was just going to
ask her if she was ready to grab a bite to eat. It was just as possible to walk
out the front door, walk a few feet, and knock on her room door
and wait for her to answer.
Instead, he was standing at the partition door,
flipping back the latch, trying to come up with fifty plausible reasons why
that was so. Then he really held his breath, because the secondary door on her
side was already wide open. She 'd opened her side ?
He couldn't move for a moment as he saw her standing
in the middle of the floor hugging herself, trying to steady her breaths with
her eyes closed. Just seeing her like that paralyzed him; then her incredible she-scent dragged him across the inside threshold between the rooms.
Sasha held up one shaky hand, her voice wavering as
she
squeezed her eyes shut tighter.
"Don't." She placed a hand over her heart.
"I shouldn't have opened the door, Hunter, I'm
dangerous."
He tilted his head, not completely sure of her meaning
but very sure of his own. "So am I."
She let out a breath that was a cross between a gasp
and a sigh. The sound of her voice contracted his groin and made him begin to
breathe through his mouth.
"Hunter," she said in a low, quiet tone, so
sensual that he stepped closer out of sheer reflex. She opened her big,
beautiful eyes and her gaze searched his face in the darkened room. "It's
not you or that I don't want you. I'm so horny right now that I can't think
straight... but we can't risk being attacked while in the throes, or worse,
risk me getting the contagion here in a civilian installation. It's bad enough
that we have all this artillery in here. But the later it gets, the worse it
gets." Tears suddenly rose and glittered in her eyes as her voice dropped
to a husky whisper. "I never knew that it could be so bad that it actually
hurt."
With that she closed her eyes and hugged herself
tighter and put distance between them by walking across the room to stare out
the window at the moon.
"Baby ... I'm right there with you." Pain
was making him stupid.
He had only processed selected segments of what she'd
said: the first and last two sentences. Hell yeah, it could get that bad. Agony
was his middle name right now. Need had morphed into acute ache that
transformed into heavy, loaded, hard-pant pain. After that his brain had shut
down, even though she'd also made sense about the civilians and the virus.
Notwithstanding what logic dictated, it felt like all the blood in his skull
had fled there to reside in a pounding erection.
Watching her battle herself in the darkness, with a
silver-blue swath of moonlight draping her, almost made him howl out loud.
Gooseflesh had risen on her forearms and had made her nipples harden beneath
her thermal shirt. Every shaky inhale made her breasts lift, and the slow sweep
of her hands up and down her waist made him so jealous of them that he had to
briefly look away.
Common sense told him to get them out of the room.
They couldn't just keep standing there, silent, breathing heavy, about to pin
each other to the nearest surface within the next blink. Maybe if they went to
get something to eat, got away from the privacy of a space with a bed ... but
the only thing he was ravenous for at the moment was standing by the window
bathed in moonlight.
He wanted to touch her so badly he almost moaned. Just
to feel her velvety hair slipping through his fingers, or her creamy, café au
lait skin against his palms. Her lush mouth was a study in absolute perfection;
just thinking about tangling his tongue with hers parted his lips. Remembering
her satiny, graceful hands sliding across his hard surfaces clenched his
stomach. Agony? This was agony—standing only a few feet away from her,
watching her practically writhing in pain, but unable to draw her into an embrace because his kiss might be lethal, could
carry a dreaded germ.
A gentle caress sent a hard shudder through him. Her
Shadow had reached out and touched his in the darkness. The sensation was so intense that he put one hand against
the wall to hold himself upright and dropped his head
forward, spilling his hair over his shoulders and face. If she
didn't stop, she was going to call out his wolf. If they were
ever going to leave the room and meet up with his grandfather to eat, her
Shadow had to back off, had to stop playing in his hair... oh, damn, had to
stop running up his back and sliding down his chest... if she went any lower
... all bets were off.
Though neither of them moved, his Shadow pulled hers
into a hard embrace. She released a deep, ardent moan that nearly buckled his
body. His mind dissolved on a single thought: If she wanted it half as much
as he did, she 'd he weeping by now. Sasha turned and looked at him without
blinking, tears streaming down her face.
"Oh, shit. . ." he whispered, and started
toward her, practically panting.
She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head no. He
understood; it just wasn't safe. He stopped in his tracks and placed his hands
on top of his head for a moment to keep from touching her.
"Then just let me Shadow dance with you," he
said in a tight voice, not believing he'd gotten to the place of nearly
begging. Hell, who was he fooling, he was begging. "In the lobby
... I can get condoms—I know it's not the way of the wolf, but we're not going
to make it through the night."
Compelled, he crossed the small space that separated
them and cradled her cheek; she turned into the caress and kissed his palm
deeply as she released a soft moan. Unable to resist, he pulled her into a
tight embrace, her body burning against his. Her mouth rained hot kisses on his
neck and shoulder, her pelvis mating his as his hands traversed her back.
"I want to kiss you so badly," she gasped
against his neck. "My body's on fire."
He held the sides of her head for a moment, his
fingers thrust deeply into her lush thicket of dark hair, and stared into her
eyes. He bit his lip to not take her mouth and plunder it, but the agony
shimmering in her eyes made that so hard not to do. Rather than risk infecting
her he kissed her forehead slowly, then drew her chin into his mouth and found
the cleft in her throat until she cried out while grasping his shoulders.
"Sasha... baby, I want to kiss your mouth so
much, too.... I never fully understood what just that one thing did to me until
I couldn't do it."
Burning up, he briefly released his hold on her but
never released her pained gaze, then ripped his shirt over his head. He needed
to feel her skin, even if they couldn't swap spit, couldn't kiss—it didn't
matter. As long as her hands stroked his bare chest and shoulders and back he
might be able to catch his breath. But as her fingertips played across his
torso and her mouth French kissed his nipples, his breathing and heart went into
mild arrhythmia. Suckles against his abdomen pulled a trapped moan up and out
of his chest. The sensation made him pump slowly against air; her tongue
promised so much just before she stood to strip her shirt off over her head.
For a second he briefly closed his eyes and turned his
head as though she'd slapped him. Her pendulous breasts bounced free and the
erotic sight was pure sensory overload. He opened his pants to release some of
the pressure and then found her hips, pulling her closer. Fabric voiced its
complaint in audible friction. Kisses that her mouth denied he lavished on her
breasts. Her gasping moan encouraged him to make each sweep of his lips
deeper, wetter, longer until her fingers tangled in his hair and she was
practically climbing up his body.
Losing his mind, he dropped his kisses in a wild smattering
against her rib cage, her waist, her belly, and forgetting, he unzipped her
pants—only her fist in his hair reminded him to stop.
He looked up, breathing hard. The wince on her face
made him stand and kiss her temple. "I'm sorry ... got carried away, won't
happen again."
She didn't answer; her flat palm against his back
slowly became a fist. Damn ... he knew exactly where she was at. Knowing made him nuzzle her temple hard, find the side of her neck to spill kisses down it as his
hands slid down the front of her pants.
The sound she released was such a low, subsonic moan
that it sent a stabbing throb along his shaft with a rush of leaking seed. He
needed to kiss her so badly, be inside her so badly, yet all he could do was
torture her bud, torture himself, his fingers sliding against her slippery
glaze while wishing so badly that they were him.
Soon erratic, frustrated thrusts tried to capture his
fingers inside her, but he couldn't risk scratching her where they might not
even know that she'd been nicked. He petted her hair and held the nape of her
neck while caressing the swollen part of her that demanded what she couldn't
have. She kept her hands in tight fists at his back, but he could almost feel
her fighting not to rake him. When her jaw filled, he pulled back to stare at
her eyes that had gone wolf, and when she threw her head back and gasped, she'd
lost the battle to her canines.
Frenzy was in her eyes as she slid his hand out of her
pants and shimmied them down, then unlaced her boots and shucked everything
off. "It's not working," she said, gasping out the words. "I
need more than that while in heat."
Even though he wanted her beyond all comprehension,
and knew from all he'd ever heard in the clan that this was what made
rival males battle to the death, how could he call himself a man—her mate—if
he'd risk her to becoming something his entire species abhorred? No matter
what his grandfather had said, Silver Hawk didn't really know for sure. Sasha's
life deserved more than playing a hunch.
"Sasha ... baby ..." he murmured as she
slowly stalked him. "We can't... not like this—you were right."
"Forget what I said earlier—I'll take my
chances," she said in a low, sexy growl, beginning to circle him.
"You'll draw blood like this," he said, his
voice bottoming out as he backed up, shaft throbbing. "I can't even mount
you with a condom."
"Why not?" she whispered, holding her
breasts and then dropped her head back. "Oh, God, Hunter, why not?"
He stood transfixed for a moment, trying to remember
human language, trying to remember why not, canines filling his mouth, pants
slung down low on his hips, balls aching, desire like a silver bullet lodged in
his temple. "Because ... like this ... I'll draw blood."
She shuddered hard and looked at him, panting. "Then
draw it."
It was perhaps the hardest thing he'd ever had to do
in his life, but he stepped into a Shadow to avoid her touch. She released a
fury wail then sat down hard on the bed and wept softly with her arms wrapped
around her body; he found the closest wall to silently bang
his head against. There wasn't enough air in the room to fill his lungs. He
needed to cum so badly he was hyperventilating. Six hours till sunrise; he'd never make it not touching her. Not when
she'd dropped back on the bed and thrust her hand between her legs, then rolled over on her belly moaning with
frustration. There was antitoxin in the truck, condoms in the lobby
.. . Great Spirit, give him strength, please know his heart, he loved her
but was also flawed and male.
The sensible thing to do would have been to quietly
slip into his own room, close the door between their rooms,
relieve the tension that was driving him insane by hand, and try to go to
sleep. But he was so far from sensible at the moment; he was trapped by his
own need.
Just watching her damp behind lifted up off the bed in
a deep, inviting sway and undulating in the moonlight..
. listening to the slick, steady sound that he so badly wanted to be, hearing her breaths get tangled up with his
murmured name—it was enough to drag him out of the Shadows. How could
everything male in him not respond to witnessing the
incredibly sensual combination of her hand clutching a breast, thumbing a taut
cinnamon-hued nipple, while the other drove two fingers deep to a pounding rhythm?
"Hunter . . . Shadow dance with me ... anything
. . ."
The anguished request made his Shadow practically
tackle hers. The wail she released doubled him over with need. She turned to
stare at him over her shoulder, luminous eyes capturing moonlight, then she
pushed off the bed on all fours in a power lunge that sprawled him on the
floor. Try as he might to avoid her mouth, he couldn't. She swallowed his moan
with a forceful kiss and anchored his skull between her palms. Reflex put his
hands in her hair, sent his tongue in search of hers, and the sensation of her
hot body blanketing him arched his back, exploding his lungs with her name.
It was too late to worry about drawing blood, swapping
spit, or making any other hazardous contact. He slid into her with such
heat-slicked force that tears were welling in his eyes. Her gasp cut the night
as she fisted his hair and rode him hard. Choking out her name every hard
thrust she drove against him, lifted him up off the floor in return, his palms
halving her backside in a grip that threatened to split her.
The convulsion that hit him felt like a blade had been
jabbed into his sac to send a current of white-hot lightning up his shaft,
twitching his sphincter. Her name was embedded in the holler that morphed into
a howl. It hurt so good he was pulling up carpet nap with each wail, charley
horses formed in his hamstrings, his abs quick flexing, his spine snap-jerking—hell
yes, he understood now what the old man had told him!
Tears wet his cheeks as she collapsed against him,
shuddering. He dropped back with a thud and hit the floor.
"I'm sorry," she panted and hid her face
against his neck. "Oh, God, I'm so embarrassed."
He shook his head, too winded to immediately speak,
and petted her smooth, damp back. "Don't be."
I've never... in front of... oh my
God."
The erotic image clawed its way to the forefront of
his mind and sizzled. It was moonlight and madness and he was all the way gone.
The more it burned, the more it made him hunt for her mouth, and the more it
made his hands touch her skin. Breathless as renewed heat entered his body, he
turned her over, crouching above her on all fours. He took her mouth hard and
then appraised the length of her beneath him, releasing deep, long exhales and
inhales, a love-slicked erection bouncing to his breaths, and then he finally
trapped her gaze within his.
"Turn over," he murmured in a half growl,
"and do it again."
~
He sat in the diner with a knowing smile, sipping his
coffee and waiting on another steak. The moon was most beautiful when she was
full and elegant. Maybe, if the Great Spirit was merciful and the pack lands
bountiful... maybe he'd even live long enough to see great-grandchildren.
~
"Yo, Woodsey, not complaining or anything, but
this place sure looks real different at night."
"You're telling me? The daytime version was bad
enough stuck in my mind," Woods said, glancing around through the rental
car windows. "But the nighttime version gives me the creeps."
"Sure hope that's why the hair is standing up on
the back of my neck," Fisher said quietly.
"This location is an ambush ready to
happen," Woods muttered, taking the safety off his weapon as he pulled
into the driveway, his eyes roving the unkempt bushes.
"Trudeau can sure pick 'em." Fisher checked
his clip.
Woods and Fisher stared at each other for a moment.
"So what do we do now, dude? Walk up the steps
and just ring the bell?"
Woods ground his teeth, making his jaw pulse.
"Yeah, I guess—that and pray whatever's in the fucking house doesn't come
out snarling or shooting."
Chapter 13
Being knowledgeable didn't help. Being a highly
trained soldier didn't help. Being an alpha she-Shadow didn't help. Sasha
simply stared at the ceiling listening to Hunter snore. This biological
condition would happen once a quarter during a full moon, and she now knew it
to be a hard fact. It would last three unrelenting days and nights, just like
she'd been warned. The second night, the peak phase—a code name for the most
intense night—would and had undoubtedly been the worst. She could therefore
look forward to this humiliating reality effectively stealing twelve days a
year from her life.
Knowing all of this didn't help. Nor would it keep her
from going completely out of her mind in the future like she just had. That was
the scary part. Being so out of control. She hated being held hostage to some
gender-based biophenomena that felt like a biological defect.
There was still so much she had to learn about the
Shadow life. In fact, one day she really wanted to know who Doc had gotten the
sample from—which Shadow Wolf in the pack or the clan had supplied the donor cells
to fuse with her mother's ova to give her the spark of life. She'd been so
blown away by the whole concept that the details had escaped her, but the more
she thought about it, the more questions battered their way to the forefront of
her mind. Lying here next to Hunter made her want to know all now. There was a
genetic link to her within the clan, but then that would also mean a familial
link, too. What was that old saying, one of Xavier Holland's many adages ... if
it didn't kill you it would make you stronger?
Stronger, hell! Sasha blew a damp curl up off her forehead
in exasperation. If she could live exclusively in a Shadow pack or clan, then
there'd be no problem. But she had to make moonlight madness and quarterly
heats work in the context of the U.S. Military. Oh yeah, this would go over big
in a Black Ops Comm. Not!
Hunter stirred and she tensed, not trusting herself.
Soon his lazy strokes up and down her back made her wary. Truly, his touch
should have been comforting, a steady, easy rhythm that asked for nothing more
than a lover's connection through an absently delivered caress. For chrissakes,
the man was still asleep and his hand trailing up and down her back was
practically a blind reflex. However, reverse logic was in full effect.
The fact that his touch now felt like a hot stone massage
and his warm, hard body had been heaven on earth was freaking her out. It was
as though the higher the moon rose, the less control she'd had. She wondered if
her brain had fried in her skull or just gave up and melted, then ran out of
her ear—because none of this made any kind of sense. Worse yet, the whole
encounter made her realize just how intensely she'd needed all of what Hunter
provided to function as a balanced unit. Everyone, even he, had declared her
his mate—and she hadn't decided. That was like getting married, in wolf
culture, and the prospect of such permanence completely freaked her out.
To be someone's mate was a commitment. It said that he
needed her; she needed him. All of her life she'd been a loner of sorts, and
now there was this very big thing happening so fast that there was almost no
time to even think about it. Nature and duty were one, citing the way of the
wolf. Family, the pack, the clan fused with that duty. It was a duality, the
way of the wolf... the way of natural order among this species. Maybe humans
didn't have that same issue, but Shadows sure did. And in a world dominated by
humans, this was a brand-new problem.
Sasha let her palms slowly trace the hard bricks in
Hunter's abdomen and then let her fingertips gently glide against the dark
mahogany skin that was stretched tightly over muscle and bone. Never before in
her life had she needed someone else to function. The concept was anathema.
It went against everything she'd been taught and trained to deal with. Yes, you
went in as a team, you didn't leave your own ... but if they died during the
mission, there was no room for emotion until the mission was complete. And
given the nature of most of her missions, she was a solo act. But now, damn ...
"What's wrong, baby?" Hunter murmured
without opening his eyes. He nuzzled her hair and pulled the comforter tighter
around them both.
"Nothing," she said in a near whisper.
"And everything," she added after a pause.
"I could tell by your breathing ... then your
body got tight." He kissed her temple. "What's the everything?"
She let her breath out hard and kissed the center of
his chest long and slow, thinking. "How can I go back to the base with
this weakness that will happen once a quarter? It's accepted in Shadow culture
as just a norm, but in our culture ... the human culture I was raised in, work
in . .."
"You talk as if you're not one of us," he
said in a low, sleepy rumble, his tone holding no judgment.
"That's not what I meant," she said, tracing
the stone ridges of his chest with her fingertips and speaking against his
neck. "I'm just getting used to being a Shadow—just found out that I was
.. . it's a little more than I bargained for and it's taking a while for me to
switch up the lingo."
She could feel him smile as his face moved against her
temple.
"I'll teach you," he murmured in a warm rush
of air and pulled her closer, beginning to wake up.
"No, no, be serious," she said, squirming in
his hold. "I'm trying to process what just happened here."
"I am serious," he said in a low chuckle
that rumbled through his body. "I'll help you process every ... delicious
... data point."
"Hunter, listen to me. I never had good intel
about who or what I was going in, and didn't know my body would react like
this. .. . Imagine, after all the years you've been alive, suddenly finding out
you had some undetonated explosive in your system like this, that only started
ticking once you got around your own species." She shook her head.
"Absolutely mind-blowing, and I don't know how to integrate this with what
used to be my former, more orderly life."
Amazingly his grip loosened and the playfulness went
out of his tone.
"I do know what it's like to have a time bomb in
your system, Sasha," he said quietly, no longer seeking her mouth but
seeking her gaze. "I just hope I haven't passed that to you."
“We're going to beat this thing, find a way to be sure
it's totally gone or made dormant, something."
He touched her face. "Do you realize that this is
the first time you've ever really incorporated the word we into
thinking about the future us?"
They stared at each other between blue-white panels of moonlight that came through the window. She touched
his face, tracing the high ridge of his Native American
cheekbones, marveling at the fusion of cultures that also gave him a strong
African nose and lush Haitian mouth and coloring.
"I was always a lone soldier and never knew how
to do 'we,' Hunter. Not sure that I know how to now ... but you make me want
to. It's not the weakness caused by the heat. It's you."
She watched him briefly close his eyes and take in a
deep breath through his nose. She'd stopped breathing, never having left her
emotions so wide open and exposed before.
"Your heat is not considered a female weakness,
like human males so foolishly view the human female menses," he said
quietly, as he allowed the pad of his thumb to trace her bottom lip. He shook
his head no, his eyes never leaving hers. "Nor is it a curse or any other
ridiculous term. To think such is antithetical to our
culture. That is what I cannot begin to process. What you've just experienced
we consider a time when you step into the full ripeness of your female energy.
If anything, the weakness that is inspired is within our gender... when a male Shadow is rendered
completely and totally devastated."
He took her mouth slowly and deeply and then pulled
away so he could stare into her eyes. "Sasha, don't you understand yet. .
. that when you have finally chosen me as your mate, and have opened your heart
to be vulnerable to me at your strongest time of passion, that is when you'll
completely consume me? And as I wait for you to decide, what else am I now but
yours?"
As he kissed her again, it was his turn to freak out.
He'd gone into this union a freestanding warrior and come out of it her
soldier. As her satiny heat blanketed him, her body welding to his, he knew
that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her, short of death. Yes, even
that—he'd take a silver bullet, risk clan retaliation if he had to eliminate
infected pack members, regardless of the politics. He'd protect her from her
own military, if they ever turned on her, and would protect her heart from any
abuse this wicked world might try to foist upon her.
She scorched his mind as her moist heat soaked into
his skin and bones like a warm rain. Keeping her heart safe meant that her
family was his family, because they were embedded in her spirit. Woods, Fisher,
Doc, all she had to do was tell him the names of those to protect and he'd
bring the way of the wolf to shadow them. On her command he'd become like a
dark, unseen angel of the night for them, for her, anything she asked.
Her heat was his weakness, didn't she know ... but it
was also more than that, so much more. It was the agony in her eyes as she'd
held a weapon on him and didn't take the shot. It was the way she had a prayer
burning in her irises that she wouldn't have to pull the trigger. It was the
way she'd fought side by side with him, then against him, as well as the
respect she gave his grandfather... along with the unspoken protection she'd
lent to an elderly man without stealing his dignity. It was so many things
about her that fused in a single baritone moan as she joined their bodies.
It was impossible
to process any of it. There was just simply no sorting it
out right now.
~
Try as he might, he couldn't break free. The chains
and leather straps didn't allow for even the slightest movement. A muzzle had
been placed over his mouth; bright, glaring lights chased
away all shadows, thus any place safe to slip into
and disappear.
Something was stinging or pinching the soft flesh in
the crease of his arm; his head pounded from the blow he'd
received. Crow Shadow glanced at his arms, panic making him thrash against his
restraints anew.
Thick, plastic tubes filled with a crimson substance
that he knew to be his own blood leaked life out of his body. Growls filled his throat, but with his mouth sealed shut
there was no way to voice his complaint. Spewing curses was futile, he needed
answers! Since when did Vampires begin drinking Shadow Wolf blood? He didn't
understand; his eyes followed the very nonchalant entities that
monitored his progress. Would they suck him dry and leave him a pale husk, or
keep him alive to torture in some sick game?
Weak from significant blood loss and a concussion, for
now all he could do was watch them fill small test tubes with what leaked from
his veins. At least they hadn't put their foul mouths on him and bitten him.
~
A second-floor window opened before Woods had taken
two steps away from the rental car. Fisher cocked his weapon, but a familiar
female voice called out a split-second response.
"Drop it."
"Clarissa?" Woods yelled as Fisher pulled
back.
"You're gonna have to do better than that,"
a familiar male voice shouted
"Yo, Winters, hit us with holy water, garlic,
whatever as long as it's not silver bullets, dude."
"Where's Fisher?" Bradley called out.
"You know the protocol on a nighttime sanctuary request."
Fisher begrudgingly nodded and came out of hiding from
behind the car. He opened both arms, weapon dangling from one finger, and
walked up the front steps. Both he and Woods cringed as a bucket of water doused
them ' from the second-floor window.
"All clear!" Clarissa yelled after thirty
seconds.
The front door opened after a brief pause. Winters
peeked out with a toothy grin.
"Sorry, guys. This was the best decontamination
process we could rig up outside of the lab."
~
Lion Shadow looked around the gathering of pack alphas
and the hair began to prickle on the back of his neck, although he wasn't sure
why. Several of the other Shadows had the same reaction, he noticed, and he
began to study their entourages with great care. The hunting party had agreed
to stay close, to stay in communication, but several members were missing. All
betas. Too many at the same time to not be noticed. Something was definitely
wrong.
~
"Hey, Doc," the MP said as Xavier Holland
stopped at the main guard checkpoint. "I see they have you running back
and forth tonight," he added, making pleasant small talk.
"Yes, Joe, I have been running around like a
chicken with my head cut off," Doc said calmly, trying to force his voice to remain upbeat. He smiled a tense smile. "But
at my
age I'm starting to forget where I'm
supposed to be when. Just for the record, what time was it when I pulled in
earlier—I know there was something else I was supposed to do, but for the life of me ..."
"No problem, Doc," the younger man said, his
eyes holding a combination of amusement and empathy. "It was around
twenty-one-hundred hours, sir. I hope that helps?"
"Ah, perfect," Doc said with a forced
chuckle. "Thank you son."
He kept driving and immediately called the lab
security phones in a panic. As soon as the line picked up he
began reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. The MP on the line recited The Lord's Prayer, and only then did Doc slump
back against his seat in relief.
"There was an attempted breach," he told the
guard. "Around twenty-one-hundred an entity body-doubling as me tried to
get into the lab. It may still be on the premises. Take all precautions."
~
Francois shook his head. "Ah, they have learned. We
got past the entrance guards easily enough, but once in the tunnels we could go
no farther. They'd created a holy water mist system with UV lights leading to
the labs that would
eviscerate one of us—not to mention, the
garlic oil they'd sprayed in there was wicked enough to gag Dracula
himself!"
Etienne sighed and waved his hand. "Such a
nuisance, but this is perhaps what I so love about the humans. They are adaptable and keep the
challenge generous."
"But it would have been so much more potent with
antitoxin added to it." Francois fingered a plastic bag of Crow Shadow's
blood and released an annoyed sigh. "I would have so enjoyed seeing the
expression on that arrogant bastard's face. I am not finished with Dexter, to
be sure."
"Nor I." A sly smile creased the corners of
Etienne's mouth. "But patience, patience ... there is still more than
enough time to redress the slight. Everything in this world is about auspicious
timing, n'est-ce pas?"
~
Nausea made Clarissa hold on to the edge of a desk.
"We've got to get out of here," she said, staving off the dry heaves.
"What, are you nuts?" Fisher said, glancing
around at Woods, Winters, and Bradley. "It's the dead of night. Trudeau
said to stay put."
"If we don't move quickly, they'll find us here.
Werewolves. They're on the move from a cemetery less than a mile from here—you
accidentally led them. For some reason they're seeing you. I don't know
why."
Woods and Fisher looked at each other.
"I thought only Shadow Wolves could pick up familiars?"
Woods said, his horrified gaze ripping to each face in the room.
"Clarissa, before we risk going out in the night without cover in Vampire
and Werewolf country, make real sure you're picking up Werewolf and not Shadow
Wolf, all right?"
Clarissa's eyes held the same question that Bradley's
and Winters's eyes held. "What the hell is a Shadow Wolf?"
Fisher slapped his forehead and began walking in a
tight circle.
"You said familiars, like a witch's
confidant?" Bradley rushed over to an open table and extracted rune stones
from his pocket, then quickly flung them down.
"Oh, just screw me!" Woods said, his
voice escalating with his panic. "No! Didn't Trudeau give you intel yet
about the nature of this mission, and the rest of it?"
"No, but the stones say Clarissa is right."
Bradley looked up from his quick divination and began grabbing artillery.
"Hey, guys, I don't know about stones or visions,
but radar is picking up something large, moving fast—many things, actually. Now
would be a good time for somebody to pull that MLRS out and load that puppy
up!" Winters backed away from the table and began to assist Woods and
Fisher.
"Gimme coordinates, Bradley—tell me where to
point it, Rissa," Woods said as he and Fisher rolled the unit that was
pitched on a dolly toward the window.
Fisher whipped out a digital compass as Clarissa
barked directional information, and positioned the multiple launch rocket
system to target the center of the fast moving mass.
"Are you guys insane?" Bradley yelled, his
eyes wild. "You can't fire that in a residential area!"
"Yo, yo, yo—not to mention it'll take off half
the roof," Winters added, terror making his voice raw.
"It's gonna hit the graveyard," Woods said,
not missing a beat. "May God rest in peace whatever's in there."
'Take off half the roof or let what's coming take off
half your face—quick decision, folks," Fisher said.
One second went by and Woods made the decision.
"I thought so," he said, and then set off silver rounds that exploded
out of the northwestern section of the roof and sounded like bazooka tracers.
Clarissa, Winters, and Bradley hit the floor, covering
their heads from falling cinders. Fisher grabbed a fire extinguisher and
foamed anything with an ember glow.
"Good! Now we've got a hole," Fisher said,
nodding toward Woods. "Your call, Lieutenant."
"Winters, what's up on radar? In about ten
seconds you should be able to see nothing moving."
Winters scrambled up on his feet and checked the radar
systems. But before he could speak, it sounded like the Fourth of July outside.
"Oh, shit!" Bradley yelled and was up on his
feet. "Now local authorities will be—"
"No they won't," Woods said, picking up an
M-16 and checking to be sure the magazine had silver shells. "Not if you
guys get up on the roof and tack down a tarp over the hole. Then this building
will look like any other dilapidated, half-repaired, work-in-progress structure
in the ward. The locals will take days to go house-to-house to figure out the
exact trajectory of that artillery." He turned to Clarissa. "You all
stay armed, me and Fisher have gotta draw whatever made it out of the graveyard
away from you."
"Roger that," Fisher said, adding grenades
to his arsenal.
"You guys don't have to do that," Winters
said, glancing from his screen to the two soldiers. "A big section of the
mass stopped moving... then it looks like small splinters of it broke off and
are going deeper into the neighborhoods away from us . . . heading for the Lake
Pontchartrain swamplands, and some of them are headed southwest toward the
Terrebonne bayou area."
Woods nodded but he and Fisher didn't lay down their
arms. "Get a tarp up on that roof to camouflage the artillery hole while
me and Fisher walk point, just to be on the safe side."
~
Sasha opened her eyes at the same time Hunter did.
They both got up quickly, the haze of sleep instantly vanishing as they rushed
into the shower, and were in and out in three minutes. Dressed, armed, they met
Silver Hawk on the path to the truck.
"I did not want to intrude, but I sense there's
been an incident," the older man said, looking at them without blinking.
Sasha and Hunter nodded.
"We know," Hunter said. "Yeah ... we
know."
Chapter 14
"We never really got to say how glad we were that
you guys made it home okay," Clarissa said once Woods and Fisher had
slipped back into the building.
"Then and now, dude," Winters said, giving
Woods and Fisher a fist pound.
Bradley nodded. "We went to your memorial
services on the base. Seeing you show up here freaked everybody out... . We
didn't know what to think. But we appreciate everything you did."
Woods dragged his fingers through his disheveled hair.
"Can't say we blame you." His eyes held a level of fatigue that went
beyond battle weary. "You can train all your life, drill a situation a
thousand times, but until you see it up close and personal, it's all brand
spanking new. None of this fits into what I'd call normal."
"You got that right," Fisher said quietly.
"You know how they ran us through all those simulations?" He let out
a little snort and leaned against the wall. "That was all bullshit
compared to the real McCoy. Let a real one of those suckers charge you and
you'll piss your pants before you lift your weapon—I guarantee you."
“That's why we're thanking you," Clarissa said
quietly.
"We were all freaked out just seeing incoming on
the radar. We never even saw what it was." She looked around the group,
her gaze landing on Fisher and then Woods. "Because you're willing to put
it all on the line, you're essentially giving us the luxury of staying in the
house, in the lab, doing our jobs, and living our lives out of harm's way.
There aren't enough thank-yous for that."
"Never stated so eloquently or so true,"
Bradley said.
Winters let out a hard sigh. "Yeah ... we owe you
big time. But for now all we can say is thanks, dudes."
Fisher and Woods nodded and then studied the floor.
"We've gotta move out," Woods said slowly
and quietly, bringing his gaze back up to the group. "Never seen so many
of them charging at one time. They tell us that the demon-infected ones are
solitary predators, and if they're moving in wolf packs, something is very,
very wrong. We're sitting ducks in this house."
Fisher glanced around. "There's a lotta artillery
to move, man. Can't leave this for the local-yokels to get their hands on. God
forbid we let a military-issue MLRS or bazookas fall into the hands of
neighborhood kids, drug dealers, and what have you."
"We've gotta call into HQ anyway and let them
know we've had an artillery incident. They can send in the cleanup guys and
spin doctors to feed the general public some bull about it being lightning that
struck a house and nearby cemetery, ya know?" Winters's line of vision raced
around the group and then he hesitated as he saw a mixture of emotions in
Woods's and Fisher's expressions. "What?"
'They think we're dead," Woods said flatly.
"Who?" Again, Winters's face held confusion.
"The brass?"
"Yeah, the brass," Fisher said and spat on
the floor. "So, if we've gotta call in, the only person we give intel to
on a secured line is Doc—Trudeau rolls like that, too."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I thought they knew you guys
were really alive, had the phony memorial funeral services, that is, we thought
all that once you guys passed muster, because it was some kinda top
secret—"
"No, Winters," Woods said, staring at him.
"Doc Holland saved our asses. The brass tried to exterminate us like they
did the rest of the squad." He walked away, his voice tight and trembling
with rage and hurt from the betrayal. "They thought we were infected, but
we weren't! Only Captain Butler was!"
Fisher rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes hard.
"Doc is the only one, other than Sasha and I guess you guys now, from
inside that I trust. Woodsey told it to you straight. We were out there in the
fucking Afghan mountains supposedly on a mission to look for a terrorist
threat—when really they'd set our squad up to see what would happen with a
trained team under live Werewolf situation def con. Cock-suckers watched it on
satellite, is my bet, and then when Woodsey pushed me to safety and called in,
they sent a conveniently close Black Hawk chopper in that napalmed our
squad."
"Friendly fire," Woods said with a brittle
chuckle. "Let it go, man, or it'll eat you alive like the
Werewolves."
Tears filled Fisher's eyes and then spilled, causing
him to turn away. "Gave my whole life to them. I believed! Then they did
us like this? Even messed with our DNA? Our whole lives have been a lie, man.
It was fucked up!"
"It was," Winters said with disgust.
"We didn't know. None of us did. Probably not even Doc. And I know Trudeau
didn't." His eyes wild, he looked around at Bradley and Clarissa. "And I also know that nobody in
here knows what you're talking about as far as them
screwing with your DNA. All I do know is, we're not the enemy, and we have your back. We saw you guys do some real Superman shit just now and seriously appreciate
it."
"If it's any consolation to you gentlemen, the general that ordered the mission, our own Donald Wilkerson, got his face literally ripped off by some supernatural . . . and
that's why they've finally given Trudeau her own budget and staff. She was the only one who seemed to know how to track down and eliminate the threat." Bradley
glanced around the group.
"Yeah," Woods said with no small measure of
pride in his voice. "That's our girl. Her
and Hunter. Remind us to fill you in on this new category of
supernatural that's on our side that even the brass doesn't
know about. You don't want to screw up and accidentally hit
one of them in a firefight, because they might just save your
ass. They're not Werewolves, far from it."
Fisher shook his head. "We'll tell you all about
it, how to spot the differences in a Shadow Wolf on the move
versus
a Werewolf. You only have a split second
to know, hold your fire, or blow its head off when it comes from
outta nowhere, so you've gotta learn it cold while we wait
for Trudeau and Hunter to rendezvous with us."
"This intel has gotta stay here, though,"
Woods said, his gaze steady like his voice. "You slip up and notify the
brass before Trudeau is ready to reveal what she needs to, and you'll have us all strapped to a fucking lab table
with mad scientists running tests."
"As far as I'm concerned, I don't work for the
government, I work for Trudeau, Doc, and my conscience— which is this band of
brothers and a sister right here," Bradley said, his eyes on Woods and
Fisher. "After what I've heard, and from what I figured opt before, I know
to the powers that be I'm just an insignificant cog in the wheel, thus cannon
fodder as far as the big boys in Washington are concerned ... so ..."
"Hey, you ain't gotta tell me twice. Trudeau
saved my ass," Winters said. "Long story short, I got duped by a Vampire
and she let it slide, covered for me so I didn't get life for accessory to a
base breach... that really wasn't my fault."
"I saw how they disrespected me and Doc's
work," Clarissa said in a quiet, bitter tone. "Saw how they would go
against his reports and his advice until they had a debacle on their hands—then
they wanted to blame that man. I saw the real tears in his eyes for the ones
that didn't make it at the memorial services and felt the knots in his soul. You
don't have to worry about me. Ever."
Clarissa folded her meaty arms over her ample chest
and lifted her chin. "Me, Winters, Bradley were all saved by Doc from the
experiments they were doing in the paranormal phenomena field during the early
days. I had second sight and Bradley had innate knowledge of all things
magical... Winters, poor kid, could make anything electrical work with
kinesis. None of us wants to be one of their research monkeys."
Fisher nodded and drew in a shuddering breath.
"That's good to know because it's real fucked up not having a family
anymore, not being a part of anything bigger than you. Like, not having a soul
you can trust is real shitty. Even in prison they've got gang family, ya know?
I thought the military was mine for life."
Clarissa covered her mouth with her hand slowly and
went to Fisher. She touched his back with a gentle palm. "We won't turn on
you, Jim. I swear, we've got your back."
He allowed her to pull him into a careful embrace, and
slowly but surely relaxed enough to exhale and lower his head to her shoulder.
Two big tears rolled down the bridge of Fisher's nose as he closed his eyes and
simply soaked in Clarissa's compassion. For what seemed like a long while, no one said a word. It was as though they all
knew that two left-for-dead soldiers needed to heal; their bodies had survived,
so had their minds, but their hearts and spirits had
taken near-mortal rounds.
Finally Fisher let her go and wiped his face. Woods
lifted his chin from where he stood across the room and
swallowed hard, but everything in his rigid posture told her not
to go to him in front of the team. One hug, one gentle caress and he'd
shatter—and for the sake of his dignity it was clear that he preferred not to
have that happen. She agreed with her eyes, told him with a glance that when he
was ready to heal, ready to weep in her hair, he could. His response was a
brief nod of thanks. In this small squad he was the alpha male and couldn't
afford a show of weakness while danger was still on the move. They all seemed
to understand and quietly appreciate that.
~
Sasha took the cell phone that Silver Hawk handed her
as Hunter drove. Doc, no doubt, was losing his mind if he'd caught wind of
these serious vibrations. Yet in her core she felt a distress signal from her
men and the team, as well as, oddly, Crow
Shadow—whom she thought was dead.
Maybe it was simply residual impressions coming to the
fore, but the bleating worry that pierced her mind refused to allow her to dismiss
any of it. On the second ring, Doc picked up. Just hearing his voice melted her
bones.
"It's me," Sasha said. "Where are you?
Are you all right?"
"I am and have the same question. Are you at the
contact point yet?" Doc asked quickly.
Sasha closed her eyes. "No. I got delayed."
"Good," Doc shot back quickly. "The
zone is hot. I'm moving the location."
"What happened?" Sasha held her breath.
"Did we lose anybody?"
"No, but I'm going to have to send in a cleanup
team, media adjustments. There was an attempted attack originating in a
cemetery that required an MLRS launch."
"Oh, shit..."
Hunter nearly drove off the road and had to refocus on
the task at hand. Silver Hawk was staring down her throat.
"Precisely. I'll send new coordinates. Will have
to give the brass something to go on. French Quarter," Doc said
succinctly, his tone efficient and crisp. "Vampires are involved again.
Tried to breach the base, so I did have to send that up the food chain. You
look alive and stay alive, Trudeau—you hear me?"
"You too, Doc." She clutched the receiver.
It was all she could do not to tell the old man how much she loved him.
"Debrief," Hunter said, glancing at her as
he barreled the Dodge RAM down the road.
"We've got a hot situation in New Orleans.
Something attacked the safe house—or was about to, when the guys fired off
serious ballistics that backed it up." Sasha's gaze ping-ponged between
Hunter and his grandfather. "If they fired off an MLRS in a residential
zone, two things: one, it had to be demon-infected incoming; two, it had to be
an insane level of threat for trained men to go there among civilians. The
other issue is Vampires are involved."
Silver Hawk nodded. "Then my instincts back at
the lodge were not wrong."
"No, sir," Sasha said, anger making her voice
brittle. "They tried to breach the base, probably get back into the lab.
Apparently there's still something there they want— mid the only thing I can
think of that's in any kind of supply is
infected-Werewolf virus antitoxin . .. since the first break-in all but depleted any supplies of the werewolf
virus itself."
"The part that makes no sense to me is why would
Vampires help those who stole the toxin?" Hunter raked his fingers through
his hair, now just holding the wheel with one hand. "After Dexter, Guilliaume,
and Fox Shadow double-crossed them before, why would they again partner with
them?"
"I don't know," Sasha said quietly, her
voice trailing off in deep thought. "You're right, it just doesn't make
sense."
Silver Hawk's quiet tone drew their attention and then
imploded in their minds like a sonic boom. "It makes perfect sense, if
you wanted to start a war."
~
"We've got ten betas missing, at least one from
every pack," Lion Shadow said, glancing around at his alpha Shadow
brothers.
Bear Shadow's eyes roved the group. "My pack
brother Crow Shadow should have met up with us by now. He took the familiars to
their drop-off point where they were able to get the last flight out, and then
he was to drive in as far as he could before going on foot to meet us
here."
"Hunter was headed toward the lodge. I think we
should go there, convene as a clan—something isn't right," a voice called
out from the large gathering.
A series of howls cut through the air and the group
stood slowly, each member helping to douse the large campfire. Then all fell
eerily silent as a whiff of an enemy scent flitted through the night air. A
twig snapped. Twenty-five shotguns lifted in reaction to the sound. Just that
quickly, all hell broke loose.
Out of the stand of trees fifty yards out, massive
demon-wolf bodies hurtled forward. Shadow Wolves still in human form fired
dead-aim shots and then took cover, but the crazed beasts anticipated their
moves and dodged in and out of demon doors, avoiding direct mortal hits. Even
in the darkness and mayhem familiar pack eyes met the eyes of beasts. The
psychological destruction of seeing one's father, cousin, brother, friend
transformed into the unthinkable took a devastating toll during the melee.
Shots that connected with foul creatures blew off body
parts to begin an agonizing death. Demon-wolf retaliation was just as swift in
gruesome savaging.
Arms, legs, torsos, and skulls littered the small
snow-covered clearing that had become splattered with gore. Instant family
recognition often paralyzed the shooter just long enough to commit his life to
another charging beast. Complete chaos took over the hunting party ranks, as
Lion Shadow's voice barked out the command to hold the fine. Those with spent
artillery shape-shifted and charged the much larger beasts, immediately losing
their throats to the struggle.
"Fall back!" Lion Shadow shouted, watching
in horror as demon-infected wolves didn't just kill Shadow Wolves but began
eating from the bodies left on the battlefield.
There was no way his mind could make sense of what his
eyes witnessed. His Shadows needed to regroup. They had never been attacked
full-scale like this with so many beasts at once. Always it was only one beast,
at most two— two being legendary ... the time when Hunter's mother was killed.
But they'd never fought in a coordinated effort like a Shadow pack. They had
never been of their own kind.
Winded, wounded, but still standing, a snarl filled
Lion Shadow's throat as he looked around at the ragged warriors that remained.
Of twenty-five good men and women with some honorable betas who'd joined the
fray, he now had only fifteen that would possibly live to see sunrise. This plague had somehow come from within their own
ranks. What else could explain such an abomination? Not all those that changed
could have tried Dexter's drug. Many of whom had become beasts were above
reproach. This had to be forced from involuntary contagion. The
beasts had to come from the lodge ... from the only one among them that had
carried the disease in his very DNA for a long time. Hunter. Why else
would he have wanted to go forward into this level of danger alone?
~
Dexter leaned both clawed hands on his knees, bending
over and breathing hard. He looked around the shadowed bayou at his remaining
pack, seething with rage. "Familiars. Only familiars would have picked us
up, just like we homed to them."
Growls rumbled from the nine wolves that surrounded
him.
"I thought you said there was Shadow blood in
that house," a tall, matted demon with a patchy silver and black coat
complained, saliva dripping from his massive jaws as he spoke.
Dexter's gaze narrowed on him. "I smelled it, we
all did."
"Don Juan, you scented it like the rest of
us," a dark-eyed female snarled.
The tall wolf lunged at her and she met the charge,
both wolves colliding in the air, jaws locked in a death match.
"We've already lost eleven of our kind!"
Dexter shouted, reaching in with a steel grip to pull the combatants apart, and
flung them to the ground with a yelp. "This dissension in the ranks is
what keeps original demon-wolves weak. The infected Werewolves do not work
together like Shadow packs, but we have the best of both worlds. Until we find
out how many of us made it to Terrebonne, we cannot have this!"
Snarls were the response, but the combatants went to
neutral corners in the swamps nonetheless.
"Get back to the blood," the beast nicknamed
Don Juan growled. "Being stronger is only an advantage if you can control
your shifts."
All eyes were on Dexter, narrowed to glowing distrustful
slits that threatened a mutiny.
"I, for one, did not sneak away from my husband
to live in the godforsaken bayou like an animal," the female growled.
"I thought you had an ironclad deal with the Vampires—one that would allow
us an endless supply of the drug that we could sell to foolish humans to make
us filthy rich. Plus, a way to come down from this ... this ... high, for lack
of a better word."
Dexter lowered his head in pre-attack mode, his voice
a threatening rumble. "Barbara... you bitch," he said between
his teeth. "You left your husband for this, first, the money second, so
let's not play games and get brand-new," he said, clutching his groin.
"Personally, I don't give a damn why she
left," another wolf growled, stepping out from behind dense bayou foliage.
"We need the Shadow blood on tap to control the infected-Werewolf shifts
now that this shit is in our systems. Without that,
we're no better than them... no smarter—each shift I can feel myself losing the
ability to think,
to speak while wolf." He glanced
around the group, gaining subtle nods of approval.
"And the money is something we definitely need to discuss."
Growing bolder, the challenger stepped closer. "I
think you got your dumb ass set up, Dex. Maybe the Vamps hit the trail with Shadow blood and we got flat-blasted by running
up on a paranormal military installation?" He smiled, seeming to enjoy Dexter's momentary loss of control of the
group, and turned to look at the other wolves with a shrug.
In a flash Dexter was on him and had separated the
much smaller wolf's head from his shoulders with the help of both jaws and claws. "Or maybe your dumb ass
just lost your head for overthinking some bullshit I already thought of?"
Dexter shrugged, looking down at the twitching body and mimicking the dead
wolf's smug expression. He scanned the group with a deadly stare. "Who
knows? Maybe that's what happened?"
~
"Lovely outcome, don't you think?" Francois
waved his handkerchief in the direction of the demon-infected Shadow Wolf pack
with disdain, hovering inches above the swamp's muddy floor. "It's so much
easier to have them
kill each other off and do the work
themselves than for us to sully ourselves with the effort."
Etienne smiled and then peered around the dank environment
with a bored scowl. "Now it is just a matter of getting the true
Werewolves to stop being little bitches and to surface."
“Perhaps we could encourage them without raising
Napoleon and half of the French army."
"You are so wicked, mon ami. Let Napoleon
rest. There are ways to help encourage our frightened friends to open their
demon doors."
Francois drew back and placed two pale fingers against
his plump, red pout. "Non .. you
have not considered .. "
"Oui. The
play is already in motion. They will have little choice but to retaliate once
they sense a breach." Etienne sighed with a chuckle. "Come, Francois,
let us return to the French Quarter. This is no place for true gentlemen."
Chapter 15
The carnage that met them at the
nearest pack outpost was so devastating that for a moment, as Hunter rolled the
truck to a slow stop, no one moved.
What had once doubled as a Native American trail and
tour service now looked like a butcher shop. Blood splattered the windows of
the small cabin and gift shop. There was clearly no need to look for survivors.
The guts of the chopper that would have been their way out were strewn across
the ground, along with truck engine parts, metal, and glass. Hunks of flesh and
claw marks in the crimson snow made Sasha want to vomit. Some poor soul had
been dragged away to his or her death in a bloodied smear. The fact that there
were no bodies is what she was sure caused Hunter and Silver Hawk the greatest
pain; the missing gore pointed to one inescapable fact—those who'd been killed
here were eaten.
"We're gonna have to split up. It's the only
way," Sasha stated flatly as the threesome piled out of the truck. "I
have to get ahead of this nightmare and make sure my human team in New Orleans
is properly fortified. You gentlemen have to alert the pack as well as the rest
of the clan. There's no way to cover that much ground, that fast"
She tried not to look at Hunter while they all
surveyed the devastation, even though she could feel his stare boring into
her. Basic instinct told her that he had to be thinking the same thing that
lacerated her conscience—if they'd been on point, could this massacre, like the
others, have been avoided?
Survivor's guilt was eating its way through her skin
like acid. The horror and the frustration of not being able to have been there
to help defend a small outpost felt like it swept over her in hot, roiling
waves. It was the kind of thing that ironically Doc had told her would make
soldiers take unnecessary risks. Despite his words and all the psychological
training she'd endured, nothing had prepared her for this feeling—even though
she'd repeatedly told herself there was a fine line between heroism and
suicide.
But who was she to judge Hunter? She never could seem
to find that line for herself, and on the rare occasion when she had, she never
knew which side of it to stand on, anyway... so what could she say to Hunter,
in all truth? Telling him that it wasn't his fault was an act of futility. She
glimpsed his profile and could see by the hard set of his eyes and jaw that he
was absorbing into his consciousness every last scream that had echoed here.
She noted that Silver Hawk saw that in Hunter, too.
They shared a glimpse, his aged eyes holding hers for just a few seconds before
going back to the gory scene around them. There was no judgment in his glance,
just deep concern and compassion. Yet, as wise as Silver Hawk was, the old man
also seemed at a loss for what to say.
Sad reality was that this shit could've happened while
they'd gone to make an ammo run, ate at the diner with Silver Hawk, or when
they were possibly battling for their own lives at the lodge.
"There is another way and you know it,"
Hunter said after a while, his comment finally making Sasha and his grandfather
look at him. He folded his arms over his chest, his gaze intense, as though the
decision was final just like his assessment of the area was.
"Too risky," Sasha said, shaking her head.
"Not after what we've seen out here."
"I agree," Hunter said, digging in, his
voice near a low growl. "There is no way in the world you can take the
Shadow pathways that are just fractions of energy away from demon doors and not
expect what's in there to not make a grab for you, especially in—"
"If you say in 'your condition,' man, I swear
we'll do fistcuffs
out here," she snapped. "You
got a better plan? I was talking about it being too risky for you, not me. You
can't go through those pathways without incident, either, in
your condition, but your situation is much more volatile than mine. You
going is suicide. Not now, not with a fresh purge—and the last thing we need is
for you to come out the other end of a pathway as the same damned thing that
ate pack members!"
Sasha paced away, thoroughly frustrated. How in the
hell else were they going to get out of the mountains and to their people in
time?
True, Hunter had a point, an excellent one at that.
No, she didn't want to be chased, possibly trapped, and gang-banged, then
killed by a slobbering pack of demon-infected Shadow Wolves or Werewolves. But
she also didn't want to be trapped between dimensions with her man, unable to
help him as the raw energy from the wrong side slowly transformed him, and then
have to shoot him on sight as soon as they exited near family and friends. No.
"And I take it that a cell phone call is simply
out of the question," she said in a sarcastic tone that she regretted.
"It is not the way of the wolf," Silver Hawk said, lifting his chin,
slightly indignant.
Sasha raised one hand. "I know, I know—case of
bad nerves making me say stupid things. But at some point, we're going to have
to bring state of the art technology up here in these mountains." She
looked at both men hard. "I'm serious. We have a new threat, one that hasn't
ever been seen—therefore, some of the old ways just won't work in fighting this
new type of beast. It's not either-or; rather, it's a both-and strategy. Both
new technology and the old ways."
Seeming somewhat mollified by her compromise, Silver
Hawk nodded. "Both-and is an acceptable meeting in the middle."
Sasha resisted blowing a curl up off her forehead in
exasperation. It would have been disrespectful to the old man. Note to self:
Get gear up in the mountains next mission or next chance they got, assuming
they lived.
"I'm going in," Hunter announced as his gaze
roved over the bloodied landscape one last time. "If they've been in a
firefight, survivors will home toward the lodge for more ammunition and
supplies." He turned on his heels and headed for the truck, then jumped up
into the back flatbed to select a pump shotgun and some shells.
"And if you come out at the lodge a drooling
demon?" Sasha yelled, unable to contain her frustration. "Then
what?"
"Give me the amulet," Silver Hawk said,
walking forward with an outstretched hand. "I will go. It is too uncertain
for you."
"I love you, Pop," Hunter said, and took a
running leap over the hood of the cab and was gone.
"I'll just be damned!" Sasha yelled.
"Of all the pigheaded, stupid, completely reckless
things I've ever seen!" She was at the side of the truck
in seconds, making Silver Hawk miss her when he reached out in an attempt to
stop her.
"Don't repeat his mistake, daughter! It wasn't
your fault. This happened earlier—look at the tracks!" Silver Hawk shouted as she grabbed a shotgun, several grenades,
and a fistful of shells, his eyes holding clearly visible fear for the very
first time. "Do not sacrifice yourself for a dishonor neither of you
committed."
But it was too late. He only got to address her back
as she disappeared through a Shadow path.
~
Again, Hunter hadn't lied. The Shadow pathway pulled
her into a moonlit, hazy dimension that had the strange reek of demon-wolf
scent in it that shouldn't have been there. She immediately began loading
shells. Something was really, really wrong. Normally the demons couldn't
cross into the Shadow lands. Either something had thinned the energy between
demon doors and where she stood, or worse, that meant the Shadow Wolves that
had been infected could still use the old pathways—which meant they could
probably walk in both realms now. Not a good thing, to be sure.
With the Shadow lands infiltrated by cannibalistic
creatures, hell, that was no better than landing smack-dab in the middle of a
demon-door hot zone. But what if the other possibility panned out to be true;
that the Shadow Wolves gone Were-demon had something to do with the merging of
the energies between demon doors and Shadow pathways?
Sasha shook off the chilling thought. She couldn't speculate
about that now. She had to pray that demon-infected Werewolves still couldn't
slip across the dimensional bolder. Anything abnormal that she encountered
would have to be exterminated simply as a biohazard to the superhighway the
Shadows used. Right now, though, she had to concentrate on remembering how to
draw up her energy and jettison herself through the path to come out at where
she knew Hunter would go to warn the packs—the lodge.
No sooner than she began to get her bearings a low
growl drew her weapon up. It became immediately apparent that it wasn't one
snarl but many. Not waiting to learn more, she pulled the pin on a grenade,
lobbed it toward the sound, flung three more toward the first one, and spun on
the hurling explosives to blow them midair with a shotgun shell as several
dark Werewolf forms lunged.
The impact blew her onto her back, but she never
dropped the shotgun. She was a sliding blur that came out at the lodge, shotgun
in one hand, forearm shielding her face from debris and demon splatter, amulet
swinging. Thick thuds of nasty wet flesh and twisted limbs quickly came out
behind her. On her feet in seconds, her adrenaline keened, she jumped back
from the appendages raining from the pathway blast. However, several
recognizable weapon clicks made her slowly raise her shotgun over her head.
"Family! It's all family!" she said fast as
she looked at several very wary pairs of eyes.
Guns lowered; she let out her breath.
"Oh, shit." Sasha bent over gasping air, one
hand on her knee, the other clutching her gun.
"How many did you get?"
She looked up, trying to place a face with a voice, remembering
slowly that it was the alpha Bob . . . the one who had the annoying wife ...
the couple that Hunter couldn't stand. . . . Where was Hunter?
"Not enough of them," she said, slowly
standing, her gaze scanning the ragtag group that was severely diminished.
"What happened? When were you all attacked? Where?"
The tall blond alpha named Jason, aka Lion Shadow,
appraised her carefully before speaking. "We'd turned back, like Hunter
had commanded, following his plan to see if we could pick up a trail from the
Canadian side— because Dexter had ties there ... we were to then be your backup
in New Orleans. Before we even got close to the border we were ambushed.
Fifteen, twenty, I'm not sure. But what I do know is a lot of us lost mates,
family, will have to bury our own."
Silence echoed loud, becoming a blaring refrain on the
wind.
"I'm sorry," Sasha said gently. It was all
she could say. She'd been in combat and knew what this level of loss could do
to morale. But she had never lost a mate, a lover, someone that close, and she
couldn't fathom the void in one's heart. However, with a threat still present,
they had to keep moving forward, at least mentally. "Did you recognize
any betas in those that attacked you?"
"Yeah," a voice from the small group said.
"Brothers, cousins ... it was insane."
"I don't understand," Bear Shadow said,
risking his neck by breaking rank to speak as a beta among alphas during a war
council. "Those that transformed were like brothers," he said, no
fear or apology in his voice. Overwhelmed with emotion, the gentle giant drew
a ragged breath and pushed on, daring anyone with his eyes to make him stop
saying what needed so desperately to be said. "They were strong of mind,
had no issues with their rank within their pack. They weren't wannabes or cowards.
Something infected them. It wasn't voluntary, this I know in my soul!"
"He's right," Lion Shadow said, glancing
around. "That was my point all along and why we risked going through the
Shadow lands without an amulet bearer to get here. It already felt like we'd
been sucked through a demon door with the way we were attacked, so who cared if
we died heroically on the pathway? We needed answers!"
"Which brings the point home," the rotund
Florida alpha snarled. "Where's Hunter? My wife—I can't even find her
remains! Barbara's gone and for all I know, Hunter murdered her."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sasha said, holding her arms
out in front of her. "He was with me. I can vouch for Hunter's
whereabouts."
"You two were supposed to be the advanced team
and were supposed to come to the lodge!" Lion Shadow shouted. "What
the hell happened to the plan?"
"We got ambushed," Sasha yelled back.
"Did you check the road coming in?"
Angry, distrustful eyes were on her, but no one spoke.
"Our truck was totaled by a huge beast that
jumped into the middle of the road, and we fled to try to get to the lodge for
ammo. If you haven't noticed, they're too big to fight one-on-one in a wolf
fight. You need a whole pack! On the way we saw the direction the SOB came
from. It had taken out an eighteen-wheeler along with the trucker and a ranger
in his cruiser. By the time we got to the lodge, we saw Crow Shadow's truck and
evidence he'd tried to double back to warn us, but something got him before he
could do that—and there were Vampires on the scene, too."
"Bullshit!" Bob shouted.
Sasha held up her arms, a shotgun in hand. "We
had Silver Hawk with us—so don't ask me how they're in it, but they are."
"Yeah, and where's he now? Mighty convenient that
the two Shadows who have always had questionable motives are missing—don't you
think?"
Lion Shadow's gaze narrowed on Sasha, and in a
lightning-fast move she lowered her weapon and cocked back a shell in the
chamber.
"If you're running for political office,
motherfucker, now is not the time for a change in administration. My suggestion
is that we all pull together instead of battling each other."
Bob lowered his nine millimeter at a dangerous angle
toward Sasha, causing Bear Shadow to growl deep in his chest. "Back off,
little lady. This is old clan history that you don't know nothin' about and
don't want no part of." He looked around, gaining nods of support as Sasha
kept her weapon trained on what they'd installed as the region's temporary
leader in Hunter's absence.
"Back when we was all kids, his momma got her
stomach tore out with him in it. We all knew he was infected then. But Silver
Hawk was too broke up to do what he had to do. Had just shot his own son-in-law
for being yellow and letting his daughter get savaged. Had just watched his
baby girl die a horrible death. Then his grandson was going into infected
Werewolf transformation convulsions right out there under a full moon. Ain't
that right, fellas?" Bob said, his voice ringing like an evangelist's.
"Shoulda shot the little bastard in the head
right then, but the old medicine man wouldn't hear of it," Lion Shadow
said evenly, his eyes on the barrel of Sasha's gun. "That was ego,
pure and simple. Silver Shadow was by then really Silver Hawk. His time to rule
the Shadow clans was over, and it was somebody else's son's turn. But noooo. He
wanted the next generation's reign to go to Hunter—even had a human military
geneticist try to give him some nuclear medicine to keep Hunter from changing.
No female wanted him; no family wanted him. Nobody would fight him for fear of
getting nicked and infected by him. He got to rule by default, not necessarily
because he was the strongest. Now he's gone full-blown and brought the
contagion to our Shadow packs! That's gotta be the only reason we're all
getting sick."
"You all are out of your minds, if that's what
you believe," Sasha said through her teeth. She refused to allow mob rule
to murder a man who hadn't even been given a fair chance to clear his name.
"What's worse is you are running on old green-eyed jealousy. Hateration to
the core. And we don't have time for it."
"Put the gun down, Sasha. He might be your lay,
but you don't need to get your pretty self shot in the head over a man who
ain't even man enough to stay and face the music. This been brewing in the clan
for a long time, but look at him—where is he? Gone? Gonna let a female take the
weight?" Bob's gaze hardened and the threat in his voice tightened it.
"Put down the gun."
"Yes ..." a deep voice said from behind the
group. "Put down the gun."
Instant voice recognition made her cock the shotgun up
to the sky and turn just in time to see Bob pivot and release four off-balanced
shots when Bear Shadow rushed him. The huge black wolf that moved in a blur
scattered the group, but also froze Sasha's heart. He'd spoken while in wolf form, something only the predators could do. He was also much larger than he should have been.
The only thing that gave her hope during the ensuing chaos was that Hunter
hadn't actually attacked but simply backed down anyone testing his authority.
Yet before the group could settle down, she saw milliseconds
happen in slow motion. Hunter's back was turned toward a swath of night
shadows. A huge predator barreled through it. Hunter ducked, missing the first
assault, and then stood on hind legs for a moment before vanishing into the
shadows to emerge again for an attack. Several alphas raised weapons, aimed,
and fired. Another wolf came through the same shadow at the wrong trajectory.
... It wasn't as large as Hunter ... it was silver-coated and majestic. It was
hit.
Rounds fractured the night and she knew that this was
the perfect excuse for Hunter and his grandfather to be removed from the pack
once and for all. From the corner of her eye she saw Bear Shadow try to yank
down Bob's arm to keep him from hitting Hunter, and she spun on Lion Shadow and
shot his rifle out of his hand. The message was clear: She'd blow them away if
they even blinked wrong. But she had to get to Hunter—the men behind her
couldn't be trusted. They had to pull Silver Hawk to safety; he'd been badly
wounded and his age didn't help matters.
The only way was to get pack mentality to take precedence
over mob mentality. They had to work as a cohesive unit or the huge beast that
was on Hunter would soon prevail and then would attack them.
"Stay in human form!" Sasha shouted.
"Weapons up on the predator only! You hit our man and you lose an amulet!
There's no telling how many are already here, and that's our only way
back!"
It took only a second for the information and threat
to register. They'd been lucky once going through the Shadow lands with no
amulet bearer to keep them from being snatched beyond demon doors—and they all
seemed to know that had more to do with the beasts' probable feeding frenzy
than divine intervention. If they left Hunter ass-out, or hit him with a shell,
it was clear that she'd leave the lot of them without a way to safely get back
to whatever larger pack they hailed from.
Positioning quickly around the fray as the beast
roared, lunged, and missed Hunter again, Sasha motioned to Bear Shadow to tend
to Silver Hawk. "Staunch his wounds. Take cover!" The old man was
bleeding to death, her heart was in bloodied sections within her chest, ripped
apart by what she knew was happening but couldn't stop.
An abandoned truck from the garage whirred past her
head, made airborne by the frustrated beast. Down on her belly she flattened
herself to the ground as the enraged creature followed Hunter; then she quickly
rolled onto her back and fired three successive shells, catching it in the gut.
Rolling away fast, she avoided the rain of entrails
and the thud of the huge monster that crashed to the ground. It was down but
not dead. Shadows on the ground held their fire. She couldn't tell if they did
so to keep from hitting her, or to let the mortally injured thing do what they
so badly wanted to do—let it rip her face off before they went in and finished
the job.
Sasha popped up at the same time the yellow-eyed beast
staggered up. Out of shells, she turned to run as it smiled. But it snatched
her leg so fast and with such force that it almost felt like her hip was being
yanked out of the socket. Then, its grip slowly eased at
the same time a sickening crunch-gush sound filled her ears. She looked up just
in time to see Hunter in semiwolf form raise the truck axle over his head while
standing upright, and then drive it down into the back of the beast's skull.
He jumped off the creature beneath him, threw his head
back, and howled, and then transformed into his human shape.
Sasha scrambled up, limping, and headed to Silver
Hawk's side with Hunter. Bear Shadow had covered the old man's body with his
own to protect him from flying artillery and debris after stuffing his shirt
into a chest wound and tying a tourniquet around his wounded leg.
"He's still breathing," Sasha said, trying
to instill hope. "He's lost a lot of blood, but if we can get him to Doc
..."
"How? Take him bloody and broken through
demon-infested Shadow lands? And if we got him to Doc, then what? He's not
human! They'll fucking dissect him in a human military base hospital!" Hunter
was on his hands and knees beside the only father he'd ever known, about to cover the near-fatal injuries with his own hands and
pulled back.
Sasha's hands replaced his. There was no need to say
it; the infection was rampant within Hunter's system and the effect on the old
man was beyond anyone's guess. The rest of the alphas saw that, too, but for
the moment, no one was willing to tempt Hunter's ability to reason. Right now,
and over this one dear, blessed old man, it was clear that Hunter would take a
pack brother's life.
"We arrest the bleeding as much as possible, and
yes, we take the whole squad here through the Shadow lands to the safe house in
New Orleans—where there are medical supplies for battlefield conditions. Ammo.
Food. Water. Clarissa can do the basics—she's in-field certified as a trauma
medic, if you don't trust the NORAD facility— and we have communications there,
so we can chopper Doc in under stat conditions. The house has a flat roof,
Hunter." She looked up into his eyes. "We'll get him through the
pathways whole, we're on a mission going in armed and extremely dangerous. One
pack, one family."
Hunter stood and looked around the group, unconvinced.
A shirt hit him in the chest. A found pair of boots dropped with a thud by his
feet. He caught a pair of pants that were slung in his direction.
Lion Shadow made a fist and crossed his chest with his
forearm. The rest of the Shadows present did as well.
"One pack, one family," Hunter said, and
threw his head back and howled.
Chapter 16
"You have to lead in the Shadow lands,"
Hunter said, pulling his shirt over his head. "Only you have a vision of
the safe house now. I'll bring up the rear." He looked at the group that
had carefully transferred his grandfather's limp body to a door taken from the
lodge. "Tight formation, Bear Shadow on point behind Sasha watching her
back and Silver Hawk's front. I want a man flanking him on each side. Drop him
to cut and run, and you die in the Shadow lands. I'll bring up the rear to keep
anything barreling down on us off your asses. Roger that?"
"Roger that," Lion Shadow said with a curt
nod and then checked his artillery.
"No matter how crazy it gets," Sasha said,
"no shape-shifts in the pathways. We can't beat the enemy wolf-to-wolf. As
you've noticed, they're stronger, bigger, faster. We have to rely on human
evasive maneuvers and the artillery we have on hand. That's particularly
important given the precious cargo we're carrying. We need human hands, and my
guys on the other side need to see humans coming out, not wolves—unless it's
the enemy—because they'll wig and fire at will. We need them to hit the right
targets, not us. Understood?"
"Understood," Bob said, glancing at her and
then Hunter before his gaze sought the ground.
"Good." Hunter rounded on the four men that
attended his grandfather, reached out to touch the old man's chest, but then,
as though remembering, made a fist instead.
Sasha was at his side and covered his amulet with her
palm. "You'll be able to let him know you were there for him," she
said quietly. 'Tell him through the light."
Hunter nodded and placed a palm over her amulet and
closed his eyes. In that moment she saw how exhausted the man was—weary not
just from the recent battle but the one he'd fought all his life.
And even though watching that had broken her heart
into a million pieces for him, she was also plagued like the others with a
niggling doubt. What if his condition worsened in the demon-infested Shadow
lands?
No question about it, Hunter's mild hybridization was
frightening, given what they'd seen from the more advanced cases. He'd
actually spoken with a human voice while in wolf form. He'd reared up on
muscular hind legs to combat a threat—and for an instant his foreleg had
morphed into a fur-covered forearm, his right front paw becoming a clawed fist
to rip an axle from an overturned truck. Everyone saw it; there was no
mistaking what had been seen. That combination wasn't normal under any
circumstances and it had been an abomination to his pack brothers to witness.
She saw the humiliation in Hunter's eyes once the threat had passed and he'd
normalized to human.
Guilt stabbed her as they both stood facing each
other, palms over amulets, coaxing the radiant silver-white light of protection
from the ancient wards. They needed the light to quickly surround them and
their group; it was the process by which alpha clan leaders had moved their people
to safety for eons. Only that would keep weaker members from being picked off
from the group at entrances and exits. There were always entities that hovered
at the fragile nexus where choice could be made between taking a pathway or
going through a demon door. It might also be the only thing to hold off
intrapathway attacks in the Shadow lands by infected pack members. But the
light wasn't coming.
"Maybe he's too far gone?" Bob said.
Although his tone wasn't malicious, it grated Sasha no end.
"Maybe so," Hunter said, and began to step
away from her. "Give my amulet to Lion Shadow, then. I don't care who gets
us through, as long as we hurry up. The old man has been down for ten
minutes—and every minute we waste could cost his life."
In that moment Sasha knew it wasn't Hunter that was
the problem. Her doubts and fears that put a wedge in the partnering trust had
blocked it.
"No. It's me," she admitted. "I was
scared—try again."
He looked at her, his gaze intense but not angry. A
strange combination of hurt, but understanding and appreciation for the truth
filled his eyes. After a few seconds he nodded and stepped closer to her. She
dropped her palm away from his chest and hugged him, resting her head on his
shoulder.
His embrace was initially tentative and then became
all encompassing. Within moments she felt the radiating heat of their amulets
awakening. When they stepped back from each other a bright, blinding swath of
silver light that stretched the length of their bodies and their standing-width
apart was between them. As they backed up, the light continued to expand.
"Everyone between us for safety," Hunter
said, never losing eye contact with her. "Stand by. We're going in."
~
"It's a setup," Dexter growled, lowering his
nose to the Shadow pathway. Slowly the distinctive scent of gunpowder and
explosive discharge singed his nose from a place deeper within the Shadow
lands. He looked around at the group and then reared up on his hind legs to his
full height.
"Think about it. . . . They came in here close to
dawn when we'd be transforming back. They trailed Shadow Wolf blood to draw us
and then blew the pathway." Enraged, he railed at the hazy mist that
covered the ground's surface. "Same tactic, just like back at the
cemetery! They're using military weapons retrofitted by Hunter's bitch to work
against us." Dexter closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled, then slowly
shook his head. "But I have to give credit where credit is due—I'd've done
no less."
"The plan?" another beast asked, gazing up
at Dexter, not sure of their leader's mood. "The moon has already dropped
and we haven't shifted back." He glanced around at the others, unnerved.
"The Vampires were supposed to meet us in the
bayou with the blood they'd promised," a voice rang out from the pack.
"We did our part, as promised, and chased all Werewolves back behind their
demon doors and into human habitat hiding. We showed them what we can do—
there hasn't been a sighting since we've been on the hunt."
"Yeah, we shouldn't have to lay low in the
swamps," another voice called out. 'The Vamps reneged—used us."
"We got played; now we're eating our own,"
still another yelped and then released a mournful wail.
"Face it, Dexter," Barbara snarled. 'This
close to dawn, the Vampires aren't making a delivery ... unless they'd send a
human emissary to do the drop-off. But then, the likelihood that he'd be eaten
might make them wary to send a trusted servant."
"Point well taken," Dexter growled and began
to walk on his unnaturally bent hind legs. "Then I say we take us a quiet
little stroll over the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge to the ritzy
district. I have a hunch that since the flooding, the Vamps might still party
in the French Quarter at night and have no doubt taken up residence in St.
Tammany Parish. We'll do this the old-fashioned way and put our noses to the
ground and find those bloodsuckers. Maybe then we can shed a little light on our dilemma to help them understand just where
we're coming from."
~
"Shogun, we have to stop. The men are dropping
where they stand from fatigue and dehydration." His second in command's eyes
stopped glowing as his wolf form retreated to leave a naked, shivering man on
the verge of collapse. "We'll die in the tunnels, and there'll be no glory
for that."
Shogun paced back and forth and then shifted into his
human form. Rage and frustration hardened his almond-shaped eyes, and his
normal, neat, single braid was loosed as a wild mane of black silk. "How
many of us have they fed on, eaten like cattle before the UCE Conference has
even commenced?" He spoke through his teeth, his eyes glittering with fury
as he appraised his exhausted men. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the
underground Werewolf caverns, echoing off stalactites and stalagmites.
"And the Shadow packs talked about us, separated
themselves from our breed because they thought only we carried the
contagion," one soldier muttered.
"Bitches," another weary were-soldier said.
"They pointed the finger at us because they knew that if they caught the
contagion, it would be so much worse in them than ever in us."
Shogun ground his teeth, seething as he listened and
remembered years of civil wars between the Shadow Wolf clans and Werewolf
clans. Torn between his own personal vendetta that caused his father's death
and what was right for the Southeast Asian clan that he now headed, he spewed
words from his mouth in hot, angry bursts.
"It's a matter of honor!" Shogun shouted,
having heard enough conjecture from the ranks. "For forty-eight hours
they've preyed on us—infected Shadow Wolves— drawing us into lairs behind demon
doors where even our own infected brethren might attack us. But our own would
have enough respect not to be filthy cannibals . . . and they shun our kind? Am
I not to seek redress?"
"Yes ... but at the UCE table—not here. We've
done as much as we could do, have chased as many as we could as far as we
could, and have enough evidence to prove that it was infected Shadow Wolves on
the loose, not infected Werewolves this time." His second in command held
his gaze with a plea in his eyes.
"I am not placating those goddamned Vampires!"
Shogun bellowed, and then spit on the ground. "To hand over hard evidence
at the UCE against our distant cousin wolves is to give the Vampires what they
want—an open license to kill us all. Our battles are internal. . .
wolf-to-wolf."
"What about the prophecy?"
Shogun stared at his enforcer. The cavern was so quiet
now that only the drip from moisture echoed amid the breaths taken by weary
were-warriors. After a stunned pause, he raked his fingers through his hair.
The prophecy: When the wolf would be one, brought together by one not born
of them, yet made . . . strengths of both warring wolves will be sealed in one
skin, with one heart.
Strategy replaced rage. Shogun turned away to look
into the pitch-black darkness in the cave before him and then turned toward the
weak light filtering in from the opening. Sasha. She was a Shadow Wolf.
He was a Werewolf. Although he'd never admit it to his pack brothers, he'd
wanted her so badly before, wanted to tell her of the prophecy, but time had
run out and she'd rebuffed his advances.
His sister would be a problem. So would Sasha's
current mate—the huge North American Shadow clan leader. But if anyone could be
the go-between, to get word to the Shadow packs that they needed to meet and
had to form a cohesive unit before the Vampires, it was her. Sasha was
different.. . even her aura was different, although he wasn't sure why it
didn't resonate with the thin band of silver that would normally nauseate a
Were-male. She also was oddly raised by humans, not in a pack, and worked for
the human military in a way he couldn't understand. But then she'd taken a male
Shadow to her bed and had hunted beside him as though they were mates.
Shogun continued to focus on the gray filter of light.
This gorgeous female warrior presented a conundrum. The moment he'd laid eyes
on her his soul told him she was a part of the prophecy, if not the prophecy
itself. His enforcer was right—there was another way.
"We gather our forces, rest, replenish ... and
then we gather information." Shogun's shoulders relaxed and true fatigue
clawed at every muscle in his tall, lean frame.
"How? When they have us hiding and on the run
like dogs?" one of the men called out.
"There's a little pub in the French Quarter—The
Fair Lady—that has Fae peacekeeping forces. The proprietor there, Ethan, is the
nervous Fae type. He wants peace at all costs and will broker information for
the grant of protection."
His enforcer smiled. "We can do that."
~
"Francois, man ... I thought we had a deal?"
Dexter flung the lid off the pristine, mahogany coffin that was placed on a
central marble stand within the master bedroom. The Vampire within it awakened
with a belligerent hiss. "Thought I might find Etienne in there with you.
Coulda gotten two for the price of one."
A wicked smile tugged at Barbara's misshapen snout as
she flipped on the wall light.
Francois immediately went to the gold-leaf frescoed
ceiling near the crystal chandelier, arched, and spit like a treed cat wearing
a paisley silk robe. The crimson fabric dangled precariously from his pale,
upside-down, athletic frame as he bared fangs in a rage.
"How dare you violate my mansion! Where's my
manservant?" Francois's irises became coal-black orbs of gleaming fury.
Dexter chuckled and spit out a small bone and a piece
of gristle that had still been lodged in his teeth. "Tasty, although a
bit old for my liking. Too chewy."
"You ... swine ..." Francois glanced
around nervously at
the gang of infected Shadow Wolves that
were amusedly fingering his timeless keepsakes and
damaging the expensive upholstery on his Louis XIX furnishings. He
watched, mute and furious, as Dexter rounded his four-posted bed and yanked on the satin cord that moved the velvet drape
to expose four nude and very dead society women.
"I understand that you have gorgeous gardens
here, Francois," Dexter said in a low, laughing
growl as he stalked
to the window on his bent hind legs and
clasped his clawed hands behind his back. He faced the heavily draped window, the threat implicit. "Acres of antebellum
grandeur, Spanish moss-laden trees ... so pretty in the daylight."
"Don't," Francois said, his voice tight and
eyes frantic.
"Then tell me what happened with my
delivery." Dexter didn't turn around.
"I was delayed, as you can see," Francois
said, motioning to the bed with a petulant wave
of his hand. "What began as a simple feeding took multiple
delicious turns. Nevertheless, before your rude intrusion, I was going to have a servant deliver it to you—I am many things, but always a
man of my word."
Dexter fingered the drapery cord by the window as
growls of discontent rumbled throughout the room. "So, you're telling me that we were made to wait in the swamps for a booty call and until after you ate? Why, I
just oughta—"
"Non, monsieur" Francois said quickly, assessing the tension in the room. "We didn't want to kill him."
"Don't negotiate with
me or try to play me, Vampire!" Dexter shouted,
glaring at Francois over his shoulder poised to let in the dawn.
"What purpose would a delay serve? Use the human
part of your brain, mon ami." Francois's eyes scanned the room for
an escape route as he spoke. "We could only capture one alive, the one
named Crow Shadow. Look at how many of you there are compared to the one body
we have to collect blood from, oui? If we drained him dry, then after
this full moon, what would you have for the next, and the next? We could have
sucked him bone white of blood, made him a husk, and given you all that his
body contained, then thrown his damnable carcass to the alligators. But again,
I ask, what purpose would that have served?"
Murmurs of consideration amid discontent rumbled
around the room as Dexter kept his back to the group, flexing the muscles in
his wide, thick shoulder blades.
"There has been no double-cross," Francois
implored. "We thought you wanted an ongoing supply, so in order to
accomplish this task, you rightfully came to us ... blood specialists. The
Shadow Wolf has to replenish his red blood cells, and to do so we must feed the
creature and give him plenty of liquids. He must stay hydrated and not be
abused, or his white blood cell count will go up to fight any additional
injuries he receives, which could then make you sick. This is a delicate
business. Most times, our victims are in rapt pleasure when we extract or never
see the death bite coming. Rarely do we duel or battle them in the streets.
There is a way to do things that keeps the balance of chemistry within the
human body in correct proportion to maximum flavors and desired effects, We
have been bottling the elixir of life for a very long time, I assure
you—we know blood. Is this not why you came to us?"
Francois used the lilting, hypnotic balm of his voice
to buy himself time as he inched along the ceiling and slowly eased down the
side of the wall nearing an air-conditioning vent while Dexter considered his
statements. He kept his gaze on Dexter's hand, which still
fingered the window drapery cords in a most threatening way,
willing it not to suddenly yank.
"How much have you collected so far, then?"
Dexter finally asked and turned to face Francois.
"Enough for five syringes," Francois said
nervously. "In the kitchen, in the refrigerator,
they were freshly packed in a white Styrofoam container that
would have gone in a cooler surrounded by dry ice. But you ate my day courier, monsieur."
Uneasy quiet settled in the room. There were only
enough syringes for five out of fifteen infected pack members present. Tension settled over the eerie silence so
thickly that it almost made the air crackle. Then in the next second, a full-scale war broke out in the bedroom.
Wolves lunged, tearing at each other, furniture
smashed; the bed dumped its dead body contents, and in the fracas two wolves locked in combat hurtled toward the fragile,
leaded beveled glass windows. Francois was mist, a quickly
escaping vapor down the vent. Daylight poured into the room, glinting off surfaces that probably hadn't been bathed in dawn's hues in several centuries.
~
Sasha lurched forward from the void
with the Shadow clan behind her, calling out the names
of her team members. Only a morbid silence echoed
back. She glanced around quickly, as did the others,
looking for signs of an attack. It took only a few seconds for
her to see that the MLRS was shifted out of place and a huge hole was in the
ceiling but covered by a tarp. Laptop computers and easily portable artillery
were gone. Her worst fears were confirmed in an instant: The safe house was no
longer safe and her team was on the move without cover... had most likely been
forced out under heavy enemy pressure. That would have been the only reason
Woods and Fisher would have relocated the group ... assuming they'd made it as
far as this situation room alive.
Turning her gaze toward the back of the group to get
Hunter's read on things, she froze. He wasn't there. "Hunter!" Her
voice carried through the house at a panic-laden decibel. His amulet exited a
shadowy void between worlds and clattered to the attic's wooden floor. Bear
Shadow caught her by the arm as she lunged, knowing her intention was to go
back for him.
Bear Shadow shook his head and motioned toward Silver
Hawk's worsening condition with a swift jerk of his chin. "Hunter chose.
Save the old man and save what's left of the clan's leadership ... save your
team. If he didn't come through with us, and also sent back his amulet, then
that can only mean that the infection he got as a child has progressed."
Bear Shadow's eyes were filled with grief as his voice dropped down to a thick
garbled whisper. "He cannot exit because he cannot control his shifts. He
cannot trust himself with even us, his brothers, or you, his mate. He threw
back the amulet because he can no longer wear it and it will not protect him.
It has rejected its owner. He is more like them than us. Please, do not go
back, Sasha. You will not like what you see."
She nodded and looked away, drawing in a deep, shaky
breath. 'This man needs medical attention," she said, making her voice
take on the military authority that came from years of
training. She paced away from the group and tried to find a cell phone,
sat-phone, anything, even a computer land line—and then kicked over a table
when there was no communication device to be found. "Damn!"
"Home to your familiars," Bear Shadow
reminded her, but made it seem like he was simply providing a second opinion for the brief moment of duress any alpha
would be allowed after having just lost their mate to the dread sickness.
Again she nodded, and raked her hair with her fingers.
Even this time of year the humidity and dampness could be
its own brand of beast. They'd lost another five minutes.
Silver Hawk had been holding on to fifteen precious minutes of life. She
quickly closed her eyes, saw Woods's expression go blank
as he jerked his attention to something unseen—her. She tried to envision an
ambulance, a hospital, and then frustration made her say it aloud. "We
gotta get him to Tulane! Doc isn't here. That's a university hospital
and the only one I know for sure is still standing after the flood!"
Not waiting for the group, she hustled down the steps
and
out into the streets, weapon drawn and
sweeping the terrain for any hidden danger. It was a
long shot, but if they got a military
biologist with full credentials into a state of the art
facility, the old man might stand a chance until Doc
arrived—another good reason to head for Tulane by ambulance; it had a
helicopter landing pad.
Her brain was on fire as she raced back to the house
to give the all-clear. She could commandeer highly trained ER
doctors on staff; having military fatigues on and a group of
soldier-looking dudes also packing heavy artillery would temporarily stop most
civilian questions, even those of local police. Bradley and Winters could handle
PR, flashing their NORAD identification, and could make the whole
who-are-you-and-where-are-you-from line of questioning go away under the guise
of Homeland Security.
The sound of a siren was music to her ears. Woods was
driving, Fisher riding shotgun. The elated expressions on their faces said it
all. She released a rallying howl, not having time for human protocols, and
could only hope the neighbors thought she was a stray baying in an alley
somewhere.
Clarissa, Winters, and Bradley piled out the back of
the vehicle as the Shadow pack swiftly but carefully moved Silver Hawk into
position down the steps.
"Glad to see you all, but this man's been
shot," Sasha said as they lifted Silver Hawk into the back of the
ambulance. "He's lost a lot of blood—and his blood isn't normal."
Clarissa looked at Sasha. "What's his type? When
he gets to Tulane, they'll immediately hook up an IV, and an interspecies transfer could ..."
God bless Woods and Fisher, they'd passed on the vital
intel. "Yeah, I know," Sasha said quickly, jumping into the back of
the ambulance with the human team. "It could shock his system, cause a
rejection, and kill him. He'll match mine—type O positive, universal donor,
with the other cellular structure he needs."
"We should stay here and wait for Hunter?"
Bear Shadow asked with uncertainty, as the others glanced around.
"No ... borrow a coupla neighbors' vehicles and
follow
us. Military emergency we can do that,
and give the assets
back to the local authorities to get the
cars back to their
owners." She slammed the back of the
ambulance and closed her eyes for a moment, leaning against the
wall. "How's his vitals?" she finally asked
Clarissa.
Her expression was grave.
"Not good."
Chapter 17
"Dammit," one doctor exclaimed, slamming
down his fresh cup of coffee and running forward to meet the ambulance.
"I thought after Fat Tuesday we'd get a break in the action, but here we
go, Tony."
"Full moon aftermath, people. Guys in fatigues,
let's see what we've got," another attending physician shouted as the ER
came alive in the dawn hours.
"Gonna be two full moons this month, I
heard," an ER nurse muttered sarcastically toward her colleague as they
dashed down the corridor. "Better get your gris-gris ready—wish
Administration would make it standard on the crash carts."
"Just what we need a month after Mardi Gras, a
goddamned blue moon," another nurse replied, skidding to a halt as what
looked like a brigade of dirty marines piled out of commandeered vehicles
behind the ambulance.
"How many injured?" a doctor called out.
"Do we have a situation? Let us know what we're dealing with so we can
make way for heavy incoming."
"We took care of that already," Lion Shadow
said in a low rumble. "The bodies are where the bodies were left-just got
one old man with pretty bad gunshot wounds to the lung and thigh."
Medical personnel glanced at each other but didn't say
a word as Sasha and her team lifted Silver Hawk down from the back of the ambulance on a door.
"Winters, Bradley," Sasha said quickly,
glancing at them to
start the PR process. She should have made
it clearer to the others that only Winters and Bradley needed to speak to
hospital personnel. Damn! "Rissa, with me—get a line up to NORAD to Doc. I want the rest of you guys on
point." It wasn't necessary to explain why to Lion Shadow. A VIP was in
the building and, come nightfall, could be at risk.
She saw the ER team give each other confused glances
as they quickly helped transfer Silver Hawk to a gurney
while rushing a crash cart to his side.
"On three," the doctors said, and the
transfer was seamless.
True professionals, the ER team interwove all questions
directed at Sasha between their barking medical commands. But the medical team kept moving as though in the
midst of a war zone. Unfortunately, this hospital, like others that had
recently seen large-scale civilian disasters, had
plenty of practice. One dying old man riddled with nine-millimeter slugs wasn't
an incident—it was the deadly show of force that came in with him that had
alerted the staff.
"It's so bad they're flying 'em into us from Colorado?"
one doctor asked as the gurney burst through the doors. "You said NORAD,
right?"
"At least it's not raining," another one
quipped sarcastically.
"His heart rate's dropping," a nurse called
out. "Where's that drip? Where's my blood order? Let's move, people!"
Then she stopped, looked at the patient hard, and then gave Sasha a knowing
glance.
Immediately Sasha saw the woman's Fae aura, and her
kind green eyes became hazel and then blue to let her know that she'd help with
the ruse.
"He's got a rare blood disease, I'm an exact
match donor—what you've got in the fridge will kill him." Sasha's gaze met
the nurse's and then went to the lead physician's as she yanked up her sleeve
and crossed the room. 'Take it from me. Until our expert Dr. Xavier Holland
arrives by chopper, our lead biologist, Dr. Clarissa McGill needs a phone,
access to your scopes, lab equip—"
"I knew we were gonna have heavy incoming,"
the lead nurse said. "Get Admin in on this, might need someone to cope
with media." Again, she gave Sasha a knowing glance, even though her voice
sounded harsh. Everything in her eyes said Trust me, I'm on the inside. "I'm
Margaret. Don't worry," she said quickly, working. "I've seen this
before."
Sasha nodded, hoping that supernatural healers were in
full force in New Orleans' hospitals, and then she began to relax. They would
have to be . . . there had to be doctors and embedded personnel in all walks of
life, especially if this was the site of an international conference with
supernatural dignitaries coming in from all over the worlds.
"What kind of contagion did you military boys
bring in here?" the lead physician snapped, oblivious to Sasha's thoughts.
He looked up at Sasha as he steadily worked on shearing away Silver Hawk's
clothing. "Are we all fucked?"
"No, sir. Not yet."
~
"What has occurred here is nothing short of a
travesty! I demand recompense! Our regional council must be enlightened ... Le
Krewe of L'Grand Duke must know, at the very
least," Francois wheezed.
"Oui...
to be sure. This is what happens when one does business
with undesirables, but we must consider the long view—a possible elevation
within the Cartels.... Our brothels have been most profitable, as have our
legitimate hotel enterprises, but if we pull off this coup to start the wolf civil wars, as we know the old guard so
desperately desires, short term, there will be nothing we cannot
request. They will owe us," Etienne said slowly, speaking inside the darkness of his sealed coffin to conserve energy while he rested within his light-bathed crypt.
"But we must survive to be able to enjoy the
reward. The dogs of war daylight-breached my manor!"
"All of this is disconcerting, I'm sure."
Etienne's mind reached out and stroked Francois's panicked psyche. "Rest
within the vents.... I know it is difficult to breathe as the sun heats the moisture in the very air... but you
must calm yourself. Still yourself. Die to the morn and tonight we'll awaken together to redress this unnecessary
violation of your sanctuary."
~
Heads slowly lifted from the feeding
den floor. Low snarls echoed through the cavern as glowing gold eyes fixed on
an unfamiliar male. Gazes narrowed and snouts scented the
air.
"Back off," a large, humpbacked male warned
Hunter, protecting the carcass he'd claimed. "There isn't enough! Not even
after what we pulled from the surface during Mardi Gras. Everyone's personal
hunt was aborted during this moon phase."
A female laughed low in her throat and flung a section
of human rib cage to land at Hunter's feet. "Darlin,' you're way too fine
to allow to starve to death, but that's the best I can do." She ducked to
avoid a backhanded blow from the big male in the center of the pack.
"I say when he can eat, bitch!" The offended
male glared at Hunter. 'Touch it and you die."
Unfazed, Hunter looked down at the remains with disgust
and then kicked it back toward the group, much to the leader's obvious
satisfaction. He waited until the snarling and snapping over the returned
portion died down before he spoke. "I didn't come here to feed. I came to
bring you information."
"Smart move," the leader said, foul saliva
oozing from his massive jaws. "What have you heard or seen on the
surface?"
"Two very important things to consider,"
Hunter said calmly, his voice so even in tone that all demon-infected
Werewolves present stopped eating for a moment. "One, it's not a rival
pack of infected Werewolves that have decided to hunt in unison on the
surface, abandoning the age-old methods of being a solo predator." He
shook his head. "No. That's not what it is."
"Then what the hell was unleashed on us?"
the leader raged, now standing upright at an impressive eleven feet at the
shoulders. He walked forward a bit to better study Hunter, crushing bones
beneath his girth as he sniffed the air.
Ignoring the menace and the horrible stench all around
him, as well as the awful nasal sound that the beast's snout produced, Hunter
addressed the pack leader without blinking. "Shadow Wolves."
For a moment all the wolves in the regional den glanced
at each other, and then finally the huge leader released booming laughter.
"You, my friend, must be high." He shook his
head and turned away from Hunter, dismissing him. "You'll have to
do better than that to whine for scraps. Shadow Wolves can't get what we have
from a bite, and their females don't mate with our uninfected brethren to ever
possibly produce offspring with the recessive gene—or don't you know your
history? That's why we're shunned, son."
Hysterical, wild laughter surrounded Hunter as he
stood, stone-faced, before the infected alpha.
"The Vampires stole a toxic serum from a U.S.
Military base up in Colorado—NORAD. The humans had been playing with
trying to re-create one of us without some of the side effects. Problem is,
what they created bonds real nicely with the human side of Shadow Wolf DNA,
whereas a normal bite or scratch from an infected Werewolf can normally be
purged by a Shadow Wolf. So, view what the humans made as a super bite or super
serum."
The pack leader slowly turned. "I heard something
about that.... They caught one of us years back. Another in
North Korea, but some human chick blew the convoy."
"Same batch of blood samples came from that first
capture," Hunter pressed on, his voice never wavering as he
stated the facts.
"The Vampires ... those bastards are always
involved in anything that goes against us," a voice grumbled from the now
riveted group.
"Originally they agreed to steal it because it
would keep more Werewolves from being made through the faulty human experimentation
process. The last thing they wanted was for Werewolf ranks to increase—infected
or otherwise. The humans see us all the same. But a human general got nervous and ordered a vaccine to be created
instead. The vaccine ultimately would have been put in human drinking water
supplies as a delivery agent in Werewolf hot zones, to prevent infections
within the human population."
"Seems like we need to pay this general a
visit," the leader snarled.
"Too late," Hunter said calmly.
"Vampires already ripped off his face."
The pack leader folded his arms over his barrel chest.
"And why would one of them do that?" He glanced around at his pack
members and chuckled, garnering hyenalike laughter from the group again.
"Should have followed my first mind. That boy is high."
'The Vampires thwarted the effort because the residue
left in human blood would taint it. . . make it taste very close to the Shadow
Wolf blend that makes them sick as dogs."
All laughter died away. Vindicated, Hunter allowed his
gaze to sweep the group.
"That's when the second problem occurred."
This time there was no interruption to Hunter's story
or laughter.
"Speak!" the pack leader commanded, growing
restless and beginning to pace.
"A group of rogue Shadow Wolves found out that if
they shot up with the toxin, it worked like steroids. Then they double-crossed
the Vampires and even their own pack alphas. It bulked them up, turned betas
into super alphas—"
"Bullshit!"
"No, truth!" Hunter yelled back. "The
toxin the humans had was not straight virus like they'd get from a bite or a
scratch. It had been genetically altered to insert itself into the human DNA
spiral and embed there to give a human soldier all the strongest traits of the
Werewolf species.
Within the Shadow Wolf, there's the human
element it can cling to. The problem is that it has a nasty side effect on the
inner wolf... that cannot control its shifts, can't resist the taste of both
human and Werewolf flesh. It makes the Were-Shadows larger, more
lethal, and able to walk in both the Shadow lands and soon, I'm sure, they can
come through your demon doors. That's what's been hunting and eating uninfected
Werewolves on the other side of the doors. So, if you see them coming beyond
the demon doors—attack. If you don't go after the infected Shadows, one night
you'll find yourself trapped and being slaughtered within your own feeding dens."
The pack leader dropped down on all fours and slammed his fist into the pile of gore beneath him. "The
Vampires started this travesty to wipe us out—then we shall massacre them! We
cannot eat in our own territories under a full moon because of them, but have
to quickly steal bodies and bring them behind demon doors to gorge
until the next full moon phase ... all because of them? Not only are our uninfected
brothers hunting us in the ongoing civil war, as are the normal Shadow Wolves,
now you are saying you've witnessed an even stronger predator? Now our demon
doors are in danger of being breached? How do you know all of this?"
"I learned what I needed to know when I went
after a smaller female hybrid that was feeding in my yard. She was almost
stronger than me, even at a head shorter. I had to know why and how.... She
told all as I slowly convinced her that the torture would stop if she spoke
quickly."
Hunter smiled a sinister smile, allowing the misdirected
truth to take root in the pack leader's psyche. He watched him sniff the air
for a lie, but Hunter had not lied, just conveniently rewoven the truth. Sasha
was a hybrid of sorts, being both Shadow Wolf and human. They actually had
shared critical information, and she had fed in his hunting grounds. And indeed
he had pleasantly tortured her and she'd willingly told him by her actions all
he'd ever wanted to know... that she loved him. The pack leader could read into
it what he wanted.
The important thing was to get the three main threats
to human existence to help cancel each other out. If the Vampires, infected
Shadow Wolves, and infected Werewolves were at each others' throats, then it
would make the cleanup job easier for the greatly weakened Shadow packs, and
most certainly any human military forces that deemed to get involved.
"Haven't seen you around these bayou doors,"
the pack leader finally said, flinging a wet human leg toward Hunter, who
caught it with one hand.
"I'm not from around here," Hunter replied,
allowing the sickening appendage to dangle at his side. "I was made in the
Midwest... got chased this way. Something's converging on New Orleans."
"Take care of his needs," the pack leader
ordered the female that had initially tried to feed Hunter. "I could use a
good field general, with what's about to go down."
She smiled and lowered her head, skulking forward.
Hunter tossed the leg to her, which he knew was an ultimate act of chivalry
among Werewolves. She caught it with a feral snap of her strong jaws.
The pack leader laughed. "The whole leg? When's
the last time your mangy ass has been laid?"
Hunter returned a noncommittal half-smile and winked
at the feeding female. "Save me some for later. My grandfather got
injured in the last battle getting out of the Rockies. I hid him well and drew
them off his trail, but he's old . . . was made more than a century ago, I
think. I'll be back after I feed him. He's too weak to even make it through the doors now."
This time the pack leader didn't sniff the air for a
lie, but simply nodded as the group went back to its shared meal and Hunter
turned to leave.
"See, that's what I like," the leader
mumbled between huge bites as he stuffed his mouth with human remains.
"Loyalty and priorities. Without that, a man is just a beast."
~
The situation had clearly spun out of control. Based
on the little bit of sketchy intel Clarissa had shared, New Orleans was poised
for a full-scale invasion that would mean another human catastrophe of
potentially biblical proportions.
Dr. Xavier Holland kept his gaze out of the military
helicopter window as it began to slowly drop to the helipad. In order to get
an emergency airlift, the brass had to be nominally informed. Just like he'd
had to give some cursory explanation about the need to send in cleanup crews
and spin damage control after the MLRS launch that hit a local cemetery. Then
the team's equipment would necessarily have to be moved ... and he'd have to
bring Sasha the latest preternatural advanced weapons systems for scouting Vampire
lairs and sealing shut interdimensional demon doors.
The only thing that helped his cause of not revealing
the Shadow Wolf cultures, effectively keeping them off radar as a known entity,
was the top brass's desire for plausible deniability. After General Donald
Wilkerson's murder rocked the foundation of the upper echelons all the way to
the White House, which threatened to bring on all sorts of congressional and public
reviews, he and Sasha and any resources they used were considered strictly
Black Ops. If they screwed up, the military would deny giving them authority;
if they did well, their funding would silently increase. That was the way it
worked. Operation Dog Star was now officially off the record. Actually, he
preferred it that way.
Xavier Holland looked across the helipad as the chopper
came to a landing. He waited for the craft to stop rocking and for the pilot to
give him a thumbs-up. An armed marine got out first and then helped him down.
Doctors in white coats stood by stern-looking administrators just inside the
rooftop doors, their eyes expectant. He knew what they were worried about.
They'd probably already called the CDC wanting to know if, by way of an
elderly gunshot patient, the plague, Ebola, bird flu, or some other biohazard
had been introduced into their hospital environment, thus New Orleans, in a
way that could erupt into a pandemic outbreak. If they only knew.
Keeping his expression stoic as he crossed the helipad,
Xavier Holland's mind raced with alternative approaches. He needed quick
access to the patient, Sasha, her squad, and anyone else that might have been
near the Were-Shadow contagion. He gripped his briefcase tighter, thinking of
Hunter.
"Dr. Holland," said a tall, well-dressed man
in a conservative pin-striped suit, extending his hand. "Pleased to make
your acquaintance. I'm Joseph Pratt. We've heard of your genetics work and
would have been pleased to host you under different circumstances," the
hospital president hedged. "But we'll confront that later. Let me
introduce you to Dr. Ira Lutz, head of epidemiology, Dr. Michael Williams,
chief of surgery, Dr. Evelyn Sanders, head of our bioresearch department, and
Nancy Markland, who handles all media relations and public statements."
Xavier Holland nodded. "It's my pleasure. How's
the patient?"
"Stable, for now," Dr. Williams said crisply
as the small, high-powered group watched the chopper lift off. "But he's
far from being out of the woods. He flat-lined twice from blood-loss shock,
then his heart kept going into a mild arrhythmia. We had to take half of his
right lung and are praying we can save his leg. Time will tell. The bullet
passed through his thigh, shattered a portion of the femur, and fragments of
that then severed part of the femoral artery. Only quick thinking at the
location where he was injured saved that man's life."
"The problem is that his body's white blood cell
count is through the roof, as is the donor's blood, as though fighting off some
sort of rare infection." Dr. Lutz paused to peer at Xavier Holland through
thick, Ben Franklin-style glasses. "We don't know if the patient came in
with the unknown contagion, or if it was transferred to him by the donor who has
identified herself as Lieutenant Sasha Trudeau."
"Just what are we dealing with, really?" Dr.
Sanders asked, her intense hazel gaze unwavering.
"If there is going to be a quarantine or
something that could affect this hospital's reputation, Doctor, in all fairness,
I need to be able to get ahead of the curve to make a public statement."
Nancy Markland folded her arms over her chest after straightening her red linen
power suit. "Frankly, we've got what looks like a small platoon of guys
crawling all over our grounds in fatigues who appear as though they've just
come back from Iraq with no decontamination or debrief window."
"I cannot go into the nature of the experiments
being conducted at NORAD, but suffice to say that the general public, nor any
of the hospital staff, is at risk or in imminent danger." Xavier Holland
glanced around at the frustrated faces and then affixed his gaze to the
elevator numbers. His grip tightened on the briefcase he carried that contained
the last of the vaccine. "We will corral those men and get them out of
plain sight, but it is imperative that I see the patient now."
~
She didn't care that she wasn't supposed to be in ICU.
Having the capacity to blend in and out of the shadows, filch hospital garb,
and go wherever she needed to be had its distinct advantages. Right now she had
to be at Silver Hawk's side. Sasha slipped her hand into his, glad that
anesthesia would keep away the pain for a little while longer. It all seemed so
unfair that a man who'd lived his entire life avoiding the vagaries of
experimental modern medicine would now be ripped away from his holistic, tried
and proven, natural herbal approaches by a new millennium virus created in a
lab ... something that resulted in his getting shot by his own clan.
For a long while she didn't move, just studied the
lines in his ancient face and noticed the cool, unnaturally waxy feel of his
weathered hand against hers. A deep sense of mourning filled her as she looped
her amulet over her head and placed it beneath her palm against his chest. Please
don't die. It was a fervent, urgent prayer coming from a woman who wasn't
used to praying. If she hadn't left him, he wouldn't have rushed into the
pathways unprotected to find his grandson. They could have—should have—gone together.
"Silver Hawk, you will always be Silver Shadow to
us.... You are so loved and revered, and the clan needs your guidance so
desperately right now. It is not your time." She bent and kissed his
forehead, knowing that if this old man crossed over into the permanent Shadow
lands, Hunter would die a thousand deaths right behind him no matter what his
mental state when she found him. It was bad enough that he blamed himself for
the pack deaths, but to add his grandfather's demise into that loaded equation was
more than any person could bear.
"I'll find Hunter, you just live to see him
again," she whispered and gave Silver Hawk's hand a gentle squeeze.
Refusing to leave him unprotected but needing to find
Doc, she looped the silver chain over his neck and hid it from the hospital
staff beneath his gown and the blankets. Woe be unto a thief, she
thought, reluctantly leaving her charge.
A man's soul for a piece of silver? Puh-lease. .. more
like some asshole's face.
Chapter 18
"Long time no talk, Ethan." Shogun took a
slow sip of his beer, allowing the foam to cling to his upper lip before
licking it away.
Ethan sat down quickly beside him. "You're well?
All is well? There's no problem, is there?"
"Can't a man have a nice lager in a safe house
without there being a problem ... or, did you hear of one?"
"Please, I just..."
Shogun's hard stare made Ethan's words trail off as
his gaze nervously darted around his establishment.
"All right," Ethan whispered. "Only
because it's so early, and at this hour the walls don't have ears."
Shogun sipped his brew, his gaze and senses scanning
the environment. 'Too early for the Vamps, their succubae and incubi have
probably been up late working, since the Conference is in town. Dragon
dancers don't come in till later..." He shrugged. "Seen any Shadow
packs with an unusual femme fatale with them?"
"I haven't seen anything, I've been
working."
Cradling his beer between his broad hands, Shogun
leaned in to the nervous Elf, forcing direct eye contact. "Let me restate
it, then. Have you heard of the aura-less the Shadow that might have come into town with the North
American Shadow clan leader?"
"Why?" Ethan whispered, his eyes wide.
"She seems like such a nice person—they say, uhmmm ... I didn't meet her,
but my Margaret did when the she-Shadow brought in her whole pack and even her
two familiars to the hospital. One was badly hurt, shot. Then military humans
flew in to help."
"Thank you." Shogun downed his beer.
"Please," Ethan whispered. "I know the
Werewolves and Shadows don't get along, but innocent people in the
hospital, humans, babies—"
"I didn't come for a brawl, just a friendly
conversation. ... If battle erupts, that will be because the North
American—"
"He didn't come," Ethan cut in anxiously,
and then covered his mouth with his hand.
Shogun tilted his head, then stood. If the big male
hadn't come yet, then he was on the move, hunting, chasing whatever his pack
had run into—that was the way of the wolf. New Orleans was a fallback position
for the injured, his female, her familiars. . . . Then what was he after?
Vampires? Infected Shadows? Infected Werewolves?
'The Fae are guarding the hospital to be sure there's
no retaliation against the elderly Shadow—there had to be some sort of
fight." Ethan blinked wildly as he spoke and blotted his forehead with an
already damp handkerchief. "Please don't be angry at me, it's their job
to keep humans unaware ... UCE edict—and big, nasty fights tend to make humans
ask questions."
"Your bar has my pledge of protection." As
Shogun began walking, a familiar female scent made him stop and abruptly turn.
"Still sniffing after that Shadow bitch?"
his sister snarled, and loped over to him from the far end of the bar. "I
thought after the bucket of cold water to break you two up that would be
enough!"
"Lei, don't start. Lower your voice. I'm not in
the mood for—"
She grabbed his arm and spoke in a hissing whisper
between her teeth. "She's a Shadow."
"And you are way out of line," he
said, snatching his arm from her grasp but keeping his voice low.
"I raised you—so how can I ever be out of
line?"
Pure hatred marred his sister's beautiful face,
turning her normally dark, exotic eyes to pits of rage. Her pretty mouth was
now a tight line and her creamy, almond hue was flushed. Narrowing her gaze,
she flipped a long swath of blue-black silken hair over her shoulder and leaned
in closer to keep their heated debate private.
"Our parents made the personal sacrifice to take
the faction oath to become stronger through demon blood. They did that so you and
I didn't have to. They did it because Vampires were hunting us to extinction
while our so-called Shadow Wolf cousins watched and sometimes helped. And now
you want to bed one of them? Are you insane?"
Shogun pulled away and looked at her without apology.
"Their decision to take the demon infection was insane. It was a bargain
made with devils. That was their choice. It was never mine, or the rest of the
clan's. You can cling to the old ways if you'd like, but the world is changing,
getting smaller—and there must be another way. Brute force no longer works.
Negotiations, alliances are necessary. Force will one day cause our
extinction."
"It is because of whom they were that you are who
you've become—clan leader of Southeast Asia"
"No," he said in a low, lethal voice.
"I became what I am through learning the pure way of the wolf and meeting
every challenge since the time of my alpha rise. They did nothing but make me
have to overcome the shame of their legacy."
His sister's glare raked him from head to toe. "I
never thought I would live to see the day when my very own brother, who I'd
raised like my son, would turn his back on the old ways to dishonor his
parents' death. It is bad enough that you lust for a she-Shadow ... but to
select one from a North American pack—the same pack that killed them .. . murdered
them, Shogun. I am ashamed to call you brother. Continue in this and you
will be dead to me."
~
Sasha promised herself that she would not barrel into
Doc's arms if he silently guaranteed that he wouldn't try to hug her. Theirs
was an old dance all done without words, burned deep within unreadable
expressions. Promises made and kept over too many returns from too many
hazardous missions to count, with too many sighs of relief to even begin to
describe. But this time, with a being who was a lifelong friend in critical
condition and Hunter gone and in peril, it took unimaginable resolve not to follow
that natural human impulse.
"Dr. Holland," Sasha said stiffly as she
entered a lab area that had been made available to him and her team. Fae
entities were definitely embedded in the hospital administration and ER, she
noted, as she looked around at the significant facilities Doc had been given.
"Lieutenant," he said crisply, very aware of
the outsiders from the hospital that gathered around them.
"We've been working with Tulane's medical
team," Clarissa said carefully, her gaze scanning the other doctors
before returning to Sasha. "We're trying to isolate why a transfusion from
a compatible donor is erupting the patient's system almost as virulently as a
classic organ rejection."
"We cannot be responsible for the wait-and-see
approach the NORAD team has adopted," Dr. Lutz complained.
"It almost looks like his system is battling a
widespread staph infection, and our recommendation to begin IV-delivered antibiotics was firmly rejected by Dr.
Holland— and we want that on the record," Dr. Sanders informed the group.
"Pretty soon that man's kidneys and liver will
fail. His heart muscle is under attack," Dr. Williams said, talking with
his hands as he leaned against a lab table. "Just be straight with us.
What twenty-first century plague are we dealing with here?"
Sasha pulled off her elastic-banded paper cap and
shoved it in her yellow dressing gown pocket. "Might as well tell 'em
because a) they'll never believe us, b) they aren't stupid enough to stake
their professional reputations on leaking this to the media, c) nobody within
NORAD will confirm or deny it, and last but not least, d) if half of what was
chasing us is already in New Orleans, then come the next full moon, this
hospital should quietly be prepared for major triage." She leaned back on
a desk. "I'm just glad it's after Mardi Gras."
Nervous glances passed around her team. The Tulane
staff stared at her and didn't blink.
"Are you sure, Lieutenant?" Xavier Holland
waited. "The patient is dear to me, too . . . but I don't know if we're
authorized to divulge that level of detail."
"I'm sure," she said, her gaze locked within
his. "We need the best minds on this in the region—because after what I
saw in the field, we need more antitoxin. Not to mention, I think these
specific doctors were handpicked." She gave Doc a meaningful glance.
"They may be unaware, but they must have checked out—there are friendly
embedded cells in this facility."
"Terrorists?" Dr. Williams said in a tense
whisper, aghast.
"Hardly," Sasha replied quickly. "More
like folks on our side."
She watched the Tulane staff relax, knowing they
hadn't a clue why they had. But she'd take cool heads over hysteria for now.
"Doc, we've got a lot of good men down from the last siege."
"I got a head count from Woods and Fisher,"
Holland said. "I brought the last of what we'd developed. In order to make
more, I need a live subject—which is next to impossible to locate and even
more dangerous to trap. Facilities here won't allow for that."
Sasha followed Doc's careful choice of words and
watched his very wary eyes, as well as the other doctors' attention that moved
between them as though witnessing a tennis match.
She placed a hand on Doc's arm, for the first time
since he arrived allowing that level of familiarity as her voice became gentle.
"I know of a live subject that I can get close enough to ... who is an exact
DNA match with the patient... who's gone full blown."
Xavier Holland closed his eyes. "Is that how the
patient sustained multiple gunshot wounds?"
"Yes," Sasha said quietly. 'The patient was
accidentally hit by friendly fire."
"I'll give him the first series and inoculate you
and your team. But I'll hold one back ... just in case." Breaking
protocol, he stepped forward and hugged Sasha. "I'm so sorry we lost
him."
She swallowed hard and melted into the embrace, and
then after a moment stiffened and pushed away. "I'll find him. I messed
up, Doc. My body was definitely compromised by a carrier, and my system was
obviously fighting the infection when we did a transfusion with the patient.
But I was the only universal donor in the group at the time ... one with the
same cellular structure—we didn't know if the others had been infected, either.
He was bleeding to death, hemorrhaging, and needed blood. It was a crapshoot
with the rest of the clan, too. They'd all been in a hot zone, each man and
woman that made it through is all cut up and has open wounds and
lacerations."
"What are we dealing with?" Dr. Lutz
shouted. "Enough with the cryptic military speak!"
"Demon-infected Werewolf virus," Sasha said
flatly. "You're looking at a Preternatural Containment team, some of whom
have wolf DNA fused with their human DNA spirals to better hunt the new
supernatural predator that poses a security threat. One of our men went over
the wall—went full blown and disappeared in a hot zone. His grandfather was
accidentally shot. The patient has a different cellular structure—part wolf in
his DNA. Like me. Like a bunch of the guys. Problem is, I was carrying
contagion that my system is strong enough to fight off and didn't know how
seriously infected I was. But an injured elderly man whose autoimmune system
and everything else is going haywire would go into shock from a transfusion
from me—had I known, trust me, I wouldn't have put him at risk like
that. What you're witnessing now is his system trying to self-repair while also
trying to adapt to contain and eject a foreign viral agent. Does that clear it
up?"
Stunned mute, the senior medical team from Tulane just
looked at Sasha.
"You can't be serious," the chief of surgery
finally said after a moment.
"Dead serious on the next full moon, or from the
looks of things, before that," Clarissa said, glimpsing into a microscope.
"Doc, we can set up distortion monitors,"
Winters offered, glancing between Sasha and Xavier Holland. "With the new
equipment, we're able to get readings off energy displacement by setting up a
grid to then tell if something physical left a heat trail entering or exiting a
displacement band. That way we can be on comm with Trudeau while she's hunting
to tell her if something's bearing down on her, and where it's likely to emerge
from the unseen before it does."
"That's right, Dr. Holland," Bradley said.
"We can also devise a two-shot projectile that will first collect a
tainted blood and tissue sample as it passes through the target and closes,
then breaks off at the exit wound, leaving the second part of the device with
heavy tranquilizers and antitoxin lodged inside the beast," he added,
opening his fist to extend his fingers. "Much like a multistaged rocket
The second cylinder will detonate inside the target using a small charge and
will be filled with antitoxin and a tranquilizer cocktail strong enough to drop
a charging elephant... so Trudeau can deliver remote range antitoxin, pick up
the sample cylinder, and still have a reasonable escape window."
"You are serious," Dr. Lutz murmured
in awe.
"You've actually seen these beasts?" Dr.
Sanders asked, her gaze quickly jerking between Sasha, her team, and the three
members from the Tulane staff.
"Yeah. Up close and personal," Woods said,
pounding Fisher's fist. "So have the rest of those guys who came in like
dirty-faced Hell's Angels toting heavy artillery. Those boys aren't
overreacting; they were in the trenches with Trudeau."
"In all my career, I prayed for a chance to work
on something groundbreaking, something never before seen . .." Dr. Lutz
said, pure passion brimming in his eyes. "We all have."
"That's probably why you three were selected—
handpicked," Sasha said in a weary tone.
"I prayed for it, too," Dr. Sanders said
quietly. "I've been on my own personal research quest to try to understand
some of the mysterious events that seem to happen here like nowhere else I've
lived in my life. I've written papers that I haven't been brave enough to
publish ..."
"Well, be careful what you pray for,
Doctor," Xavier Holland warned. "I thought that, too, some
twenty-five years or more ago. But you'll never be able to post this in
professional journals. There'll be no awards or conference circuit. No peer
recognition. Whatever you learn or help prevent will be one of those great
accomplishments that you'll have to take to your grave, no different than the
tombs of the unnamed soldiers who fought and died so that we could have better
lives ... because no one but those unnamed souls know the extent of their
sacrifice. Are you still in, or do we need to pull military rank and simply
ruin your careers and lives if you mention this project?"
"I'm a doctor and a scientist before all
things," Dr. Lutz said. "I've waited my entire life to know if
there's more to our human, frail existence. I'm in."
The chief of surgery gave a skeptical nod. "Just
to know that I saw it and my eyes weren't playing tricks on me ... curiosity
prevails."
"A pair of steel gonads better prevail,"
Fisher said, shaking his head, "because I'ma tell you—you'd better pray
that you never see one. Everything theoretical goes out the window. It's the
kind of thing that will make a grown man hope that the cavalry in the form of
tanks rolling down Bourbon and Canal Streets
will come posthaste as backup, if you do."
"I'm in," Dr. Sanders said, lifting her
chin. "I'm with Ira. We're talking heretofore undiscovered species,
hybrids of new species ... it's too fantastic to begin to
comprehend."
"Good," Holland said, "because we have
a very short window
to follow a very old and unreliable
recipe for creating
antitoxin in an unsecured lab—which
resulted in staff
deaths before. Some of our methods will
seem peculiar and even superstitious, but one of the first things we'll need to
do is secure the work area against Vampire thefts."
The three doctors from the Tulane staff just stared at
each other, hang-jawed.
~
It had been a bullshit ruse but a necessary one.
Hunter dragged himself through the demon door, exhausted from the spent energy needed
to propel himself to the other side of it without his amulet. He hit the floor
with a thud, having jettisoned himself back to the place he'd last held the
image of Sasha in his mind. Almost too weak to lift his head he listened to the
sounds of daytime street activity through the wooden floorboards.
Car horns, a fat cockroach waddling between dust bunnies
across the room. A family of squirrels had taken up residence between the
eaves. Pigeons were cooing and screwing somewhere nearby. Voices, human—outside.
Crack dealers never gave it a rest. Hunter placed his hands on the floor to
push himself upright and froze, staring at a clawed fist.
Panic ripped through him as he assessed his physical
condition. The sun was up, the moon long gone, he was out of the Shadow land
pathways and had gotten out of the demon doors without being maimed... and he
was still a wolf? Worse than wolf, he was something terrible in between with a
man's forearm completely covered in the thick coat of a Shadow Wolf—hands, not
wolf paws! He looked down his body and tried to back away from himself for a
second—he had the bent hind legs of the Were-creatures but still the thick,
natural tail of a Shadow Wolf.
Instantly his gaze sought a hiding place. The Shadow
lands were too dangerous, but no human could see him in this state, especially
not the pack, or more importantly Sasha and her team. Before there had been
momentary flashes of this abomination, now he was stuck in permanent
transformation? Hunter closed his eyes. The extra poisoning from Dexter's
hidden rogues. His already impacted DNA. The battles where he was scratched
and bitten. The energy that entered his system from beyond the demon doors.
All of it met in the middle and changed his life. How long would it be until he
ate like a true demon-infected Werewolf? When would his mind slide into the
ultimate darkness, never to return?
Hunter released a mournful howl. He had to get to the
bayou. He was doomed.
~
"How's the antitoxin working on his system
now?" Sasha asked, standing at Xavier Holland's side as the other doctors watched Silver Hawk's vitals and Clarissa took intermittent blood samples.
"Although the first dose jolted his system into
near cardiac arrest," Doc said, rereading all the vital signs
from the monitors and talking as he moved about, "now he's
stabilizing. But he may need more than anticipated, given he's fighting off the infection at the same time repairing
massive injuries."
Sasha closed her eyes. "Give him my dose ...
and—"
"No," Doc said. "It's too soon to tell
and you're—"
"Expendable. I'm a soldier," she said,
staring deeply into Doc's eyes.
Xavier Holland shook his head. "Not to me,"
he said quietly. "Under no circumstance have you ever been
expendable to me."
"Yo, Doc, me and Winters can tell you for a fact
that we didn't get scratched or bitten," Woods offered. "You need
more serum for the old man, you use our dose, all right?"
"Ours, too," Clarissa said, gaining nods
from Winters and Bradley.
"Never laid a glove on us," Winters said
with a smile, then
went back to his monitors with Bradley.
"Use mine for Hunter, if he needs extra,"
Bradley said, and
then averted his eyes to a screen.
"Assuming we can get a sample," Dr. Lutz
asked, "how long does it take to manufacture new antitoxin?"
"Barring all catastrophes, several weeks,"
Xavier Holland said, with a weary sigh.
Sasha just stared at Doc for a second. They didn't
have several weeks. Two days prior to a true full moon, the lunation was
anywhere between ninety-three to ninety-seven percent illuminated . .. full to
the naked human eye and enough to allow Werewolves to shift. The UCE Conference
would convene heads of state first—those senior, elder entities would meet in a
secret plenary session on the third night of a full moon phase, which was last
night, when the moon was exactly at one hundred percent It had also been
the peak of her heat. From there, it could still shine brightly for a few more
nights in the high nineties of illumination power. That's when the general body
would meet. That's what she and Hunter couldn't miss. One day she'd have to sit
down with Doc to explain it all, but right now there just wasn't time. Still, a
decision had to be made about who got meds and who didn't.
"Inoculate the guys who made it back here with us
from the lodge," Sasha said, causing Xavier Holland to briefly stop pacing
about the machines to stare at her. She'd thought about it long enough; they
had to make sure the pack was in their right minds. "They were cut up
pretty badly and need their systems stunned clean. Next full moon is gonna come
right on the heels of when the serum could be ready ... and something tells me
we're gonna need it way before then. We need it during this cycle, Doc, for
reasons I can't get into right now."
"Where're you going?" Doc said quickly as
Sasha headed toward the door.
"I'm gonna find a shower in the joint, some clean
clothes, eat, and crash for a few hours." She looked at Bradley, then
Clarissa, and finally Winters. "When I come back, I'm gonna need that
antitoxin-tranquilizer gizmo you guys were talking about making from the new
equipment Doc had shipped in."
"Trudeau, we'll—"
"Thanks, Woods," she said, cutting him off.
"No. You and Fisher stay here
with Bear Shadow. You're the only men with combat training that I trust to have
Silver Hawk's back and to protect the team. The rest of those guys from the clan can lodge at a safe house that HQ can
find
for them, but I'd honestly feel better if
they weren't the ones on my
six—feel me?"
"I do," Woods said, nodding.
"What happened in the field?" Doc asked, his
gaze going right for Sasha's.
"An attempted coup and a friendly-fire
assassination," she said without hesitation. "If
any of those guys come near the patient's room, and don't look right, you drop
'em on sight."
"You know we have no problem with that,"
Fisher said. "But who's
gonna have your back in those demon holes when you go
hunting, Trudeau? No offense, but if you're going after
who I think you are, last I saw him that was one big,
burly, out of control motherfucker."
Sasha nodded and turned away, heading for the door.
Doc tossed her a cell phone, no further discussion
necessary.
"Yeah, I know," Sasha said in a weary voice.
"But I'll be fine. This is just something I gotta do solo."
~
Hunter clutched his stomach as he slipped from shadow
to shadow. Gnawing hunger was giving him the shakes and he pressed on quickly, avoiding people at all costs.
The concept of human flesh was revolting, but he was un-sure of himself. The fact that cooked meats, the aromas
from barbecue stands, and Cajun seafood joints made his stomach rumble was a
good sign. Thankfully the houses and boarded-up landscape of the still
flood-wrecked Ninth Ward provided plenty of shadows. He just needed to get to
the place that was dominated by nature and draped with Spanish moss.
A stray pit bull snarled and stepped into the shadows.
Hunter released a warning growl from low in his throat. The animal had no idea
how insistent the attack urge was within him until he dropped down on all fours
and let the poor creature glimpse him. Releasing a frightened yelp, the pit
bull spun, ran into traffic, urinating, and nearly caused a collision as it
dodged to safety and kept going.
"Shoulda been on a leash, anyway," Hunter
grumbled, and pushed forward. But when he came to a barbecue stand he
hesitated.
Fresh slabs of ribs had been thrown on hot coals outside
a small fish fry place in a halved, fifty-five-gallon oil drum. He could
literally smell the spices tickling his nose as the hefty cook behind the
counter piled shrimp, lettuce, and tomatoes with mayo on French bread making
dressed po'boys. Old men leaned forward in rickety metal chairs, talking trash
and slapping down dominoes. Zydeco music blared from a crackling radio with bad
reception inside, competing with the jazz the old men were enjoying with their
outside game. He was drooling and hadn't even realized it.
Steady, checking shadows, he waited, knowing that he
didn't have the willpower not to do the unthinkable now. His only goal,
however, was to not give the elderly patrons a heart attack. But to get to the
meat, he had to come out of the shadows, even if just for a second.
It was all a blur, the lunge and then the snatch of
sizzling hot meat that was just the right balance between cooked and raw. It
was too hot to carry and yet too succulent to leave. Something very primal had
taken him over as he guarded his hunt, growling deeply, eyes glowing, and proceeded to
eat
all ten slabs of beef ribs from the
overturned grill.
Screams, abandoned
dominoes, a shotgun blast from a righteously
indignant store owner didn't stop his meal. But when he heard the pump cock again, he looked up into the eyes of a very frightened man. It was clear from the chef's expression that he thought
a rowdy neighbor-hood dog had
savaged his grill. Hunter stalked through the hot
coals and punched the plate glass window, giving the owner the chance to flee.
Full-length wolf entered the establishment as the
chef-owner and patrons screamed, running out the back. Po'boys called his name,
half-eaten plates of jambalaya, red beans and rice,
prawns and fries—he ate his way through the small neighborhood joint until he
was panting and sweating. Guzzling soda to wash it all down, Hunter
chuckled to himself, feeling much improved as he leaped into another shadow behind the destroyed eatery.
"Bad dog . . . very bad dog."
~
"We've got a three-hundred-pound chef on the
verge of a heart attack claiming lukegaroo, or something I can't understand
attacked his store in broad daylight—hence why he was blasting a pump shotgun in a residential district."
The police officer spoke quickly as the ER team whisked the raving man behind the doors. "Our boys had to pry the
shotgun out of his hands and about ten neighborhood patrons and some old dudes were talking about werewolves. Can
you believe it?" The cop scratched his head. "If it were Mardi Gras, all right. But, damn."
"Do you know if he was on drugs, or better
stated, what kind of hallucinogens he's ingested?" the intake nurse asked,
walking quickly behind the gurney.
Dr. Michael Williams opened his mouth to speak but no
sound came out. He looked up from the head nurse's clipboard. The schedule
changes that would allow him. Dr. Lutz, and Dr. Sanders to work with the
renowned Dr. Holland on a groundbreaking secret project for a few days could
wait. He rushed into the room where the new patient was still raving and
clutching his chest.
"Sir, sir, my name is Dr. Williams. We believe
you!" he shouted. "Get Nurse Margaret in here. She's the only one who
seems to understand these kinds of cases," the doctor said to one of the
burly orderlies that had tied down the patient. He looked at the frightened man
with compassion. "Sir, I need you to calm down, tell me slowly what you
saw, so my colleagues can write it down. You're safe in the hospital—we have
armed guards."
The other staff members seemed skeptical but played along
with the doctor who was obviously humoring a deranged patient. The chef
grabbed the doctor's hand and kissed it repeatedly, weeping.
"Get this man on a tranquilizer drip to calm his
heart rate, and have someone escort Xavier Holland down here stat. Where is
Nurse Margaret!"
~
Dr. Holland looked at Dr. Williams and nodded. 'Tell
the police that this man shot at a wolf that somehow got out of its normal
habitat—but he was right to do so and is not on drugs or a lunatic. Clear that
poor man's name. Tell them that the animal most likely did trash his store so
at least he can get an insurance claim going."
"You do this often?"
"More than I'd like."
Dr. Williams's previously crisp white medical jacket
against his tanned, athletic, news-anchor-type good looks seemed crushed and wilted now. It was as though the man had absorbed too much truth, and that had overdosed his
system and shaken his once orderly world. Xavier Hol-land landed a hand on his shoulder as he headed back to the
temporary lab with Clarissa.
"It's starting, isn't it?" Dr. Williams
called out.
Xavier Holland nodded without turning around and kept
stride with Clarissa. "Get Sasha on sat-phone, Clarissa,
and tell
her the target is still in the area ... and not to
lose hope because
he's hunting po'boys and barbecue."
Chapter 19
Facedown in goose down pillows, Sasha barely heard
Doc's cell phone ringing. She heard the blaring contraption from inside a
dream, one that she was too disoriented to remember the second late-afternoon
sun pierced her eyes. Fearing the worst, she fumbled for the device, and as
soon as she flipped it open her greeting consisted of two words, "What's
wrong?"
Almost in a state of disbelief, she listened to Doc's
description of the restaurant wolf sighting. The information made every keened
muscle in her body relax for a second; she'd thought the call was to tell her
Silver Hawk had passed away. As she took her next breath, her body was rigid
again; the infected wolf that was sighted could have been the only one she knew
of that would pass dozens of humans to chow down on dressed po'boys and ribs.
But, still, that was a good thing.
Fatigue clawed at the backs of her eyeballs and then
sent mild spasms of tension down her spine as she sat up too quickly to better
hear what was being said. Hunter had bum-rushed a barbecue joint? Wha... ?
"Okay, I'm on it," Sasha said, standing,
rubbing the tension from the nape of her neck.
"No. I don't have time to come back to Tulane and
get Bradley's device. If I have to wrestle him to the ground, I'll get a
nontranquilizer-tainted sample. Yeah. Yeah. I promise. No, I won't do anything rash. Okay. I'll be careful
Bye." For a moment she just looked at the phone. Doc knew damned well what
she did in the field—don't do any-thing dangerous? He
sounded more like a worried father than an Ops mission specialist... but then,
everybody's nerves were frayed.
Easy come, easy go, sleep was worth more than money
right now, especially after practically inhaling the homemade gumbo here
before hitting the sack. Now she was glad that she'd showered in the hospital,
grabbed some scrubs, made a quick change in a tourist shop, and had basically
dropped like a stone—already dressed. What would have taken the average person
a couple of hours had only taken her half that time, which allowed her to find
a small B&B in the French Quarter to temporarily crash and burn in. But
even though that brief respite had given her a badly needed one-hour power nap,
the little taste of sleep now felt like a tease.
On unsteady legs, she staggered to the dresser to collect
the standard mission envelope Doc always provided. Cash, credit card, ID with
an alias. Plus, a local badge so she could openly wear a holster packing heat.
Contents went in her back jeans pocket. Xavier Holland left no stone unturned.
This time he'd added in one extra element: antitoxin. She wasn't sure if Doc
had meant it for her or Hunter as she stared at the premeasured hypodermic.
Sasha checked the clip on her nine and then slid on a shoulder holster. What to
do with the damned needle? She sighed as she slipped out of the room with it
concealed in her hand. Ask the front desk for some duct tape, of course, and
tape it to her shin.
~
There was no need to jimmy the lock when a firm shoulder
applied to the door would do. Shogun stepped into the empty bedroom and swore
under his breath. Her scent was still thick in the air—warm. He'd missed her by
only minutes, and he would have preferred to approach Sasha in close, private
quarters rather than where she might freak out and accidentally shoot him.
He stooped and touched the floor where she'd stepped,
tilted his head, and briefly closed his eyes. Damn she smelled good.
~
Word travels fast in the Big Easy, Dominique. Etienne lay awakened in his crypt in the dark, eyes
open, still as stone. His thoughts kissed the fringes of his daytime familiar's
mind. Ah. . . yes, bring me a little something extra—lagniappe, as we
say . . . oui. You say the old man is a leader of the Shadows? Ah, he bears the
amulet. Bon. Très bon. Yes, bring him; we may need a bargaining chip soon.
~
The orderly pushed a cart of meds aimlessly down the
hall with his eyes lowered and stopped outside of ICU. He glanced in and stared
at the unconscious old man. Murmurs had gone around the nurse's station that
one of the strange soldiers must have left the charm after the patient had come
out of surgery. Although it wasn't hospital policy to allow such an obviously
expensive item to be left on a patient for both health and legal reasons, no
one seemed to know what to do. No one wanted to mess with it, either, not after
Nurse Margaret told folks it was a religious item and then
went on to scare the beejeebers out of the staff, claiming it to be a form of
gris-gris.
There'd been much superstitious speculation, many
whispers. No one seemed to want to take the responsibility for disturbing
serious gris-gris. But the master wanted the old man, if possible, and most
certainly the charm. The charm was easy enough to filch; the old man might
require some assistance from the undead—however, he could give them something
that would please them.
Glancing at the patient and waiting until the on-duty
nurse moved to the far end of the ward, he entered the area with feline grace
and slipped next to the oblivious patient. Peering down at the helpless soul,
he smiled. One day he'd be so quiet, would have the stealth capacity of the
undead that he so admired. He'd be able to look down into a face and determine
if that person would live or die. In truth, he had that power now. His arms
were so strong, this old man so weak. Taking a life would be easy ... but for
now the master just wanted something to bargain with.
Fine woven silver caught his eye. He could slip it
over the patient's head without disturbing his tubing, just like the person
who'd put it on had.
Dominique reached out quickly, his deft fingers making
contact with the oddly warm metal. Then his face contorted and his body
convulsed. A wretched scream rent the room and brought personnel running from
all areas. Silver-white static charge covered his hands as he stumbled backward,
then arced from his hands to his chest, covering his body in a crackling wave
only to suddenly stop as he dropped to the floor.
"Get a broom handle, anything that won't conduct
an electric current!" a nurse shouted. "Don't touch that equipment!
Something's obviously making it arc!"
"Crash cart! We've got a man down, gotta
jump-start him!" a doctor commanded.
"Check the ICU patient's vitals—make sure that
faulty equipment didn't surge his heart monitor or alter his IV drips—check his respiration!" another doctor
shouted as they made sure the orderly wasn't still emitting a charge.
"Vitals, equipment, monitoring as normal on the
ICU patients. All of them," a bewildered nurse said, her voice awed.
"All clear," the doctor on the floor yelled,
making personnel step back as he defibrillated the orderly. "One, two,
three—all clear. Come on, come on, again—breathe, man! All clear! One, two,
three—shit! What the hell just happened to you?"
~
Midstep in the street, Sasha stopped walking. In the
center of her mind she saw Silver Hawk open his eyes. Her amulet warmed and
then heated so quickly it almost felt like it burned. His mouth didn't move,
but his message was clear: Go get my grandson.
She began running, screw a streetcar. Driving wouldn't
help; she needed her wolf senses ground level while on the move. Shadow
hopping, she could skip through fast-passing vehicle shadows, leaping one to
the other like Hunter had shown her not so long ago. That would get her to the
battered store, but her sense was that he was long gone from there. She could
still see Silver Hawk's intense, open eyes. His presence loomed in her Shadow
vision like a guide. Oh, God, he was headed for the bayou!
Images of infected Shadows hiding in the swamps invaded
her psyche. "No!" She was shouting into the wind, no one could hear
her, but she needed to head off Hunter before he blundered into the dens of the
enemy.
Suddenly a huge silver wolf, majestic and proud, mentally
slipped in front of her human form, leading the way, making severe cuts and
turns down alleys, between buildings, into shadowed gardens, and behind
mausoleums. Slowly she began to understand; the wolf in her mind was taking her
to City Park. If she could get to Hunter there within the fifteen-hundred-acre
municipal enclave, versus the bayou where anything could happen, then maybe he
stood a chance.
But the silver wolf in her mind soon fled behind a
tree. As she rounded it to find him, a familiar face met her. The shock almost
made her jump out of her skin.
"Don't shift, it's safe," Shogun said
quickly. "Please, we need to talk."
Sasha placed her hand in the center of her chest,
trying to get her heart to stop racing. "I could have shot you."
He nodded and stepped closer. "There is so much
going on, we need to form an alliance."
She looked up at him and nodded. "You know about
the toxin on the street?"
"Some of the story. Don't know it all, but I do
know this—at the UCE Conference, the Vampires will try to divide us. That
cannot happen. We can't allow any open wolf hunts. We have to stand united and
agree in full session to exterminate our own problems and to retain sovereignty.
We don't need outsiders coming in to do that, especially ones that have an
agenda."
"That's fair. Makes sense," Sasha said,
remembering every facet of his kind, dignified eyes and handsome face. She
smiled, remembering how the last time she'd seen him he was clean-shaven and
now his hair spilled down in a cascading, blue-black silken fall to his elbows.
"How do we get our packs to understand, though? Some of those guys are
pretty entrenched in the old ways."
"My sister is, too," he said with a wry
smile. "Many of the packs and clan adhere to the old ways because they've
never seen a new way that could work."
"Your sister?" Sasha chuckled and shook her
head.
"You do remember the cold bucket of water she
threw on us?"
Her smile widened. "How could I forget?"
"I told you she was my sister .. . that was
truth." His smile faded and became replaced with something deeper that she
couldn't allow her mind to address. "Not all Werewolves lie . .. not all
of us are monsters, Sasha."
At a temporary loss for words, she simply nodded.
"I can count on you?" he asked.
"Yes. And I you?"
"With my life."
Again, she was at a loss.
"I came, before, when you were in Shadow country—
twenty men strong, and we waited, we watched, were prepared to join your
battle if necessary."
"Thank you for that," she said quietly.
"Now I guess our clan knows what it feels like to have some of our own go
rogue... and then have every member looked at as a potential hazmat
carrier." She let out a long, weary sigh. "This shouldn't be, brother
against brother ... the physical differences between Shadow Wolves and
Werewolves is so minor... the cultures are so close, as is the history and many
of the beliefs—but this hatred is bone deep. How did that happen?" She
searched his gaze for something to cling to, something that
would help her understand the insane politics that had
to be negotiated at the UCE
But all he offered was a good-natured shrug. "The
same way it happens with humans. A rivalry turns into a
bitter dispute, then barriers get erected, and the next thing
you know there's war and genocide. Does any of it make
sense?"
"No," she said, quietly ashamed of it all
and not sure why. "I've got your back, I know what you're saying is true
... but I'm not the ultimate authority on clan politics. I'm just an enforcer—not a leader."
Shogun tilted his head. "You're still not his
pledged mate?"
Sasha looked away. "I can lobby for an alliance,
but I don't have the power to make warriors stand down."
He traced her cheek with a finger, holding her gaze.
"But you have influence ... and a good heart. You know what is right for
the wolf families—all clans, all packs ... but, beautiful she-Shadow, do you
know yet what is right just for you?"
~
Much improved after feeding, he knew he had to keep
moving. The farther away from civilization he got, the better. But he could
sense something bearing down on him, something that just would not relent. It
was there, but not there, a vapor in the shadows. Familiar, yet strange, almost
steering him—that's when he stopped and turned on it for a moment, growling,
before he pressed onward. Of all places, not here... not where there was the
Carousel Gardens amusement park for children.
The reality seized his chest and constricted it with
grief. From a place he couldn't fathom, images and information scorched his
mind. Fifth-largest municipal park in the U.S. Lush botanical gardens full of
strolling couples and families. More than ten million tourists visited here
annually. One of only a hundred wooden merry-go-rounds left in the U.S. resided
here, which meant more families and more children. He could see a Mother Goose
ride and then Art Deco-inspired fountains. People, people, a place where they
held weddings. No. Something awful could not step out of the shadows here. Two
predators could not do mortal combat here! No! This place, this healing
sanctuary, could not be hunting grounds for demon-infected Shadow Wolves.
Never the children, never their mothers.
Hunter stopped moving, turned on the unseen presence,
and lowered his head with a warning snarl. Yes, he would run from humans, now
for their own good. But something in the shadows stalking him ... never.
Spanish moss waved at him like a maiden riding a carnival
float. Ancient oak trees stood like sentries. Something was there but refused
to show itself. Then, just as suddenly as he'd felt it, the presence slipped
away to be replaced with one he'd know anywhere. Sasha.
His first instinct was to flee her possible detection,
but when she stepped out of the shadows with her hand over her heart, breathing
hard, something stayed his leave. He told himself that it was to be sure the
other ominous male wolf presence he'd just felt wouldn't attack her, but as he
studied her carefully, he knew that was a lie. Sasha Trudeau was thoroughly
capable of addressing a threat. Even if the threat was him.
Using a quick, jabbing lunge to disturb the air near
her Shadow in a threatening way, he sent her a message in the standard Shadow
body language—back off. Instead of backing up, she drew like lightning and
hardened her gaze.
"Show yourself," she said in a quiet, lethal
voice.
He circled her in the Shadows,
letting her feel the air move around
her, letting her know he was close enough to take her life
if he wanted to. He watched her move as he moved, her
timing impeccable, her instincts razor-sharp. But it disturbed him that it was taking her so long to scent
him,
to know his signature. Then he
remembered; he was tainted. Nearly everything about him had
changed and was unfamiliar.
Hunter moved away, the combative aggression ebbing.
After he'd fed, some of his old wolf had returned. His front paws and hind legs were again the long, muscular
appendages of a natural wolf, not bent abominations and clawed hands. His coat had thankfully never gotten
patched and natty to show human skin through it. Instead it had
remained thick and shimmering and midnight blue-black. His canines, while pronounced, were no longer a
prehistoric tangle of murderous fangs, and the disgusting faucet of demon-infected Werewolf
drool had ceased.
Still, he had the very unnatural combination of a human's
voice trapped within a wolf's body—evidence of a half-shift, if ever there was
one . .. and he could no longer shape-shift at will. Unacceptable under any
circum-stances. The thing that most concerned him as he watched Sasha try to
find his Shadow to confront him was, what if one day the wolf mind eclipsed the
human mind and he could no longer call his humanity the way he used to so
easily call his wolf?
Until this moment he didn't realize just how vain he
was in her presence. There were some things he never wanted her to see, and try
as he might to shunt that to the back of his mind, he couldn't. What she
thought of him, even if she had to eventually shoot him, mattered. He took a
long sniff against his ribs, trying to gauge whether or not he reeked of demon
contagion.
"Just stop this bullshit, Hunter," Sasha
finally said, rushing in and out of nearby shadows, but nowhere near him at
all. "Do you know how worried we've all been? What possessed you to leave
Silver Hawk? Okay, wrong metaphor, but you know what I mean. I don't give a
damn what you look like or that you can't shift back at the moment—what's important
is that we gather our team in tight. The old man's lying in the hospital in
ICU, and we need everybody's head on straight. Are you hearing me?"
He could see frustration had a chokehold on her and
well understood why. But he would do this his way. He'd go see the old man
under the cover of darkness ... would say his good-byes and make his peace the
way it had been done in the clan, within the pack, and even within his human
tribe for generations. This was something she knew nothing of.
However, when he turned to leave, a threatening male
force breached his shadow. The presence so startled him that he came out into
the dappled sunlight snarling.
"Yo, yo, yo!" Sasha yelled.
"Chill!"
"It's still in the shadows," he said in a
low rumble, needing to communicate with her more than preserve his pride.
"It's male, in my shadow, but moves like a ghost.. . it's—"
"Silver Hawk, or a friend," she said,
blowing a wisp of damp hair up off her forehead as she lowered her weapon.
"Shit."
"How can that be?" Hunter studied her and
then trained his attention back on the shadow he'd been ousted from.
"If you still had your amulet, you'd know,"
Sasha said curtly.
"He led me here in a Shadow vision
... then a friend also came out of concern."
Hunter just stared at her.
"Yeah. Remember that heroic deed that left us all
standing in the safe house with our hearts ripped out?"
She walked around in a tight circle. "Why ... I
oughta shoot your mangy ass just for that!"
His gaze hardened, but he checked his coat and then
lifted his chin. He was many things, but mangy wasn't one of them.
"Oh, for the love of God..." Sasha holstered
her weapon. "First order of business, I need a blood and tissue
sample."
"Why?" He began backing up, wary. "And
who is this friend?"
"Because we need more infected Werewolf toxin to
make more antitoxin, for starters. Two, we're trying to
isolate what it is about your system that doesn't make you go all the way demon-infected Werewolf and simply lose it so--"
"We don't know that yet," he countered,
hating every moment that she made him have to use his voice while in wolf form.
"And who's the goddamned friend?"
"Someone smart who wants a pack alliance. We can
talk about that later. For now, let's deal with the primary
problem—your state of contagion isn't as bad as it could have been. You went
for the barbecue ribs on the grill, Hunter—not the fat chef. I'm no longer
worried, trust me."
He looked away. A family walked by and gathered their children near. Sasha stepped close to Hunter before he
could dodge into the shadows and placed her hand on his shoulders.
"Huge but harmless," she said, watching the
young couple with a stroller and a toddler blanch. "Well trained. Police
canine," she said, patting her Glock. She watched their bodies relax.
"Nice to know you're on our side, officer,"
the guy she assumed to be the husband yelled. "Never saw one that
big."
Sasha chuckled. "Yeah, he's a real prize."
She gripped Hunter's coat when he began a low rumbling growl. "Let these
nice folks go on down the path with their sanity, would ya? And not a
word," she said in a hissing whisper. "Besides, there's probably
fifty or so odd Fae marksmen in the trees just waiting to drop a predator that
would draw attention to the Conference—so would ya chill?"
Hunter just looked at her for a moment, but when the
passersby had gone, the next volley of questions was delivered with slow,
quiet rage.
"Look at me," he said through his teeth.
"I have lost complete control of my wolf! Yes, I was able to employ the
ruse to get three sides to fight each other—that we can discuss later. But of
what use am I to you or what is left of my pack or even the clan at the UCE
Conference if my mind is eroding to the wolf mind... if the human is receding
hour by hour, even in the daylight? Take your blood sample to help others if
you must, but leave me until this purges from my system. And as far as any
alliances go, forget it for now—the politics down here are vicious and I don't
even know who you've been talking to. I can't commit to anything until I am in
my human self."
"Okay, we'll talk about the alliance proposal
later, but I'm not leaving you to be jumped in the swamps and made alligator
food—because that's where the infected Shadows went. But I will take you
up on your grudging offer to help us make more antitoxin,
and maybe even a vaccine, from whatever elements we can
extract from your DNA."
The fact that she had bluntly stated
her point without any compassion in
her voice for his dilemma grated him.
"So, to save
all this Shadow hopping and energy depletion. I guess you just expect to walk
me on a leash to the local pharmacy and steal some
hypodermics while you leave me tied to a pole? Is that the
plan? Or, I guess you'll walk me at your heel into Tulane
University Hospital as a two-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound military guard
dog?"
Sasha shrugged. "Whatever you're most comfortable
with."
~
Never in his life had he been so
thoroughly disgusted or humiliated as he flanked Sasha with his head held high,
but he did take slight satisfaction in watching people
clear sidewalks and pathways as she flashed a badge and brought him
into the hospital.
The guard looked like he was about to say something,
and it
was admittedly a twisted pleasure to
stare at the man with knowing eyes—eyes that were eerily both wolf and human, and dare him to bar them entry.
"Uh, ma'am," the security guard said as
delicately as possible. "Uhmmm, I don't think for health reasons, the
doctors might not want a huge, uh—"
"Sir, it's all right. Military. He's a drug
sniffer. We've had an incident, and the animal will be confined to that area
rendering no health risk to patients."
"Uh, yes, ma'am," the guard stuttered, and
then released a long whistle as she and Hunter passed.
It was reflex, he couldn't help it. The sound bristled
the hair on his back and drew a growl with a flash of canines. He watched the
color drain from the offender's face.
"Sir, please don't do that," Sasha told the
guard as she smoothed down bristled wolf coat. 'These animals are highly
sensitive."
Hunter refrained from grumbling and offering any
comment. Her touch did feel good, and was oddly soothing the way she did what
she did. Besides, what had been of greatest concern was getting into the
hospital to see his grandfather by any means necessary. So be it if he had to
hide in plain sight, a novel concept for a Shadow Wolf, but one that worked
better than he'd expected. If they could also do the lab work here more
efficiently, all the better.
"We've gotta make one stop," Sasha said with
a wide smile as they exited the vacant stairwell.
He looked at her hard and it was a challenge not to
snarl.
"That poor chef saw a Werewolf. I want to go to
his room as a military cop and thank him for his trouble, and apologize for my
bad dog that got on the loose."
"Oh, hell no!"
"Oh, hell yes, because it will make it easier for
Doc to send in a spin team if that chef sees what scared the shit out of him,
as do several witnesses, and the man's sanity can be vindicated. This way, Doc
can give him a card with a number for him to call where he can get his greasy
spoon all nice and remodeled and shiny, and can talk forever about the biggest
damned dawg he ever saw. Are you following me here? Can you say damage
control?"
He knew by not answering her he'd conceded by omission.
Public relations was not his thing in the least. This was why he and his pack
shunned big cities—there was always the complexity
of too many eyewitnesses for things that had
to go down in the wild. True, some packs lived in the margins and functioned within the shadows of the city seams. But this was not his way at all. He cursed
every footfall that landed in perfect sync with Sasha's as
she
led him to what would probably turn into
a hospital photo op,
"Just wait here,
okay?" she said, watching nurses, orderlies, visitors, and patients cling to the walls. "The
man already had a near heart attack and has been mildly sedated I'm told. So let me break it to him gently."
If there weren't already people in the hallways that had seen him, he would have told her to kiss his natural Shadow ass and found a dark supply closet to hide in.
Unfortunately he'd been seen and the fluorescent lights of a
hospital ward didn't cast many shadows to choose from. Heel,
wait, sit, come—oh, he would never, ever let her live this down.
"Mr. Roulade," Sasha said with a cheerful
voice. "I'm Lieutenant Trudeau. I'm told you had quite a scare this
morning?"
"Yes, ma'am," the chef slurred, fighting the
medication. "They think I'm crazy, but I'm not...
even though that one doctor tried to make me feel better. So did that pretty
little pixie of a nurse, Ms. Margaret. I know they was just
humoring me so they could get me to hold still long enough for them to dope me up. So, you said, officer—so you
coming to lock me up for shooting?"
"Well, no, sir, and that doctor and nurse truly
believed you. I'm gonna ask a nurse or two and a coupla doctors on the ward to
come on in here with my, uh, military guard dog, Hunter. I'm so sorry he ate
your barbecue and went after the po'boys. The U.S. Military will compensate you
for your trouble, 'cause I know that the last thing folks down here need to
deal with is another insurance claim and all that mess. I got family from down
here, hence my last name, Trudeau. My heart goes out for all you've already
been through with Katrina."
"It's been a lot, ma'am, more than folks
know," the chef said, lip quivering from repressed emotion. "I used
to have a real nice place, but what your dog tore up was all I had left. . .
that's why I was shootin' and probably lost my mind. Maybe it wasn't a werewolf
and was just a really big dog.... I honestly don't know my own mind now, all
drugged up. But I ain't a violent man."
"We know, it's gonna be all right. That's why I
came in here to show you what had gotten loose, okay?"
The chef nodded as Sasha patted his arm, and she
seemed to know to wait a bit to allow the distraught man a moment to collect
himself. But the more Hunter had listened to her mollify the patient, the more
he eased into going along with her crazy terms. People down here had definitely
been through a lot, and if he could help it, they wouldn't go through more by
way of being snatched into dark Shadows and fed upon by the unholy. As he
listened to Sasha's calm, friendly approach, it was another side of her that he
was learning.
"Don't worry," she soothed. "We're not
gonna do you like FEMA. We can get your store fixed right up without you having
to go through a lot of changes. And, uh, maybe somebody in the hall might have
a camera cell phone so you can get the pic and hang it in your remodeled
shop?" She smiled wide and clasped the man's hand. "Sir, I'm so glad
that you and nobody else were hurt. This could have been tragic."
The chef smiled up at her with tears in his eyes.
"Little lady, either you're an angel or they put some really good drugs in
the IV
drip."
They both laughed and she gave his hand another
squeeze and held up one finger. "I'm warning you, he's a monster."
Hunter cocked his head to the side and stared up at
Sasha when she reentered the hallway. Even though she was a reasonably tall
woman at five foot seven, his head was almost to the top of her shoulder. She
gave him a look that begged him to be on his best behavior. He wanted to offer
her a dashing smile but thought better of it. Maybe he'd embarrass her and
nuzzle her crotch, since she wanted to role-play this to the bone.
"Uhm, could a couple of staff members come in—and
if anyone has a camera cell phone, would you be so kind? I want Mr. Roulade to
not wake up in the morning thinking he dreamed this—you know how meds
are."
Several staffers inched around their desks.
"Jesus, lady, they really have those things on
the bases?" a male nurse said, easing around her to slip into the room.
"Some bases," Sasha said brightly, entering
the room with Hunter, while everyone else but the bold nurse elected to crane
their necks to see from where they were.
"Mr. Roulade, meet Hunter."
"Holy Christ!" Roulade drew himself up into
the bed. 'That's him! Oh, dear merciful heaven," he wheezed, crossing
himself.
"Hunter..." Sasha said, stooping down and
then nuzzling her cheek against his fur. "Please let that nice nurse take
a picture of you next to Mr. Roulade, since you destroyed his store, you bad
boy."
He almost slipped and said okay, but instead paid her
back for the affront of talking dog-owner-baby-talk to him by slurping her face
with a giant lick. Sasha laughed and stood.
"See, he's really pretty harmless." She
looked at the nurse who'd made himself extra small in a corner of the room.
"Sir, you can breathe now."
"He ... he, uh, won't jump at me or bite if he
hears a click, will he?" the nurse whispered.
Sasha eyed Hunter. "No, you won't, will
you?"
Hunter nosed her crotch and she squeezed his neck fur.
He struggled not to laugh.
"C'mon, let these men take a picture—just
one."
With great trepidation, he loped toward the bed and
stared at the poor chef that had almost fainted dead away from seeing him hours
earlier. The chef offered a tense grin and a cell phone camera clicked. Hunter
loped away. He'd never been photographed in his life, but this woman had a way
of making him do all sorts of crazy things.
"Did you get it?" she asked the nurse.
The nurse nodded and reached toward her. Instinct released
a low growl in Hunter's throat. Human instinct made the man draw back and cover
his head and lift a knee to protect his groin.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my bad," the nurse
said quickly.
"No, that was my bad," Sasha said with
disgust, rolling her eyes at Hunter. "No sudden moves, they don't like
that, especially from males."
The chef's head bobbed in nervous agreement. "I
can see that, understand it. You gotta train 'em to go after criminals,
right?"
"Yeah, something like that," she said,
checking the picture that had most of Hunter's huge head in the shot with what
looked like a very small but rotund man. She stroked Hunter's back. "All
right, big fella. It's back to work."
He watched how she handled the crowd, and had to admit to being quietly impressed. The woman owned diplomatic skills with humans that he'd never seen employed until
now. She waved on the way out, telling the chef that someone would come by with a telephone number to change his life
later today, and then waved at the impressive crowd
that had gathered at a safe distance by the central floor desk to witness the
huge beast that a female MP had strolled into Tulane.
It actually wasn't so bad walking at Sasha's heel for
a bit. She had a very sexy stride and smelled great.
Chapter 20
"Jesus H. Christ!" Dr. Williams flattened
himself against the lab wall as Sasha came in with Hunter.
Dr. Lutz dashed to the far side of the room, huffing
on an inhaler. Dr. Sanders just stood behind her microscope, her hazel eyes
wide with awe, terror, and wonder. Clarissa McGill held the slide she'd been
studying between two fingers, not moving, not breathing as Winters tumbled over
a chair and hit the floor and Bradley held on to a desk, his knuckles going
white.
"Me and Doc Holland tried to warn 'em,
Trudeau," Woods said calmly.
"It freaks you out the first time ... but there's
nothing like watching the transition to make you think you're having a
psychotic break," Fisher commented blandly. "Right, Doc?"
"Ladies and gentlemen, I tried to mentally
prepare you as best I could, but some things defy description," Doc
Holland said in a weary tone. He looked at Hunter. "We're gonna fix this,
son."
Hunter nodded, but declined comment for the sake of
multiple cardiac arrests.
"He understood you," Dr. Sanders said just
above a whisper.
"Max Hunter, meet Evelyn Sanders, Ira Lutz, and
Michael Williams—Tulane's finest in bioresearch, epidemiology,
and surgery. They worked on your grandfather and so far have done a really fine job. My guys—that's
Clarissa—a whiz biochemist with second sight and in-field trauma medic training; Winters, a madman on computers
with a little kinetic thing going on; and Bradley, satellite and radar man with special insight into the dark arts. You already met Woods and Fisher—and know Doc like
family." Sasha looked at Hunter with a plea in her eyes. "Please
don't speak, though, baby, or they'll have to bring in a crash cart and we
don't have time for that."
"I... I... don't understand?" Dr. Williams
said, his eyes wild. "You've cracked the code on human to animal
communications to this level? And what do you mean we worked on his grandfather?"
"Michael," Doc said, rubbing his palms down
his face. "It will take many hours that we don't have right now and many
bourbons to sort this all out. Suffice to say that he understands everything
you're saying and you did work on his grandfather."
"You have to mean genetically his grandfather...
That's the human gene donor, correct?" Dr. Sanders persisted.
"No, his actual grandfather," Sasha shot
back, growing testy. She looked at Hunter, clearly concerned that his patience
was two seconds from ebbing.
"Then is this specimen a Shadow creature wolf or
a Werewolf?" Dr. Lutz wheezed.
Unable to tolerate their ignorance any longer, Hunter
spun on the Tulane staff and released a quick, snarling series of angry barks.
"Okay, we need to get this process on the
road," Sasha said. "This man has been gracious enough to endure a
photo op on the cardiac—"
"What!" Xavier Holland shouted.
"We gotta rebuild the store, it was part of a
damage-control strategy, and they only got a piece of Hunter's face in the
pic," Sasha said with a sigh. "We had to throw the public a
bone."
'This is spinning way out of control, Trudeau,"
Doc argued, nodding with Hunter who released a low growl.
"Well, can you draw blood and take whatever
samples you need so you can hit this man with antitoxin, so he can go up to ICU
to see his grandfather?" Sasha looked around the group and then her gaze
returned to Xavier Holland. "Hunter can feel it, I can feel it—something
happened in ICU."
"There was an incident," Doc said carefully,
staring at Hunter and then Sasha. "A man tried to steal the amulet you'd
placed on Silver Hawk. He didn't make it. Somehow a piece of equipment the
orderly touched had some sort of electrical discharge and the man went into
instant cardiac arrest and could not be revived."
"And Silver Hawk?" Sasha said as Hunter
began a low series of steady growls.
"We don't know how to explain it, but ever since
he's had that necklace on," Dr. Williams said, glancing at his colleagues
while keeping a steady eye on Hunter's darkening mood, "his vital signs
have been improving, his white blood cell count is going in the right direction
... there's nothing specific that we can point to as to why, but he's markedly
improved."
"How 'bout you draw that blood now, Rissa?"
Sasha said, trying to hurry the process.
"You, uh, sure, he'll, uh, be okay with
that?" Clarissa said, her hands shaking as she began
prepping a blood drawing tray. "I mean he's a gorgeous specimen.... I've
never seen an animal so majestic."
"You don't have to blow his head up to get him to
sit still for a blood draw," Sasha
said, laughing. "Keep it up and he'll sniff your crotch."
Clarissa held the tray but didn't move forward when
Hunter loped away from her with a disgruntled rumble. "I mean, he really
is amazing, I'm not just saying that. I've never seen
anything like him."
"You should see him in a pair of jeans and a
thermal undershirt," Sasha said with a wink. But then she let her breath
out hard and put her hands on her hips, watching Hunter pace. "Oh, come
on, you big baby, and get your ass over there so she can take a sample. The
sooner you—"
"I can do it," Doc said, taking the tray
from Clarissa. "His experience with needles hasn't been positive over the
years."
"Oh ... wow ... yeah ..." Sasha said, as
Hunter made a semicircle and went in the other direction. "Okay, okay,
look—they're just going to draw blood, won't hit you with antitoxin until after
you see Silver Hawk, all right?" She turned to face the Tulane staff.
"You're chief of surgery, Dr. Williams. You're going to have to tell them
whatever you need to tell them so I can bring Hunter up there in this form.
Tell them the old man is in a coma and that his faithful companion might bring
him out. But I can tell you this, Hunter will turn this hospital inside out if
he can't go see his grandfather real soon."
The three doctors from Tulane just stared at one another
for a moment, words temporarily escaping them all. Dr. Michael Williams finally
raked his fingers through the spiked mass that had once been immaculately
barbered brunette hair.
"You have got to be kidding me."
~
"I don't give a shit, call Joseph Pratt," Dr.
Williams argued with the head of ICU.
"You are not bringing some mangy,
flea-ridden animal into a hospital ICU under any circumstances, Doctor! Pratt
will lose his job as hospital president if one of these patients has an
allergic reaction or an airborne infection impacts an immune system and kills
someone. Are you insane, Williams? Not on my fucking watch, you won't! We just
had an incident up here that's still under investigation—I don't give a rat's
ass about whatever politics you've got going on in your climb to greatness,
but this type of madness will have you practicing medicine in some small
foreign country with a rain forest in the background and no government!"
"Pratt gave me express instructions that I was to
cooperate with this Homeland Security operation to the utmost of my
ability—and helping that elderly eyewitness recover so that he can testify is
in accordance with that." He waved Sasha and Hunter forward and watched as
the other doctor gasped.
"Mother of God .. . what the fuck is that?"
"The old man's companion, who's like a grandson
to him, they tell me. We're experimenting with new coma revival therapies.
He'll only be on the floor for a few minutes. I trust you can live with
that."
~
Sasha hung back, watching Hunter slowly approach the
bed and then lay his head gently beside Silver Hawk so as not to harm him by even a touch. It was the saddest thing
she'd ever witnessed ... a grandfather felled, a grandson
trapped between two worlds, and yet a bond so strong that it
had crossed miles and minds, all on the wind through a bit of silver-framed amber.
New respect for whatever the Shadow packs termed the
old ways entered her. The way of the wolf. As she continued to stare at the mute
reunion, she agreed more reverently with Clarissa. Hunter was majestic, just
like his grandfather. The genes bore out, no matter what else had tried to take
up lodging within him.
Watching them together, now physically close but in
different dimensions . . . one locked in a coma and in human form, the other
trapped in his wolf and achingly present, she wondered how she would face the
inevitable day when Doc got sick.
It was something she tried never to dwell on; Doc was
the closest thing she'd had to a father. But the truth was, the man was already
up in years. The kind of work he did was stressful, not to mention had an
element of danger when not protected in the NORAD bubble, like he was now. All
it took was one lab catastrophe, one slip-up, or just a slip and fall in his
own home—a regular occurrence for the elderly. Then what would she do when it
was her time to sit shiva at that loved one's bedside, and how would she deal
with the other inevitable part of that process that she didn't want to name right
now?
Sasha looked at the floor and watched it get blurry.
Silver Hawk loved his grandson so much that he'd come to her in a Shadow
vision to find and protect him, even while in a coma. Had even led her to
Hunter while a sworn enemy—a Werewolf clan leader—was present. Damn. It had to
be a sign that the old man also thought it was time for peace, time for an
alliance ... either that or the pull to his grandson superseded everything,
even the future of the clan. She wondered if anybody had ever loved her that
much, even Doc. That was some hard loving that went beyond the biological all
the way down to the spiritual...
Then again, she had family from here, Doc had told her
long ago ... and she'd seen her own mother and so many spirits from her family
on her spirit walk with Hunter. She had to remember that, although those folks
were gone, there were so many people who'd loved her— even before she was born,
they'd loved her spirit. It was taking her a while to be able to comprehend
that the spirit world was an extension of her current earthly reality. If only
there was time to stay in New Orleans and to find those people, to learn from
their stories, and to find out about where the seer gene came from. But time to
learn more about her own life had never been an affordable luxury.
Her attention jerked to Hunter as she clasped the
amulet she wore and jogged over to the side of the bed. Hunter lifted his head
slowly, easing from the bedside so as not to jostle Silver Hawk in the least.
"Hunter," she said as quietly as possible.
"You have to let me put the amulet on you so we can see who tried to take
it. What if it was a familiar—a Shadow familiar from one of the infected
Shadows?" She gave the arguing physicians her back. "Right now, your
nose is keener than mine. Fatigue has done us both in, but your wolf is here.
What do you pick up?"
She didn't wait for his answer as she carefully removed
the amulet from Silver Hawk and looped the long silver chain over Hunter's
head.
"I'm not picking up a trail from an infected den
..." Hunter whispered so low it sounded like a growl. He watched the already panicked medical staff back away. "We don't have much time before they put us out, but it's. . . very odd. The undead had lain with that man."
"Vampires sent a day
familiar over here to get a Shadow amulet?"
Sasha ruffled her hair up from the back of her neck. "Then that just confirms our hunches all
along . . . even with regards to Crow Shadow." She leaned over Silver Hawk's body, holding her amulet with one hand and Hunter's with the other. "He came to both of
us while in a coma. That says to me that he's strong, Hunter. He's gone within
to heal. He's on an ultimate spirit walk where he can see things we've yet to
comprehend, I bet. . .so, with the power of three,
let's heal his body and bring forth his knowledge."
~
"Lady, you're gonna
have to take the animal out of ICU," hospital security said from down the
hall.
Sasha opened her eyes and opened her palm that clasped
Hunter's amulet, watching it glow white for a second and then slowly normalize.
"Just be cool," she told Hunter. "I
think we did a lot of good for him and we definitely learned a lot."
"But we need more time," Hunter said between
his teeth.
"Lady, we're not going to tell you again ...
or... or... we're going to have to call in the police."
"Steady," she told Hunter. "The man, by
rights, is just doing his job—and we can't do anything in here that would harm
any of these innocent people." She waited until Hunter nodded and
withdrew from the bedside. "Okay," she called out and then stood.
'Thank you. We're out."
Hunter nudged his grandfather's hand with his nose one
last time, but was paralyzed in his tracks as the elderly fingertips fluttered
on their own to try to caress his coat.
Sasha swallowed hard and nodded. "I saw it."
She stroked Silver Hawk's hair and softly kissed his forehead. "Now we
just gotta get your grandson better."
~
"Pull the drape," Doc told Woods. "Like
I told you earlier, no matter what they hear, unless I call for a specific
individual, keep the team on the other side of the curtain." His eyes
held Hunter's and then he looked at Sasha. "He doesn't want you in here,
either—just patient and doctor."
"But if something goes wrong with the antitoxin
..." she said quietly, her gaze leaving Doc Holland's and fastening to
Hunter's.
Hunter closed his eyes.
"The man wants and deserves his privacy, Sasha.
The trip back is going to be painful... probably on the order of a sickle cell episode.
I've already explained this to the team while you both were visiting his
grandfather. The outer door will be locked, Winters is posting 'test in
progress' signage on the door, as we speak, and will be out there with an M-16
in full uniform."
She covered her mouth and touched Hunter's side.
"Oh shit, it's gonna be really bad, isn't it, Doc? Let me help ... if it
gets ..."
"No, Sasha. It's his choice, and maybe you should
wait outside. The other doctors are ready to help out if a limb ... gets twisted
in transformation. That's why Williams has already scrubbed."
She glanced at the scalpel tray and the IV drip of saline going into Hunter's forearm, then
closed her eyes and stopped breathing for a moment. Every beep of his heart
monitor felt like one of the scalpels from the tray was stabbing into her brain.
"What you have to understand is that giving him
anti-toxin after this long could be fatal." Doc Holland
looked at Hunter. "He knows it and wants to try, but that's
the risk. His entire cellular structure—joints, and tendons, and the placement of internal organs, et cetera—have to shift within a system made sluggish by a viral infection we
have yet to fully understand. Things that normally happen in a flash could
morph and transition so slowly that the pain sends his body into shock, or
leaves key arteries and veins blocked, starts hemorrhages. The list of what
could possibly go wrong is infinite. So, please step on the other side of the
curtain. The longer we delay, the harder this will be on him."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know. We could have just
done this first." She kissed Hunter between his eyes and followed Doc's
request. Panic-stricken gazes joined with hers as she listened to Doc tap the side of a syringe. If she had
only known . . . and what if she'd hit Hunter with the shot that was duct taped
to her leg out in the park? Her gaze tore to Doc's shadow, trying to see
through the curtain to no avail but sensing that he was pushing the stopper
down the tube at a slow, steady rate garnered from years of
medical practice.
And then came the wait. All sorts of scenarios ran
through her mind. Hunter could reject, go into a convulsion, and come up off
the table a full-blown problem that she, for the sake of the lives in the room,
might have to blow away.
Doc never said it, but it made sense why the door was
locked with a Special Forces guy on the outside toting an M-16 with silver
shells, one on the inside, and her. On the flip side, he might not change at
all, it might be too late, and he could possibly be left as a man trapped in a
wolf's body forever. Those were the two extremes. Her mind was too fried to
consider the hundreds of permutations in between, like him dying on the table
as a half-mangled, bloody, transitioning mass of flesh. Or maybe winding up a
half-human half-wolf deformity. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around
her waist and waited.
The first scream made her pace. Staring at the
curtain, she watched the outline of Hunter's body arch and then slump. Doc's frantic
shadow made her bite her lip until she bloodied it. But seeing the shadows was
nothing. It was hearing the bones snap and the sound of flesh ripping as
Hunter's voice rent the air in agonized wails.
"Can't they give him anesthesia?" Clarissa
asked, rocking.
Sasha squeezed her eyes shut tightly and shook her
head no. "It's a suppressant in Shadow systems. Screws up the cell split
timing. The only thing in his arm is saline solution to keep him
hydrated."
Winters dry heaved in a waste can as the outline of
Hunter's body showed the head of a wolf still connected to a man's torso as his
snout contorted to the sound of pleading moans and a succession of hard bone
breaks.
"Oh, Jesus," Bradley whispered and dragged
his fingers through his hair.
Woods just closed his eyes and took slow breaths in
through his nose. Dr. Lutz walked back and forth, methodically smoothing a
palm over his scalp while Dr. Williams remained poised to rush in to assist.
Dr. Sanders had found a stool, and she sat under the bright beams of
fluorescent lights so quietly, so wide-eyed that she seemed like a hazel-eyed
gecko sunning herself on a rock.
The rapid hard breaks slowed, and Sasha turned away from the curtain.
Facial structure and
human jaw complete—but the
realignment of his legs and hips and arms and shoulders ... she fisted her hair to keep from crying out with him as the first hard snap rang out with his
voice.
Then the god-awful sound of his nails
clawing at the bed, the IV crashing,
and the gunking-squishing noise that came with his
innards shifting made her cover her face.
Her head jerked up
at the same time Woods's did.
"He's going to beg
you to shoot him—don't," she said, standing and
walking across the room. "Don't you move, soldier, and that's an
order."
Chapter 21
A massive wolf had gone behind the drape on a gurney—
now stupefied doctors were standing over an unconscious human male body that
was going into shock, and despite their incredulity, their job now was to save
a human life. She couldn't watch or listen anymore.
"Woods," she said quickly as Doc Holland
rushed past the drape with a crash cart. "I want a man on ICU guarding
Silver Hawk, one here."
"Where're you going?"
"After the scent trails that Vampire's familiar
left before it gets dark."
"Lemme put a beacon on you at least, then,"
Winters said, his startled eyes clouded with concern.
“Take a couple of these," Bradley offered,
tossing her the sample siphoning tranquilizer shells he'd been working on.
Sasha caught them and stared at Bradley, trying to ignore
the sounds of the medical team working behind the curtain to revive Hunter.
"Won't need more samples, and what I'm going after I'm not trying to
tranquilize. I want it put down permanently."
The heart monitor had stopped its sickening, flat-line
wail,
and monitor blips allowed her to start
breathing again.
“Then let me do the honors," Clarissa said with hard
eyes. "After truly seeing what they did to that man . .
. what
this virus is capable of . . . oh yeah,
Sasha, put the rat bastards down hard."
Clarissa rooted through
the medical supply cabinets and talked to Sasha
as she grabbed small vials. "How about a homemade, lethal cocktail in part one and part two of Bradley's gizmo? Those guys with the full-blown virus should have sustained severe liver damage already—a nice overdose of
Phenobarbital, which is normally used to control seizures, will drop their blood pressures and make their heartbeats go haywire—then if I add a nice
lethal dose of fast-acting thiobarbital, the bastards ought to be in a drop-dead coma before the second segment
explodes. Mmmmm . . . lemme see what we can mix up . . . Veronol to paralyze their breathing apparatus, with a nice
healthy jigger of Oxycodone to help promote muscle flaccidity and cardiac arrest. . . and one of my personal favs
for blurred vision, Librium . . . What else do we have—oh, general purpose ammonia will always do the trick, add in some formaldehyde, and—"
"Remind me to stay on your good side,
McGill," Bradley muttered.
"Sounds more like the stuff of covens, rather
than a lab," Winters said. "Sheesh."
"It's all chemistry," she said, mixing her
lethal solutions and filling the retrofitted shells for Sasha. "And it'll
only take five or six seconds once it hits their bloodstream." She looked
up at Sasha. "Try to hit a jugular or something close to the heart if you
need it to work faster than that. Hopefully you'll have more time than that,
but ya never know."
~
Strangely enough, of all people, Dr. Williams had
offered her the keys to his seven-series BMW in the spirit of teamwork, and it
was indeed parked where he'd said she could find it in his reserved spot in the
lot.
Sasha jumped in the silver, drop-top sedan and cast
the automatic weapon on the passenger's seat, glad that she'd warned the man
ahead of time that his vehicle might not come back the way he'd given it. No
surprise that he'd waved her off—at his salary, this was his commuting vehicle,
the one he slummed in. Go figure.
But it was a silver beauty with enough power under the
hood to make a drive-by sweet. Yeah, she was feeling dangerous, maybe even a
little reckless. Twice in twenty-four hours she'd heard Hunter's guts get
ripped out—first from a purge, then for a hard transformation. They'd caused
the wrongful shooting of Silver Hawk, and then tried to assassinate or abduct
him in the hospital while he lay there helpless and alone. They'd even eaten
members of the clan. Some things were just over the top, so she would show them
the female version of crazy.
Every instinct she'd had had been correct. Regardless
of the incidents in the mountains, everything they were hunting was slowly
making its way here.
When she'd begun this mission to track down Dexter,
she and her team had monitored unusual preternatural activity converging on
New Orleans. Even before Winters and Bradley told her, she'd felt the migration
in her bones way before the Conference. Technology bore out her gut hunch; the
body count was higher than normal in the Ninth Ward,
but ever since Woods and Fisher's MLRS launch, that
seemed to die down.
Gravitational pull had made
her bed down briefly in the French Quarter,
but while exhausted, it was hard to delineate sensory
perceptions from the simple human desire for comforting aesthetics. Now she knew. Hunter had picked up the scent; he'd keyed her onto it over Silver
Hawk's prone body. Mind of his mind, she could Shadow-vision snapshots of the dead man's previous path which led her right back to the French Quarter where her first mind had already been.
She let the green streetcar pass her on St. Charles
Avenue and screeched to a stop as a man leaped from it into
the seat as she snatched up her weapon.
"You have got to stop rolling up on me like
that!"
Shogun smiled. "I told you I had your back. Drive
be-fore they start honking at you."
Sasha pulled off, shaking her head. "How'd
you—"
"Ethan's wife. She works ER—Nurse Margaret. The
fairies hiding in the fluorescent lights and ducts told the
rest of the Fae how they made that man suffer. Dexter had
him poisoned, as well as more Shadows . . . word traveled
from the forest regions, now that most of the contingents
have assembled."
"You've got proof?"
Shogun shook his head no. "The Fae have proof....
They always have proof but they try to stay neutral for
fear of reprisal. If we can show them that we'll come together
to fight a common enemy, and can win, then they'll bring their evidence to the
UCE. If not, we're on our own."
It didn't do any good to argue the fairness of it all.
It was what it was. You couldn't make anyone scared out of their minds testify
against entities that held a grudge till the end of time. Maybe the Fae had a
level of wisdom that the wolf packs had abandoned.
"You got an extra weapon—since we're hunting
Vampires by day and I can't shift till the moon's up?"
"Sure," Sasha said. "Take the
semi."
Shogun studied the weapon with appreciation.
"Nice piece." He turned to her with a sly smile.
She refused to dignify the comment and kept driving.
This alliance was going to be hard enough as it was to explain to the clan.
That was all she needed—for there to be even the remotest hint of impropriety.
Therefore, the tall, bronze, animal magnetism routine was a waste on her, just
like it had been before . . . dazzling smile in the sunlight notwithstanding.
Hunter was laid up in the hospital, possibly on his deathbed, and this guy was
joyriding with an automatic in tow, beaming like a Labrador going on a hunting
trip. Werewolves. It just wasn't right.
"I could have handled this home invasion myself,
ya know," she finally said.
"For the alliance," Shogun replied and
lifted the weapon.
"Would you keep that down? Jeez!"
Sasha turned into a sleepy, oak-lined neighborhood.
Victorian, Greek, and Spanish revival mansions ensconced with overflowing
gardens bedded with bougainvillea, brilliant azaleas, myrtles, and
camellias—crinolines beneath the swaying skirts of tree moss—kept her eyes
keened. Yeah, this was Vampire territory, their version of slumming since the
1700s. Not as ostentatious as the huge antebellum plantations they generally
preferred, but definitely in-town residences for galas and feeding fetes.
Her foot eased on
the accelerator as another scent mingled in with the dead orderly's. Crow Shadow?
Shogun's expression had
gone stone serious. "Shadow Wolves have been
butchered here, Sasha. I smell their blood ... no demon contagion in it. What
we see might be terrible for you."
"No worse than I've
already seen in our territory," she muttered, bringing the car to a stop. "I want these
bastards more than my next breath."
Parked illegally, she was over the side of the BMW,
weapon in hand within seconds. Shogun flanked her seamlessly, like he was air. The trees provided a lush choice of shadows but she had to resist kicking the door off its hinges. Opting for the magnolia-shaded side of the house, she cased the wrought-iron balconies and
leveraged her way in the old-fashioned way—an elbow through the glass. Shogun moved like a gymnast, his lean,
toned frame flipping over balconies, grabbing hold of drainpipes, as he scaled the walls and got in without a sound.
She'd be gone before the cops came if the house was
alarmed, which
she doubted. Vampires had their own security measures. She
had her own antisecurity measures: silver slugs,
partial daylight, and a real bad attitude.
Quickly scanning the interior of the French Gothic antebellum
she'd plundered, her gaze roved the centuries-old, hand-carved cypress
ceilings, then the slate floors of the double parlors, paneled bookcases, and
heavily draped floor-to-ceiling guillotine windows. Moving as a Shadow against
the wall with her weapon cocked, she cleared each room until she found a cellar
door. Bingo. In a land where the water table made its residents bury their dead
aboveground, the vague scent of damp soil, stone, and blood was literally a
dead giveaway that somebody wanted something hidden badly enough that they'd endure
unceasing property damage. A wine cellar, yeah right.
Shogun entered the kitchen beside her without a sound,
giving her the all-clear in hand signals that the second floor was unoccupied.
Lifting the latch silently, she went for the surprise
attack with a boot to the door. Several red glowing eyes and hisses met her as
she became the darkness, a Shadow within the shadows, firing dead aim between
red glowing eyes in split second single shots. The stench of embers and charred
dead flesh gagged her, but the scent of Crow Shadow's blood drove her forward.
Her wolf eyes adjusted to the black, damp environment. A shard of gray
sunlight from the stairwell behind her helped. Crow Shadow weakly lifted his
head and looked up at her, and then passed out.
Shogun somersaulted down the stairs, laid flat on the
ground for a second as a Vampire scampered from under the table and four more
came from behind the stairs.
In one scissor move, he'd flipped the one that scrambled
out from under the table into the first aggressor. Milliseconds mattered when
battling this predator, and he dodged a claw rake that attempted to snatch out
his heart by running up the wall, grabbing the Vampire's arm, and breaking it
backward. Sasha was halfway down the steps and had hit two center skulls when
Shogun flipped again, grabbed the automatic he'd been carrying off the floor,
and unloaded hellfire. Cinders floated down everywhere with the awful sulfuric
stench of the undead igniting.
No time to spare,
she yanked the bloodletting tubes out of Crow
Shadow's arms and hoisted his body over her shoulder with a
grunt, and then precariously leaned to the side
to grab her automatic by the barrel, but Shogun picked
it up so she could keep moving. Getting him up the steep cellar steps was gonna be a true bitch, but she'd have to call everything wolf within her as close to the surface as she could to get them both into the BMW alive.
Much as she hated to admit it, it was good to have
Shogun there sweeping the terrain. He was more agile, had a crazy Ninja thing going on. If a Vamp came out of
nowhere, she knew he had it. Fragile battlefield trust just
clicked like tumblers instantly falling into place within a
lock. She could now mule Crow Shadow's body with less panic.
Somehow, in an undefined sliver of time, they'd become pack, squad. One
mission.
But after all the gunfire report, humans would arrive
soon. So would Vampire familiars, possible local cops
getting a call from distraught neighbors, and God only knew what else.
Sweating, puffing, she kept it moving and got the injured
man to the double parlors. There was no way to do the window, then down the
balcony. Out the front door, under the cover of porch and tree shade would have
to do. But any neighbors watching the car that had heard gunfire report would
freak when she stepped out of the shadows with a prone body and dumped it into
the vehicle next to a guy bearing a full set of canines and toting an M-16.
Oh, well. ..
~
"Got another one," Sasha said into the cell
phone, driving like a maniac.
Winters turned to the team monitoring her location and
then toward the curtain. "Yo, Doc, incoming! Got a bleeder."
~
Francois coalesced into an angry funnel cloud of vapor
and exited the vent system of his home like a stung hornet the second the sun touched
the horizon. Etienne was already up and dressed and waiting for him to enter
the town house cellar to assess the damage.
'They came for their own as expected. Bon" Etienne
said, walking around the piles of ash that had once been his henchmen.
"Now the table is set for full-scale war."
'They killed some of ours," Francois seethed.
"No matter. Lower levels that served their
purpose. The Shadows will seek retaliation, which will further lend credibility
to our claim that Shadow Wolves and Werewolves that have been infected are out
of control. But the she-Shadow left the blood. Très bon." Etienne
turned to Francois and stroked his cheek. "We redress your home invasion
tonight. Oui?"
Francois nodded. "Oui."
~
"How can we emerge from behind our doors at full
strength when the moon is not due to be at exact fullness for weeks?" a
Werewolf voice rang out to their leader.
'This month we expect a blue moon," their leader
growled, stalking through the carnage of rotting bodies, bones, and flesh.
"Supernatural conditions dictate that from the onset of the first full
moon until the next one within the same lunar month, we can come out to play.
It is our birthright to feed under the full moon! It will be that way for
several more days."
"But under the moon bands stretching between the
first and second full moon rising, we are not as strong as we normally are until that second moon rises again in her full
splender," an older, one-eyed Werewolf said from the distance. "The
infected Shadows are stronger than us. They probably even ate the strong
newcomer that warned us, because he never made it back through the doors to
safety."
"Our numbers dwarf theirs now, I am told. Their
own Shadow packs have warred with them until their numbers are significantly diminished. The time to attack is now.
If we wait, they can infect more of their own and replenish
their troops."
~
"I heard parts of their plan," Crow Shadow
said weakly as the doctors revived him. "It's going down tonight before
the Conference convenes the first night of the general session."
Sasha paced between the livery that held Hunter and
the one that now held Crow Shadow. Shogun had refused to enter the hospital,
but she needed to break it to Hunter now that a Werewolf alliance was in the
offing.
"Then, I'm—we're out," Hunter said, yanking
a tube from his arm.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa—whatduya mean, you're
out?" Incredulous, Sasha spun on him.
"Not advisable," Doc Holland said. "You
can't afford another shape-shift, a nick, or even the physical exertion of a
battle. We just jump-started your heart three—"
"I'm out," Hunter repeated, stiffly throwing
his legs over the side of the livery and then staggering to the curtain past
the huddle of amazed physicians and yanking it back.
Clarissa's gaze slid down his body as she opened her
mouth and then closed it.
"Clothes, scrubs, something I can put on to get
through the streets in—plus I need a weapon since shifting might not be an
option," Hunter said, his intense stare roving the group.
"I'm out with Hunter," Crow Shadow said,
sitting up slowly and almost falling. "I can get a transfusion from one of
the uninfected guys that made it to the safe house. So can Hunter. If they
lived through the day, they've no doubt eaten, gotten some rest—we have fresh
warriors there."
"Jesus, Trudeau
..." Clarissa said quietly as Woods tossed Hunter an automatic. "You
said more impressive in jeans and I say jeans not necessary."
Thoroughly frustrated, and unable to process
Clarissa's comment, Sasha rounded on Hunter. "You can't do battle like
this, neither one of you can! That is the most bullheaded,
self-destructive—"
"Silver Hawk would want it no other way,"
Crow Shadow said, his voice raw.
"We are warriors, and this is what we do—defend
what hangs in the fragile balance." Hunter caught a pair of scrubs that
Fisher brought in and flung at him.
"Okay, since there's no arguing with you, then at
least wait a few to get a transfusion," Sasha said, beginning to pace.
"Plus, I need to talk to you about an alliance."
"The alliance can wait. Right now—"
"No, it can't wait, Hunter!" she shouted.
"The Southeast Asian Werewolf clans want a truce, want a pack bond
between the Shadow Clan of North America and them. It's necessary," she
said, her gaze holding his in a deadlock, "to have enough of a voting
bloc to best the Vampires—whom we know are angling for a civil war between us
as an additional cause of action."
"Werewolves?" Hunter raked his hands through
his hair and rolled his shoulders.
"We are in no
position to turn away allies and to hold on to old prejudices right through here. We'd better accept this olive branch and bond, because—"
"Werewolves? After all this—"
"Their pack leader
saved my life, man. Him and Trudeau burst into the
house where they had me," Crow Shadow admitted quietly.
"Shogun had my back in Vamp territory,
Hunter." She stared at him hard and then looked away
out the window. "If North America merges with
Southeast Asia, those are two huge Federations. . . . The
others will know some-thing went awry and
vote with us, at least for a show of solidarity—even if talks break down later,
outside of the Conference forum. But we should go in
united, especially since the Vampires obviously tried to
play us."
"We're also gonna need some additional forces,
Hunter," Crow
Shadow said in a firm but respectful
tone. "If we're going after Dexter, where he's had time
to build up troops, we'll need all the available firepower we can get."
Hunter nodded and opened the window. The Tulane
doctors and Sasha's monitoring squad threesome watched in abject amazement as
he tilted his head back and released a long, baleful howl. Crow Shadow soon
joined him in the pack-rallying call. Try as she might, Sasha couldn't resist,
and soon Woods's and Fisher's voices blended in with it.
"Damn, and we thought sonar was an advanced communications
system," Winters muttered when the wolf call ended.
"This hospital will never be the same,"
Bradley said, shaking his head. "The entire staff is gonna have to take
Xanax to get over all this."
Dr. Williams looked down at his hip and grabbed his
vibrating cell phone. All eyes studied him as he listened intently. He clicked
off the call and stared at the group. "The ICU patient just woke up. The
attending physicians on the ward said he's trying to yank out his tubes, get
out of bed, and is as strong as an ox."
~
"You heard the call, brothers and sisters,"
Lion Shadow said. 'Time to mount up. It's gotten so bad that Hunter's calling
for an alliance with uninfected Werewolves."
"Get the fuck out of here," Anwar said,
shaking his head.
"The man said not to fire on them, we're going in
as one pack," Lion Shadow said, his tone a hard command.
"Damn, wonders never cease," Tomas muttered.
"Just better hope that brother is in his full and right mind, feel
me?"
The other members of the pack stared at Lion Shadow
for answers that their leader was momentarily at a loss to provide.
"But we're using a hospital as base camp?"
Bob said, a question in his voice and his eyes.
"So far, Hunter and Trudeau got us here alive—at
this point, I'm not asking questions, just following orders."
~
"What! We're going in with Shadow Wolves?"
Lei marched back and forth along the infantrymen lines of Werewolves.
Shogun pointed a nine millimeter at her.
"Challenge me at home as my sister, that's one thing. Challenge me as the
commander of this clan during strategic battle maneuvers and I may forget our
relationship. Now step aside."
~
"A rallying howl from Hunter and his
Shadows?" Dexter said, eyes narrowing. He kicked Francois's Queen Anne
parlor chair into the fireplace.
"Thought we got that bastard?" one of his
men said sleepily, rising from a white-satin-upholstered Louis XIX sofa now stained with body grime.
"Only five of us made it after the
tussle in here, and that can't be a good thing if they're rallying. Feel me?"
"No matter," Barbara said, glancing around
Francois's mansion that they now occupied. 'There aren't enough of them left to pose a real threat. We've still got some of
our own in the pathways and down in Terrebonne, remember."
Nods rippled through the slowly stirring group as she
began the rallying howl that caused the others to join in.
"Damn, don't they have anything to eat in
here?" a large, sluggish henchman asked as the
wolf call ended.
"It's a Vampire house we're squatting
in," Barbara said flatly with disgust. "You'll find
all the bottled blood you'd ever want, but real food, forgedaboutit."
Dexter smiled a toothy grin. "Then I guess we'll
just have to change for dinner and go out to eat in the French Quarter."
~
Clarissa tugged on Sasha's elbow as the lab filled
with Shadow warriors that reverently greeted Silver Shadow and Hunter.
"I now understand why you're gone for weeks at a
time," Clarissa spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "When you come
back, I have questions, lady, that will not wait."
Sasha smiled and landed a hand on Clarissa's shoulder.
"If I tell ya, I'll have to kill ya."
Clarissa stared at her, stricken.
"Seriously?"
"No, I'm just playing."
She left Clarissa limp and smiling, leaning against a
lab table. The hardest thing in the world was going to be convincing Silver
Hawk to stay behind, if that was possible—same deal with Woods and Fisher.
Those two were soldiers, and the old man was a fierce warrior. But somebody
needed to guard the lab that was working on serious antitoxins that could help
their cause later. They also needed a clan elder that had been revered and respected
in years past to come to the general session at midnight.
Hunter glimpsed her as though he'd already considered where
she was going. He went to the livery where his grandfather lay prone, clasped
his grandfather's strong grip, and leaned over to gingerly touch his chest
against his grandfather's healing chest, warrior to warrior style.
"Some of us must guard the future," Silver
Hawk wisely said without contest, and then looked at Crow Shadow, Woods, and
Fisher, then the human teams. "Some of us must restore the present,"
he added, casting his gaze around the Shadow packs. He gazed up at his grandson
and then at Sasha. "And some must redress the injustices of the
past."
Hunter nodded. Sasha nodded. Weapons got distributed
along with vehicle keys and lethal cocktail shells. And just that simply, there
was balance.
~
"I don't understand why we're not changing?"
Barbara shrieked. "Shadow blood was supposed to bring us down, stabilize
us to come out of the infected Werewolf transition, not block
shape-shifts!"
"What the fuck, Dexter?" a strong beta
shouted, looking at his still-human hands in disbelief.
"They added something to the blood—that's the
only way. If it's not pure, if anything else is in it, just like we can't take
normal human meds, it slows the shifts." Dexter slammed his fist into the wall. "Double-crossing, no-good Vampire rat bastards!"
"If we can't change, and Shadow packs are
breathing down our necks.. . not to mention, if our own altered packs find us not in leadership form . . ." Barbara
said, panicked and allowing the obvious risk to trail off with her sentence.
"We head to the French Quarter," Dexter snarled.
"That house where they took Crow Shadow. This time we don't wait for them to do some fancy blood extraction where they can
mix it. We cat it right from his flesh, direct."
~
"They will be coming here," Francois said
evenly.
"Oui, they
will try. But the fight is much better on that rolling estate of yours, rather
than on a lovely, densely populated human boulevard where a spectacle could occur
to drive away future business," Etienne murmured, unfazed as the trees
outside his French Quarter property became heavily loaded with bats. "And
they already put out their call to their own, I take it, before they learned
that they couldn't shape-shift."
"Which should bring the other infected Shadows
there first," Francois stated flatly, peering at the filling trees with
his hands behind his back.
"And the Werewolves, infected and uninfected—just
like the uninfected Shadow Wolves—are on the move."
Francois slightly inclined his head. "Forgive me,
man ami, then why are our legions here?"
"To keep the infected Shadows and general
nuisance infected Werewolves from leaving your mansion area to head toward this
uptown house in search of untainted Shadow Wolf blood... or to the
hospital, savaging neighbors along the
way. We simply cannot have this disruption to our lifestyle," Etienne
said with a wave of his arms, dispatching half of the bats in a black cloud
that blotted out the moon.
Chapter 22
Glass shattering on the first floor of
the mansion sent Dexter and his crew into a sliding dash across the polished
floors and up the steps. They'd found a weapons stash that the Vampire's human familiars kept on hand for
Werewolf invasions, but it wouldn't last forever. Taking window positions on
the second floor and over the spiraling staircase rails, they tried to pick off
invaders using conventional demon-hunting artillery.
Shadow pathways opened, and infected Shadow Wolves
joined in the fray, significantly evening the odds for
Dexter's side. Huge infected Werewolves breached the staircase, wiping it out,
and pump shotgun blasts fused with rapid-fire machine-gun sprays to send the
beasts back over the rails. The battle waged hard outside in the gardens, but
no one dared to go near a window to witness which side was winning. Hunkered
down, Dexter and the four wolves that survived with him panted through
terror-induced sweat, listening.
Screeching car wheels brought Dexter's team to the
other side of the house. A silver BMW careened forward over the driveway,
through the manicured bushes, M-16 rounds whirring like tracers in flashes
lighting the night. A Dodge RAM spun to a skid and turned what looked like a
pipe organ toward the house. Multiple launched rockets spit a death rain of
silver against the property, splintering wood, glass, and wrought iron. Trapped
at the top, no stairs, and angry, demon-infected Werewolves at the bottom
battling infected Shadow packs, the mansion burning from grenade explosions,
there was only one option. He and his small retinue of rogues had to run to
the other side of the house.
A huge wolf pack appeared at the tree line and Shadow
warriors spun to meet the threat.
"Hold your fire! Those are alliance forces!"
Sasha yelled and then released a long howl. A return howl made every warrior
seek Hunter's gaze for approval.
Hunter released a long, soulful wail and then turned
to his men. "Find a gas main," Hunter shouted, motioning toward the
house, "and burn the mothers out!"
No sooner than he'd called the command, a
shoulder-launched rocket found the kitchen window. The impact of the explosion
sent wolf and human bodies tumbling. A white-orange blaze lit the blue-black
night, and bats screeched in outrage as they fled from trees hit with burning
debris.
"I want those little bastards, too!" Hunter
yelled, pointing an automatic toward a cloud of fleeing bats and then firing,
beginning the black hail of bat bodies.
The truck turned in a slow pivot as the Shadows manning
the MLRS sent silver death into the cloud of bats, making it rain teeny rodent
bodies across the far acreage.
"Hold your fire!" Sasha said, panicked.
"Any shells that don't connect will keep going into possible civilian
areas."
"Roger that!" someone yelled from the truck.
"Direction was toward the bayou with twenty acres
of Vamp land in between," Hunter called out, and then lowered the automatic he clutched. "I hate Vampires! But Sasha's right—we can't let stray shells hit houses a coupla miles away."
"Keep it that way," Sasha hollered over the
din. "Conventional weapons only, hold on the
high-powered as a last resort!
Flamethrowers."
"You got it!" Hunter raced across the back
lawn that had become a battlefield. One of his men reached out an arm and
pulled him up to the truck and slapped a flame thrower into his grip.
Demon doors suddenly opened on all sides, allowing in
wave after wave of huge, demon-infected Werewolves to encircle the Shadow
Wolves in Sasha and Hunter's pack. The guys in the
vehicles that rimmed the lawn would be sitting ducks if
something came up beneath them from the ground. But in the tight circular
formation, there was no way for their uninfected warriors to turn and fire
without possibly blowing away their own men who were engaged on the ground.
Before the onslaught of predators hit the vehicles, Shogun's lethal pack was on
them.
In an odd turn of events, the pack he led leaped in as
wolves struck deep wounds, and then rolled away as men in lightning-quick
martial arts moves. From their glistening, naked bodies they ripped away long
stainless-steel blades that had been taped to their spines and hunting knives
that had been taped to their thick, sinewy thighs, to come up beneath a
predator and gore or behead it. Sasha paused for a moment, awed by the almost
balletlike display of raw force on the field. For a moment, she and Hunter's
men held their fire, also not wanting to hit an ally. It was a first on many
levels. A breakthrough.
The allied clan's hand-to-hand combat style had obviously
been perfected over centuries, and it used as much of their mind to outwit
their opponent as it did their psychic and physical agility. For a split
second her eyes met Shogun's. His hair had been a swaying curtain of midnight
that moved when he moved, causing a near-hypnotic trance. It parted ever so
briefly as he paused, caught his breath, and the night air opened it enough
that his gaze latched upon hers.
Moonlight cascaded down his hard, bronze body, illuminating
the lean sinewy steel that moved like river currents beneath his skin and
bunched in hard, distinct blocks down his torso. She stopped there and looked
away when he moistened his mouth with his tongue and then quickly flipped out
of a predator's lunge before beheading the creature. The too-intimate exchange
that was too crazy took all of three seconds. Focus returned her instantly to
the battle as she pulled the trigger and blew an infected Shadow Wolf's head
off.
Swarms of bats took off in a zigzag pattern, but
Hunter's well-aimed flame thrower sent popping, smoking cinders to the ground
in a hail of gruesome rain.
Tiny, charred rodent bodies littered the rolling,
manicured lawns. The stink was god-awful. Massive Werewolf bodies lay dead and
twitching. Infected Shadows lay faceup, glassy-eyed, and unmoving as the trucks
inched forward and Hunter's and Sasha's ground troops turned over bodies with
the barrels of automatics, and pumped extra slugs in foreheads and chests just
to be on the safe side. Shogun's men separated heads from bodies. The carnage
was total. They took no prisoners. This was the way of the wolf. Both clan
leaders stared at each other and gave each other a nod of appreciation and
acknowledgment for a battle well fought.
They also came upon four human bodies and turned them
over slowly.
"Barbara... damn," Hunter said and spit on
the ground. He couldn't catch Bob as he leaped down from the truck.
"Oh shit, oh shit—she was in there and you shot
her!"
Shogun's men snarled, but their leader held up his
hand. This was clearly intrapack Shadow politics. His men fell back. Hunter's
men circled in to better understand and keep the
peace.
"Wasn't like that, Bob," Sasha said
carefully. She looked at Lion Shadow for assistance.
"Use your nose, man," Lion Shadow said
calmly.
"She was raped! Dexter had her in there with all
those infected Shadows—no!" Bob yelled, still holding a gun on Hunter.
A single shot fired from the bushes dropped Bob to his
knees. The man fell forward, eyes still haunted. Bear Shadow stepped into the
truck's high beams. "Clan policy. Never draw on the alpha. That was his
third time. He was mentally gone and things are better this way."
"If he were a Werewolf," Shogun remarked
calmly, "the first offense would have been enough."
Shogun and Hunter stared at each other, and then
crossed their forearms over their chests in respect. Sasha hung back, waiting,
to see how the Shadow packs would absorb the loss, as well as the alliance.
Silent nods confirmed Bear Shadow's decision. He was
an enforcer and it had been his call to protect the clan leader at all costs
during battle. This was all costs. No one argued. Bob had been a problem. An
even bigger problem now was Dexter wasn't in the body count on the ground.
There was no resistance to Shogun's presence, or that of his pack—if they
hadn't gotten involved, Shadow Wolves would have been lost when the demon doors
flooded open.
The Shadow Wolf pack surveyed the smoking,
body-riddled terrain as distant sirens sounded. Nothing moved or disturbed the
still tree shadows against the blood-soaked earth.
"Flame throwers on those demon wolves; local cops
will never understand," Sasha said. She looked at Hunter and then Shogun.
"Dexter and the others with him, the core leadership, obviously couldn't
shift. The Vampires must have done something to Crow Shadow's blood, like our
man said. We've gotta move out. Head back to the French Quarter where Dexter
has to be headed—that and the hospital are the only places he can go to get
pure Shadow Wolf blood; the bags I left hanging when me and Shogun got to Crow
Shadow, and from the lab at the hospital—which Dexter will soon be able to
track, given all the activity with us there."
"We stop him at the house," Hunter said,
looking at the heavy artillery, "but not like this. People, families, children
..." He shook his head as he picked up a nine from the ground and checked
its half-filled clip. Then he found a full one to jam into his back pants
pocket. He looked at Shogun. "I like your style. One on one, man to man, I
blow his head off nice and clean—the rest of this artillery goes back into
storage after the UCE Conference. I want no retaliation incidents there, so be
on the ready, but fall back and wait. No preemptive strikes. Foot soldiers
guard the hospital but be very careful of collateral damage. No innocents die
on our watch." .
Shogun smiled a sly half-smile. "You trust us
Werewolves to guard innocent humans now?"
The group paused, their gaze going
between the two clan leaders.
Hunter smiled a half-smile. "Trust
you more with humans than my woman."
Shogun chuckled and shifted back into his wolf form,
calling his men with a rallying howl to make the run back to their hidden posts. "Good choice," he said
over his shoulder
with a wink, and then was gone.
Hunter walked toward the BMW; Sasha
raced to catch up
with him and jumped over the side of it
into the driver's
seat. "You need both hands on
artillery, partner."
~
While it was nice to be hunting together again, she
continually glimpsed Hunter's jawline. It pulsed with palpable
frustration as though a shape-shift was so close under the surface of his skin
it was all he could do to contain it. There was
no way to fathom how he felt or what it must be like to have an incredible gift
all one's life, then have that taken away at the time when it was needed most.
Crippling was the word that came to mind, but he seemed to be dealing with his circumstance much better than
she knew she would have. Then there was the Shogun thing that she knew was
gnawing at the quiet recesses of his mind.
"What are we gonna do about the Vamps?" she
asked, trying to keep the subject focused on the battle at hand, while trying
to avoid drawing the attention of local police as the speedometer climbed. She
backed off the gas a little, knowing the only thing keeping them from getting
pulled over was the fact that eighty percent of the New Orleans police force
had quit after Katrina, and they'd yet to be replaced. Still, there was no
reason to push it.
"I don't know. My main target is Dexter,"
Hunter said, his eyes straight ahead. "One day, them, too . .. we got a
lot out at the mansion, but Dexter can't escape again."
Sasha kept her eyes forward and left it at that. It
was better that way, if no one said what was really on their mind.
~
Dexter bounced a commandeered Audi over the curb and
jumped out of the vehicle, rushing the French Quarter property, taking no
security measures. Wild-eyed and panic-stricken, the scent of Crow Shadow's
blood drew him into the house. Bats flooded through the broken window behind
him. A BMW bounced to a stop behind his car.
"Now this is très interessant," Etienne
said with cool reserve and held up his hand to tell his bats to forestall their
attack.
"Oui," Francois murmured as the bats scuttled along the ceilings and the two
Vampires watched Dexter tear through the house toward the cellar.
In hot pursuit, Hunter and Sasha were on his heels.
Dexter fired up the basement steps as it slowly dawned upon him that Crow
Shadow was gone and the basement had been breached. Spinning around wildly,
trapped, he saw the half-filled bag of pure blood and greedily opened it,
guzzling the contents, while holding off Hunter's and Sasha's return fire.
Hunter motioned with two fingers toward the floorboards.
Sasha nodded, pointing her M-16 toward the wood. Before she could squeeze off a
round, the floor exploded beneath them, sending Hunter flying backward out the
kitchen window and her up and through the ceiling, shells flying, bats
screeching and scattering. Out of the void came a ridiculous beast.
She was dazed, her legs dangling through the splintered
floorboards, and for a second she couldn't move—that is until glowing eyes peered up at her through the hole in the floor above. She moved her legs into a tight pull against her body, and in a backward somersault avoided the snatch that took half the floor with it. Glock
gunfire and Hunter's footfalls distracted the monster long
enough
for her to rim the room firing shells
down into the hole.
But she had to dive out the window as the
thing punched through what remained of the floor.
It moved so fucking fast that it was
dodging bullets. Shadows were all over the house and it
was expertly maneuvering between them and the demon doors, making it a near-impossible target to hit. She sensed a presence behind
her and spun to shoot it, but the thing she couldn't see pushed her through the hole in the floor right into
the path of a backhanded blow.
She ended up sprawled on the back lawn and with no gun in her hand. A strong pull yanked her out of the path
of a refrigerator.
"Fucking Vampires are in there playing
games!" Sasha shouted.
"I know," Hunter yelled, throwing her his
nine. "Got something in the trunk for their asses,
too."
She covered him as a mass of bats ejected from the
house following Hunter, who rounded the building and opened the trunk. He came
away from the vehicle with liter bottles of
water that Bradley had packed and flung them into the swarm as high as he
could. Sasha was on his flank, dropped her left hand under her
right, took dead aim, and exploded the bottles in the
air. Screams and bat shrieks echoed in the night as flaming rodents littered
the lawn and verandas.
Neighbors closed shutters, lights went off in houses.
Vampires materialized on the front porch with a snarl. A hurdling beast wiped
them out like bowling pins. Francois was in Dexter's jaws one moment, and in
the next his head was missing from his body. Etienne disappeared, Sasha was
over the side of the BMW, Hunter right behind her.
"We're outta ammo!" he yelled.
"Gas, almost, too!" She looked at him, then
they both looked over their shoulders, forgetting the rearview mirror as
something larger than a pickup truck skidded into the streets behind them,
roaring.
"Cell phone?" Hunter shouted, still looking
back as she drove like a maniac.
"Dropped in the firefight!"
'To the bayou to get it away from human pop or the
hospital where there'll be heavy collateral damage, but where we've got our
squad and more weapons?"
"You know the answer to that," he said.
"Call in allies?"
"No!" Hunter shouted. "You see what's
chasing us? I don't want their blood on an I.O.U. any more than I want to bury
another Shadow from our pack. Let them guard the hospital—keep anything from
that blood and antitoxin Doc is working on."
"Just checking," Sasha yelled, as she spun
the vehicle around, avoiding a streetcar and several cars, and headed for the
bayou. "It's almost midnight—how in the hell do we get this evidence to
the Conference?"
~
"I know what she said," Woods shouted,
"but I know what I'm feeling!"
"Me, too!" Fisher said, grabbing more
shells.
"It is always wise to follow one's first
mind," Silver Hawk said, slowly walking around the lab, causing the
doctors to follow him with their eyes. He stared out at the
moon. "We are not finished here yet."
"You guys have good gut instincts," Winters
said, pointing at the radar. "They were headed here, made a hard
reverse, and are heading for the bayou. Look at Trudeau's
beacon. It's going crazy!"
"Hell, more than her beacon, what's the big blob
behind her tiny blip?" Clarissa looked around at the others and quickly handed Woods, Fisher, and Silver Hawk fistfuls of the lethal cocktail shells she'd made.
"Get the rest of the team, especially those guys
in the truck with the MLRS, on sat-phone," Bradley said
quickly. "If Trudeau and Hunter hard reversed away from a
populated area, then that, more than the radar, tells me something crazy big is on their asses."
~
"Damn it," Sasha said, bouncing the vehicle to
a stop. Mud sucked at their wheels, and they'd hit a point where even four-wheel drive would have been laughable.
Over the doors, it was a flat-out run. A small dock
was their beacon as trees crashed down behind them. An airboat became the
destination—two steps, a twenty-foot joint leap, and they
were on the aluminum contraption, Hunter firing up the engine while she untied
it and shoved the boat away from its moorings.
Deep water would have been helpful, rather than the
night-blackened water filled with gators, tree stumps, swamp bog, and the
unknown. A raging creature kept pace with them along the ragged shoreline as
moss and gnats stung their faces and low tree limbs threatened to take off
their heads. More than once the beast lunged into the water, making them
swerve. In the distance on the wrong side of the shore they heard their squad.
Trees were becoming denser, and their men couldn't get in close to assist.
If the Shadows fired to help them, they stood an equal
chance of hitting them, and then what would be the point? Running couldn't work
as a permanent strategy, but for now it was the only option. That is, until the
trees narrowed too much ahead. Hunter had nowhere to go to maneuver the boat.
It hit a stump hidden by the water, sending them airborne, the boat flipping,
just as the beast plunged into the shallow water behind them.
Wedged between two centuries-old, thick trees, the
aluminum bottom sheared off from the fan, sending it hurtling back toward
Dexter. Everything happened in milliseconds. Hunter and Sasha hit muddy water.
The fan tumbled like a flipping top to capture Dexter's snout and cut it from
his face. The momentum of his body was still hurling forward, right into the
flat aluminum boat bottom that took his head off like a guillotine blade.
Hungry gators left the banks, not as interested in Hunter and Sasha as they
would have been, going toward the bloody carnage behind them that was easier
and larger pickings.
Sasha and Hunter looked at each other.
"I didn't want to become that," he said,
staring at the feeding gators as they moved slowly out of the water.
She nodded and slid her hand into his. "You were
never that," she murmured. "Not even close."
~
Silver Hawk sat quietly loading cocktail shells into
an automatic and watching the window. He didn't cheer or shout as word came
over the sat-phone that mission was accomplished. He just brought Clarissa's
lethal cocktails to his lips, kissing each as he loaded them and then brought
the gun up to his shoulder.
A single shot rang out. The team
jerked their attention to the old man and then the
smoldering body that appeared out of nowhere on the floor. Silver Hawk
delivered another
shot that began to incinerate the
immaculately dressed dead man.
"Vampire that cried wolf one time too many,"
Silver Hawk said simply. "A very old one after Shadow
blood."
Epilogue
One
hour later: A minute before midnight. . .
She didn't know what to expect, but as she stepped out
of the Shadow lands beside Hunter, she had to admit that they'd both cleaned up
pretty good. He stood proudly, eyes forward, wearing the clothing of the
indigenous peoples of North America—elaborately embroidered doeskin suede. His
long, black braids were immaculate and twisted with silver and eagle feathers
at the ends. He looked so fantastic that she had to find a point in the dense
foliage to stare at. The thick, white mist lit by moonlight was a good place to
affix her sight line as they waited for the secret meeting mansion to rise out
of the bayou.
Given that this was her first UCE Conference and introduction
as an enforcer, she'd gone along with the protocol of the North American clan,
donning a meticulously beaded suede gown that was encrusted with turquoise, amber,
red coral, and amethyst stones, although she would have preferred her military
blues. The opulent feathered headdress required concentration to balance, too.
But curiosity and anticipation was what made her stomach clench, not fear of
losing the Vegas-like structure to the mud just beyond the marble courtyard.
This time her medal would be the amber and silver
medallion, and she was proud to be included along with Silver Shadow and Bear Shadow on Hunter's flank.
Shogun and his retinue cleaned up extremely well, too,
for
that matter. He gave her a discreet,
respectful nod as his clan was
announced. The red silk, native robes that he wore were thoroughly regal and his very angry sister was a queenly knockout, despite her bad vibes.
Sasha silently surveyed the groupings in awe. Werewolves
from every continent, seven in all, gathered in a small section of the open, manicured courtyard that heralded
forth like something one would imagine in ancient Greece. Were-beings from the collective Big Cat families.
Bear families, and other interesting phyla that she hadn't realized existed in the Were-community, separated the Werewolves from the seven Shadow Wolf clans. The Fae gathered in small, elegant clusters, their particular
ethnicities and regions denoted by size, body type, and their familial use of color auras. Phantoms gracefully slid
between the hedges and marble columns, never seeming to stay in any one location for very long.
But it was hard not to gape at the treetops laden with
gorgeous, streaming feathered beings in iridescent hues that showed themselves as half human on top and half bird
on the bottom, their eyes a fantastic, endless pit of
flames. She tried hard not to stare at the Phoenixes, but they—like the opalescent unicorns—were simply marvelous.
Trying to catch a glimpse of the Yeti and some of the
more exotic Mythics, she kept her face forward but strained her peripheral
vision as far as she could. Even though Hunter had warned her that they
absolutely hated being spotted and often didn't even show up at
Conferences, she still wanted to see one just once—like she supposed everyone
else did.
Her only regret was that she couldn't bring Doc. He
would have been in a researcher's paradise. She couldn't even get Woods or
Fisher a pass, but she'd catalogue everything in her mind to share with them
over a beer when she got back.
Thundering motors made everyone turn around, even the
stoic Vampires, who were dressed to the nines in black tuxedos and tails, each
with two voluptuous women or more on their flanks. They turned with great
disdain, their dark eyes burning black, and peered at the source of the
disruption.
"Oh, the Order of the Dragon has graced us and
will be on time this year," a Vampire voice crooned with con-tempt.
Sasha almost broke rank and smiled. It was so like
them. If she'd been back home at Ronnie's Road Hawg she would have shouted out,
Haters! But this was neither the time nor place for barroom antics.
Besides, she loved the bikers. Apparently so did a lot of the Fae, who made no
bones about cheering their late arrival.
It was a spectacular display, and probably what pissed
off the Vampires most—being upstaged. Each gleaming chrome bike had a humongous
rider on it, each with spiked chrome gloves, spikes coming out of their shoulder
epaulets, boots, and helmets. They wore heavy, thick, scaled leather pants in
shimmering, opalescent hues, and every helmet blocked one's sight into it with
a reflective, mirror shield.
"Ohhh ... that's what the Vamps hate," Sasha
murmured to herself, watching the female Vampires hiss and look away from the
helmets.
But the female riders that clung to the drivers' backs
were no less spectacular. Their skintight, colorful getups ranged from barely-there minis to full catsuits, and they
unfurled from the riders' bikes with liquid grace the moment each male driver kicked down his kickstand.
"Watch this," Hunter whispered.
"Phenomenal."
The motors were still rumbling, anticipation wafted
through the crowd with palpable tension, then in a lithe,
fluid move, the motor sections of each bike fused to the
drivers' chests. Chrome handlebars grew longer and entered the drivers' bodies, fusing man with his bike in
exoskeletons that were each as unique as the bike he'd ridden in on. Scaled leather pants became skin to stretch
over spiked Dragon armor.
"Wow!" Sasha said with utter appreciation,
not caring that she sounded like a newbie. Impressed was impressed.
Hunter chuckled, despite himself.
"You got that right," a friendly, boisterous
Gnome called from the Fae Parliamentary contingent. "Wait till
ya see the ladies do it."
Huge, fire-breathing Dragons had absorbed the bikes,
and then nuzzled what now seemed like very fragile human females beside them,
by comparison. But in a flash, the ladies' helmets got absorbed into their
skulls to show gorgeous, exotic glowing eyes, and their skins became radiantly
hued, glistening versions of the leather they'd rode in on.
The crowd clapped as the serpent-bodied she-Dragons
slid over the males' backs, sensually threading themselves through their wide
spikes like brightly colored silk ribbons. The joining almost seemed too
intimate to watch, especially when each she-Dragon's actions produced a low
groan from her mate, and then the ladies anchored themselves into place with a
deep, passionate fang strike that made even the most off-put Vampires shudder.
Sasha shook her head. "Just... damn . .."
Hunter swallowed hard. "Yep."
She fought a smile as the ground began to vibrate. The
Order of the Dragon had made it just in time for the mansion-raising by the
elders. To miss that was the height of disrespect. Everyone went down on one
knee as the dark, glistening black marble rose out of the misty abyss.
"Can you tell Vampires have been heavily
influencing this Conference for centuries?" Hunter said sarcastically
under his breath, just low enough for Sasha to hear.
She didn't dare answer him as she peeked up at the
ominous structure and then quickly lowered her eyes. If the Conference hall
looked like a huge black marble mausoleum, a la Vampire style, then what
frickin' chance for justice did they have? Two fairly top-level Vamps had been
executed tonight, and no doubt that would be brought up as a breach of
supernatural conduct, since there was really no true evidence. The Fae probably
wouldn't step forward, Hunter had said, and if it came to a vote, she and
Hunter had to pray that there'd be no dissension in the wolf ranks.
Sasha stood when everyone else stood and, waiting for
cues to be sure she didn't create some political faux pas, followed Hunter's
lead to the letter when entering the building.
To her amazement, the interior was much larger than
the grand mansion appeared to be on the outside and was sectioned off by
dignitary groupings just like the courtyard—but in what she could only compare
to large opera boxes. Each one was retrofitted with a small speaker system and
earplugs so that the language could be selected by human region and
supernatural species. She also noted that no natural enemies were seated near
each other, and each box section only had members of the
same species at each others' backs. Interesting.
Instead of finding hard, cold surfaces inside like
she'd imagined, there were lushly cushioned, extremely
comfortable, high-backed leather barrister's chairs facing the elders' bench.
The bench, as it was called, was actually a long,
gleaming, ornately carved semicircle ebony table that was
accompanied by high-backed, red velvet-ensconced chairs. Each chair held a very
old being for each order, and their grim expressions alone seemed to defy
anything but the utmost civility among species.
What seemed like carved confessional screens in front
of almost totally closed-in boxes made her crane her neck and give Hunter a
puzzled glance.
"Some species are shy," he told her in a
quiet murmur. "They don't like to be seen and those privacy screens are
for the Yeti, Unicorns ... Lochness ... mostly Mythics."
What could she do but nod as though it all made sense?
Above the main nave was balconied seating that allowed
for airborne species to take comfortable perches among the rafters. Sasha
glanced up at the Gargoyle population that elbowed and fidgeted with each
other like nervous pigeons while the Flying Dragons wound themselves around
cornices designed for their bulk.
Pixies casting pixie dust and translucent fireflylike
Fairies made the prettiest light displays hovering around the huge crystal
chandeliers in their miniature crystal boxes. As they settled in, they caused
the chandeliers to give off bursts of pastel hues that reminded her of the aurora
borealis. Just below them the phantoms created a beautiful, misting miasma that
caught the colors as though living clouds.
Notably absent were demons. She would have to ask
Hunter about that later, and could only assume their absence had something to
do with the whole bad-blood thing that had gone down eons ago with the Werewolf
clans.
Sasha sat back in her box chair for a moment and simply
took it all in. "Wow," she whispered.
"It is magnificent.... There's nothing like the
first time," Hunter said in a quiet rumble.
He covered her hand with his and gave it a gentle
squeeze. There was pride in his touch, but also ownership that she wasn't sure
she liked. From the corner of her eye she caught Shogun's glimpse, and saw the
muscle in his jaw pulse as he subtly lifted his chin and sent his gaze straight
ahead. But as civil as everyone seemed, there was also tension in the air. She
was monitoring it in Hunter's posture and could feel it raising the hair on her
neck, not exactly sure why.
A very, very old Vampire stood slowly from his seat at
the bench with seemingly great effort. The hall went still. Blue veins
crisscrossed his bald scalp beneath paper-thin, death-gray skin, and he took
his time adjusting the black velvet robes around his slight frame. With one
finger he opened the carved box that sat at the front of the U-bend in the
table, then stood back. A heavy onyx-and-marble gavel with strange markings on
it flipped out of the enclosure and smashed itself against the wood. The
cracking sound that echoed through the hall was like a strike of lightning, and
then the enchanted gavel threw its head back and began shouting.
"Hear ye, hear ye, welcome all to the
ten-thousandth, two-hundredth and eighty-eighth year of the United Council of
Entities. Vlad Temps is again this year's presiding elder. Are there any
challenges before the crier reads the minutes?"
Silence echoed in the great hall behind the gavel's
voice. Sasha watched the old Vampire's face, noting the very subtle smirk it
now held. The venom that threaded through her as she watched his arrogant
confidence almost foolishly made her stand. It was hard not to wonder how long
the Vamps had the UCE on lock with then ruthless power paradigms. She glimpsed
their box, and they were strangely the most handsome group of entities she'd
laid eyes on... genteel even. They were as politically correct as one could be,
all nationalities represented, everyone wearing understated, very expensive
designer tuxedos and gowns—women dripping hundreds of thousands of dollars in
jewels or more, perhaps enough to make Hollywood's best and most beautiful gag.
Baron Geoff Montague, who'd been her informant in
South Korea just before Shogun had pulled her from his mental clutches, gave
her a pleasant nod and a knowing smile. Handsome rat bastard. Sasha's gaze shot
around the room. Others felt like she did, she could tell. But no one was going
to put their neck, literally, on the line. Maybe it didn't matter who presided
over the Conference, but something about Vampires consistently winning that
coveted role didn't seem right, especially when they'd just been involved in
some very foul and underhanded events.
Sasha sat back, allowing momentary defeat to claim
her. Hunter squeezed her hand tightly and then let it go to grip his armrests.
It wasn't her place to disrupt things. The fact that the thought had even
crossed her mind made her want to slap her own face—was she trippin'? Disgust
filled many eyes, but clearly no one was going to challenge the old bastard.
Complete silence answered the gavel's question. A
coal-black mermaid with glistening, opalescent scales, long aqua hair, and
emerald eyes was brought down the center aisle in the arms of a tanned, very
nude and very buff male nautilus water sprite. Her huge fan tail was the only
thing that shielded his pride and his expression was utterly zombified. The
siren lifted a large nautilus shell to her lips and drew in a deep breath,
closing her eyes until her pale pink lashes dusted her regal cheeks.
"No!" Hunter stood so quickly he toppled his
chair.
The Titan almost dropped the crier when he snapped out
of his daze, seeming bewildered as to what to do. Vampires stood slowly in
their boxes and leisurely took off their gloves. Hunter's retinue was on their
feet, but the expressions on their faces were very unsure. Sasha stood too,
completely at a loss.
One thing she did notice was Dragons had moved into
place like huge bouncers, and the Fae had sent several archers up the side
aisles. They'd drawn like lightning; silver arrows were in quivers. She so
badly wanted to ask Hunter, Baby, do you know what you 're doing?
"Your complaint, sir?" the old Vampire said
in a patronizingly patient tone.
"Due to the duplicitous nature of the species and
recent events that could have cost catastrophic losses of the wolf clans, and
have—as well as caused human collateral damage, thus outings into the general
human knowledge base—the North American Federation of Clans challenges the
Vampire Cartel's leadership at this conference this year."
"Due to our duplicitous nature?" a smooth,
lilting voice said from the Vampire box. "But, man ami... duplicity
.. . well... that is part of our culture."
Subdued laughter created a low, charming resonance
within the Vampire box.
"Mr. Hunter... you are aware that you must have
evidence?" The elderly Vampire smiled a tight, toothy smile, but his eyes
burned black with rage from the affront. "I suggest you throw down that
particular gauntlet when you have proof—or a good attorney." He looked at
the Vampire box. "How many attorneys do we have present tonight—a show of
hands?" Half the box responded and then laughed.
"We'll lend you one of ours," someone called
out from the Vampire box.
"You could always try to get pictures of us caught
in wrongdoing, however," another threw in.
The elderly Vampire sat down chuckling, drawing the
other Vampires into satisfied snickers, dismissing Hunter with a wave of his
hand. "But now that you mention it, there was a disturbance that could
have your species brought up on—"
"Let's do this the old-fashioned way,"
Hunter growled.
Even Silver Hawk landed a hand on Hunter's shoulder,
but he shrugged it off.
"Not fifteen minutes past midnight and you
already have a death wish?" The old Vampire stood slowly, his black gaze
narrowed. "We try to have these meetings after peak full moon phase so
you dogs can at least maintain some of your human composure."
"He's got proof," Sasha said, not sure when
her brain had fled her skull.
"Oh ... this should be very interesting,"
the presiding elder said as murmurs now filled the great hall. "But I'm
sorry, mates are—"
"I'm not his mate—I'm his enforcer."
The older Vampire hissed, causing silence to cloak the
hall. "Same clan, therefore not allowed."
"You said pictures," Sasha spat back.
"I've got 'em. U.S. Military, Special Forces, Paranormal Containment Unit,
sir!" Sarcasm had a stranglehold on her and she saluted him like he was a
five-star general and stepped forward. If she'd been armed, she would have shot
him, just because. "That's right, even though you undead bastards don't
photograph, the lack of photo image is what nails you. I can prove through
military surveillance that 'nothing' opened a lab vault with infected Werewolf
toxin in it and removed it from our labs."
The Fae peacekeeping forces turned their arrows toward
the Vampire box now, and she also saw they had vials of liquid that she was
sure had to be holy water, locked and loaded and ready to go.
"But that—"
"And," Sasha said, practically leaning over
the edge of her box as she cut off the bench president, "I have the
synapse tracks of a meeting of the minds with Baron Geoff Montague." She
smiled a wicked smile as his fellow Vampires sneered. "Isn't that right
that you can't purge a Shadow Wolf memory ... that you boys are afraid to go in
because if you get trapped there by an angry wolf, your psyches can be forever
damaged?"
Sasha paced, watching the Shadow Wolves all begin to
snarl. "Uh-huh ... I thought so. But, see, my momma was from Louisiana—a
seer." She spun oh Geoff and blew him a kiss and made her voice dip to a
syrupy Southern accent. "Didn't know that, did ya,
suga? But I bet if one of these nice psychic, neutral Fae
folk goes into my brain, they'll be able to read some of the nasty little
things you left behind in my pretty little head . . . things I might not have
even remembered."
"This is an outrage!" Geoff bellowed,
flinging his white gloves down and yanking off his bow tie.
"You wanna do this Old World style?" Hunter growled, and
transitioned so quickly into his wolf that he hadn't drawn a breath.
"Fliers up!" the old Vampire shouted.
"Not until the story is told." A
white-coated wolf shed his purple Conference robes in a hard, furious transformation
and began stalking down the center of the polished table.
"Southeast Asia will testify. We saw the results
and fought with the Shadows!" Shogun had transformed and was
now precariously walking the rim of his group's box.
Every Shadow Wolf in the house transformed, creating a
ripple effect of howls of support from the Werewolf Federations. Only Sasha and
Silver Hawk remained in their human forms. When the elderly Vampire started to
raise his finger, a black electric charge crackling at the tip of it, Fae in
the rafters shook their heads no and then motioned to the hundreds of already
transformed wolves.
"I have a full medical team at the hospital that
saw one of yours breach a human facility to get to me tonight for my Shadow
blood and the antitoxin that would be made from my grandson's blood,"
Silver Hawk said. He removed a pouch from his suede jacket and flung it to a
peacekeeper to take to the bench. "His ashes are in there. Smell them, and
see if he is indeed from your own coven."
"That's right," Sasha yelled. "We know
for a fact that Vampires aided and abetted rogue Shadow Wolves, but they also
poisoned Shadow Wolf food sources. Everywhere we turned, there was Vampire
tracer at the sites, and the one thing that is inarguable—we're the best trackers
on the planet. We know what we scented, and it was undead."
"You kidnapped our Crow Shadow," Silver Hawk
said. "Seers of the Fae can go into his mind and give them a clear picture
that cannot be altered. His silver aura requires that his mind hold the truth.
Test him for a lie." Silver Hawk looked around. "Scent the air, wolf
packs and clan brothers, and then unite. Do you smell a lie on us, or
them?"
Angry barks and howls filled the hall. Hunter leaped
onto the opposite end of the bench. Fae archers pounded each other's fists.
Dragons shot fire-warning blasts to keep the wolves from instantly going to
war, but they were only warning blasts. Gargoyles bickered and shook their
heads, and disgruntled Fairies and Pixies began pluming gray sprinkles of rage.
The phantom mist grew dark and moaned. Yeti bellowed from behind hidden screens
and Unicorns kicked the benches over.
The gavel slammed the table as even elders at the
bench paced, arguing among themselves.
"You are the liar," Vlad Temps shouted at
Sasha. "We do not have to take indignities from a half-human aura-deformed
bitch! You don't even have the protective silver band in your aura that would
guard the truth—and you call yourself a she-Shadow to challenge my people? To
challenge me? What moonlight madness is this coming from the North
American Shadow Federation clan leader? Tell me it is not that you are so
smitten that as a clan leader you cannot see how you've been led astray by the
human military—an organization that views our kind as lab experiments."
Vlad Temps spit a greenish slime on the bench that sizzled
with hundreds of years of hatred. The pandemonium in the hall went still. All eyes fell on Sasha. Hunter
loped back to her side and transformed to argue for her, but she held up her
hand.
She shook her head and chuckled, walking out of the
box into the center aisle. "Just like a lowlife Vampire in the end.
Twisting words, changing the facts as a diversion. Fact. I was made in a test
tube. Fact. My DNA is Shadow Wolf, a heritage of which I am proud. Yes, fact,
the military jerked with my conception, but I know who I am." She swept
her arms out and threw her head back and howled. "When you have nothing to
hide, no one can make you cringe from your truth!"
"She was made, not conceived. Made, not
born," a low Shadow Wolf voice rumbled through the crowd.
"The prophecy, man..." another voice rumbled
through the Werewolf ranks.
"Bringing brothers together, isn't that how it
goes?" someone else said from the back.
"My wife works ER with the humans," Ethan
shouted from the Fae boxes. "We are neutral, have always been that. But
what we have seen at the hands of the demon-infected and the Vampires who
colluded with them has been a travesty!"
And uproar of Fae voices in a rare, unified bloc rang
out. The members of the Order of the Dragon began chanting, "Oust, oust,
oust, oust!"
"I am Fae, a healer nurse at Tulane,"
Margaret said and then held her husband Ethan's arm. "We are peaceful people;
we have children, and have always been terrorized by what could happen, Vampire
retaliation. But to see what I saw in that hospital... to see how humans, too,
could be hurt if this virus got
out—and I saw the honor of the
Shadows, the lieutenant... the Werewolves, all pulling together, human and
supernatural forces to stop a scourge. If I do not speak up, we'll all never be
safe. Take my testimony!"
"Order of the Dragon will back you up. If
anything hap-pens... to the nurse and the bar owner, we'll
start opening up graves to daylight," a big, burly Dragon said and then
sent a flaming nostril snort toward the Vampire box.
"The gavel has been passed to the Shadow and
Werewolf clan elders to co-serve for the current year!" the gavel
shrieked. "With a bloodless coup, will this meeting, please, people, now
come to order?"
Hunter shifted and leaped onto the Vampire box rim
with a snarl and began stalking toward Geoff. Shogun pinned the Vampire
diplomats in from the other side. Within seconds they had all vaporized and
shot to the exit as a unit, snarling. Their elder stood erect and smoothed down
his robes, his eyes now raging blackness as he levitated two inches off the
floor before walking on plumes of smoke to vacate his seat at the bench.
"We withdraw our attendance this year," he
said in a hissing murmur. "Perhaps once clearer heads prevail and you have
better evidence, we will grace you with our return. Until then, adieu."
Sasha called out to the Vampires' disappearing forms,
her voice loud and clear and strident with unspent fury. "We don't need
your presence here, if you're going to behave like demons! Your goal has
always been to make the wolf clans fight each other so that you wouldn't have a
large enough voting bloc—and you almost succeeded. You've kept the Fae and
other supernaturals afraid of your power that has
tentacles everywhere, strangling the life from the
smallest and the weakest. But the truth will always out. Tonight is the way of the wolf!"
Sasha threw her head back and howled and a cacophony
of voices joined in with hers—even from those who, technically, weren't wolves.
~
Three weeks later. ..
"It's not so bad having to hang out in the Big
Easy until the next full moon, just to be sure nothing untoward surfaces while
Doc works on more antitoxin."
"New Orleans is growing on me," Hunter said
with a deep chuckle. "Wonder why that is?"
"Wonder how we got stuck right smack in the
middle of Vamp country, loving it?" She smiled and kissed him. "But
we do need to watch our backs."
"So what else is new?" he said with a
nonplussed sigh. "The Vampires are always gonna be pissy with us, we
needed to do a lot of damage control, and frankly the Shadow packs need to be
still for a while to heal from the significant losses. I'm tired of being on
the move."
"I hear you," she murmured. "I might even try
to do some digging and look up family ... who knows? It's good that Doc is here
with the team—I know they are loving New Orleans food and nightlife.
This ain't NORAD by a long shot."
She rolled over and laid her head on Hunter's bare
chest, listening to his heartbeat and hoping he would just let time heal him,
too. "You know, sometimes you just have to be still and listen to the
trees."
"You sound like Silver Hawk," Hunter said
with a weary sigh, stroking her exposed back. "He needs time to get
stronger physically before we move him away from the doctors that have learned
his body ... so I suppose it's all good. I just know we need to rebuild the
packs, reorganize the territories, bury the dead in righteous ceremonies ...
make sure the contagion is over. Nothing can ever threaten our people like this
again."
She nodded, agreeing without words with all that he'd
said, but she also knew it was a matter of timing. The main thing that he'd
failed to mention was his capacity to shift had yet to be tested on a
consistent basis. He'd done it under duress at the Conference, but after that
hadn't been as successful... his wolf came very, very slowly these days. She
knew that was at the core of all things. In Hunter's mind, how could he lead if
he couldn't become the alpha wolf on demand? She didn't know the answer for
him, but knew that it lay partly in his gaining the confidence to try again,
and again, until he worked the metaphysical muscle back to its original
stamina.
But, how could she even begin to ask him to attempt
something that could be so painful, if she was even afraid for him? There was
so much adrenaline and hype happening at the Conference; sure, he'd flipped in
and out as smoothly as before. But it could have been disastrous, and every
attempted shape-shift since had been almost like his joints had become
arthritically brittle until he just stopped trying.
"You know," Sasha said quietly after a
while, talking to Hunter's massive chest before looking up into his sad gaze.
"We lost a lot, but we gained a lot."
"Now you really sound like my grandfather."
He tried to smile but she saw the strain in it.
"We found out who was core to the family. Those
we saved. We found out who was not. Those we lost. We found out
what poison delivery systems the Vamps and rogue Shadows used. We gained some
human allies in this state and even bigger allies at the UCE—avoiding a
Werewolf-Shadow Wolf civil war. We routed out some nasty Vamps, pulled off a
bloodless Conference coup, and got rid of a region full of infected wolves. We
saved Silver Hawk . . . Crow Shadow ... and, frankly, you. So, we'll rebuild.
Not bad for a day's work."
He smiled at her and stroked her hair. "Like the
commercial says, 'Marines get more done before five a.m. than most people do all day,' huh?"
"Yep." She kissed him. "But I'm PCU—we
do our thing at night."
He nodded and took her mouth slowly and then pulled
back from the kiss. "If I had to be stuck in one form or another, I'm
glad it's this one." His voice was a low rumble that reverberated through
her chest.
"Me, too," she whispered, drawing him into
another slow kiss. "But something tells me that there's still a magnificent
wolf inside you."
He smiled a half-smile, his irises beginning to be consumed
by amber fire. "The wolf never dies, just lays back and awaits the right
opportunity . . . patience, timing, stealth ... is the only true way of the
wolf."
[end]