Ascension: Book 2 of the Summer Omega Series

by JK Cooper

  “Because not every pack believes in the Advent. They are not all evil incarnate, Jack.”

  “That’s completely debatable.”

  “The Copelands are going to stand against the Alpha Prime and the Advent. They are recruiting other packs to help.”

  Jack was silent for another half a minute.

  Grant’s pulse thudded in his ears. “Are you hearing me?”

  “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Jack asked.

  “You had an operating base for the operation against Copeland’s pack. An old house about an hour outside of town, right?”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take your silence as confirmation,” Grant said. “You lost contact with your last few men, didn’t you?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because, Jack, I’ve been to the house. It wasn’t hard to track the survivors from the attack on Copeland Manor. I bugged the house to monitor them. I know they called in reinforcements. And I know you lost contact with them because I heard them die, but not before giving the Alpha Prime intel about reinforcements and the operation against Copeland.”

  The line fuzzed.

  “Jack?”

  “We are almost to the house.”

  Grant started. “The house? Jack, I’m telling you not to go there! Your men are dead! It’s got to be a trap.”

  “Not that house,” Jack said. “Copeland Manor. We changed plans when we lost contact with our men on the ground. We sent a small force to the operations HQ. The majority are going straight to the Copeland’s to finish the job.”

  A ball of ice churned in Grant’s stomach. “What?”

  “Listen Grant, this is all about to be over. I advise you to just stay out of it, and maybe we can talk afterwards about repentance. I’ll take your reaching out as a sign of good faith. Or better yet, show up and take your punishment on your feet and die beside those you betrayed us for. I wouldn’t begrudge you that, from one soldier to another.”

  “Jack, wait—”

  The line went dead. Grant lowered the sat phone from his ear. Arrogant bastard.

  Jerod Ackerman, head of security for the Copeland pack, heard a soft whistling above him as he stood atop the manor on one of the hidden tactical perches. He looked up and saw the crackle of a soft blue pulse in the night air, illuminating the inside of a low cloud directly above him.

  “What the . . .”

  Lightning? The sky was overcast, and static lightning happened in the desert as clouds passed through each other, but that hadn’t been what he saw. He knew it.

  And the whistling? Weird.

  He pressed his thumb to the selector switch on his SCAR 17S rifle, ready to flip off the safety, but held fast. He keyed the button on his ear piece that was connected to a walkie-talkie on his vest. The team used a secure frequency for all comm units.

  “All positions, report.”

  No response. He keyed the button again, and this time noticed the lack of static or squelch. He switched frequencies, then entire bands. Nothing. With a sinking feeling, he pulled the comm unit from its case that was velcroed to his tac-vest and saw that the green indicator light was dark. He checked the power switch. It was on.

  Ackerman swore. Did I forget to charge it? No, he had just used it to check in with the south perimeter teams less than thirty minutes ago.

  Pulling his cell phone from a pocket showed a similar phenomenon. Dead. He held the power button down for several seconds. Usually he would see an icon that told him the phone needed to be charged, so when that did not illuminated the blank screen, he knew what the blue pulse in the cloud had been.

  Low yield tactical EMP.

  The house had not lost power. Lights still shone all around the grounds. Clever, Ackerman thought, grudgingly impressed. A stronger electromagnetic pulse would have crashed the entire electrical systems throughout the property, giving a clear warning; but a low yield tactical EMP would only affect small electronics. Like comm units and cell phones.

  In the distance, he thought he spied three stars low on the horizon piercing the overcast sky. Orion’s belt? He squinted, bringing out his wolf eyes. Not stars. The lights were artificial. And moving, heading straight for the manor. Right then the dull thudding of rotary blades reached his sensitive ears.

  Helicopters. The Hunter reinforcements had finally arrived.

  Ackerman flipped the selector switch on his SCAR rifle to full-auto. He partial shifted, just enough to be able to speak through the pack link. The EMP couldn’t disrupt that.

  Mr. Copeland, Hunters inbound. Three birds.

  How long? Elias asked.

  Minutes.

  Shelby grimaced as Jonas Abbot put Kale into a submission hold after dodging a punch, using Kale’s momentum to throw him off-balance. Jonas kicked out a leg sweep, but Kale jumped just enough to make the legs sweep miss. Kale grunted, trying to free himself, but his grunt came out as a growl. He was shifting.

  “No shifting!” Elias yelled. “Human versus human tonight.”

  Shelby felt Kale’s frustration. Kale definitely had the build, but Jonas was nearly a full head taller than him. Kale grunted again as his shoulders and arms bulged with the effort, but Jonas tried the leg sweep again and this time succeeded. They hit the mat hard and Shelby flinched. Jonas pulled hard on Kale’s pinned arm, and Shelby swore it would break. She brought her hands over her mouth, then sent out reassurance to Kale. Elias snapped his head toward her, made eye contact, and shook his head.

  Oops.

  Normally her dad would be overseeing this part of the training, but he had taken some time to tend to a “personal errand,” whatever that meant.

  Kale, in a surprising move, rolled backwards on the mat, into the direction Jonas pulled on his arm. The move worked, and Kale stood up free, but Shelby felt a jolt of pain through their bond.

  He dislocated his elbow.

  Kale’s upper lip curled into a sneer and charged Jonas, colliding with him at full force and reaching below to catch Jonas’s off balance retreating legs. The slap as Jonas’s back hit the mat echoed throughout the gym, followed by “oohs” of those watching. Jonas tapped Kale before he could land the punch he was winding up for.

  “Good show, Kale,” Jonas said, obviously trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him.

  Kale stood and helped Jonas to his feet. Gennesaret came to his side and popped his elbow back in place. It hurt, but he didn’t even wince.

  “Glad you weren’t a wuss about it,” she said, then winked at her son.

  Kale smiled, but then his thoughts turned to Sadie, as did Shelby’s. It hadn’t quite been forty-eight hours since Sadie left the pack, and the wound was still so raw. Shelby hadn’t realized how accustomed she’d become to feeling her best friend’s presence as the Omega.

  And Rachel Bingham. Shelby was sure she had left. Her dad as well. What would Sadie’s parent’s, Paul and Sophie, do? How could they choose between their Alpha and their daughter? They were here, training against the Kaplan twins—who used to be triplets before the Hunters attacked. She didn’t know how these packmates of hers coped with such loss, but she took all the sorrow, doubt, and pain she could from them.

  “Next!” Elias said. “Dakota and Anson.”

  Oh, Shelby wanted to see this!

  “On the far mat, Shelby and Chenoa,” Elias said.

  Shelby’s eyes flicked toward the bitter woman. She did not react at all. Nope. No way. Not gonna happen.

  “Um, Elias . . . she kinda wants to kill me. For real, I think,” Shelby said.

  Elias shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “You don’t get to choose when it matters, Shelby.”

  He is right, Eira said.

  How about backing me up instead of agreeing with him?

  He is our Alpha.

  She sighed, put her hair up, and shuffled over to the far mat. Chenoa was already there, and took up a fighting stance.
Shelby glanced at Kale, who had a big stupid grin on his face.

  I hate you, she said through their bond.

  You love me, he answered.

  As she charged, Chenoa cried something that sounded so shrill and wicked that Shelby retreated while bringing her arms up awkwardly to defend herself. Chenoa tackled her. Like, the football kind of tackle. And then, she started pummeling Shelby’s face as if she had grown up watching UFC in her little teepee as a kid. Her bony knuckles struck again and again, and Shelby tasted salty iron in her mouth. Holy Hell it hurt!

  She felt Kale coming to her, to save her, but also heard Elias’s warning, commanding him to not interfere. He spoke through the pack link and aloud.

  Shelby bucked her hips, throwing Chenoa forward close to her face. At that exact moment, Shelby rotated sharply with her hips to the left, swinging up her left elbow. It met Chenoa’s temple and the Native American woman fell off her but leaped back to her feet.

  Shelby rose, wiped the blood from her mouth, and stared hard at her opponent. This was real. Fine. You want to see what having a Delta Force Operator for a dad taught me?

  Chenoa charged again but Shelby was ready this time. She stepped to the side, going down on a bent knee, and let Chenoa pass her just an inch before snapping back upright and catching Chenoa at the base of her throat with a strike using the webbing between her index finger and thumb. Chenoa grabbed her throat, eyes wide. Shelby spun, executing a leg sweep but Chenoa reinforced her stance, then swung her left elbow down right into Shelby’s nose. She recoiled from the brutal strike and fell backwards.

  So glad we did this after Homecoming, she thought. Pictures from the dance would have been . . . colorful.

  Shelby rolled with the momentum despite the sharp pain radiating across the bridge of her nose and came to her feet. Already she felt Eira’s touch healing her and knew Chenoa’s Immortal Wolf was likely doing the same.

  Just then, Sean Gittrick walked in the training gym. And then the banshee herself—looking extremely uncomfortable—followed by a man Shelby assumed to be their dad Mayor Gittrick. Chelsea freaking Gittrick? Here? Then Trish and Amanda. What. In. The—

  Chenoa struck during Shelby’s distraction, but Eira had warned her a split second before the strike landed. Shelby caught the punch and held her first, rotating to face Chenoa. She felt her eyes begin to sting as she palm heeled Chenoa in the solar plexus. She might have let Eira’s strength help, just a bit. Chenoa’s attempted cheap shot deserved that. She slid backwards on the mat several feet from Shelby’s strike but did not lose her balance.

  Others noticed their visitors and the training stopped. The gym became unnaturally silent.

  “Mayor Gittrick,” Elias said. “Thank you for coming.”

  Kale stepped to his father’s side in quick strides. “You invited them here?”

  Elias nodded. “The Gittrick coven is good people.”

  Shelby’s mouth dropped open. “The Gittrick coven?”

  “After your little episode the other night,” Gennesaret explained to Kale, “your father decided to invite them here.”

  “When I told you about them, Dad, I wasn’t exactly expecting this,” Kale said.

  “Mayor Gittrick called me right after you and I talked,” Elias said. “We figured it was time to get this out in the open with everything that’s happening.”

  “What, so we just invite the witches over?” Shelby asked.

  “Wiccans, dear.” Genn corrected her. “They really are quite sweet and helpful.”

  Shelby couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked directly at Chelsea, not caring if her face was puffy still from Chenoa’s beating. “Has no one here met her in person?” Then, she felt somewhat foolish. Have I become the mean girl? She did have the all-star football player as a boyfriend now.

  “I have,” Trish answered with a sad smile. “She’s jealous, manipulative, and quick to anger, but she means well . . . at least thirty percent of the time.”

  Chelsea huffed, shifted her weight to one foot, and looked away, lips pursed.

  Sean stepped in, chuckling. “That may be an overestimation, but some of us manage closer to eighty or even ninety percent on good days.”

  It helped that he was actually somewhat cute, Shelby decided.

  Chelsea slumped her shoulders as her dad nudged her. She glared at Shelby, pouting. “I’m sorry I tried to, like, suffocate you or whatever.” She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I would have only let you pass out for a minute. I didn’t want to kill anyone. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “What my sister means is . . .” Sean gave her a hand motion, prodding her on.

  Chelsea huffed again. “I won’t do it again. I was just jealous. I don’t think I want a werewolf as a boyfriend anyway. Too hairy”

  Sean groaned and rolled his eyes.

  Kale laughed, then stopped. “Wait, what?”

  The manor rumbled for a moment and the lights flickered, going dim for a moment before coming back on.

  Kale glanced at the ceiling. “That’s . . . odd. Mini-earthquake?”

  Then, Elias’s face went pale.

  Something is wrong, Eira said. Sadie.

  “Sadie?” Shelby said out loud.

  “She’s back,” Elias said.

  Back? Shelby’s heart beat faster with hope.

  “But—” Elias squinted, then his voice turned hot. “She’s not alone.”

  Shelby sensed something else Elias wasn’t saying. She peered into him and saw a snow-covered land, a forest. She felt pain and loss, smelled blood and tasted the acrid flavor of gunpowder. Elias made to leave the training gym.

  “Wait,” Shelby said. “There’s something else.” She paused, feeling. Listening. “Ackerman. He’s anxious.”

  Elias’s eyes became distant. Shelby knew he was getting communication through the pack link, but just to him. His eyes darkened. He turned his gaze toward Genn, Kale, and Shelby.

  “Follow me. Quickly.”

  Bubba twirled in the kitchen as he rolled a chicken leg in his mother's new secret dry rub. He couldn’t wait to try it. Already, his meager marketing efforts were starting to pay off. Getting up at 4 a.m. to stuff fliers in doors around Lansborough and neighboring towns took a toll on him physically, but he had to start somewhere.

  He’d received his fourth order for delivery that morning. He was supposed to be heading to the Copelands soon for training, but he knew Elias would forgive him for being late if his business was the reason. He only did delivery at the moment, lacking an actual location, but things were looking good for Super Fly Chicken’s first week of business. Elias will be proud.

  “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons blared from a Bluetooth Bose unit on the counter next to the old toaster oven. He had tried to give Dr. Dre's Beats line a shot at his business, but nothing seemed to get the music into his bones like Bose. Even the white boy music he was listening to right now moved him, something he attributed to the quality of the sound rather than the song itself. Still, it was catchy.

  “Radioactive! Radioactive! I raise my flags, don my clothes. It’s a revolution I suppose . . .”

  That was his favorite part of the song, the chorus going into the second verse like it did. He wondered if Shelby’s overly-refined snobbish music tastes would allow her to like Imagine Dragons. He shook his head. Probably not. “Poor Kale.”

  Not poor Kale. Poor Bubba. His best friend had the girl he wanted. Yeah, he went to Homecoming with Trish Hollis—and he wouldn’t lie, that girl had game—but . . . saving a girl’s life always works in the movies. Why couldn’t Sadie just give him a chance?

  He mumbled along to the song. “This is it, the apocalypse. Whoa . . .”

  He stacked the chicken leg at the top of the pyramid of the other chicken legs that sat ready for the oven. The garlic lime dry rub made him salivate. He could almost taste it. The oven dinged, and he opened the door. A wave of 375° heat swept past his face.

  “Mhmm ready for that
slow cook, boy.”

  He spread out the chicken legs on a stoneware cookie sheet and slid them into the oven. Just as he closed the door, his cell phone rang. He hurriedly wiped his hands on his apron, still moving his rump in rhythm to the song, then dug his phone out of his pocket. His head cocked to the side in confusion when he saw the caller ID.

  “Why is he calling me?” Bubba shrugged and pressed the green button to accept the call. “Super Fly Chicken, this is DeShawn. Our mission is to cure werewolf hunger across the world, thus preventing bites and the need for Hunters. We even supply raw, uncooked chicken, so them bones don't hurt sensitive Lycan tummies. Now, may I take your order?”

  “Bubba!” Grant barked. “Why isn't anyone answering their phone?”

  “So, I ain't part of anyone now? I see how it is, Mr. B. That’s cruel.”

  “Where are you?”

  Bubba wasn't sure he wanted to answer. Grant sounded like he was in psycho-soldier-mode, and from what Kale had told him, Shelby's dad had a thing about staking people to the ground with knives.

  “Ya know, I'm in the kitchen, just cooking up destiny.”

  “At the Copeland's?”

  “Nah homie, at momma’s. The cooking’s better here. Soul comes from home, see?”

  “Is anyone else with you?”

  This was starting to sound kind of creepy. “Momma done went out to get her hair done, feel? You calling to order some chicken or not?”

  “You're not hearing me. No one else is answering their phones. Not a single one. I can't get a hold of Shelby, Kale, Mr. Copeland, or any of the security team.”

  “Oh, so I’m the last one you call? Mhm, I see how it is.”

  “I am going to break your face if you don’t quit screwing around.”

  Bubba stopped shaking his rump. “So, what are you saying? That's bad, right?”

  “Yeah, it's bad.”

  “Bad, like, you think it's bad? Or you know it's bad? I was watching this Spider-Man episode one time, and Peter Parker's spidey sense was goin’ all crazy-like, but it was just because a fine-looking girl just walked past and tripped his hormone wires, not his spidey sense. Maybe it's like that.”