None of the damage was important. She’d left her scent and her blood near the gate, and she counted the action a success.
The fight when she was kidnapped sure hadn’t been. God, she hoped Evangeline was all right. Vic shook her head. That sweet old woman had walloped one of the assholes with a table lamp. She hadn’t hit him hard enough though.
Vic had done better. She’d grabbed a table knife and rammed it into the biggest bastard’s heart. Unfortunately, the third attacker had knocked her off her feet.
She lifted her arm and grimaced. The shoulder joint still worked…barely. If she hadn’t had to guard her belly, she might have dealt with all three. “Dammit, kid, you sure screwed up my skills,” she whispered and rubbed her stomach.
He, she, or they had screwed up her escape, too. Big-time.
With a sigh, she looked down at the soaking-wet jeans she’d removed.
Her water had broken…because she was in labor. Congratulations, Sergeant, it’s official. You’re royally fucked.
Good thing she’d assisted in a couple of births when undercover in third world villages. At least she knew the basics—starting with a person didn’t deliver babies when wearing jeans.
She’d be giving birth in a basement. As a captive. She rolled her eyes. Over the past months, when she’d whined, Alec would laugh and say mothers loved to tell their cubs all the trouble they’d caused when in the womb. Apparently, Alec and Calum’s mother had busted an ankle, and she’d never let them forget.
Well, you little terror…or terrors…you’re going to get an earful from me.
Another labor pain caught her. Oh, fucking god, it hurts. As her stomach turned to concrete under her hand, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Can’t scream, can’t scream. She gritted her teeth.
The door opened. One of the bastards who’d escorted her to the basement stood in the doorway. This one had tried to cop a feel, and she’d planted a fist in his gut. He’d stayed out of reach since.
If you come in, I’ll kill you. She’d try her damndest, at any rate. She let her gaze convey that.
He sneered. “You think hiding behind the bed will keep you safe?”
Speaking would mean unlocking her jaw. And screaming. Sweat broke out on her forehead as the contraction lasted and lasted.
“It won’t, bitch.” His coarse laugh held ugly anticipation. “The Director will be down after he finishes his supper. He says you’ll give him good information, or we’ll rip that freak out of your belly and cut its fingers off in front of you.”
You can try, asshole.
With everything except her shoulders and head concealed by the bed, she fingered the knife in her ankle sheath. When they came for her, she’d do what she had to do. For as long as she lived.
“Filthy beast.” Annoyed by her lack of reaction, he left, slamming the door behind him.
Calum, Alec, hurry. Please, please, please hurry. I’ll wait as long as I can.
But they didn’t even know where this place was.
As fear flooded her system, she curled on the floor and let the pain take her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‡
The night was moonless, thankfully, which meant Ryder couldn’t see Darcy trembling like a leaf.
Tynan’s address had been the right one. This was the stone prìosan that had held her captive for over ten years. She stood outside the stone wall on the west beside Ben’s littermate, waiting for Alec.
When they’d arrived, Alec had wanted to get an idea of what they were facing. To look through the huge wrought-iron gates. So, after dropping him off a block away, she and Ryder had driven around the corner, parked up the hill from the property, and found themselves a dark shadow in which to wait.
“There he is.” Ryder’s voice was a whisper in the light breeze.
Earlier, as she and Wells were climbing into Alec’s car, Ryder had slid into the back seat and said simply, “My bro, Ben, said you needed another cat.”
Another person to help. She’d wanted to hug him so hard.
Looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Alec sauntered around the corner and up the hill. He eased into the gloom of the overhanging tree. “I caught Vicki’s scent.” His quiet voice couldn’t conceal his anger. “Close to the front. She must have made a run for the gate, fell deliberately, and left her scent behind.
Darcy shook her head. Vicki had probably panicked and… No, Vicki was a Marine. A spy. There was no panic in that female. “She’s probably planning her escape even now.”
“Let’s save her the trouble,” Ryder murmured.
Darcy pulled in a breath. Vicki wasn’t the one who was panicking, Darcy was. Her heart was hammering violently enough to hurt, and even her bones were shaking.
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat and whispered, “See the walnut?” She pointed to the tall tree on the other side of the wall.
The males nodded.
“That’s the tree closest to the wall. I’ll wait for you in the branches.” If she made it.
As if he could hear her doubts, Alec squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart.” Pulling out his cell phone, he sent a text to Wells and Tynan. Going in now.
Darcy stripped and stuffed her black tank top and sweatpants into a tiny bag.
The males disposed of their clothes in a black garbage bag and left it under the tree. Tynan said it would look as if the garbage collector had missed a bag.
“Ready?” Ryder stood beside her. His skin was dark enough to blend in with the shadows, and he’d tied his shoulder-length black hair back. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The knowledge helped, even as she wished it were Owen and Gawain with her. But no. Stay away, my males. Be safe. She thought of them being hurt, being shot, falling. Dying. A shudder ran through her.
No, don’t think about dying. She forced her lips into a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Try to keep up, cat.”
“The Mother be with you,” Ryder whispered.
“The Hunter guide your paws,” came from Alec.
She trawsfurred…and hesitated. What if she missed the top? Overshot and fell to the ground?
Then her memory gave her Gawain’s calm voice. “Sink into the wild, catling. Let go.” Just pick a target, and let her animal get her there. I can do this.
With the bag of clothes in her mouth, she sprang into a full-out run. At top speed, she leaped to the top of the wall and into the walnut.
A second later, Ryder landed on an adjacent branch. His jaws were clamped around a cotton bag.
As she shifted to human, Alec came over the wall and settled onto another branch.
Instead of birds, the walnut was overflowing with cougars. She suppressed her laughter—because it would turn to hysterics—and looked around.
The interior compound hadn’t changed at all, had it? The front lawn was flooded with light as were the sidewalks in back. The wide tangle of blackberries around the inner perimeter lay in darkness…because no one could walk through the head-high thorny mass.
Touching Alec’s furry neck, she motioned toward the grounds and the closest three-story manor house. “That one has the human hostages.” The lighted windows of the second manor house—Zoo Hall—seemed a long way away. She pointed to it. “I forgot to tell you, the stairwell on the far end probably has less traffic. The west side stairs are what the staff uses.”
Alec nodded. He already knew which hall was which, since they’d planned everything with Wells on the drive to Seattle. After she’d drawn maps of the grounds, Ryder had used his phone to snap pictures and send copies to the others, including Tynan. Everyone had memorized the plan.
So why was she still sitting here, clinging to a branch, like…like a cub too terrified to move?
Alec rubbed his muzzle against her and purred. Comfortingly. She knew he was half-crazy with worry for Vicki—but he’d still spotted Darcy’s fears and tried to help.
His courage bolstered h
ers. “Thanks,” she whispered and shifted to cat.
Here goes. Carefully, she leaped to the next branch, taking the same path she’d used for her escape. Her claws closed on the bark, and the tree shook. She froze. No. Stop thinking and worrying. Stay in the wild. She whipped her tail back and forth, rode the slight sway of the branch, and leaped again.
Over the sea of blackberries, she jumped from tree to tree. Followed by the males, she worked her way around the corner and beside the back wall. There—that was the tree that had grown up near the inside edge of the brambles, almost reaching the lawn. She jumped to it and sprang off the branch, over the thorn tangle, and landed on the grass.
One soft thump sounded. Another. The two cougars were beside her.
Alec butted his furry head against her shoulder as if in thanks, then loped beside the thicket toward the far end of the property.
Ryder nodded his head at her and trotted toward the three underground machine gun nests in the front lawn. Wells had given him grenades to toss into each gun barrel slit, because there was no other access to a concrete box. When entering, each set of two guards would deadbolt the rear door behind themselves.
Her chest squeezed with fear for the brave shifter…because it was a horrible plan. After the first explosion, the rest of the guards would know what had happened. They’d know his targets and would shoot him before he could sabotage the next pillbox.
But she couldn’t help. She had her own task.
She trotted toward the east, moving silently in the lush grass. Halfway down the back wall, she reached the toolshed—and the industrial generator on a concrete pad next to it. When the power went out, the generator would kick on and restore power—as well as the floodlights.
After shifting to human, she dressed, then slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out Gawain’s gift—the multi-tool. It sat in her palm, familiar and heart-warming, and she used it to jimmy open the generator’s circuit box.
Like that fancy spy, James Bond, in one of Gawain’s movie choices, she had a special device from Wells. Smiling evilly, she set the spymaster’s box inside.
And pressed the button.
*
The magic gifted by the Mother tingled in Gawain’s veins—and not in a pleasant way. Rubbing his arms, he walked beside Owen outside the Scythe’s stone wall. Every few feet, he bent and sniffed. The scent from panther paws—Darcy, Alec, and Ryder—was very fresh. They couldn’t be more than a few minutes ahead.
Darcy had volunteered to return to the prison that terrified her…no, Shay said she’d insisted. “By the God and Goddess, she’s got courage,” Gawain whispered.
“Aye,” Owen muttered.
Damn the evil humans that had started this. His anger was a low roar, hotter than the flames in his forge. They’d get her out—get them all out.
Darcy’s scent trail ended.
“Here.” He looked up. On the other side of the wall, a tree rose high into the night sky. “That has to be the walnut tree.”
After leaving their clothing in the black garbage bag with Alec and Ryder’s, they jumped the wall and landed in the walnut.
Pleased the fruit trees grew close together, Gawain checked the scents. The three cougars’ trail through the long orchard was clear. With Owen following, he leaped to the next tree. And the next. Around the corner. Along the back.
Midway, he stopped, confused for a second at the abrupt change in direction. Ah, a tree had been planted close to the lawn—and was obviously the exit to the bramble patch. He jumped to it and down onto the grass.
When his brother thumped onto the lawn, Gawain turned, and they exchanged head rubs.
Be safe, brawd.
Staying in the shadows, Owen loped toward the far manor house. His job was to help Alec get Vicki out and then assist Darcy with the villagers. Gawain saw Owen pause at a small building near the back wall. Was that the generator?
Gawain took a step in that direction, wanting to find their mate.
But Owen picked up speed and disappeared into the night. Darcy must have already moved on.
With a huff, Gawain crept toward the front, skirting the floodlit sidewalks, and freezing whenever a guard appeared. He needed to find Ryder before the cat pitched a grenade in a machine gun pillbox and set all hell loose.
There was a better way, if it worked. If he was in time. His muscles were tense, expecting the first explosion.
Then he saw a cougar, belly to the ground, creeping beside a hillock. Thank the Goddess, Gawain had made it in time—assuming the male would stop.
Gawain gave a slight hiss, hoping it would be enough. It took a second hiss, but the cougar froze and turned its head.
Gawain moved enough Ryder could make out his shape.
The male turned and retraced his steps.
Gawain motioned for him to follow and led the way to the dark recessed stairwell at the back of the embrasure. At the bottom of the stairs, he shifted and whispered, “When I yank the door open, you eliminate whoever is inside. Quietly.”
No noise. No warning. Much better plan.
The cougar stared at Gawain’s empty hands, and if a cat could look skeptical, this was one.
Ah, well. The magic Gawain had requested of the Mother still burned in his veins. If he was lucky, there would be enough for all three sites. Setting his palm against the cold metal plate, he reached out to the deadbolt and sang the song of steel.
Obedient to his will, the metal slowly softened into jelly.
At his feet, the cougar waited, tail twitching with doubt and impatience.
With a grim smile, Gawain yanked the door open.
*
Her first task completed, Darcy had stayed in human form and sneaked across the grounds to Z Hall, evading the patrols. Her fear increased with every step she took toward the source of her nightmares—Z Hall. Now, crouched behind the waist-high privet hedge, she’d frozen completely. I can’t do this.
Alec had gone after Vicki. Darcy’s job was to get her female villagers down to the back door.
She forced herself to look up at the tangle of ivy covering the wall. Little Alice was up there. And Margery. This was their chance. She couldn’t leave them.
Pulling in a breath, Darcy set her jaw. On the third floor, every window was locked shut to ensure no hostage would jump to her death. On the second floor, some of the staff’s windows were cracked open to let in fresh air.
Darcy wiped her clammy palms on her thighs, picked the nearest window, and started climbing the vines.
Reaching the second floor, she slid through the window, walked across the dark room, and jerked back. Oh Goddess.
In a pool of blood, a human lay staring up in death. His throat had been ripped out.
Swallowing down nausea, Darcy took a step forward and stopped. Over the stench of blood, she could smell a shifter. Not Alec. That was Owen’s scent.
Her heart did a fast flip of joy before fear enveloped her. Owen. Here. Where Owen went, Gawain would go. No. Please no. The Scythe would shoot them, lock them up, kill them. Her Gawain and Owen would die.
Her body shook as terror consumed her—memories of slaughtered bodies, staring eyes, the stench of death, screaming and moans and…far worse…silence.
She fought for control. Stop. A shudder ran through her. If Gawain and Owen were here, they had their tasks.
So did she, something no one else could do. Her villagers needed her—she was the only one they’d trust. The only one they’d follow without panicking. Must go.
Wiping sweat from her face, she edged around the body, through the door, and hurried down the hallway.
Opening the door to the stairs, she came face-to-face with a guard.
For years, she’d watched the weapons practice in the yard. Had tried to duplicate their moves. Now her body responded instinctively. Strike to the throat, silencing him. Kick to the balls to bend him over. Hammer-fists on the back of the neck.
At the crunch of bone, she gasped. She’d hit
too hard. Wells had said, kill anyone you see, but she’d never, never planned to.
He lay on the floor. Heart slamming into her ribcage, she stared at him, bitterness and sorrow filling her.
Keep going, tinker. You have work to do.
As she dragged the human into the janitor’s supply room, her mouth was so dry she gagged when she tried to swallow. She’d had no choice. He’d have yelled for help. The village females would be killed. But…this wasn’t her. She fixed things; she didn’t break them—didn’t break people. She swallowed again.
No time to stop. Her people needed her. Beside the body was a mop in a bucket. Grabbing it, she stomped on the handle and broke it in half. There, she had a weapon.
Running now, she fled to the stairs and upward. On the third floor, she eased open the door.
Feet up on the desk, a guard watched a movie on his tablet.
She sprang across the five-foot gap, swung the mop handle, and cracked him right across the head. The chair tipped backward, spilling him out.
Don’t look. Don’t think about the feeling of something breaking or the sound. Trembling, she snatched the keys from the desk and pushed the green button to open the door to the hostage hallway. Trotting through, she unlocked the first door and whispered urgently, “Into the hall. We’re getting out of here.”
Trained all too well to stay silent, the village females, from fourteen to twenty-four years old, peeked into the hall, saw her, and suddenly she was surrounded.
“Thought you were dead.”
“They said they caught you.”
“Said you screamed.”
“You died.”
Hugs and whispers and more hugs and tears.
Keeping her voice low, she said, “I escaped and found other shifters. We’re breaking you and our brothers out at the same time. You need to do what I say. Is everyone here?”
“There’s a new female in the basement,” someone said.
“No, two females,” a tiny female corrected. “An older one and the pregnant one.”
In the basement. They meant Vicki and someone else. Alec planned to check all the cells down there. “A friend is freeing everyone down there.”
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