by Nalini Singh
“Wait.” Ethan put his hand on the wolf’s nape, its fur unexpectedly soft.
Gregori paused, body motionless and eyes locked in the same direction from which Ethan had sensed a threat.
“Intruders to the left of the road entrance.” Their minds were chaos in the silence, a burst of noise that shattered the quiet. “At least ten of them.” He did another scan. “No, fifteen. Six I can’t get a lock on except to know they’re there—they must be changeling. Five are human. Four Psy.”
Ethan could attempt to hit those minds, but he wasn’t a powerful enough telepath to neutralize them in one go. “If we can get to them, I can push them into unconsciousness.”
The wolf’s jaw fell open in a smile full of a predator’s teeth.
“Close your eyes when it’s time.”
Gregori angled his head and Ethan understood that he was to follow. The two of them made good time through the forest, with Ethan keeping a mental eye on the encroaching group.
Whoever this was, they were either very lost—or very stupid. Selenka’s wolves weren’t known to be nice to intruders. Should a lost tourist wander in, they’d get a good scare and an escort out, but anyone with hostile intent? There was a reason the bears had agreed to a truce with BlackEdge.
Selenka’s wolves might be smaller in animal form, but they were lethal and relentless fighters who would not give up. Even the lower-than-usual number of border sentries wasn’t any guarantee of safety.
“We’re getting closer,” he told the wolf when Gregori paused and looked at him.
The two of them moved with more stealth from that point . . . until Gregori snarled and snapped ahead without warning. Ethan ran full tilt after him. He didn’t know why the lieutenant had revealed their presence until he reached the location and saw the red fuel containers.
A number were open and tipped out at the feet of trees.
These people had planned to start a fire that would’ve decimated part of Selenka’s territory. Ethan’s blood iced, his protective instincts ascendant. Not bothering to shout a warning since Gregori was facing away from him, he sliced out a wave of light. Six of the intruders dropped. The ones still on their feet had their backs to him and so the light hadn’t hit their eyes. No one had worked out why he needed to hit the eyes, but that seemed to be the conduit to the necessary brain circuitry.
The only reason he’d been able to take down everyone at the symposium hall was because he’d used a massive blast of power that reflected back from the slick walls. As it was, he had no reason to waste power with Gregori as his partner.
The wolf male had taken down four already.
Ethan spun a throwing blade into the calf muscle of an intruder, the weapon one he’d learned to use during his imprisonment as part of Dr. Marr’s attempts to “enrich” his environment. His jailors hadn’t cared what he learned since he was scanned for smuggled blades before they ever allowed him out of his cell, but Ethan had practiced with resolute intent regardless. It had been preparation for a freedom he was determined to snatch.
Tonight the intruder crumpled to the ground with a loud cry, one hand clutching reflexively at his calf; he sliced his palm to shreds. Gregori took out another one even as Ethan’s target screamed again; the wolf lieutenant had ripped out a chunk of thigh to leave the woman writhing on the forest floor as she bled out. Sandpaper scraped over Ethan’s senses, hard enough to do severe damage to his shields, but his refusal to allow anyone to harm Selenka had him overriding the pain.
Forming his power into a blade, he sliced the back of a parked vehicle in half. All the runners froze where they were . . . then very slowly went down to their knees, hands locked behind their heads.
“Turn around,” Ethan ordered in a voice colder than the Arctic.
Gregori accompanied that with a menacing growl.
Ethan murmured, “Eyes,” to Gregori the instant the intruders were facing them, then flashed his power again.
Everyone went out—including the ones with chunks of missing flesh.
“Fuckers are from Blaise’s church,” Gregori said, his voice half growl even though he’d shifted into human form. “Youngest is nineteen. Old enough to be responsible for his actions.” His snarl was deadly. “Can’t let the idiots die, though.”
Because Selenka was the only one with the authority to make that call. A truth so self-evident that Ethan didn’t need to ask Gregori to explain. “I can cauterize their wounds so they don’t bleed any further.”
Ethan suited his actions to his words. It was a trick he hadn’t often had a chance to use, but he’d practiced on his own skin to the point where he had fine control over the light blade. When young, he’d thought if he got good enough, Ming would see it as an asset and use him to save people sometimes, but the former leader of the squad had only ever seen him as a killer.
It took him two minutes to stop all the bleeding—his throwing blade had done serious damage and Gregori hadn’t held back. Though the scent of burned flesh lingered in the air, it was overwhelmed by the pungent aroma of spilled fuel. With the intruders incapacitated, the two of them turned their attention to the fuel.
“Punks weren’t playing,” Gregori said, his eyes bright amber. “That amount of fuel could’ve started a serious blaze.”
Recalling Selenka’s mention of graffiti, Ethan said, “A retaliation because you confronted their church leader about petty vandalism? It seems ill thought out.”
“They’re not exactly geniuses—and it looks like there’s no one older than twenty-three in this group. You said you picked up on Psy minds, too?”
“Yes.” He pointed out the four.
The other man shoved a hand through his hair, his tattoos sinuous shadows in the starry darkness. “I don’t want to pull sentries from other areas. Can you keep an eye on the entire group of fuckwits while I run back and see who I can gather up to deal with this?”
Reaching into a side pocket of his pants, Ethan pulled out a set of thin wires. “Cuffs,” he said. “I shouldn’t need to stun them again unless they become majorly disruptive.”
“After seeing what you did to that car, I don’t think any of these punks are going to be playing chicken with you.” Grin feral, the other man slapped him on the shoulder, his strength reverberating through Ethan. “Trust Selya to find herself a mate who can cut people in half.”
Ethan didn’t respond, but all the times when he had cut people in half after Ming literally took control of his brain . . . they haunted him. Even worse were the memories of his family’s screams as he sliced them to pieces.
But this, tonight, was different.
It was the first time he’d wounded and hurt in order to protect. The intruders had come to cause pain to Selenka and those under her care; they’d made themselves targets. He felt no guilt whatsoever, at peace with his actions in a way that would make Alia proud. This, he thought on a sudden, acute wave of understanding, was what he’d always been meant to be: a protector like Gregori, a weapon used to defend against evil.
A throb began at the back of his head as he started to handcuff the fallen intruders, each pulse deep and loud. Three minutes later, he was glad he was alone except for his unconscious captives. It gave him time to erase all evidence of his new nosebleed . . . a bleed that didn’t stop for long minutes.
Scarab whispered in his head, so much power at his fingertips if he would only reach for it. Power enough to protect the entire world.
* * *
—
THE pack laid Emanuel to rest in a ceremony rich with song and laughter. It was what he would’ve wanted, this member of Selenka’s pack who’d never been grim or hard. Emanuel had been smiles and amusement and silly practical jokes that drove his packmates crazy, but when it had mattered, he’d been there, solid as an oak. People had relied on him. Selenka had relied on him.
As was their way, her pack rele
ased their grief in a chorus of wolf song that echoed across the territory. It was a memorial more ephemeral than a stone carving, but to a wolf, what mattered were the memories. Emanuel would be kept alive in stories and in wolf song for generations to come.
Then they returned home under the starlight, to pick up the mantle of life again. Grief was a different process for each and every one of them. However, in one thing, BlackEdge was united—to bring up their pups in the world of the living and not of the dead.
It was a decision made during the start of her grandfather’s reign as alpha, after the pack lost fifteen adult wolves at the same time. It had been a horrible accident, a small plane going down in flames after being caught in turbulent weather. The pack had been devastated and barely functional in the aftermath.
Her grandfather had lost a brother in the carnage, but he’d made his way beyond the grief to care for his heartbroken people. He’d made them remember the young, the babies who didn’t understand what was happening and who were going small and silent under the weight of the grief that held the pack in thrall.
To raise a pup was a privilege and a gift. No wolf would do anything to destroy those vulnerable young hearts. And so Selenka’s pack would laugh again in the days to come. They’d hold the birthday celebration for a small boy that had been canceled today. And they’d remember Emanuel at each celebration, in their hearts, or with a drink raised to the sky.
But, tonight, it was a time of mourning, a time to come to terms with the grief.
Only after her pack no longer needed her would she find her deadly, beautiful, and relentlessly devoted mate and lie with him skin to skin. Because no matter the violent abruptness of their mating, Ethan belonged to her in a way no one else had ever done or ever would do.
She was a wolf, had grown from girl to woman in the glow of her grandparents’ loving union. But her parents’ troubled relationship had already left scars on her heart by then, and even being aware of the damage hadn’t changed the wariness deep inside her. She couldn’t bring herself to trust anyone enough to allow them a glimpse of her heart.
Until a damaged Arrow said, “I am yours,” and meant it with all that he was.
She was still thinking of Ethan when she spotted Gregori arriving at the den just as she returned from the funeral. She was the only one outside because the alpha was always the final one to leave a burial, the one who spoke the pack’s last good-byes to their lost packmate. Others would go up there in the days to come, to speak their private thoughts, but for tonight, it was done.
Crouching down next to him, she fisted her hand in the fur at the back of his neck. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?” The scent of fresh blood was pungent in her nose, the mingled scents telling her this involved more than just Gregori.
When he shook his head, she said, “Do I need to send healers?” That got her a nod. “Security?” Another nod. “Any of our own hurt?” The question was razors across her soul; she didn’t know if BlackEdge could take another loss after Emanuel.
She only breathed easy after he shook his head again. She didn’t ask about Ethan because the light-fractured night of him was jagged inside her. The static in their bond couldn’t block that critical awareness.
Instead of running into the den and causing alarm, she used her phone to contact Margo and asked the other woman to put together a team of five—a glance at Gregori got her a nod on the number. Then she called the healers, asking for two with full medical kits.
Both groups responded quickly and discreetly, slipping out of the den one by one.
Once gathered, all of them melted back into the trees in Gregori’s wake. They reached the site of the situation to find a group of people who were either lying silently on the ground with their eyes open, their arms handcuffed behind their backs, or in the same immobilized position but moaning in pain.
Ethan stood a deadly black sentinel over them.
“Who cauterized the wounds?” The scent of cooked flesh made her wolf curl its lip.
“I did.” Ethan’s voice, dark music to her ear.
“Nice little hidden gift there, mate of mine.” His actions had probably saved the lives of at least two of the injured, but they’d carry major scars unless they paid for reconstructive work. Because the pack certainly wasn’t going to give them anything but basic first aid. Not when Selenka had scented petrol as she came in.
Seeing the red containers strewn on the ground was a match to a flame, her claws slicing out of her fingers and her growl silencing all chatter in the clearing.
Today was not the day to fuck with Selenka.
Chapter 19
Selenka Durev: BlackEdge Alpha, 5’11”, brown-eyed, and sexy enough to fry your brains. Our sources tell us that she once went head-to-head with a bear in a bad temper and shredded the bear so badly that he’s still growing back his fur. Is it any surprise that she’s a badass who holds territory in an area that houses both a bear clan and Kaleb Krychek?
Our spies in BlackEdge also inform us that being one of Selenka’s wolves is a badge they wear with pride. “Our alpha is our claws and she is our heart. She knows how to love with a ferociousness that encompasses us all—but she won’t blink at tearing our enemies to bleeding, whimpering shreds. Don’t mess with BlackEdge unless you want to end up missing a body part or five.”
—From the “Scary but Sexy” column in the December 2082 issue of Wild Woman magazine: “Skin Privileges, Style & Primal Sophistication”
“WHICH ONE OF you is the leader?” Selenka asked the fallen. “Unless you’re too much of a coward to identify yourself.” That last was a deliberate piece of manipulation—the young tended to be easy to rile unless they’d learned discipline over their instincts and arrogance.
“Me.”
As she’d expected, the answer came from one of the four dominant wolves in Blaise’s congregation—and though the young male tried to square his shoulders and meet her gaze, he couldn’t. Because Selenka wasn’t Blaise, to coddle a wolf who should be acting like a fucking adult by now—and her wolf definitely wasn’t feeling friendly.
Seeing that the changeling—Zivko was his name—had lost a small chunk of his leg, she waited for a healer to confirm he was as well as he could be until he got reconstructive treatment. Then she asked Ethan and Margo to haul him up to his feet. His face contorted in pain but he didn’t cry out. At least he had guts.
She locked her eyes with his the instant he was upright, her wolf in her own. He couldn’t break the contact. The animal that was amber in his irises knew she was a predator with far stronger jaws. He had no choice but to look at her, no choice but to feel fear lock his body in place as perspiration broke out over his skin.
If Selenka wished, she could use nothing but the power of her dominance to force him to his knees, make him crawl. She didn’t usually unleash the depth of her dominance in such an aggressive way, but Zivko had made himself a threat to her pack. He was changeling, was wolf. He’d known the consequences he was courting.
“Talk,” she said on a growl.
He resisted for a split second, and a small part of her appreciated his grit. There was dominance there—the promise of real strength, if he ever got his head out of his ass.
But he was only an untrained and cocky boy against a honed alpha.
Shoulders slumping, he said, “We just wanted to mess with you.” Heavily accented but fluent Russian. “For turning us in to Blaise for the graffiti.”
Selenka took in the people on the ground. “How did you talk them into it?”
“They’re friends. I told them you got a bunch of us into shit with Blaise.”
Selenka wasn’t buying it—she didn’t think he was lying, but she also didn’t think he was telling her the whole truth. Either that, or he’d been manipulated himself. “Who came up with the idea of fire?”
It was an ugly thing she wouldn’t
have predicted on the basis of the background checks Margo and Ivo had run on Blaise’s Disciples. The two had uncovered a couple of juvenile offenses to do with boosting cars, the odd speeding ticket, and a disturbing-the-peace charge attached to a human who’d once been a drunk, but nothing beyond that.
“I don’t know.” Zivko frowned, his brown-skinned face thin in that way of youths who hadn’t finished growing and filling out. “It just came up while we were talking. We figured since your pack protects this landscape, it’d hurt if you lost a couple of the big trees.”
Selenka put her clawed hands on her hips to control the urge to slice his face to shreds. “I can’t figure out if you’re just brainless or a cold-blooded killer.”
Zivko flinched with his whole body, but there was a withheld anger to him that was dangerous—Blaise had done Zivko no favors by allowing that anger to build. Dominant wolves who got that edgy did violence sooner rather than later.
“It was only trees,” he retorted, his face flushed and muscles knotted. “It’d just have left an ugly empty patch in your land.”
“It hasn’t rained in this area for three weeks,” Selenka said with a quietness none of her pack ever wanted to hear from her. “The trees are old and their roots draw from deep within the earth, but the land is dry. This territory is full of wolves, including the old and the very young, many of whom can’t run faster than flame.” Fire could spread like water across a territory. “Fire is classed as a deadly weapon among changelings. You’re a would-be assassin.”
Zivko had gone paler and paler as she spoke, the anger buried under a sudden horror. “We didn’t want to kill anyone,” he whispered, his face stark. “We just wanted to mess with you.”
Selenka believed him—Zivko wasn’t dominant enough to tell her bald-faced lies. However, someone had placed the idea of fire as a mechanism for revenge in their minds. Someone very clever. Either one of this young group was a psychopath, or they were being manipulated by an older individual.