This was my idea, he shot at her, a quick burst with such hard energy that she stumbled, and Eduard, startled, slapped at his many amulet pockets, where something had no doubt reacted. Gausto’s eyes instantly narrowed, his attention shooting in on Nick. Don’t you forget it. My idea!
She stared back at him without comprehension—but when Nick moved, she responded with gleeful ferocity anyway. For when Nick moved—
He moved.
He jerked the amulet free of his neck, closing his hand around it—completing its destruction and flinging away the remaining crumbs of metal. He turned on the man beside him, a human snarl on his lips and all his wolf’s strength drawn from within—the man was fast, he was trained…he was good. But he couldn’t beat the reflexes of a wolf, a palm-strike to center chest—hard enough to break bone.
To stop a heart.
The man went down in a heap, and by then Jet had leaped for her escort, taking the change in midleap so he winced away from flashing blue energy an instant before black paws slammed into his chest, taking him down before powerful jaws. His collarbone cracked; his head slammed back into concrete.
And Jet, more than just wolf, instantly whirled from him, knowing as well as Nick that their only recourse lay in speed—and in stopping the man who could take them both down.
Not Gausto.
They turned on Eduard. Gausto staqgered backward as Eduard screamed high and thin and turned to flee—one futile step before Nick snagged his arm, slung him around, and went for not the man, but the coat—ripping it open, ripping it down off Eduard’s shoulders. Jet snagged material with her teeth on the way by, finishing the process—slinging the coat and its many amulets into the very far corner of the vast room and then whirling to set herself in guard, head low and tail stiff and golden eyes shining with determination.
Eduard dove a hand into a voluminous pants pocket, withdrawing it to spill coins and keys and paper clips across the floor, a clatter lost in the sudden cacophony from the kennels—wolves howling excitement, the dogs roused to barking, the distorted creatures wailing in what might have been hope. Nick snatched his wrist, closing his grip tight—breaking bone without remorse. He caught the man’s terrified gaze and held it, snarling with threat—with intent. Submit or die.
“My God,” Eduard gasped. “He is right! You cannot be allowed—”
Screw this. Nick slammed a precise strike to the man’s temple; Eduard dropped like a rock. And then, because time, time with Gausto crying alarm and backup surely on the way, he ran for the kennels. “Keep the coat,” he told Jet, fumbling with the first latch. “The control amulet is inside. My people will work it out.” Yes! The first door opened; Nick swung it wide, ignoring Gausto’s howl, his scrabbling at surgical supplies. A risk, but…no time…
The second door…the latch was gummed and damaged from the wolves’ attempts to chew it through. Nick fumbled with it, sparing a quick glance at Jet. Once they’re out, see if you can get them out. Keep them together. I’ll find you. We’ll keep them safe—
The gun’s muted hydraulic thwp didn’t come unexpected—neither did the hot slam into his shoulder. Nick gritted his teeth, sprang the latch—sprang aside. Wolves poured out—snarling, snapping—warning Nick off.
No warning needed. He staggered to the final kennel door, knowing he wouldn’t make it to free the dogs—already swearing to return and tear this place down, his shoulder burning hellfire. A glance showed him Gausto in flight, clawing for the top of one of the dog kennels. Go, he told Jet. Go with them. Get them outside. I’ll be right behind you. Sentinels…damned hard to kill.
One of the reasons the Core worked so hard at it.
Jet hesitated, the coat in her teeth, haunches coiled and ready and trembling. Get out of here! he shouted at her, loudly enough to break through the chaos and uncertainty. Before they use that amulet against you somehow—
It was enough. Snarling conflict, Jet sprinted for the door, gathering the attention of her milling pack as she nudged it open. First one, then another…slipping away as Gausto shouted profanities at them.
Just this final kennel door to go and the captive wolves were already whining after their pack members, staring with fierce intensity at the exit. Just this one more…
But the third latch resisted him. He couldn’t see just why. Blood splatted at his feet—his own. His movements, slow and thick…his mind, slow and thick. Go, he told Jet. Find them a spot. Go back to my place…use my phone…call for…call for…
Too thick to send, those thoughts. He staggered back against the stout wire of the kennel, thinking, finally, to slap at his shoulder. Dull surprise fell leaden in his chest at the thick barrel beneath his questing fingers. Trank…
Couldn’t even finish out the word in his thoughts. Just the vague realization that Gausto had made a weapon of it, doing damage and pumping the drugs at the same time. Blood crept down his arm in a steady stream; the chaos around him receded into a dull, slow gray fog…
But only until he felt a cold, questing nose…a gentle tongue on his cheek, followed by the rough nip of teeth. He didn’t recall his descent to the floor—only realized that his knees and elbows and shoulder hurt from the impact. “Coming,” he told Jet in a mumble, and then realized—Jet—and dragged his head up to find her there, crouching low and submissive but insistent, her teeth exposed with worry. “Oh, hell.”
A shout in the background; a clang of noise. “Go,” he said. “I mean it. They’ll come for…”
They’ll come for…
They’ll…
Jet growled, grabbed his wrist from the floor by his head—on the floor again—and tugged. Not gentle.
And then she spasmed, her teeth closing down hard, powerful jaws grinding. Change energies flashed high and hard as her agony twisted them both; the electric blue-white of it engulfed them, for that brief instant melding them into an echo of determined thought. I won’t let them catch you I won’t leave without you save yourself!
But it was too late for them both.
Chapter 16
Marlee walked past the espresso machine in the community room. With her hands shaking this much, she hardly needed an intense shot of caffeine.
But if Anthony Warner, executive assistant and professional sneak, thought he’d be able to reach Gausto today, he was sadly mistaken.
Hacking the phone system had been easy; Gausto had already put her through those paces. Hacking the exec’s computer had been even easier—she was here to fix the network; she certainly knew how to break it.
Not coincidentally, there was also an abnormal amount of cell phone interference currently in play around the building. As if an organization like the Sentinels didn’t have cell phone jammers, and as if Marlee didn’t know how to find them. Inconvenient for everyone else in the building, but then again…the important stuff was coming through Annorah and her crew.
And still, her hands shook. Because eventually, someone would figure it out. Eventually, the finger would point at Marlee.
Eventually, she’d have to explain.
She headed for the refrigerator with its bottles of stress tea.
“I’m telling you, it’s everywhere.” That was Lyn’s voice, frustrated. “But it’s too subtle. Except for those first, definite traces—oh. Marlee.” That last as she came around the corner, and although Lyn didn’t outwardly reflect her ocelot with anything other than a natural smudge of liner around large brown eyes, at that instant, everything about her shouted huntress—from her instant intensity to the tension in her strong, petite form. Marlee, one hand on the open refrigerator door and a bottle of tea in the other, fumbled the tea.
Joe Ryan came right behind Lyn, and if he waited for Marlee to set the tea on the counter, it was a brief respite. “What she means is, we were looking for you.”
We. All of them, coming into the room. Joe Ryan, who had misused his unimaginable control over the earth’s natural power flows. Dolan Treviño, whom no one ever trusted to do as told. Meghan, who c
ould create such powerful wards that the aeternus contego she’d placed on Gausto had crippled him for life. Quiet, strong Maks, chafing in his final days of convalescence here.
Exactly the kind of overconfident, overreaching Sentinels Marlee had been working against.
And yet suddenly, they seemed like the only chance Nick Carter had.
Maybe the only chance this entire brevis region had, with reports of ambush and wounded Sentinels still trickling in from the night.
They filled the room, those five Sentinels. Marlee slipped a hand into her pocket, fingering the thumbnail drive. It didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know, not since Carter had contacted Annorah. But it still represented everything gone wrong with Marlee.
Joe reached beside her, took the tea, popped the metal screw top, and handed back the hefty glass bottle. “You see, the Core’s been using stealth amulets and stealth workings. It’s a new thing…we’ve been trying to figure them out for a while. Almost meant the end of me up on the mountain, in fact—that’s how they tied my trace to power there. Made me look like the problem.”
Marlee’s eyes widened slightly in spite of herself. She hadn’t realized…hadn’t been privy to those reports. But now that he said it…
It quite suddenly made perfect sense.
He had horrifying, frightening power…but he hadn’t been dirty at all.
Ryan seemed to see it in her. He raised one eyebrow over a dusky hazel eye…a cougar’s eye. “The thing is, Lyn can detect them.” He glanced at Lyn, then, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth.
“The thing is,” Lyn said dryly, her nose faintly wrinkled, “you stink of them.”
Marlee startled. She clutched that cold tea bottle. “I—I what?” She had no amulets. She would never touch an amulet. She would never allow Core workings to be placed upon her. She put a hand flat to her chest, as though she would suddenly detect something. “What—?” she asked, looking down at herself. “What are they—?”
Lyn started to shake her head—but broke off the gesture, turning to the doorway. “Annorah,” she said, and an instant later, running footsteps on carpet reached Marlee’s ears and Annorah herself spun through the doorway, catching her balance on the frame. “Oh, God,” she said, too breathless for coherent speech. “You’re all here. I just—I didn’t know what to do—he said communications aren’t safe…trust no one—” and her eyes cut to Marlee.
“We’re taking control of the situation now,” Lyn interrupted. “No more super wards, no more skulking around following trace when we’re pretending we’re not. No more pretending all this sneezing is allergies, either.”
Marlee looked at her in surprise—remembering, quite suddenly, the spate of sneezing Lyn had gone through in the hall outside the IT room. Not dust after all. You stink of them. She would have backed away from herself if she could. Oh, God. What had Gausto done to her?
“Relax,” Meghan said, not unkindly. “We would have done something right away if it was harmful. And I warded you days ago against further influence.”
Meghan, hanging around her computer station. Just chatting. Right.
“You don’t understand,” Annorah said. “He called me. He’s in the thick of something and we got cut off and we need to find him.” She barely stopped for breath, forging ahead—wild-eyed, utterly devoted to this man and his cause and his brevis, and Marlee felt a stirring of unfamiliar shame.
“Carter takes pretty good care of himself,” Treviño noted, his dark tone utterly characteristic.
“No! That’s just it! He said he was doing what Joe did on the Peaks and seemed to think we could find him that way and I think he wants us to find him that way, but I was there and I still don’t know what that means or how we can—”
It was Maks who acted, striding across the room to take Annorah’s head between his hands and look into her eyes and hold her there. He didn’t say anything…he often didn’t say anything. A sudden stab of cold, sharp envy took Marlee’s breath away…made so much clear to her. How much she wanted what she couldn’t have, in so many ways. How much she’d let that color her decisions. After a moment, Annorah took a deep, sudden breath, closed her eyes, and let it out slowly. “Okay,” she said. “I can think now. I’m okay.” She clasped her hands around Maks’s wrists, squeezing them in gratitude, and he stepped away.
“No thinking necessary,” Ryan said dryly. “I know exactly what he’s talking about. He’s going to the source, damn him.”
“The source,” Marlee repeated, words faint from all the shocks of the past few minutes.
But Treviño knew. “Gausto.”
“Gausto,” Lyn agreed.
And if Maks said nothing, the look on his face was enough.
Some of Annorah’s panic returned. “But I didn’t have time to trace him. I only know he’s north of the city.”
Ryan didn’t hesitate. “It’s more than we had. You can get us close. Lyn can track Nick’s trace. And if they’ve disturbed the power flow, I can follow it.” He looked at Dolan. “We’re enough for a team, all of us.”
“Maks isn’t cleared,” Meghan said, sending a worried look at the big man—another one of those moments that made Marlee aware, all over again, that she stood on the outside looking in—but it was suddenly a wistful awareness.
Because she’d begun to wonder how much she’d put herself there to begin with.
Lyn’s peremptory response startled Marlee back to the here and now. “I went through Nick’s IN basket this morning. Maks is good.”
Even Maks gave her a look of surprise at that. Lyn amended, “He’s good enough. Call it an executive decision and I’ll take the blame when Medical blows up on us.”
And if Meghan looked worried and Lyn looked a little grim, Maks himself sported a sudden grin.
Annorah’s sudden frustration came through loud and clear. “I can’t believe he thinks someone is listening—reporting—to Gausto.”
Lyn glanced at Marlee, then dismissed her. Not Marlee, with her weak blood. Of course not. “There’s too damn much trace built up these past couple of days, even with the stealth. There’s no way I can pin it down…I’m drowning in the damn stuff.” Her voice reflected it, hoarse with irritation.
“Put the place on lockdown,” Dolan growled, looking at Marlee—obviously including her in the category of things to be locked down. “There’s someone else at work here. She can’t have done it all.”
There it was. The first finger, pointed. But no one greeted it with surprise. Dully, through the roaring in her ears and the faint gray layer over her vision, Marlee realized that they not only knew, but they’d known.
“Shut the place down,” Maks agreed, speaking up for the first time. “We can’t let word of this get out to Gausto.”
The prospect turned the room grim. Brevis had enough troubles right now…shutting it down would leave so many of the field Sentinels out in the cold; it would make it difficult to bring in the support they might need to care for their wounded.
It would keep Annorah and her people from communicating outside the building—from letting any of the others know what was going on. Annorah looked as though she might cry at the prospect—but she offered no protest.
Marlee closed her eyes. Only moments before, in this empty room, she’d realized it: eventually, she’d have to explain.
Eventually was now.
“We don’t have to go to lockdown,” she said, opening her eyes to discover she had their complete attention—sharp gazes, a small group of elite hunters all focused on her. She forced her voice steady, her thumb stroking over the small keychain drive in her pocket—drawing strength from the determination she’d heard in the voice of the woman who’d left her messages for Marlee to find. “The man you want is Anthony.”
Chapter 17
Jet grasped at the pieces of herself. Layered in icyslick pain, her thoughts scattered…wolf patterns shoved into human mind, wolf senses shoved into human body. Silent cries of protest whi
rled into confusion; an anguished cry of pain echoed in her mind.
Finally, a familiar sensation settled within her. Breathing. She left all else behind, focusing on that panting gasp of air. Slowly it settled—still strained, still rapid—and then it evolved, turning into a pattern of comfort. Sharp, deep breath in…slower release, with effort behind it. A low moan, barely audible.
It carried her through the confusion and the pain, and then it sustained her.
Until metal clanged beside her head, jerking her to a new awareness. Eyes, human. Hands, shoving herself away from the noise…human. Human alone.
“Shut the hell up!” an annoyed male voice snapped as Jet blinked the cavernous workroom into focus. Kennel doors, swinging ajar—and three wolves still trapped in the final section. Jet didn’t know their names; they’d needed no names in the wild. They’d simply known each other. The pale bitch who’d joined them the season before their capture, the tawny youngster from the litter after Jet’s, the muddy gray bitch whom Jet thought of as aunt but who was no relation at all. They milled in their small space, miserable and anxious.
On the floor, a dead wolf, too many tricked-up darts sticking out of his body.
Jet’s brother.
Several of Gausto’s men moved at the end of the room. They all showed signs of damage—bloodied skin, ragged clothing. The men they’d attacked were being tended—one rolling in pain, one pronounced dead. At the ominous exam table and adjacent rolling cart of instruments, the submissive lab assistant stood pale and shocky, being tended by the woman who had once seen to Jet’s own early needs—black hair drawn back in a severe ponytail, black suit tailored tight to her generous curves. A short woman with the same complexion as Gausto, the same penchant for silver jewelry; her fingers flashed with rings under the exam light, but her touch was swift and sure as she plucked an amulet from the table and placed it around the man’s neck, murmuring instructions to him.
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