Which means I’m so in the right place.
Chapter 3
He who plays with a cat must bear its scratches.
– Proverb
~
Then
Emma didn’t need Killian’s help. The medics that Wheeler had brought had her well in hand. They removed the remnants of silver bullets from her flesh and then began to put fluids into her intravenously. With Wheeler at her side and covered with warming blankets, Emma snoozed through most of it.
Killian checked on the progress of the transportation and called Micah on the satphone. Micah said, “They’ve got a bus here, too. Just about everyone’s loaded up but our team and that other were. And some others who don’t want to get on the Council’s transports.”
“Did she go back in the tunnels?”
“Well, yeah,” Micah said with disgust. “Think she kicked a couple of the Council’s team’s asses, too. You know I had help when I got her tied up the first time. That were, what is he, a Grizzly? Shade’s totally pissed off. And I think he’s also got his beady little eye on the human military team. If Wheeler doesn’t beat-feet back here, there’s going to be an ‘incident’ in which we have to explain why some U.S. Marines mysteriously vanished along with a multi-million dollar Sea Stallion.”
Killian glanced at Wheeler. The lion were was glued to Emma’s side. His hand was resting on her forehead. Her eyes were closed, but she had a sappy smile on her face. “I’m coming back,” he said to Micah.
“Also, some of the weres changed into their beasts and took off through the woods. I don’t know how they’re going to explain lions, tigers, and bears in the Wyoming woods that shouldn’t be there.” Micah made a noise. “I think that one is some kind of polar bear. I didn’t know we came in that.”
“Don’t worry about them,” Killian said. “Keep an eye on Ula. Don’t let her get away. Tie her up again if you have to.”
“Me and what army?” Micah said and then didn’t say anything else for a long moment. “Not a polar bear, Killian. I’m thinking yeti. So that’s why they never find yeti bodies.”
“Did you understand me, Micah?” Killian snapped.
“Oh, yes, sir. Watch Ula. Don’t worry about the other weres. Keep the Council’s team from taking out the U.S. Marines.” Micah paused. “I’m assuming on the last one.”
“Yeah, well it’s a given.” Killian punched the end button on the satphone and cast a look at the scene before him. He issued rapid-fire instructions to the weres. Then he knelt a few feet from Wheeler and said, “Christopher.”
Wheeler looked at Killian, but his eyes were glassy and half-cat. The Alpha was still on the edge of the precipice of nearly losing his mate.
“We need to leave,” Killian said gently. “The Council’s team is wrapping things up.”
Wheeler looked at Emma. “Not yet.”
“Christopher,” Killian said, “the shite storm hasn’t ended, and it’s about to get worse. Saint Peter himself wouldn’t want to be here, and he was all over being a martyr.” His accent had thickened, and Peter sounded like Pay-ter.
A little sanity returned to Wheeler’s eyes. He didn’t look away from Emma. She opened her eyes and said, “I can make it, Christopher.”
One of the medics said, “All her vitals are stronger. She should be safe enough as long as nothing else happens to her.”
“Nothing,” snarled Wheeler, “else will happen to her.”
The medic stepped back, and his eyes went to the ground. “Of course not,” he said.
“Get a what…a litter… to carry her out,” Killian said and waved the medic back.
“We have one. I’ll just break it out, and the Alpha can put the Second on it,” the medic said, and it was half a question.
“Christopher,” Killian said, “don’t eat the medics. They’re not going to hurt Emma.”
Wheeler growled.
Killian sighed and helped the medic with the folded litter. The other medic kept watch over Emma, checking her pulse and blood pressure. Within minutes, Emma was loaded onto the litter and the IV bags attached to the sides. Wheeler took one side while the two medics took the other side. One went to protest, but Killian said, “He’s not going to drop anything, boyo.”
When Killian was certain that he could do no more for Wheeler or Emma, he ran back to the compound. The bus was turning into the parking lot. Micah and the other Cat Clan Elite Warriors waited for Killian. The U.S. Marines still waited, but they were impatient and clearly nervous.
Micah said, “I’m sorry, Killian. I couldn’t stop her.”
The Council’s team poured out of the tunnels. Shade paused by Killian. “Time to leave now,” he said to Killian. “The humans have been taken already.”
Killian looked toward the tunnels. The unmistakably alluring scent that was Ula drew him. It led into the tunnels and nowhere else. “How long?”
“Ten minutes,” Shade said. He signaled with his hand, and the ultra-sleek helicopters had returned. They hovered a few feet above the ground while the team glided inside. Shade gave Killian a significant look and then went to one of the transports. A few moments later, the helicopters were gone as silently as they had come.
“Being around the Council’s team of asskickers gave me the screaming meanies,” Micah said.
“She’s still in there,” Killian said, staring at the tunnels.
“Yes. I couldn’t find her. Her scent is spread all over the facility. She’s been looking in every corner. She didn’t miss a room or a hallway. I wasn’t lucky enough to actually see her.”
“Wheeler’s coming with Emma,” Killian said. “Get them on the military helicopter and get them out. Don’t wait for me.”
“Wait…what?” Micah said.
Killian glanced into the woods. Wheeler and the medics flowed out of the darkest shadows. Several other warriors followed, as well as the weredove. They went immediately to the Sea Stallion and began loading Emma inside.
Killian spared a moment to go to Wheeler and Emma. He ruffled Emma’s hair even while Wheeler emitted a low growl. He looked at the marines and shrugged. “What can I say?” he asked the major. The major stared at Xandra.
Xandra changed back into human form and replaced the oversized t-shirt. One of the medics made room for her on the Sikorsky. The marines automatically moved to the other side of the helicopter.
“Major,” Killian said and then repeated himself loudly. He was nearly desperate to get inside those tunnels to find Ula, but he forced himself to wait. The major looked at Killian with shocked wide eyes. “Take off now. Don’t wait another minute. This facility is being eliminated. I’m sure your superiors will debrief you when you return to base. You didn’t see anything.”
The marine major shook his head. “My kid likes that show a lot, so I’ve heard it before.”
Killian chuckled before he turned away. “Love those fecking penguins.” He was already in the tunnels when the doors on the Sea Stallion slammed shut. “But now I need to find a certain were and save her delectable arse.”
~
Now
Ula entered the tavern without hesitation. Hesitating hadn’t served her well in the past, and it wouldn’t work for her now. There was a half-story stairwell that led down to the door. She glanced at the sign once again and went inside. The world inside was much different than the one outside.
There were weres everywhere. They talked, drank, and laughed. A few were playing darts in a corner. Two others dressed in three-piece suits were shooting snooker at a lone table. More gathered on one side of the bar, involved in a complicated game of who could drink the most shots of some kind of blue alcohol. She had never seen such a congregation of weres who were all different types.
City weres must have no sense of smell, she thought. She was used to living in a rural area where most of the small town was part of the pack. She had aunts, uncles, and cousins who knew her just as well as they knew her sister. They knew what she was and that she enjoye
d reading and playing the piano. They didn’t know the Ula who vowed she would find Claire or die trying. They didn’t know the Ula who had been kidnapped by humans and experimented upon.
And the weres in the tavern didn’t know either Ula. The long mahogany bar with the polished brass rails was filled with every kind that she could name and a few that she couldn’t name, a stranger each one. The bartender was likely some kind of wolf. He had the long rangy look of a wolf, with loose, freshly tumbled black hair and the green eyes of the European clans she’d met before. He shot her an expressive look and an eyebrow lifted questioningly.
Ula let the door shut behind her. A few other weres looked at her and then dismissed her. She knew what they were looking at and what they saw. A smaller female using a cane, not strong, not particularly dominant. A were but not one who radiated aggression. Her hair was black and her eyes were pale blue. She didn’t top five feet three inches. Her frame was as petite, but that didn’t necessarily translate into something similar in wolf shape. Ula’s wolf weighed more than she did and was much stronger. She wasn’t afraid to take these shifters down a peg or two.
She waded through weres, careful not to brush against anyone. Reaching the bar, she waited for the wolf-shifter bartender. She leaned against the edge of the stool, allowing her lame leg to rest. One hand held the cane closely to her.
After a few moments, the bartender came to her and said in English, “What’s your poison?” His accent was not French but some sort of Slavic one. There were larger clans of wolf shifters in Russia.
“How did you know I spoke English?” Ula asked.
“We see a lot of international business here,” the wolf shifter grinned at her, showing broad white teeth. It wasn’t exactly an invitation.
“Beer,” she said. “Whatever’s on tap.”
The wolf bartender’s eyebrow went up again. He didn’t need to go far to get the beer but merely grabbed a mug with his free hand and filled it from a nearby tap. He set it before her with a little flourish. “American?” he asked.
“Canadian,” she said. She didn’t like saying anything about herself, but she was a were in a strange land looking for another were who might or might not have information about where she could find the prisoners that the Council held. Longshot didn’t even define the rate of success.
“Name’s Anatoly,” he said, leaning on the mahogany bar, moving his head closer to her, clearly trying to get a sniff. Ula didn’t like that much either and bared her teeth.
Anatoly froze in place. “Okay. Thought you were a wolf, too. No harm intended.” He raised his hands.
“Not used to the city,” she said, forcing the words out. “Too many humans. Too much noise. Nowhere to turn.”
Anatoly sighed. “And I would like to return to Russia, but we do what we have to do.”
The were on Ula’s left side said, “You get used to them. You take trips out to the forests. La Roche à l’Appel is my favorite. Lots of woods. Liechtenstein, if you’ve the means. The Black Forest in Germany is always kicking. They have weres there who are owls. Can you believe that freakiness?”
Another one said, “I prefer the city.”
Ula looked sideways at that one. With a subtle sniff, she decided, rat. A wererat.
“And what is the pretty lady doing in the city if she doesn’t like it?” asked Anatoly.
“Looking for someone,” she said shortly.
Anatoly grinned. “Lots of someones in La Bête. Some of them will love a wolf so much, they would even go to Canada with her.”
Ula bared her teeth again. Her lips were getting sore from having the perpetual snarl on her face. It didn’t do anything for her cause. Her mother often recited that old chestnut to her, “You catch more flies with honey.”
I don’t want to catch flies.
Drinking from the mug, Ula looked around while Anatoly walked away to serve one of the clientele at the bar. The weres on either side of her weren’t really interested in her, or they weren’t interested in a wolf shifter. It didn’t really matter which one to Ula because she didn’t want to have to dissuade them in a violent manner. The human on Boulevard de Clichy was hardly the first individual she’d had to discourage from touching her in an unwanted fashion.
Ula’s typical disposition was often moody, but since the kidnapping, since the escape, since meeting the other were, him, she was downright volatile. She didn’t want to be thinking of the strange were while searching for the fate of her sister. It distracted her, and she needed to be on top of her game.
Anatoly came back, obviously intrigued by Ula’s presence in an off-street tavern. She studied him in turn because he would probably be able to tell her what she wanted to know about the elusive shifter she was seeking.
His name was Pitch. The were she had heard it from wouldn’t say anything more and had slipped away before Ula could begin to threaten to cut off parts of his body. But the were had eluded her in the heavy crowds of the Champ de Mars.
Knowing what would happen if Ula just spit out the name, she waited and judged the crowd. The were at her left talked to her amicably about the forests of Manitoba. He was some sort of dog shifter. He didn’t smell like wolf. In fact, she suspected he was some kind of Saint Bernard. While he spoke, Ula carefully scanned the tavern. There were many dark corners, but her hearing was acute, and she could tune some of the words out to listen to individual conversations.
“That’s the problem with being a canine shifter,” the were at her left said. His accent was French, but he spoke English fluently. “If humans see a wolf shifter in the woods, then it’s okay. If there’s not supposed to be wolves in the area, then they say it was a big coyote. Humans are silly that way. But my coloring is brown and white. You wouldn’t believe how many dog catchers have been called on me. And changing once you’re in one of those pens is a bitch. No pun intended. They never make the pens big enough for my human shape.”
“You won’t see a human for a hundred square miles in Canada,” Ula said, taking another drink of her beer. “You’d smell them from a hundred fifty. And the wolves wouldn’t care if you were brown, white, and purple.” They don’t care much for felines, true, but they didn’t care about other canines.
“Hmm. They speak French there, non?”
“Oui,” Ula said, “but my French sucks.”
“Perhaps if you told me who you were looking for,” Anatoly suggested slyly, “I could tell you if that person was here or going to be here. I know mostly everyone. You too, now. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” Ula said.
“So what is your name?”
“Smith, Jane Smith,” Ula said deliberately.
“Jane Smith from Canada,” Anatoly said.
The St. Bernard chuckled. “Shouldn’t that be Jeanne Martin? In France, Martin is like Jones or Johnson in the United States. I read that on Wikipedia. Did you know they don’t have a single article about canine shifters? I thought about writing one, but I like my head right where it’s at. The Council isn’t fond of publicity.”
Ula thought of the humans’ military facility being blown to bits. “No kidding.”
The wererat on Ula’s right laughed. “Best not to discuss the Council around here.”
That irritated Ula. She was too used to her freedoms. There were human laws and then there were were laws. The isolation of north Manitoba kept the humans from interfering unduly. But she had been dragged into the Council’s world, and they weren’t about to share with her what she really needed.
“So Jane Smith from Canada,” Anatoly said, “who are you looking for?”
“Pitch,” Ula said succinctly. There wasn’t any point in procrastinating.
Immediately there was a deep silence. The excellent hearing of the weres had let them all in on the name she’d said. Someone abruptly cursed in French. Ula knew those words. Her father said them when he hit his thumb with a hammer or when he thought her mother wasn’t listening. Claire and Ula had prac
ticed those words out in the woods when they were adolescents.
Ula took a drink of her beer, still holding onto the cane with her other hand. Either someone would run out the door or someone would threaten her or someone would straightaway tell a lie.
“There isn’t a— ” Anatoly started to say.
There was the lie. Ula slammed the mug onto the bar. “Don’t. Don’t lie. You’re insulting me by thinking I can’t tell.”
Anatoly shifted uncomfortably behind the bar. His eyes looked behind Ula, and Ula stared at the reflection in the mirror above the bar. There were many weres behind her. Some of them hadn’t paid any attention to Ula when she had come in. Slowly, she turned to look.
What does a Pitch look like? she thought. A Pitch might be someone with black skin or black hair. As in pitch dark. Or a Pitch might be a word that meant something else in another language. A Pitch could be something sticky like a wereanteater. Or…someone who likes baseball?
One were wore a baseball jersey. It was white with pinstripes and on one breast, had a stylized N and Y on top of each other. Ula didn’t know much about American sports, but her father had an interest in baseball. The letters’ was for the New York Yankees. At the moment, she sort of wished she had a baseball bat instead of a cane, because there was a preponderance of weres looking at her as if she had just upset the largest apple cart of all time.
“You’re Pitch?” she said to the baseball jersey.
The were was about six feet tall and rail thin. His eyes were large and round. His chin was pointed, and his hair was a wild mess. He had been smoking a cigarette and drinking a glass of bourbon until Ula had made her move. He looked at her nervously and then took a drink of bourbon. He stubbed out the cigarette in an already stuffed ashtray and smiled apologetically at his table mates.
Crescent Moon Page 3