Sentinels: Wolf Hunt

by Doranna Durgin

  When the door to Gausto’s cage clanged open, they stood together as wolf.

  But when Jet would have bounded forward to meet him with death on her fangs, weakness shot through to her flank and the dead amulet there. Claws scrabbled on concrete, finding no purchase; she flung Nick a quick, frantic look—pale green eyes, hoarfrost wolf, blood scenting his shoulder, strain scenting his body. Tortured and used and used up and back again… For that instant, he met her gaze clearly. With Gausto leaping heavily out of the cage, he looked long enough to let her know it was more than just a passing glance. A farewell.

  Jet flung a howl into the air. No musical thing, this, but short and full of helpless anguish—and then it was lost in the clash of fur and teeth and flesh, an impact so solid she felt the blow of it in her bones. No dancing around. No playing games. Just the intent to kill, to do it quick and fierce. Blood spattered the floor, a pattern instantly smeared by the battle—wolves rearing up against one another, grappling for hold through ruff and skin. Gausto’s deep, unnatural bellow of pain marked a sensitive ear slashed and streaming blood; Nick’s grunt came as massive jaws closed over his already wounded shoulder.

  They broke apart, just for an instant—Gausto bleeding more profusely because ears always did, yet whole on his feet; Nick favoring a foreleg but still full of power and grace, head low and ears flat and muzzle wrinkled with a terrible snarl. He gave Gausto only that brief moment and then flung himself forward, his swift economy of movement crisp and clean against Gausto’s clumsy shuffle-step, one that left him unprepared when Nick feinted at his ripped ear, waited for Gausto to jerk his head aside, and then dove for a foreleg, jaws closing down hard. When he danced away, the flesh of the leg hung shredded and dripping—and Gausto’s black eyes had gained a film of red.

  Gausto dove for him. Jaws that seemed more bear than wolf closed over Nick’s spine behind his shoulders, and brute strength took Nick off his feet…lifted and shook.

  Shook him hard and held him limp, hind legs barely trailing the floor.

  The door came down.

  It crashed into the shelves, torn from its hinges and slammed down into a ramp, smashing through the first set of bookshelves and resting on the second. Jet froze in shock, for there crouched upon it—for only the briefest instant—a massive beast in golden orange and black and white, stripes and pale underbelly and tremendous head with an exposed set of fangs that could have engulfed half of Jet on the spot.

  Another of Gausto’s creatures. The Sentinels, if they’d been out there, had already lost. And maybe Nick was already dead and maybe he wasn’t—but Jet wasn’t going to let this creature have him.

  I’m standing next to a Siberian tiger and his name is Maks.

  This was what she’d wanted, right?

  Marlee squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Right. Change, she’d said. Do it! she’d said.

  And only now did she realize exactly how much they’d been holding back. Every moment, every interaction…restraining themselves.

  It both terrified her and reassured her.

  Around the corner, the noise of conflict faded. Ryan had returned at a run moments earlier, snarling and chuffing disgruntlement and taking his claws to the wall while Maks worked on the door. Once he stopped, snarlcoughing in surprise…staggering slightly and sitting down on his haunches with a resounding thump.

  Dignified, not so much.

  But she knew what it meant. Power.

  And then Maks broke through the door. Slammed it down off its hinges with one final blow, a move he probably could have made some moments earlier had he not so obviously been cautious about the unknown behind the door.

  Restraining himself.

  But now, with a single powerful leap, he cleared the teetering, fallen door and landed amidst the wreckage of shelving beyond.

  Marlee couldn’t stop herself. There hadn’t been gunfire. She had a vest on.

  And she was surrounded by Sentinels.

  She stepped out onto the slanting door and looked.

  And then she gasped, and the door tipped beneath her, and she snatched for the nearest solid object. Her hand sank into warm, clean fur and she nearly snatched it away again but self-preservation made her stick it out.

  The tiger never so much as looked back at her.

  The full impact of what lay before them hit. Marlee forgot to be intimidated by the tiger—she pushed up by his side, clutching that fur, gaping at the carefully excavated, carefully hidden chamber of horrors—high ceiling and block walls and concrete floor, every inch of it splashed with inhumanity. Stains and gore and stench, cages and instruments and barbaric gear. Kenneled wolves frantic at the end of the room, empty kennels agape beside them; sturdier cages along the wall filled with piles of twitching flesh—fur and skin and limbs and features all jumbled around, none of it pieced in any sensible wa.

  Two metal exam tables, one of them wet and bloody, sat off to one side—and the rest of the space was pure roaring ferocity. Two wolves, battling it out—one of them a familiar sheen of silver over black, the other twice its size, twice the size of any wolf. Wolf with an ugly stout face and tremendous tusklike fangs—and if a front leg hung shredded, it still had the smaller wolf—familiar somehow, sleek and silvered—flailing in its jaws. Right off-the-floor, gripped just behind its shoulders and surely something was about to give—

  And between them, standing braced with one back leg trailing awkwardly and her head low, stood a black wolf bitch. Smaller, unsteady…terror in her eyes. But no simple wolf, not to stand her ground this way—protecting one of the other two in spite of her fear.

  Joe Ryan charged through the doorway behind her, still looking a little dazed—and coming up just as short. “Oh, hell,” he said, and Maks chuffed a tiger’s response.

  And behind him, Treviño, always blunt. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Is that—” Marlee whispered, unable to quite voice it.

  “Carter,” Treviño said with some disgust. “And who the fuck knows what.” The merest of pauses. “Damn, it’s Gausto. It’s got to be.”

  “But the bitch…”

  Unaccountably, Marlee thought of a sweet husky voice on a dozen phone messages, the accent indefinable but definite, the phrasing not quite right…

  “She’s with Nick,” she said suddenly. “She’s protecting him. From you.”

  “Poor little bitch.” Ryan’s voice held compassion as he stepped away just enough so Marlee knew what was coming. Corruscating flash of blue-white power washed over her eyelids and then he was cougar, ignoring Lyn’s annoyed ocelot bouncing up through the doorway as he leaped the jumbled shelves and glass and scattered books before them and came down before the black wolf, she who crouched even lower with her fear and snarled even more fiercely—would even have set herself to the attack if Ryan hadn’t quite simply thrown himself on her, pinning her—his crushing jaws closing on her head with gentle but inexorable restraint.

  Maks sprang over the shelving debris and out onto the floor, nothing more than a few of those profound steps and he was close enough to leap at the massive wolf.

  But he didn’t.

  For Nick still hung from its jaws. And the wolf held him just so—head cocked a little, angled for the far wall…angled at the barely discernable, partially ajar door in the far wall.

  Marlee understood it just as quickly as the Sentinels. They would let the wolf—Gausto—leave, carrying away his new amulet, his new working…or he would finish rending Nick Carter in half.

  Beside her, Lyn’s plumed tail twitched. Marlee couldn’t stop herself from voicing the question so far unspoken. “Is he even still alive?”

  From beneath Ryan’s careful hold, the black wolf wailed, an eerily human cry of grief.

  Tremendous pressure clamped down around Nick’s ribs; one tusk pierced through skin to impale him, leaving the steady drip-drip-drip of blood to trickle to the concrete below. His vision filled with gray and red veils over greasy dark fur. A snarl still clung to
his muzzle, teeth exposed…intent lingering.

  He’d stopped fighting almost immediately; gone limp. He’d be dead, if Gausto had had any idea what he was doing. Dead with an instant and precise snap and flip. But Gausto hadn’t known that trick, and now something had caught his attention; he gestured with his head, sending Nick swaying. Enough movement so Nick got a glimpse of round, small eyes, a glance of the creature’s saliva-roped flews, an excellent view of the foreleg he’d taken apart.

  Not yet. He forced himself to hang, limp and dangling. Wait for the moment.

  In the background, doubt surfaced by way of human voice—he couldn’t make out the words, couldn’t recognize the voice. Jet sounded a sorrowful wail; the kenneled wolves picked up on it. Gausto looked their way without thinking—a quick gesture of his head.

  Not quick enough.

  Nick went for it. Twisted within that death grip, feeling that single tusk drive deeper—a sickeningly wrong sensation that gagged him but didn’t slow him, driving in quick and neat, teeth flashing—

  Gausto might have him in death grip…but Nick had Gausto by the throat. Jaws around the thin fur over his windpipe, Gausto’s breath rattling between Nick’s teeth, his warm blood pulsing through the jugular just beneath Nick’s canine.

  Gausto froze.

  For a long moment, sounds and sensations enfolded Nick, muffling him from the rest of the room. Gausto’s rattle, Nick’s own gurgling breath around Gausto’s greasy fur—a harsh sound, filling his ears…a dull roar came with it, filling his head. One flex of Nick’s jaws, and Gausto was dead. No longer a bane to the Sentinels, no longer a bane to the earth or its creatures. He knew it; Gausto knew it. The moment hung on the quiver of his jaws.

  It’s not why you’re here.

  Not to kill, but to stop.

  He eased the pressure of his jaws. Ever so slightly—a clear message. An opportunity to surrender. He didn’t think Gausto would play it straight…he thought he’d be forced to end things. But this came first.

  The moment hung…

  Gausto hesitated…

  You can close your jaws, Nick thought at him. But I won’t die before I tear your throat out.

  It must have come through unspoken. In his body, in his intent.

  Gausto eased his grip. Lowered his head slightly.

  And then Lyn Maine’s voice rang clear. “Release him,” she said, “and we will not kill you.” A pause, and she added dryly, “By that, I mean put him down gently.”

  Lyn. When had she gotten here?

  She wouldn’t be alone. Relief washed over him. Even if he failed, here and now, Gausto would still be stopped.

  Jet would be helped.

  Her wail echoed in his ears; her fear echoed against his body. Jet! These are my people.

  She silenced; her fear faded. Worry flooded in to replace it…a thready whine.

  Not much he could say to that.

  The mountain lion relaxed as Jet stopped resisting him. He released her and stepped back—albeit not without a thoughtful lick across the top of her head and again along the side of her face, spreading the saliva from their encounter into spiky black fur. Absent in nature, that gesture, with every bit of his focused attention on the giant hybrid that Gausto had made of himself.

  A big part of Jet wanted to stay right where she’d been. Cowering. Anguished. Hiding in a mountain lion’s jaws.

  But she had other things to do.

  “Look!” Marlee’s voice went high. “Looklooklook! Oh my God!”

  For hadn’t she just been right. Hadn’t that little black wolf been a shapeshifter after all.

  Just not one of theirs.

  Even the Gausto-creature hesitated to watch as flickering sharp lightning strobed the room—and she could have sworn those small dark eyes of his held something akin to wistfulness, even as his jaws still held Carter’s wolf. Ryan made a surprised sound—undignified, that—and flung himself back from the bitch, evading those energies while Maks growled deeply…a vibration that reminded Marlee that she had her hand on a tiger.

  She snatched it away.

  By then, the wolf had become something else altogether—uncurling long limbs to raise her head and look directly at Gausto.

  The woman behind that voice.

  She wore what had to have been Carter’s shirt, oversized and bloodied, and was obviously surprised to find it around her. Its coverage was incomplete enough to make it clear she wore nothing else; it fully revealed strong, lean legs and draped over an athletic form. Her one leg, like the wolf’s, didn’t seem to work quite right. Her hair, black and short, was spiky wet; her features reflected every bit of the wolf—wild and exotic, with sharp cheek bones and sweeping untamed eyes.

  Her expression, as she found Nick, plain and simply broke Marlee’s heart.

  Who she was, Marlee didn’t know. What she was, Marlee didn’t know.

  That she loved Nick Carter was more than obvious.

  That she thought him dead…

  Marlee lurched under the possibility, suddenly realizing all she’d taken for granted.

  That the Sentinels could survive anything. That they risked nothing.

  And yet there hung the man who had been strong enough to lead them all—and if his teeth were still buried in Gausto’s throat, it seemed but a token…or a final effort. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him.

  “Gausto,” the woman said—that same voice, a sweet song in minor key hidden beneath her words. “If you need one of us, it should be me. You know that.”

  Lyn moved past Marlee. “He takes no one.”

  The woman cast back a look, eyes resting on Lyn with no acknowledgment of her authority. “If it will save Nick, he takes me. Do you not know he is like that? He needs to win, even to lose.”

  “We don’t even know if Nick is still alive,” Lyn said, and her voice went rough with it.

  “I know.” The woman raised her voice slightly, looking directly at Gausto. “So you can take your revenge and die, or you can take me. I will go with you. I will fight these people with you or I will die before you. Whatever you want.”

  “That’s not the way it works.” Lyn’s voice grew hardedged and even brittle. “You can’t bargain with this man. You can’t trust him.”

  “He will bargain with me,” the woman said, making herself a little straighter, looking a little taller—even as she sat on the concrete in her oversized button-front shirt, legs curled beneath her and wounded.

  And it seemed that Gausto might just do that. His piggish little eyes grew hard and calculating and full of a new kind of triumph. He used his shredded foreleg to point to the floor—imperious. Gesturing.

  “You can’t—” Lyn started.

  The woman made a low noise, a dismay. Lyn started again, “There’s no way—”

  And now the woman turned on her, her expression turned to desperation, her voice low…her words touched not so much by accent as formation. “Nick has passed out,” she said, striking out with those words. “Do you understand? This is now a gift.”

  Lyn muttered a curse. She took a step forward anyway. “You can’t,” she said, but her voice had no power behind it, no conviction. “To let him get away…even if we accept your sacrifice—and I’m not saying we do, whoever you are—then Gausto is still loose in the world and he’s still got stealth amulets and now he has this…” She shook her head. “You can’t.”

  “One of the hidden amulet blanks is there,” the woman said. “By the table. Take it. And Gausto has an assistant named Eduard—he is the man you need to find. He is the one who makes the new amulet workings now.”

  Gausto growled, a ratchet of rough sound. She turned on him. “They would learn it from Nick,” she told him, unflinching. “This is to convince them to do it my way!”

  After a moment, he pawed the ground again.

  “You can’t,” Lyn said, but it was little more than a whisper, and Maks shifted just enough to block her way.

  Maks, it was clear, had made u
p his mind. Ryan gave Lyn a chur of reassurance and an unhappy twitch of his tail—but made no hint of attempt to stop the woman as she climbed awkwardly to her feet, bare buttock flashing below the shirt. She stood an unsteady moment, her leg dragging, and she made her careful, pained way across the room.

  While the Sentinels watched.

  Marlee couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Aren’t you going to—”

  “Be quiet, Marlee,” Lyn snapped at her, but the command came wreathed in misery.

  “But—” It squeaked out, cut short at the glare…finished in her thoughts. Don’t you think he’s already dead?

  The woman didn’t. The woman stood before Gausto, unflinching. More small black bear than large wolf…a modern-day Grendel. He eyed the woman with hungry satisfaction, and Carter’s jaws slid away from his throat without resistance as Gausto dropped him by the woman’s feet.

  Ryan shifted back to the human, so swiftly and smoothly that Marlee barely saw him do it. Lyn’s voice, low and just as swift, stopped him. “No,” she said, reluctance coloring her words. “Not…yet.”

  And Gausto tapped the ground with his paw—one last, imperious command. Mine, said his eyes. You are mine.

  Impact jarred Nick back to his senses. Impact with the cold hard floor, impact with Jet’s fear. His mind whispered with lingering sensation—fangs withdrawn from his flesh, pain so deep it registered as a new experience altogether. His thoughts came a muddled confusion. Jet touched his head, his neck—tender hands, careful hands…fiercely protective hands.

  Just like that, he pushed through the muddle to clarity. She gave herself to Gausto.

  And then there was Jet, giving to him again. Pushing herself at him. Blunt, unskilled…like swallowing a giant gulp of water too big for his throat—eliciting a sound of surprise from Ryan, who must have felt it all too clearly, all too strangely.

  But it was enough. Enough for Nick to lift his head, to glare at Gausto. To see those teeth reaching out for the chains of Jet’s collar. Fury blasted him right through the change to human; he briefly surged up, knocking Gausto’s malproportioned muzzle aside. Gausto came back at him with a snarl.