Sentinels: Wolf Hunt

by Doranna Durgin

  She’d become her own.

  You were well-groomed, her unwanted visitor had just said.

  Surely not. Surely she hadn’t been targeted at four years old, vulnerable because of the accident. Surely her life hadn’t been orchestrated.

  But when she thought of Gausto—how he’d treated her, so full of manners and respect and pleasantries…so very grateful to her. Right up until these last couple of days.

  Because now he wasn’t trying to fool her any longer.

  “Did you not think I’d figure it out this fast?” she asked her keyboard and the silent instant messaging interface. “Or did you just think I couldn’t do anything about it once I did?”

  Either way, he’d been wrong.

  Chapter 15

  Nick wore Gausto’s second amulet.

  Even dead and deactivated—as dead as he could make it—it burned cold against his skin. To truly nullify it would have meant destroying it, and that would have defeated the purpose entirely.

  Jet hadn’t wanted to use it at all. Hadn’t wanted to pull it out of her bike saddlebags, or to trigger it, or to lay it gently in his hand.

  But he’d been ready for it this time. And what Gausto didn’t know…it could definitely hurt him.

  For Nick could kill amulets. Even this one, given the right circumstances.

  “I still don’t like it.” Jet pulled off her helmet in Gausto’s wide circle of a driveway. He’d gone without one, ensconced behind her on the bike, his hands on the narrow sweep of her waist and her firmly rounded bottom snugged up between his thighs. Forty minutes north and into Oro Valley, past gated driveways and expensive homes carved into the sere, dry sides of the Tortolito Mountain formations and onto the winding dirt road that led them to this particular expensive home, set back on plenty of acreage with mountain ridges curving around it. Private. Distant. Dangerous.

  “It’s the only way,” Nick told her, not for the first time. “He has to believe I’m under your control. Let him think you used this thing.” If it wasn’t blistering his flesh, it sure as hell felt like it. “He might believe you could overpower me in the wake of that first amulet, but—”

  “Yes, yes,” she interrupted. “But not that you would ride the bike with me. I know.” But she scowled, pushing the kickstand into place and settling the bike against it.

  “Hey.” He stilled, and it brought her gaze to him. He couldn’t do what he wanted to do—he couldn’t take her in his arms and tell her everything would damned well be all right. Not with Gausto’s men watching…and not when it might be a lie.

  So he held his gaze steady, and he held his body quiet. The driveway curved around them, nature buffered from Gausto’s activity. A road runner scooted off to the side, raptorlike, and gave them an accusing look before disappearing into the xeriscaping. When she finally relaxed, quieting her wolf, he split his attention.

  Annorah, he called, seeing the flicker in Jet’s eyes that reminded him she, too, could perceive his communications.

  Annorah’s response came delayed but eager. Nick? What’s happening?

  He shook his head—not a physical gesture, but an internal sensation that Annorah would recognize. No details. I’m sure of it. Brevis is compromised.

  You don’t think someone’s figured out how to tap in—! Her thought disappeared in a huff at the very notion, but she was back soon enough. Not with me. I’d know. And then, at his silence, annoyance filtered through. If you aren’t going to tell me anything, why did you call? And are you sick? You don’t feel right.

  I’ll tell you this, Nick said, watching Jet’s eyes widen. I’m doing exactly what Joe Ryan tried to do in Flagstaff. And I’m going to stay open—you can trace me down. No one with a tap would be able to do that—it took direct connection, and Annorah’s skill. You know who you trust. Tell only them.

  Don’t you just make it all sound easy, Annorah grumbled. Nick, I don’t—

  You’ll figure it out.

  “Come with me,” Jet said roughly, suddenly. She tossed her leather jacket across the bike, grabbing Nick’s arm and hauling him toward the house—toward the two Core guards who had emerged from the shadows of the big blocky adobe house to scowl at them. Typical Core muscle, with black hair slicked back, silver jewelry in abundance, and olive skin flushed under the heat of the Tucson sun. Jet didn’t hesitate, striding along with her hand above his elbow.

  “What’s going on?” one of the men demanded, one hand resting inside his suit jacket. So subtle.

  “Gausto told me to bring this man,” Jet said flatly, steadying Nick as he put some sway into his movement. “You are in my way.”

  They exchanged a glance between them; she bared teeth in a subtle expression, every nuance of her posture proclaiming herself beyond their authority—shoulders back, body held tall and proud, gaze directly pinning theirs.

  He didn’t think they’d linger in her path.

  And they didn’t, stepping aside to let her pass—if not without a shared leer that Jet pretended not to see.

  Nick barely managed the same. Protective anger swelled behind his facade, threatening to break out into the wolf right then and there. Take them down, for the implication of what they’d do if they had the chance.

  Get a grip. Jet was depending on him. The Sentinels were depending on him. Even Jet’s pack was depending on him.

  The walkway curved around the house, splitting off to a showy front entrance—Jet ignored it—and around to the shadows of the rear entry. A camera tucked away into a high corner, trained on the doorway; Gausto had taken no chances with this new hideaway. Unlike the rented facilities outside Sonoita, unlike the hotel room of Flagstaff…this was the home base they hadn’t been able to find.

  I hope you’re paying attention, he told Annorah, following Jet to the door in puppet mode.

  Joe Ryan, Annorah said promptly. I get it. I think. He—

  Gone.

  Just like that, gone.

  The amulet-driven protective workings around the building kicked in, flooding over Nick with a surge of tainted energies. Stolen energies, stored energies…trapped and decaying energies always yearning to find their way back to their natural state. The amulets hid this place much as wards protected Nick’s home. Gausto might know where Nick lived, but he had no way to discern what went on within the property—and no way to penetrate the area with any hostile workings. Not so much as a probe.

  Jet glanced at him, her eyes gone wary.

  Gausto has protections on this place, he said, fighting a sudden surge in the burning amulet—cool braided leather cord, cold-hot metal, cruel, cruel intent. It’s why we couldn’t find it before now. And then, on second thought, You can still hear me?

  She didn’t do anything so blatant as nod; just the slightest tip of her chin. Her expression, if anything, looked more determined than ever. As she reached for the door, she glanced at the camera and around them—and managed, with that single eloquent expression, to convey her concern: if Gausto might somehow tap into Annorah’s communications, then why not those between the two of them?

  In other words, maybe he’d better shut up.

  Nick kept his grin from showing up—mostly. Just a twitch at the corners of his mouth, the camera ever in mind. I’m not truly sending. You’re picking up. But even so…I’ll keep it quiet, he told her. He didn’t dare raise active personal wards in this environment—Gausto no doubt had detection in place for such things.

  The amulet bit at him, sending the long hallway reeling; only Jet kept him upright. Down the hall, past a small room with an open door from which wafted Jetscent, past a bathroom…past several closed doors. Nick’s sense of direction told him they’d gone beyond the house and into the hill behind it; when Jet took him down a half flight of stairs, he was sure of it.

  The air grew thicker…muskier. Dog and wolf, mingled in close quarters. Sick animals…unhappy animals. Jet stopped outside the door set at the foot of those stairs, reaching for the pad beside the door—a palm scan
ner, flashing bright lime-neon and LED red lights turned Christmas tree green at the calm pressure of her hand, clicking the door open. Did Gausto really trust her so much?

  More likely, he trusted in his own power and control.

  Overconfident.

  And then she opened the door.

  Not just a house. A Frankenstein lab of modern proportions.

  A huge room, cavernously large. A kennel area lined the entire back wall; individual kennels were positioned sporadically around the side walls. Metal exam tables, surgical spotlights, instrument bays…Nick set his jaw and held his tongue.

  Jet had less success. She stiffened beside him, her fingers tightening down on his arm, a pained noise escaping her throat.

  Harder than holding himself back from protecting her outside, this was. The urge to pull her into his arms—

  But she wouldn’t want that. She was a fighter, his Jet. A hunter. She neither needed nor wanted coddling. And now a low sound vibrated in her chest.

  No wonder. It took everything Nick had to maintain his distant expression as the full stench of the place hit him—antiseptic mixed with pungent Core workings, hardly indistinguishable from the scent of illness and infection permeating the place.

  The wolves, crammed into close quarters and dull of fur and eye, nonetheless watched Jet with a keen and eager eye. They might not understand what had befallen them here, but they knew she was one of them. They knew she could be trusted.

  The other creatures here didn’t fare even as well. A few purebred dogs—a Great Dane, a Bernese Mountain Dog, a Kuvasz—all depressed and thin, circling desolately in dirty, cramped kennels. Man’s best friend, languishing in isolation and callous circumstances.

  On the other side of the room, the kennels held…

  Nick wasn’t sure. Couldn’t make visual sense of it at first, and then didn’t want to. Limbs and fur and human skin; fingers here, distorted joints there. A giant tongue lolling out of a marginally human face, another face so jumbled that even identifying the basic features proved impossible. From this side of the room came the stench. Twisted beings, unable to function…unable to survive. And yet unable to die mercifully without help.

  Jet sent him a hard glance; he realized he’d lost his impassive mien—that he’d straightened, metaphorical hackles raised and a growl vibrating deeply in his own chest. Her glance shot right, then left—alerting him to the presence of two men. Assistants, guards…hard to tell. Instead of suits they wore black workout pants and snug black polo shirts—the Core had a color theme, all right—and they looked entirely capable of providing muscle where it was needed.

  And then there was Gausto. Turning away from one of the kennels with a smaller man by his side, both in lab coats—not all that imposing after all. The smaller man held himself with much deference; for all he had classic Core coloring and presentation, he emanated none of the arrogance, none of the confidence…none of the outright cruelty. His movement was more of a scuttle than a walk, and Nick instantly pegged him as a Core tech nerd.

  Because Gausto can’t handle the workings himself. Not any longer. Not after Meghan Lawrence had tricked him into a warded cage at his own command. Coyote’s daughter, indeed. Grim satisfaction tried to find its way to his expression; he forced that part of himself more deeply inside.

  “Jet,” Gausto said, moving to the center of the room—there, by the metal table with drain gutters around the outside edges, stains on the concrete floor. “I am not pleased that I had to send messengers to you.”

  “I was confused,” Jet admitted without hesitation. But she stood before him without deference—subtle postural cues he didn’t seem to be able to read, although he looked at her with a faintly dissatisfied frown—and something more. Possessiveness. Greed. He came toward them, his gait uneven and his movement…Nick would have called it pained. Lyn had left her marks on him after all, there on the top of the San Francisco Peaks. Ocelot fury. Good.

  “Eduard,” Gausto said, so casually, “Please make sure our protégé understands her situation.”

  His assistant blinked—looked as though he might protest—but instead quickly looked away, dipping his hand into one of the many pockets of his unusual lab coat.

  Nick felt the impact of it from the inside out as Jet cried out, crumpling to the hard floor with a boneless grace. He almost dove for her. He almost broke cover and doomed them both, gathering her up in his arms to tremble out her pain. He almost leaped upon the smaller man, ripping the triggering amulet away and destroying it with a single targeted blast of power—resonating energies, applied just so.

  But no. To save them both—to save her pack, to stop the attack on the Sentinels—he couldn’t do so much as glare. She writhed a futile attempt to escape, and the best he could do—the very best he could damned well do—was to let himself falter and fall to his knees beside her, one hand coincidentally landing on her torso where he could squeeze, ever so gently. I’m here. He risked it. I’m with you.

  Damned useless.

  Hang in there, Jet.

  But Gausto raised an abrupt hand, and Eduard the amulet tech relaxed, and Jet’s agony faded from Nick’s body. She stilled—if only long enough to gather herself, ready to twist and launch and—

  Nick closed his hand—only an instant of pressure, and Jet checked herself.

  But Gausto had seen that fleeting defiance. He might not realize how deep it had been, or how close he’d come to fighting off alpha bitch revenge, but he’d sensed it. “Ah,” he said, his eyes heavy-lidded and his face holding something suspiciously like satisfaction, “you don’t understand, do you? Not quite yet.” He jerked his head at Nick, and the two men strode in to take his arms, jerking him to his feet.

  Let it happen, he told himself, keeping his gaze from meeting Jet’s—all too afraid of what he’d trigger within her. He kept himself unresisting in their rough hands; kept himself from turning loose on these two, whose evident skills would nonetheless never stand up to a Sentinel in full action.

  Not even one under the pounding assault of a largely nullified amulet with the remnants of his lover’s agony still washing through his body.

  “He should have been wolf.” Gausto moved up to Nick, the halting nature of his gait more evident than it had been. Nick hoped it hurt like hell. “He should have been completely subdued wolf. Not this walking puppet.”

  Jet’s voice came thick. She sat straighter with caution. Cement dust coated her shirt and dulled her hair. “He resisted,” she said simply. “This is how it worked. So I brought him.”

  Gausto released a thoughtful huff of air. “I suppose you did well at that. It really is a shame, then, that I can no longer trust you.”

  Jet glowered. “I did as you asked.”

  Gausto laughed—dark, and again with that gleam of possessiveness. “I had to insist, didn’t I? You defied me. All those hard-learned lessons…how quickly you forgot them.” He shook his head; silver jewelry flashed in the harsh overhead lights. “I should have realized, of course. Once on your own, you reverted to true nature.” He turned to his assistant. “That’s the challenge, you see. The dogs…they don’t quite have what it takes to go out and handle a complicated task. And my little wolf bitch…untamed, in spite of all the time we spent together.”

  Jet flashed him a dark look, making it clear enough what she thought of all that time. “Then let me go,” she said, her voice low and somehow full of threat. “Let all of us go. We are of no use to you.”

  Gausto’s smile invoked another snarl down deep inside Nick. Easier to hide it this time, with the amulet spilling its diluted poison into his system—harder to hide his alarm at that realization. They’d thought the thing more inert than this.

  Gausto didn’t notice…too tied up in his satisfaction. “I’m afraid you misunderstand, Jet, my dear. You are, in fact, plenty of use to me. You see, it occurred to me, somewhere about the time he—” and he pointed to a lump of fur and flesh that had no discernible identity at all “—res
isted so strongly that he did that to himself…I might be going at this the wrong way. Taking dumb animals and applying intricate workings…so many variables. But if I swap the transformation around…” He let his words trail off, raising his eyebrows with meaning, opening his arms in a there you are gesture.

  Jet scowled at him without understanding.

  But Nick understood. Nick understood plenty. Gausto thought he’d done it: the Atrum Core Holy Grail. He thought he’d developed a working that would reliably transform human to animal.

  “I see you don’t follow me.” Gausto’s focus on Jet went beyond paternal. “Possibly you consider me power-crippled—but when it comes to the workings I want to apply to myself, I’m far from out of practice—didn’t you realize?”

  “I did not think about it,” Jet said, her disdain coming through.

  “Ah, there it is again. Defiance. Trying to think on your own. It’s a pity you won’t have that chance.” He gave her a paternal smile, a satisfied expression. “The truth is—I don’t need you any longer, my dear Jet, because very soon, I can become you.”

  Jet recoiled, deeply offended. “You cannot,” she snarled at him. “Release me. Release him. Then you will see the difference!”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Lessons to relearn.” He waved a hand toward one of the empty kennels. “Put her there for now, and then prepare her room.”

  One of Nick’s attendants broke off and went to Jet, his faint hesitation telling its own story. She rose to her feet on her own—took a single, reluctant step toward her prison. Gausto added, “And strap this one to the table. Time for a chat.”

  Nick stiffened in spite of himself. Once he was on that table…

  He risked a quick glance at Jet. So many reasons to be here…free her people…free her of the amulet…find information on the stealth amulets. But they’d be lucky to leave at all, never mind with any of those things accomplished. Cut off from brevis—I should have known—faced with experiments gone far beyond what he’d imagined—I should have known—they’d played this deception about as far as it would go.