Wolf Roulette: Supernatural Battle

by Kelly St Clare

  I didn’t waste time.

  For a while now, it had felt like a clock was ticking above my head.

  I had a strong feeling there weren’t many seconds left.

  Pulling out my phone, I studied my cues a final time as reports from team leaders sounded through my walkie.

  “Frequency generators up.”

  “Cameras in position.”

  I’d needed some visibility under the surface.

  “Bases in position.”

  “Skis loaded.”

  Ten minutes left.

  I drummed my fingers on the rails. “Come on.”

  “Wicked. Set up complete. Over.”

  Perfect. She was in charge of two parts of our main operations.

  Five minutes.

  “Reindeer. Set up complete. Over.”

  With two minutes remaining, her report was echoed by my other team leaders.

  That was close, Booker growled.

  They had a lot to set up. Ready, girl?

  Let’s fuck some shit up.

  My wolf was big on the swears. If she had her way, I’d be inked up with a permed mullet by now.

  I changed the frequency on my walkie and brought it close to my lips. “Big Red. In position? Over.”

  The reply from the designated head vampire—a woman called Laurel that Basilia had highly recommended—crackled through. “Affirmative. Awaiting your order. Over.”

  Boom.

  My heart pounded at the inside of my ribs to escape.

  Peering to the opposite side by the cliffs, I watched the Luthers slip from the trees into the water. The stewards on the nearest cliffs opened fire, but as per usual, the pack largely ignored them.

  “Two points to us,” Pascal said.

  Better than nothing. That could be the difference if this grid was like our Sandstone win.

  When the last of the pack was in the water, I lifted my walkie. “Big Red. Bats, prepare Operation Circus. Over.”

  I left my cliff stewards to set up and drew my tablet out of my backpack. “I finally feel important,” I murmured, earning a soft laugh from Pascal.

  On the underwater cameras, I watched my stewards holding up their oxygen tank dials to approaching Luthers. I hissed a yes as the pack abandoned their nets and swam any unconscious stewards to the surface.

  Of course, I could partially shift and listen in on Sascha’s orders, but the pack would sense Booker’s presence too.

  She was an ace I couldn’t reveal yet.

  I drew out my saxophone.

  There were diving masks that used the ultrasound technology to communicate, but Luthers had no trouble picking up the signal. I could also communicate with my stewards through walkie technology, but being underwater, they couldn’t reply.

  Under the surface, they communicated with hand signals—much as divers did. But we’d always, always been caught off guard in this grid because my stewards couldn’t see what the Luthers were doing.

  From here, I could.

  First, I connected the new microphone to the bell of my sax, and then turned on the portable speakers that three stewards lugged up for me.

  I peered over the railing of the observation tower and double-checked the situation on the cameras again.

  The pack were converging on my south stewards.

  Standing, I took a breath.

  This is for you, Mum.

  I blew two short notes. They blasted through the speaker. My stewards had spent the last four days memorising this code system.

  Go south.

  Jet ski and boat engines revved. The east and west teams closed in on the south to provide back up.

  Crouching over the tablet, I watched the swimming Luthers spin to face the incoming threat.

  There was another benefit to the pack strategy Sascha used in Water. While the wolves were busy in the south, they weren’t watching anywhere else.

  I raised my saxophone again. Three sharp notes and one long.

  North. Medic.

  They’d administer a tranquiliser antidote to any fallen stewards they could reach.

  “We came out on top of that,” Pascal announced.

  Sascha would split the pack up.

  My south, east, and west stewards packed unconscious Luthers into the boats and jet ski trays. We’d take them to pontoons dotted around the lake—heavily guarded pontoons.

  The pack split into two groups as seamlessly as a school of fish.

  I placed the mouthpiece against my bottom lip.

  West and east.

  One sharp note. I waited a beat and then blasted four.

  North and south would both supply backup.

  The majority of our jet skis and boats had just reached the pontoons to unload knocked-out pack members, but the rest raced to help too.

  I winced as a Luther grabbed hold of a jet ski and shoved the steward driving into the water.

  The jet ski immediately stopped—we weren’t stupid, the pack couldn’t operate the machines—but the Luthers could still seize them to eliminate our speed.

  The pack split in three.

  The smallest force hunted our jet skis, and my stomach twisted as more and more were rendered useless.

  Only twenty-five minutes had passed.

  I needed ten more minutes, but we were dropping like flies.

  Shit. We had to have numbers for the finale.

  I paced along the railing, blasting notes to guide my tribe.

  “We’ve lost 64 percent fewer points than is usual for us in Water at this point,” Pascal told me.

  “Estimate?”

  “Three hundred and eighty-four.”

  Fuck. There was no way we’d taken that many points from the pack.

  We need to change our approach, I said to Booker.

  She received my proposed strategy in a stream of thought. Agreed.

  Thirty minutes to go.

  We had to take the risk or losing was a definite.

  I blew three long notes. Prepare for Operation Fang.

  A series of thuds from behind made me whirl.

  Pascal stood at the top of the ladder with her tranquiliser gun aimed downward.

  “Nothing to worry about,” she said easily.

  Crossing to join her, I stared down at Leroy and Grim sprawled unconscious in our tiny boat.

  Ha! Booker said gleefully.

  I shot my marshal a look. “Thanks.”

  She’d already resumed tapping on her tablet. Multi-tasking queen.

  Next. “Big Red. Prepare. Over.”

  Laurel replied, “Roger that.”

  Vampires, check.

  I switched the frequency. “Big Red. Bats, initiate Operation Circus on my mark. Over.”

  “Roger that.”

  Nets, check.

  An orange flag popped out of the water to the south.

  Then the west.

  East.

  The north flag didn’t rise. I checked the cameras and cursed. The pack had combined once more to hit my stewards there.

  We had to move ahead without north for now.

  I clicked back to the vampires. “Big Red. Initiate Operation Fangs. Luthers gathered at North side. Focus numbers there. Over.”

  The thing about Vissimo?

  They were fucking fast, faster than a Luther. Waiting out of sight and earshot, then sprinting to join was nothing for them—especially with our frequency generators to help out.

  Even I couldn’t hear them approaching to surround as much of the lake’s perimeter as possible.

  Abandoning my walkie, I let three short and three long notes loose through my sax. Initiate Operation Fangs.

  The water churned and chopped as my stewards swam for the lake shore.

  By now the pack had to know my sax didn’t mean anything good.

  I could feel their suspense.

  I needed their panic.

  Booker?

  I won’t let you down, Andie.

  You never could. My wolf wanted this boring gam
e over as much as I did.

  “Pascal, please turn off the frequency generators.”

  A second lapsed. “Done, Head Steward.”

  Fear.

  It was immediate.

  I smelt the cloying scent rise from the pack as the sound of a stampede rose in a wave from the forest.

  Now, Booker.

  My fangs and claws burst forth as Booker partially shifted on our behalf.

  Vampires burst from the trees, racing between the near rows of stewards into the water.

  The pack split from engaging my north stewards. A beat passed before Reindeer finally raised her orange flag.

  More fear.

  But Sascha would control the pack in seconds.

  Booker seized hold of the seven hundred and fifty small pinpricks dotting our mind, and her shout boomed in my mind.

  Separate! She snarled at the pack. Protect. Survive. Retreat. Fight. Get back.

  She kept up her tirade, and I could feel the drain on our vital energy.

  I yanked on the connection between me and Sascha to further distract him.

  Total bitch move.

  I managed three before he wrenched back.

  Okay, that wasn’t so comfortable.

  We continued our battle as Booker continued booming her orders. I would’ve expected Greyson to seize control by now. He held more power over the pack by far than Booker.

  Vampires shot through the water toward the Luthers like missiles.

  Strategic missiles.

  They darted close to the pack, never making contact.

  They had one job.

  To cause panic.

  If not for the orange-scented oil under my nose, the smell of so many Vissimo would overwhelm Booker completely. We could smell the vampires underwater too—something I’d tested on Monday before Basilia and Kyros left.

  I balled my hands as five distinct groups of Luthers began to form. Yes! Tearing my eyes from the surface, I crouched to check the cameras.

  Where were the betas?

  People were harder to recognise underwater. Hairy swam by a camera, his fangs descended.

  Got you.

  Booker still shouted her silent orders, and I left her to it, standing on wobbling legs at the barrier again.

  I clicked on my walkie. “Big Red. Bats, seal off north quadrant.”

  The betas were the real danger in what came next. Too damn level-headed for their own good.

  With Greyson struggling to settle the pack, betas would be the backup.

  My hands shook from fatigue.

  My legs folded, but I lifted my saxophone to sound a series of signals. Important signals.

  Gammas. West.

  Alphas. South.

  Omegas. South-west.

  Deltas. East.

  That done, I started playing the most chaotic song I knew—"Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph.

  A Luther’s senses were their strength—also their weakness.

  The speaker faced away from me, but even Booker struggled to maintain her concentration through this song, though we’d practiced several times.

  “Yakety Sax” was also the final order.

  My stewards entered the water again and opened fire on pack members fleeing the vampires.

  It was fucking cruel, really. The last time they’d seen Vissimo, they lost thousands of their brethren.

  I slid along the ground and rolled to watch over the edge of the observation tower.

  “Bats. Task complete. Over.”

  The betas were secure. Part of my north team maintained their fire on the status while the vampires worked to extract unconscious Luthers and deposit them at our pontoons.

  The other statuses would soon stabilise, but luckily for us, each status had a weakness. Something I’d managed to figure out.

  Gammas tended toward laziness and disinterest, so the stewards there opened a path to the lake shore and waited in the tree line by frequency generators.

  The gammas took the bait.

  They dropped to the sand.

  Omegas were easily rattled, but I wasn’t sure how their stubbornness to obey orders would come into play. One in three of my stewards were armed with strobes.

  The water around the omegas flickered and flashed. The strobes would further rattle them even if they refused to give up the fight.

  I squinted South to the alphas.

  For apparently being the strongest status in the pack, alphas were the easiest to manage.

  We’d given them three choices. The shore. A pontoon. And staying put. Most of the alphas had surfaced, and I could see them arguing from here as each vied for control over the others.

  Too many chefs spoiled the broth.

  Too many alphas fucked everything up.

  Deltas.

  Dammit, I couldn’t move.

  “Pascal. What’s happening east?”

  “Luthers are scattering. Most are scaling the cliffs.”

  I smiled. We hadn’t been sure exactly where each status would end up, but the cliffs were perfect for the deltas. Ambition and glory were their weakness. Alphas may seek to control others before making a move, but deltas wouldn’t bother. They were a collection of one-man armies.

  None of them would work together, and so they’d all get in each other’s way.

  I closed my eyes, listening to Booker’s weakening orders to the pack.

  This was the last thing she’d wanted to do.

  But she did it for us.

  For Sascha and Greyson.

  “Pascal?” I murmured.

  She crouched by my side.

  As black closed in, I spoke my last order. “Whatever time is left. Administer antidotes to fallen stewards. Give the order.”

  Pascal smoothed my hair back. “Roger that, Head Steward.”

  34

  Strong arms held me.

  A growl that would be menacing to anyone else brought me comfort.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Sascha?” Unbearably tired, I smiled at him.

  He squeezed me tight. “Andie.”

  The healing I always felt at his touch was ramped on high.

  I frowned. Really high.

  His arms slid away, and I rolled off as he toppled sideways to the sand.

  I scrambled to his side. “Sascha?”

  His heartbeat was slow. Breath laboured.

  “What’s happening to him?” I shouted.

  Stewards and Luthers surrounded us. I didn’t care.

  Evelyn stepped forward. “You weren’t in the best shape, dear. He healed you. He’ll be okay soon.”

  As she said it, his heartbeat stopped dropping and began to strengthen.

  My lower lip trembled. Forgetting our audience, I rested my head on his chest and held him close.

  Don’t you dare try to heal us in return, Greyson scolded.

  Okay, Booker and I replied meekly.

  Sascha’s arms came around me, and covered in sand, we held each other.

  We can intentionally heal each other now? Before, we’d touched and waited for the bond to do its thing. What I’d felt just now… Sascha had pushed the healing into me or something.

  Our bond twists together, remember? he said wearily. But our ability to heal is finite. As is your power to command the pack as you did.

  I’d known that. Booker was in control. She’d promised not to push any further than a depletion we could recover from in a day. I’d risked Sascha’s life in the past by accident and wasn’t about to do it again.

  Of course, he’d chosen to nearly kill himself to heal me anyway.

  Please don’t ever do that again, I told him.

  If the situation were reversed, little bird?

  If I’d known we could do this, then I would have poured nearly everything I had into him in Sandstone. Fair point.

  The murmurs around us surged as the whine of a boat engine reached my ears.

  The marshals, Sascha said in response to my confusion.

  Oh my god. The ga
me.

  Greyson snorted, and I felt Sascha’s affection.

  Something you want to share? I pulled back.

  His lips twitched. Greyson enjoyed refusing to control the pack in the grid. Very much.

  I bet he did. And how did you feel about that?

  Well, let’s see. I enjoyed that my wolf refused to control the pack in the grid. Very much. Luckily the pack understands that allowances must be made for sigmas…

  My mouth bobbed. You planned to let Greyson help me all along.

  I didn’t discuss it with him in advance of the grid, he thought at me, but I trust my wolf completely.

  That was a whopping yes. For the record, your fake cold shoulders don’t work anymore. I knew you were on my side.

  His joy brushed against me like a cool breeze on a summer’s day. I’m glad to hear it, mate. It only took months of blasting you with charm while dangling sex in front of you to build that trust.

  I’d laugh. But that was an accurate summary of events.

  Sascha, I’m sorry about breaking my promise. Truly.

  You made the right choice even if I didn’t like it at the time.

  Seriously. How the hell did I ever think alphas were for me? Emotionally stable men for the win.

  I crouched to help him stand.

  Sascha wrapped his arm around my shoulders as the marshals clambered onto the pier and walked towards us.

  This is it, huh? His voice entered my mind again.

  If the tribe win, then yeah. Guess it is.

  Either way, Andie, if the game doesn’t end after your little vampire ruse, then the pack and tribe will sit down and work out a truce.

  My eyes widened. You mean it?

  “Yes,” he said aloud. “This game has gone on long enough.” Sascha peered back over his shoulder.

  I glimpsed a stern-faced Alexei in the front row next to Evelyn.

  Pascal and Hana, the Luther marshal, approached.

  Sascha dropped his arm from my shoulders, and I took his hand, gripping it tight.

  “Head Steward,” Pascal said. “Pack Leader.”

  Jesus, was she trying to kill me?

  “By sixty points, victory goes to the Ni Tiaki,” she announced.

  I covered my mouth and sank to my knees in the sand.

  It was over.

  The news was passed back through the tribe. Maybe that should have been my job, but I couldn’t move.

  I listened as stewards began to cry. Great, gulping sobs of relief from years of battle in Grids. I hadn’t needed to remind them to be respectful to the pack. Cheering was the last thing on their minds.