Shallow Grave: Grant Wolves Book 2

by Lori Drake

  “Joey!”

  “Brandon!”

  Chris and Ben cried out in unison and rushed the grave. When neither Joey nor Brandon popped back up again, Chris tossed the salt and lighter fluid down again and climbed into the grave. The ground beneath his feet was unstable. His ankle turned and pain flared, but he pushed through it, fanning at the fog with his hands. “Joey! Brandon! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Joey’s voice penetrated the fog before her head popped above it. She hauled Brandon out of the grave with her arms curled under his. Chris squatted, felt around for Brandon’s feet, and helped Joey lift him out and set him on the ground.

  The shovel protruded from Brandon’s chest, with several inches of the handle sticking out the other side. Brandon was still conscious, though his eyes were glazed with pain as he looked up at them from where he lay on his side, unable to lie flat on account of the shovel. Ben skidded to a halt beside him and dropped to his knees.

  “What do we do?” Chris asked. “Leave it in or take it out?”

  Ben’s mouth opened and closed a few times, as if words weren’t getting out despite his best efforts. Joey put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Ben. He needs you now.”

  Brandon coughed, spitting up blood. He caught Ben’s sleeve in one hand, clenching it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Do it.” Each word was a struggle.

  Ben reached for the shovel with shaking hands.

  “I’ve got it,” Chris said.

  Ben sank back on his heels with a sigh and took Brandon’s hand in his. His other hand went to his lover’s head, stroking his hair. He gave Chris a nod, and Chris yanked on the shovel, removing it in a single, fluid motion. Brandon’s back arched and he cried out in agony, then sagged on the ground once more. Ben just sat there, stroking Brandon’s hair with gentle fingers.

  “Shouldn’t we put some pressure on it or something?” Joey asked.

  Ben shook his head, but didn’t lift his eyes from Brandon. Tears leaked from the corners of Brandon’s eyes and he coughed again, then reached up and touched Ben’s cheek. Ben reached for his hand, but it fell away before he could complete the motion. Brandon went still, his eyes now empty and staring up at nothing.

  Chris looked at Joey, who covered her mouth with her hand, a look of dawning horror on her face. Brandon was gone. Chris thrust the shovel away from him, tossing it aside as if it had become a snake. What had been the instrument of their deliverance had become a weapon, and as he lifted his eyes in search of Jessica and Colt, he found that the other shovel had been turned on them as well. Colt lay motionless on the ground, half shrouded in fog, and now Jessica was ducking and dodging the shovel’s wild swings.

  “We have to finish this,” Chris said, but when he looked for Joey again, she’d moved to kneel behind Ben, arms around him. Ben sat there, head bowed and shoulders shaking for a long moment before he threw back his head and howled.

  It was a terrible sound, neither human nor quite wolf. Grief and rage made manifest, it echoed through the trees around them.

  “Ben, Ben, I know it hurts, but you have to pull yourself together,” Chris said.

  Ben leveled his head, eyes flashing. “You have no idea. No idea!” He threw off Joey’s arms and pushed to his feet, then leaned down to grab the discarded murder weapon. “You want a fight, Roger? You want someone to hurt, someone to kill? Come at me, bro!”

  The shovel attacking Jessica stopped mid-swing and hovered there, then flew off toward Ben. Ben curled his fingers around the haft of the shovel, holding it like a quarterstaff. He blocked the shovel’s blow and counterattacked, swinging again and again. Wood clacked against wood, rapid-fire thunks that echoed in the night.

  Chris realized he was staring when Joey snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Grab the shit and let’s do this,” she said.

  Grabbing the salt and lighter fluid, Chris swung his legs over the edge of the grave and dropped down. It wasn’t near six feet deep. About four, he’d estimate, since Joey’s head still poked out at the surface. Then again, the hole itself probably went down another foot or so beneath the body buried there. Whatever else Chris might think of Eric, he hadn’t planted Roger in a shallow grave.

  Joey crouched in the mist, disappearing from sight. His heart stutter-stepped. The sound of her hands running along the tarp told him what she was doing, since he couldn’t see it through the thick fog.

  “This is impossible,” he said. “We can’t see what we’re doing.”

  “All we need to do is peel the tarp back,” she said. “Then just dump the stuff in and light it.”

  “Shit, that reminds me…” He looked over at Ben, who was still engaged in a surreal shovel duel with the dead man. “Ben! Matches!”

  Ben glanced at him. Roger took that moment of distraction to redouble his efforts, and the rogue shovel cracked Ben upside the head with enough force to stagger him. Ben tripped over something in the fog and went down with the fog swirling around him.

  “Ben! Shit, Joey… Ben’s down. I’ve got to go help him.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Joey’s voice was iron; her head popped out of the fog a second later as she stood.

  Chris tried to shove the ritual components into her hands, but she pushed back.

  “No! You’re hurt. I’ll go.” She hauled herself out of the hole before he could voice a thorough protest. Or any protest at all, really.

  All he could do was stand there and watch her go.

  20

  Joey surveyed the field quickly, then sprinted for Ben. He was down but not out, struggling against the haft of Roger’s shovel as it pressed beneath his chin, pinning him to the ground.

  This was such bullshit. She wanted to throttle Eric, but dealing with him would have to wait until this more pressing matter was tended to.

  When she reached Ben, she grabbed the shovel’s handle with both hands and pulled. Between her pulling and Ben pushing, Ben managed to gasp a breath.

  “Matches are in my jacket pocket,” he said.

  Joey strained to hold on to the shovel. The wooden handle was slippery with blood. Brandon’s blood, she remembered. A pang of guilt lanced her heart. She’d led them out into this, and now one of them was dead. Her fault.

  “We’ve got a problem, bro. I can’t hold this and get them at the same time.”

  “Get them.” His eyes met hers. There was more than a hint of command in his tone, but Joey just smirked.

  “Like bossing me around has ever worked. Cut the suicidal self-sacrificing and focus.”

  Ben growled and pushed harder. Between the two of them, they managed to lift the handle enough that Ben could draw his legs up and get his feet under it. Adding the power of his legs did the trick. The resistance they both fought against suddenly vanished. Joey went flying, shovel still in hand. She hit the cold, hard ground some ten feet away and slid several feet before fetching up against a tree. Somehow, she managed to bite her tongue when she hit. Blood welled in her mouth, its coppery tang tweaking her wolf’s instinct.

  Hunt.

  But how did you hunt an intangible enemy? As she sat up and took quick stock of her extremities, she pondered their current dilemma. They had to stop Roger long enough to complete Dean’s instructions, and she still didn’t know what the last instruction was. Bury one-third in earth, one in water, and the other… what?

  Joey picked herself up off the ground and spun the shovel in her hands. She’d begun training with a variety of weapons, but a shovel wasn’t one of them. Still, as Ben had demonstrated, it wasn’t dissimilar to a staff, aside from the weighted end.

  “Hey, Roger, quit screwing around and show yourself!” she called.

  She didn’t expect it to work, but the spirit manifested in front of her. He looked rather more plain and ordinary than she’d expected. Just a guy, but with a hard edge to his eyes as they bored into hers. He was translucent, glowing faintly in the darkness, putting off an eerie, unearthly light. She glanced past him as movement c
aught her attention. Ben was heading for the grave.

  “You can’t stop me,” Roger said. His image flickered, then reasserted itself. “Their lives are forfeit. There’s still a chance for you, though. Go now. Run. I won’t follow.”

  Joey snorted and gave the shovel another slow spin, doing her best to keep Roger’s attention on her and not what the boys were doing to his corpse. “You don’t know me very well, so I’ll give this one to you. Grants don’t run.”

  Roger surged toward her; she swung the shovel, which, of course, passed right through him. But the disruption did its work. He flickered again, then disappeared and reappeared a few feet away.

  “Foolish girl. You think that earthly weapon will stop me?”

  “If you’ve got a better suggestion, I’m listening.”

  The scent of accelerant tickled Joey’s nostrils. Hopefully spirits couldn’t smell. Chris hadn’t been able to, on the astral plane. He’d told her. But she didn’t know the rules for actual ghosts. There were a lot of things she wanted to ask Dean when all this was over.

  “Enough talk,” Roger said. “Time to die.”

  Another shovel swing distracted Roger, but this time it wasn’t Joey doing it. Jessica had crept up behind him with the other shovel and swung it at his insubstantial back. Again, he flickered and vanished, but this time he didn’t reappear.

  “Hey! I’m not finished with you yet!” Joey called after him, looking around. “Come back here!”

  Her eyes fell on Jessica a mere second before the woman charged her, features twisted in hate. Joey brought the shovel up just in time to block the swing. The shock of the wooden handles smacking together sent vibrations up her arms. She stumbled back a step, but found her footing quickly.

  Jessica swung again. This time, Joey dodged. When the swing didn’t connect, it threw Jessica off balance and Joey smacked her own shovel against the other woman’s backside, further sending her staggering.

  “You’re really bad at this,” Joey taunted her, surmising that Jessica had been possessed. “You really ought to try luring me into a false sense of security before you attack.”

  Jessica spun to face her again, hefting the shovel. “Less talking, more dying.”

  “Isn’t it her you want to kill?” Joey countered. Ben and Chris had climbed out of the grave, and smoke poured out of it now.

  Jessica went still suddenly, sniffing the air. Then she spun. “No!”

  Joey couldn’t help but smirk. She planted the tip of the shovel against the ground and leaned on the handle, watching as Jessica—or Roger—looked on in outrage.

  Then something unexpected happened. A loud crack sounded from behind her and Joey felt a sting in the back of her thigh. Her leg crumpled, spilling her to the ground as the sting flared into a surge of pain.

  “Joey!” someone shouted. She thought maybe it was Chris. She wasn’t sure, couldn’t think past the blistering pain.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jessica turned toward her, but it wasn’t Joey she was looking at. It was someone behind Joey.

  “Finally,” Jessica said. “What took you so long?”

  Confused, Joey twisted to look behind her, gritting her teeth against a fresh wave of agony. A slip of a girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen stood at the edge of the clearing, fog swirling around her ankles. Smoke curled from the muzzle of the pistol in her shaking hand.

  Joey let herself fall forward on the ground. Hit the deck. That was what you were supposed to do when there was a shooter, right? The gun barked again. Joey had no idea where the bullet went, but it wasn’t into her. She considered herself fortunate on that account. Was it another hallucination, or did Roger actually have an accomplice?

  Joey lifted her head enough to peek over the fog. Footsteps pounded the earth as Chris and Ben rushed toward her. Ben broke off, tackling Jessica to the ground while Chris continued toward her. When he got there, he scooped her up and sprinted for the cover of the trees. She bit down hard to keep from crying out. The gun barked again and again, but Chris didn’t stop until he’d ducked behind a massive evergreen.

  “Ben,” Joey said through clenched teeth. “He’s still out there.”

  Chris lowered her to her feet. She balanced on her good leg and did her best to ignore the intense pain in her left thigh.

  “I’ll go back for him,” he promised, but he held onto her a moment longer, clearly struggling for breath. Carrying her must have aggravated his ribs.

  She frowned and slipped her arms around him. “You can’t.”

  “Joey, I have to.”

  “Listen to yourself. You can barely breathe. If you go back out there… I can’t lose you again.” She blinked back tears, fear gripping her heart like an iron fist. “Not again. Not now, not ever.”

  He tipped her chin up with gentle fingers and caught her eyes. “You’re not going to lose me, okay? We’re both getting out of this.”

  The confidence in his voice nearly convinced her. “You can’t know that.”

  “I know that if we make it and Ben doesn’t, because we hid out here instead of going back for him, we’ll regret it the rest of our lives.”

  He had a point. Joey swallowed. His arms loosened around her, but she tightened her grip. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words rushing out like they might not have another opportunity. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I was just so scared.”

  “This really isn’t a good time for—“

  “Shut up and listen.” She curled her fingers in his coat, gripping it tightly in her fist. “I love you, okay? And you’re not fucking bulletproof, so be careful. I don’t know if I can bring you back from the dead again.”

  He smiled and dipped his head, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m going to need you to tell me that again when you’re not under duress.”

  Joey growled softly and snaked her fingers behind his neck, then rose on the ball of her foot and mashed her lips against his. It was only a moment, but it was all they had to spare. The smell of smoke and burning, decaying flesh rose around them. Another gunshot sounded and she settled back down again.

  “Go,” she said. “Before I change my mind.”

  He went, and she leaned against the tree, trying to collect some measure of composure as she watched him go. He moved from tree to tree, skirting the edge of the clearing to make his way around to the other side where the gunman—or gunwoman, was that a thing?—lingered. Ben and Jessica rolled around on the ground, vying for dominance. Every now and then, the mist around them was pierced by a speeding bullet. The closer Chris got to the gun-toting teen, the more anxiety chewed at Joey’s stomach. How good were the odds that he’d actually be able to sneak up on her? Joey wondered if maybe, just maybe, she could help with a distraction without leaving the relative safety of the trees.

  “Hey!” Joey called out. “You, with the gun!”

  The girl stopped shooting and looked over at her.

  “Yeah, you! You know he’s inside one of them, right? Aren’t you worried you might hit him?”

  The assailant smirked and fired again. Splinters flew from the tree Joey was hiding behind as a bullet embedded itself in the trunk. Joey yanked her head back behind the tree and leaned against it.

  Every time she shifted, the pain in her leg spiked. She couldn’t put weight on it at all. She ran her fingers down the front of her thigh, but didn’t find any tender spots or holes in her jeans. No exit wound. The bullet must’ve gotten lodged inside. That wasn’t good.

  Joey risked another glance around the tree trunk, searching the darkness for any sign of Chris. It took her a moment, but she glimpsed him darting between trees again, almost directly across from her now. He was making good time and nearly in position to… do what, exactly? Joey bit her lip.

  A distant grunt of pain drew her attention to Ben and Jessica. They weren’t rolling on the ground anymore. Ben had Jessica pinned to the ground and threw punch after punch at her face. Joey knew that in his mind
he was hitting Roger, and Roger surely deserved it, but Jessica… Well, okay, she deserved it a little too. Still.

  “Ben, just restrain her, for fuck’s sake!”

  Ben didn’t stop until Jessica stopped struggling and lay still. Joey hoped she was still breathing, but movement beyond them drew her attention, and she looked up in time to see Chris tackle the girl with the gun.

  “Daddy!” she cried, on her way to the ground.

  Ben’s head came up sharply, and he turned his head. “Allie!”

  While Chris and the teen struggled over the gun, Joey struggled to wrap her brain around what’d just occurred. The girl was Roger’s daughter? That both explained a few things and opened up a whole new line of questions that began and ended with, “What the fuck is she doing here?”

  Ben stood up and strode toward Chris and Allie with purpose. The gun went off, and Joey’s breath caught in her throat. Both figures on the ground went still. Fear propelled Joey out from behind the tree for an adrenaline-fueled, hobbling sprint across the clearing.

  Ben got there first. He grabbed Chris by the back of his coat and hauled him bodily off Allie, then tossed him aside carelessly. Joey angled for Chris and sank to her good knee at his side. He was struggling to breathe, but a quick pat-down didn’t find any new holes.

  “Fine… I’m… fine…” Chris gasped out.

  Joey helped him sit up, first tugging on his arm and then slipping an arm under his. Only then did her eyes shift to her brother and Allie. Ben knelt beside the fallen teen, whose chest rose and fell in shuddering breaths.

  “Daddy,” Allie whimpered.

  Roger-Ben reached out and put a hand on Allie’s stomach, holding it there even as he turned to glare at Joey and Chris. “You. You did this.”

  “No, actually,” Joey said. “You did this, with your reckless pursuit of revenge.”

  Roger’s glare lingered, but his features softened as he looked down at Allie again. Keeping one hand pressed against the wound on her torso, he stroked her hair with the other hand.