by R. J. Blain
Desmond guarded Anthony, which I’d be appropriately grateful for later.
The Anderson twins worried me, especially when Dante opted to join me. He’d been given a shotgun, which he held tucked under his arm.
“That is not appropriate gun handling,” I informed him, my gaze fixed on one of the wild wolves creeping closer to Amber.
My wolf wanted me to deal with him, preferably with excessive violence.
I was running out of reasons why to deny my wolf.
“It’s really not. I wanted to let you know I could hear you growling from all the way over there. I thought I’d come over to let you know you’ve basically made it clear that if they come any closer we’ll retaliate.”
“That one is looking at Amber.”
“Unmated bitch. Every unmated male that catches a scent of her is going to be looking at her until she’s mated. That’s fairly normal. Your wolf is probably annoyed because he’s interested, she has been carting your blanket around with her, which is considered to be a display of interest, and that wolf is competition—dangerous competition. At this stage, you’ve established your territory with your growling, so if you shoot any that go near Amber, well, the other wolf shouldn’t have been sniffing near your woman.”
“She’s not my woman,” I reminded Dante.
“Yet. But this is what potential pairings should be like. You’re mutually interested, and your role as the interested gentleman basically involves growling at other interested males while she enjoys the attention. Because she’s interested in you, she’ll do the growling if a woman comes around.”
“Gentleman? Don’t you Fenerec usually use male or female?”
“Amber will come over here and put me in my place if I call you just a male. She got growly with Desmond for calling you a male earlier. It was a sight to behold. But, seriously. If that wolf takes a step closer to Amber, you’re good to fire. We’re all ready. We have mutually agreed you’re probably going to be the one to take the first shot because of Amber, although Amber’s been eyeballing the one bitch, who seems to have identified there are eligible gentlemen in our group. This is important for you to hear at this stage: these wolves are sick enough they will likely try to force Amber into a mating she does not want.”
Under any other circumstance, I would have hesitated about killing anyone, but the thought of any of them trying to take advantage of the woman pissed me and my wolf off so much I disengaged the safety on the Beretta, aimed, and fired.
While I’d been told to shoot between the eyes or aim for the heart, I figured a silvered bullet to the brain would get the job done. The wolf collapsed, and I selected my next target and took a second shot, also aiming for the wolf’s head. My wolf growled his approval.
The third wolf realized I’d taken the offensive, but not in time to escape or retaliate, and he fell, dead before his body hit the ground.
Dante rolled his shoulders, assumed a proper firing position with his shotgun, and scanned the trees for a target. “Now that is how you flirt with Amber, Declan.”
“I prefer using my brownies, personally.” The stench of blood and death hung in the air, and the wolves howled to each other, broke free of their shock, and rushed at us. At my wolf’s urging, I shot another in the center of its chest. It staggered a few steps before it fell, and black blood bubbled from the entry hole.
While I’d considered Dante to be a more pacifistic sort, he opted for overkill to take out his first wolf, using three rounds with his shotgun to finish the job. Even if the wolf was older, I figured it would take it a damned long time to recover from having a shredded ruin of a chest.
“Four down, lots to go,” Dante announced. “How many of them do you think we’ll have to kill before they clue in they’ve made a very bad decision?”
The gunfire made holding a conversation difficult, and I took aim and fired at another wolf before replying, “If there’s anything I’ve learned from my time in the military, it’s that when it comes to something like this, they just won’t clue in they’ve made a bad choice because they’re invested. Our deaths are worth more than their lives.”
In a way, the death of the wild wolves bothered me despite understanding we had a choice between being killed or killing. The stench of illness clung to them even after death.
Dispatching them didn’t discourage the second pack, who came to take their place. Their ved’ma came with them, and they wore cowls to protect their faces.
“Looks like your problems are more than just a single wild wolf killing people,” Lane said. To my amusement, the SEAL had fired one shot and killed one wolf, letting me handle most of the work for our little section of the brawl.
I’d done the same when on a mission, hanging back and reserving my ammunition for if I needed to bail someone else out. Then, I’d been far more inclined to maim than kill.
My wolf’s peaceful inclinations had been blown away on the gusting wind, and I could guess as to why: he didn’t view killing Normals as a fair fight. The wolves and ved’ma we battled weren’t Normals, and he knew it.
I appreciated his ability to discern what made a fair fight and what didn’t, although I still regretted the deaths of the wild wolves.
The fault for their illness belonged to the ved’ma and the wolves serving them.
“You are skilled, Sergei Sokolov. We need skilled men,” the ved’ma, a man judging from the sound of his voice, stated in a pleased tone. His choice to speak in Russian annoyed me, as I could only guess he didn’t want anyone else to understand what he said. “Tell your friends to stand down, and they will come to no harm. You have done us a favor killing those sick wolves. That is how we have chosen to test you.”
I glanced at the other wolves, who remained still, although a few ears flicked back. My wolf growled his discontent in my head.
I followed his lead, taking my time to think so I wouldn’t mangle my Russian. “Are your bodark the reason Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov no longer lives?”
On second thought, I should have stuck to English, although the ved’ma showed no sign my poor skills with his language bothered him.
“Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov made poor choices and went against the wishes of the ved’ma. He was deserving of his death, him and Andrey Alekseevich Fedorov as well.”
“Was Andrey Alekseevich Fedorov not a sumasshedshiy volk?” I frowned. “That is what I had been told.”
“Andrey Alekseevich Fedorov was unfit to become one of us, and he and those responsible for his attempt to become a bodark paid for their transgressions with their lives. You were told a story like everyone else, one that was close enough to the truth. Andrey Alekseevich Fedorov did not have permission to become one of us, and he was not found worthy. His presence would have brought harm to us.”
“I see. And are these all of your wolves? Your wawkalak?”
“Oh, no. These are bodark who wish to earn favor with me and the other enforcers of our pack. The wawkalak are far too valuable to waste on such an endeavor. They have no involvement with this. It would taint them. Come peacefully, Sergei Sokolov. Several of the wawkalak women have shown interest in you. The rare time you do come out of hiding, you are akin to a beautiful ghost, a pure spirit. That animal you keep would be welcome, too.”
“And my friends?”
“We would keep the ones we find to be useful. The rest will be escorted elsewhere.”
My wolf growled, and I almost echoed him, but I kept silent. I turned my body to consider the others with me, switching guns to one with standard bullets rather than the precious silvered rounds meant to kill wolves. Most of the Americans kept watch over the wolves, and the Chinese observed me with interest.
I guessed ‘escorted elsewhere’ involved a shallow grave if given any grave at all. My wolf agreed with me.
In English, I asked, “What do you feel of his sincerity, Cuī Xue?”
Dài Song said something in fluid but rapid Chinese, Cantonese as far as I could tell, and Xue nod
ded to acknowledge the interpreter. “He speaks pretty words, but his soul is dark.”
That decided me. A dead witch could hurt nobody else, so I revealed my pistol, aimed, and fired. The Russian fell with a spray of blood. Then, in Russian, I stated, “I viewed Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov as a friend, which tells me all I need to know about this situation. Choose: fight or run. But understand if you run, should you ever bring harm to someone else at the behest of some idiot witch, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
The wise wolves fled, but most remained.
Unlike the wild wolves, the bodark fought well together, and it didn’t take them long to bring the fight to us. I thinned their numbers by four before the first reached me, and I killed the fifth through shoving my gun into the damned wolf’s mouth and firing. After that, it degraded as fights often did, to a mix of whatever I could use to make my next hit count—and hurt. They held the same general philosophy, and every bite they landed stoked my wolf’s fury, until his desire to shift and tear them to ribbons burned hot beneath my skin.
I considered it, but it was easier to fend them off as a human than as a wolf. For whatever reason, they wanted me alive, and my thinner, human skin made them fight with caution, whereas I was more than happy to ram my bleeding fist into their mouths and break their teeth, even if it meant breaking a few bones in the process.
Sometime between jamming my foot halfway down a wolf’s throat and doing my best to snap another one’s neck with my bare hands, one of their asshole friends got a hold of the back of my neck with their teeth. A single bite later, and a streak of pain down the length of my spine ushered in a silent darkness.
The crackle of flame dragged me out of the void and dumped me in a painful, twitching body. The back of my neck throbbed, but several points of heat and pressure on my chest did a damned good job of establishing I needed to pull myself back together and do something about my situation.
I cracked open an eye to discover a rather small but angry wolf with flame licking off her fur had taken up residence on my chest, and she growled and barked to warn any from coming closer. The barks had an amusingly squeak-like quality to them. The presence of flames burning in the air did a better job of establishing her authority.
Amber’s attention focused on something I couldn’t see, and she snarled, barked once, and flame intensified around her, blinding in its strength. The lack of heat startled me—or the lack of heat I could perceive.
Someone nearby screamed, although the sound cut off after a few moments and a second flash of light.
It amused me such a tiny wolf made such a dangerous adversary, but I decided to enjoy the show before taking stock of how badly I’d gotten my ass kicked during my one-on-many brawl with a bunch of asshole, murderous wolves. Amber finally stood down, shook out her coat, and hopped off my chest. I determined I hadn’t had my spine snapped or severed through the systematic testing of my fingers and toes, although moving sent zaps of lightning through my body.
Well, maybe I had broken something, but if I had, I’d heal. I hoped.
“All right. That hurt,” I informed Amber. She turned her head to me, and with her ears pricked forward, she washed my face with her tongue. I made a face, turned my head to dodge the slobber, and discovered a whole new world of pain. My yelp drew more attention than I wanted.
Desmond stepped into view, crouched beside me, and worked his hand under the back of my neck. Something made a rather disturbing crack, and bursts of white spun in my vision. “Remember what I said about broken necks?”
“With distressing clarity.”
Desmond eased my head back to center with one hand, and he poked and prodded me with the other. “One of them got behind you and snapped your neck, and Amber had a rather literal meltdown. This is why we’re generally hesitant to allow witches to undergo the ritual. Don’t move. I’ll move you, and we’re going to have to get your neck into a brace of some sort, else you’ll be breaking it left and right for a few days. You’ve been out for about an hour. One of those fucking witches gave us a bit of trouble.”
Amber hopped off my chest, but she put one paw on my arm, which I interpreted to be a display of possession.
My wolf approved.
“Any casualties?” I asked.
“Your snapped neck is the worst of them. Amber’s fine. Lane got a graze. Anthony has a concussion, as one of the idiot witches went for him and he decided to use his forehead as a weapon. He’s hardheaded, so it mostly worked. He knocked himself and the witch out, and Lane finished the witch off. My daughter’s dress has seen better days, and Richard’s gone flat-out rabid because one of the wolves landed a bite on her calf. Her calf? Won’t have a scratch on it by tomorrow morning. The wolf who bit her? He’s in literal pieces. Dante is trying to calm Richard down, but honestly? Richard going on a rampage simplifies things. He’s a bit wild right now, so we’re going to have to wait until Dante can work his magic or Nicolina opts to make this easy on us and plays the distressed damsel.”
“Richard went wild?”
“Basically. I think I mentioned that before. It’s no big deal for him, and he doesn’t smell sick, nor is his scent degrading, so we’ll let him work it out of his system. I think it’s because he’s forced to play Alpha when he’s really a submissive, and he short-circuits, especially when my daughter gets herself into trouble.”
Nicolina, whose gown had become rather short and scandalous since I’d last seen her, stormed over, her fists on her hips. “I am not a distressed damsel. I didn’t get into trouble, either. It was one bite, and I ripped the damned dress to make it easier to fight in.”
“If you would just play one for five minutes, your mate would be a lot easier to work with,” Desmond complained. “Or do that thing where you kick him and make him submit.”
“I’m not kicking Richard.”
“Then play the distressed damsel. Come on, Nicolina. He’s practically frothing at the mouth. If you won’t kick him, zap him.” Desmond sighed. “I don’t want to get into a fight with Richard today.”
“He’s not frothing at the mouth, Father. He’s just chewing on a log and growling.” The woman sighed. “I really don’t want to play the distressed damsel. And if I zap him, he might be out for the count for a day or two, and you know I hate when he’s down and out like that. How are you feeling, Declan?”
“I think I lost that fight,” I admitted. “I took a few out before I went down, though.”
“Yeah, you scored the highest body count. At one point, Amber and I just stood around and watched you work, right along with just about everyone else. You went from kind and gentle Declan to a badass with a frightening number of guns and no scruples about making bodies. Then they piled on and Amber heard the snap, and well, she snapped.”
Amber huffed and climbed back onto my chest and barked at Nicolina.
“Why are you barking at me? I’m not going to do anything to Declan. You don’t have to warn me off. You couldn’t fend me off, anyway. You’re a pint-sized freak.” Nicolina grabbed Amber by the scruff and lifted her up. “Five pounds soaking wet.”
Amber turned her ears back and showed Nicolina her teeth.
“Nicolina, stop taunting Amber, however much fun you think it is. If you’re not going to rein Richard in, get Xue and see if he has anything in his bag of tricks that might help with a broken neck, because the last thing we need is Declan being down for longer than necessary. Ideally, you’ll rein Richard in and get Xue. We need to get out of here, hopefully before the local police get here. We’ve had enough trouble for one day.”
Chapter Thirteen
Broken necks sucked.
While Desmond, Nicolina, Greig and Elliot handled most of the cleanup, Dante worked with Richard, who took his temper out on fallen trees in the area. At one point, I thought my truck would fall prey to the silvery wolf, his fur shimmering as though made of molten metal.
My truck survived, although the massive wolf bit one of the tires.
&
nbsp; Stuck unable to do jack shit, I watched and sighed over the additional damage to the vehicle.
With some help from Xue and Jìngyi, Amber returned to her human form, dressed in my pajamas, and kept me company while the Chinese helped with the cleanup.
As expected, so far outside of the outskirts of the city, on the way where only I lived, nobody bothered us.
For a while, we sat together in silence before I worked up the nerve to ask, “What’s my grade?”
“You passed. Clean, merciful shots, no wasted movement. Your aim is impeccable. I’m planning on dragging you to the range once your neck heals. Honestly, if we hadn’t been admiring your shooting and fighting skills, we would have helped earlier. We are all taking the blame on that, because once you decide to fight, you don’t hold back, and we were startled. Were you aware you took out a wolf by shoving your foot down his throat and breaking his neck? You need to work on your hand-to-hand combat, but you still scored high for your general performance.”
Like the rest of me, my foot hurt. “I hadn’t realized I’d broken his neck, but I definitely remember getting my foot chewed on. I think I had decided I wanted to kick his throat out through his asshole. At that point, my wolf and I were pretty pissed.”
“You broke his neck. He was not old enough to survive a broken neck. We had to finish off a few of the wolves you had handled, but it was merciful. We killed them before they woke up. Song thought it was for the best. Moscow would not be merciful to them if we’d left them alive. They definitely wanted you alive, because the instant you dropped, they checked to make sure you had survived having your neck broken. The one started to drag you off, but that’s when we got involved. My witchcraft hasn’t changed much, which is good. I was worried about that, but after you went down, we needed to finish the rest of the mess fast, so I tried to use it. I’m still weak, but I can fight.”