by Cooper, JK
Hunters have her. You were supposed to protect her! The shame he felt was only surpassed by the anger he breathed. Something cankered within him, a feeling so deep and raw. Hatred. Loathing. His eyes burned, hands tightened, bones ached. No. He shook his head. Not now. The shifting ceased, retreating, but not completely. He kept it near the surface. He would need his wolf tonight. A deep growl rumbled in his chest, begging for escape.
Something landed in the bed of his truck with a loud thud. Kale glanced in his rearview mirror, catching sight of a familiar form. He locked gazes with his father. But Elias was not merely his father in this moment, but the Alpha, the protector of his pack. Kale saw the glowing yellow breaking forth in his eyes, the indignation surfacing for the violation of one of his own, rage that Kale was sure also brimmed in his eyes. Elias nodded at his son, and Kale pushed the accelerator down, taking the winding small-town roads at reckless speeds. But his wolf aided him, increased his reflexes and anticipation.
Forgive me, Shelby. We’re coming.
Grant ran his fingers over Shelby’s sheets. Damp. He sniffed them. Sweat. A faint whiff of urine.
A nightmare again.
He crumpled the sheets in his fist. He had always felt like a failure for not having the answer to his daughter’s hauntings. Worse, he knew that the hunters targeting Shelby were, in part, due to him. And not just because he dared to love a Lycan, and she him, but because of his former allegiances.
He found the note he had left for Shelby on her nightstand. Foolish. In a new town, he had thought they were shielded enough from those who might seek them, certainly since they had just arrived and inserted Shelby into a pack. Surely she would have been safe. But, of course, that had exposed a weakness. He had become complacent.
Then he saw something else. A piece of paper under Shelby’s pillow. Even before he snatched it up, he could see the handwriting on it. A note.
“If only you had completed your mission. You brought this on yourself.”
A coldness swirled in Grant’s chest. The mission, that one last mission. Nearly two decades ago. Sherman.
You let your guard down. And now he has her.
He stood, letting his training take over. The abductors had destroyed his weapons cache—or the one he meant for them to find. His serious gear lay entombed under the front porch steps, buried beneath the ground. He sprinted down the stairs two at a time and nearly took the screen door off as he exited the house. Grant tore the new steps free with a crowbar in less than a minute, adrenaline fueling him. Scraping the soil with the clawed end of the crowbar, he outlined the concrete box, then smacked the center of it. On the second whack, it cracked. He continued pummeling the concrete until the top was only chunks of debris.
“Anyone ever tell you that’s, like, so crazy hot?”
Grant turned mid-swing to see Sadie behind him.
“Oh, please don’t stop on my account,” she said.
“They took her,” Grant said, and swung again.
“I know. Elias put out a warning. He’s called the pack to the manor.”
“So, what are you doing here, Sadie?”
“Duh, Shelby’s my cussing best friend.”
Grant turned, wiping salty sweat from his face. “Sadie, you just met her. That kinda sounds insane. Or sad.”
“Yeah, well, that female whelp Chelsea hates her so that makes Shelby my bestie.”
Grant felt his face make an incredulous expression. “What?”
“Not important. I’m going with you.”
Grant reached down into the concrete box and grabbed a black duffel bag. From it, he pulled out a tactical vest and shoved M4 magazines into the pouches. He felt the vest for the flashlights and found them already in place. Next, he pulled out his M4 carbine and slammed in a mag, charged the weapon, and then double checked the safety. He raised it to his shoulder, checked the ACOG reflex optics. All good.
“No you’re not.” He slapped his Glock 17 with extended magazine into the holster at his right hip. Running his thumb over the flat of the blade of his Fallen Oak Forge Sovereign knife—the final piece of his kit—he felt the stamped acorn there. It was the signature mark of the forger. This blade had tasted Lycan blood many times. Tonight, it would seek a different flavor. He slammed it home in the horizontal kydex sheath at his back. “Go to the manor, if that’s what Elias ordered. There may be other threats to the pack we can’t yet see.”
“Can I just watch you? Like, forever?”
“You’re not coming, Sadie.”
“That’s bull feces.”
Grant turned, fully equipped. “Sadie—”
Where Sadie had been, stood a werewolf, smaller than most Grant had encountered—than he had killed. Flecks of brindle spotted the white-based coat in a beautiful pattern. Beside the wolf sat the clothing Sadie had been wearing, torn.
Grant’s heart stuttered, and he felt cold sweat on his neck. Even having been married to a werewolf and having one for a daughter did not stop the split second of fear from trampling his stomach. He tightened the grip on his rifle.
“I’m sorry, Sadie. You’re still not coming.”
A car approached. Kale’s truck, from the sound of it. The tires skidded to a halt in the driveway, and the headlights lit up the trees at the edge of the house. Grant turned to face the truck square on as Elias and Kale hopped out.
“How did you know?” Grant bellowed at Elias. He knew he sounded accusatory but didn’t care. “You said you knew Shelby had been taken when I called. How?”
Elias glanced sidelong at Kale. “It’s complicated. We don’t have time to explain. Gennesaret is setting up aerial support as we speak.”
“Aerial?” Grant asked.
“Drones, Mr. Brooks,” Kale said. “They will help us search. But I think I can get us close without them for now.”
“How?”
“It’s a feeling. Something that Shelby and I have. It’s how I knew she was in trouble. She’s scared, wherever she is. We have to go.”
“This is no time for relying on Lycan magic, boy.” Grant stepped closer to Elias. “You knew there were hunters here.”
Elias did not flinch. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We thought we had them under control. I had people watching them. I’m sorry, Grant. We’re going to get her back. I promise.”
“You don’t understand,” Grant said. “You don’t know these hunters. These aren’t some glorified weekend warrior club members.”
“We’re going to get her back. Now, let’s go.”
“What about that?” Grant motioned toward Sadie with his head, not breaking eye contact with Elias.
“She’s not coming,” Elias said. “We need to protect the manor as well.”
“I know. I told her that. She doesn’t seem to care.”
Elias smiled wanly. “Yes, well, she is a redhead.” He turned his look to Sadie, still in her wolf. Grant sensed something occurring in the silence between Elias and Sadie, between Alpha and a member of his pack. After nearly a minute, Sadie’s tail lowered, and she looked away. Then she darted off in the direction the truck had come from.
“She’s headed to the manor,” Elias said. “Take Kale’s truck.”
Kale tossed Grant the keys. “We’ll go on ahead. You’ll be able to keep up with us. Genn will be in contact, tracking our position.”
“Won’t we all be faster to go in the truck?”
Kale shook his head. “No.” He stripped down to his boxers, throwing his clothes off recklessly, and shifted. Grant stepped back as Kale Copeland became something else, something grander. Paws as large as Grant’s hands pressed upon the moist earthen ground, imprinting heavily. No matter how many times he had seen Moriahna shift, the process still took Grant aback. Kale’s face elongated into a snout, teeth lengthening to fangs. His eyes changed, morphing to a dark golden color that bespoke a rage that Grant knew many Lycans struggled to control when in their wolf form.
Kal
e lowered his head, a constant deep, barely audible rumble seeming to emanate from him. He dashed off, the night cloaking him.
“He feels her, but more keenly when in his wolf,” Elias said, answering the question that must have been upon Grant’s face. “I can’t actually explain it. It’s more than just ‘Lycan magic.’”
“Still sounds like fairy-tale stuff, Elias,” Grant said. “This is my little girl we’re talking about, not Snow White.”
Elias squared up to Grant. The man was impressive in his stature, the image of a business man long departed. “She is your daughter, Grant. But she is also one of mine. I don’t mean this as any slight to your role as her father, but I also feel a protective urge as her Alpha in a way that you cannot. Please trust that.” He paused. “And as for the fairy-tale stuff . . . well, you did marry a werewolf, right?”
“Yes. And no happily-ever-after happened for her.” Grant felt his lip twitch, the beginning of a sneer he tried to hide.
“I know, but the longer we stand here the more the danger for Shelby. Let’s go.”
Elias took off after his son, shifting into his wolf mid-stride. Grant clenched his fist, trying to calm his nerves. Jumping into the truck, he started the engine. He took two slow and deep breaths then slammed the accelerator down. Gravel churned up in his wake as he skidded onto the road.
Shelby awoke slowly. Her head felt heavy. Sluggishly, she moved her jaw, sucked back the drool hanging from her numb lower lip. The weight that pulled her head down, as if a sand bag hung from her forehead, gradually lessened. Her eyelids fluttered. They failed to open, but splotches of dull light filtered through.
The slow draw of her arm to her forehead stopped short for some reason. She had a languid swallow despite her dry mouth . . . where was she? A dream, a feeling . . . something teased her mind at the fringes. Gingerly, she drew in a deep breath through her nose and winced at the soreness in the center of her chest.
Again, her eyes fluttered, and this time she caught glimpses of her surroundings. She was upright. Sitting. Her feet, though somewhat numb, were cold. Bare. With a slight tingle. Smooth, cold ground. Concrete.
Her eyelids drooped, but Shelby swayed her head upright and somehow convinced it to stay put. Something rattled. A dull clanking. Her eyes obeyed this time as she forced them open.
Shelby sat in a chair in a large room. The floor was indeed concrete with pitted holes, and chunks of the floor—those she at first mistook as rats in the pale, dim light—lay scattered about randomly. A solitary window high above the metal rafters ushered in that pale light, almost silver in color.
Anxiety started to grind at her heart, a ball of ice forming in her stomach. She raised her hand to part the hair in front of her face, and again her arm stopped short. The dull rattle . . . she squinted as she saw a chain with a thick cuff around her wrist. Both wrists. In reflex, she yanked against the chains, whining slightly as her lower lip tightened.
“Hello?”
She tried to move her legs, but something secured them to the chair. Her feet definitely tingled. Loss of circulation.
Shelby whimpered.
She was in her boxers and tank top, the clothes she had slept in, the . . . she remembered. Her dad, gone out for milk. The nightmare that had woken her.
No . . .
Lucas, in her room.
In my room.
Not part of the nightmare.
Frantically now, she tugged at the chains, kicked her feet, felt duct tape crease and pull at her skin. From a dark corner, a figure took shape among the shadows. A man wearing tactical gear and a thick mustache approached.
Shelby clenched her jaw, sticking her chin forward slightly. A small measure of defiance, but something.
The man spoke. “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them . . . to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”
“Revelations,” Shelby said quietly.
The man smiled slowly. “Yes, Miss Brooks. I see you know your Bible. I’m sorry for the uh . . .” He spread his arms, palms up and made a show of looking around. “Accommodations. Best we could do on short notice, I’m afraid.”
“Who are you? What do you want with me?”
Shelby hated the strain and fear in her timbre.
“As for the first part, my name is Sherman. As for the second, oh, we’ll come to that, Miss Brooks, because you are special . . . isn’t that right?
“Let me re-introduce someone. I realize this will be uncomfortable, and his behavior at your first meeting was . . . well, it was deplorable. As his father, I must apologize on his behalf. Heaven knows he never will. Stubborn and such. See, I needed to know for sure if you were . . . well, you know. One of them. But, truth be told, I didn’t expect him to act in such a manner, though it was effective in determining your . . . condition. High stress situations often reveal our true selves, don’t you think?
“We know about your mother, of course. In fact, she was on our target list. Low hanging fruit, as it were. Living outside a pack, on her own, with a human.” Sherman licked his lips. “Easy. But then, we found out she was pregnant. Was it a human child? Or a whelp of a dog? We couldn’t be sure, and one thing hunters have always sworn by Heaven was to protect humankind.”
Sherman pulled a chair near Shelby and sat on it backwards, facing her with his forearms propped loosely on the backrest. He leaned in close, reeking of grime and sweat, and Shelby tried in vain to recoil.
“So,” Sherman said, “prudence demanded we wait until you—” he stabbed a beefy finger into her sternum—“were born. We couldn’t break our vow, of course, even if that meant sparing your . . . oh, how to put it . . . unhallowed mother. For a time.”
Shelby felt her eyes sting at the mention of her mother. Sherman squinted.
“Interesting. My intelligence says you can’t shift. Or haven’t since . . . well, why dig up the past?”
Shelby stoked her anger, gathered it into her center, her core, trying to force out the fear to clear a path for her wolf. She had felt something there, in her core, something not her own but warm and comforting.
“Kale,” she whispered through a shudder.
“I’m sorry, Miss Brooks, I didn’t catch that,” Sherman said.
It failed. The stinging in her eyes retreated as doubt and fear washed over her anger. It was shame, the feeling that rose within her, as her wolf skulked away, retreating to its hiding place deep within her.
“No, I thought not,” Sherman said, obviously seeing the amber in her eyes die. “But as I said, I have someone to re-introduce you to.”
A figure, only slightly smaller than the man in front of her, stepped from the same shadow that Sherman had emerged from, carrying a pistol in one hand. Shelby knew that outline—it had haunted her for over a year almost every time she closed her eyes—even the very gait—carefree and cocky—with which he walked. She wanted to turn away but forced herself not to, but the tremble in her lower lip, that she couldn’t control.
How had she ever found him attractive? How had she not seen the arrogance? The snideness? The cruelty that so plainly now gleamed in his eye? Perhaps the scars on his face she had left him helped clear the earlier facade, bringing out his true nature.
Lucas came close. He ran the back of his finger down her face and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Bile rose in her throat at his touch.
Sherman stood. “I’m going to let you two . . . talk on your own.”
Suddenly, Shelby didn’t want Sherman to leave, not to abandon her alone with this monster in human skin.
“I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss,” Sherman said.
A bolt of defiance shot through Shelby, and she felt her wolf nose forward within her slightly. She didn’t shy away from Lucas’s next touch as he stroked her jawline.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
“My dad and Kale are going to
tear your limbs from your body. They will find me.”
Lucas sneered. “I certainly hope they do. We have plans for your traitorous daddy.”
Shelby squinted at him, not understanding.
“He never told you?” Lucas asked. He looked at his father, then back to Shelby.
Sherman folded his arms. “See, Miss Brooks, Daddy—Grant—was once one of us. A hunter. Imagine the irony of him taking up with an enemy she-wolf and spawning . . . well, you.”
A hunter? My dad? “You’re lying,” Shelby said.
“No, Miss Brooks, I wish I were,” Sherman said. Shelby thought she saw a hint of regret in Sherman’s eyes, but mostly anticipation. He shook his head. “I wish I were.”
“When your daddy comes,” Lucas said, bringing his face to within an inch of Shelby’s ear, “I’m going to make him watch a replay of our date, but with a very different ending.”
“No, Lucas,” Sherman said, “you’ll not be debasing yourself in any such manner again. The Lord’s will must be carried forth honorably.”
Shelby felt her wolf retreat inside again. But that bolt of defiance still remained. She snapped her teeth at Lucas, barely missing his ear. He stumbled back and nearly tripped over himself, eyes bulging.
Shelby couldn’t help but chuckle, trying to cover the dread that boiled inside her.
She felt something cold flow through her veins. They must have put her to sleep again. Now, she awoke to a chill spreading down her arm, across her chest, down her legs. She had no illusions or confusion about her whereabouts this time as the grogginess lifted. Something sharp left her arm.
“A syringe . . .” Her voice barely registered as a whisper. Were they bringing her out of her sleep with another drug?