by Mina Carter
“Fine. We go. But this isn’t over. And you better be damn careful.”
She bit back a little growl, instead nodding as he turned to join her. “Right back at you, because if I end up nursing your sorry ass again, I won’t be happy.”
* * *
Time stopped as Spence watched the scene unfold before him. He needed to take in each piece of information and file it one at a time. They’d gone on this damn mission against his better judgement. They were in over their heads, and their human backup had been forced to retreat, leaving them cut off. Wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. That is, until the bastard angels pulled some kind of fancy new weapon. It was like a cannon or some shit. Loudest blast he’d ever heard caught Dale in the back and flung her thirty feet clean into a wall. She crumpled into a small heap on the ground.
Within a heartbeat he was in front of her in full-on wolf. In a complete change he stood in at seven foot tall, with long talons and a set of teeth that would’ve made the Big Bad Wolf blush with envy. His senses were in overdrive. He could smell a platoon or so. Lips curled into a snarl, he barked in rage at the angels taking up positions around them.
He cast a glance back to Dale. Her breathing was shallow, and the wound on her shoulder smoked and smelled of burnt meat. His muscles ached for blood. Slowly he backed up to her and set her up behind cover as he scanned for his nearest victim.
There was a moment of cold realization when the angels saw he wasn’t going to take this lying down. Their body language changed the instant they realized that this win was going to cost them. Dearly. He had no illusions. He wasn’t going to walk away from this alive. His goal was simple: carve up enough of these bastards until the resistance reinforcements could get here so that Dale could live on.
Quadriceps and calf muscles tensed as tendons went taut. In a blur of black and brown fur, he was off. Bluish white lances of energy sprayed into the wall where he’d been standing a moment ago.
The effort was futile, as he’d already removed the trachea of his first victim, a novice angel foot soldier who didn’t know his close-quarters technique. A blood-curdling howl filled the apocalyptic valley of dead skyscrapers. One, two, three, and four, he moved from one victim to the next, removing bowels and throats with swift swipes of his talons. The cannon was zeroing in on his movements now. Ear-shattering impacts fragmented concrete and liquefied steel in his wake.
He pounced on the cannoneer and shoved the weapon away as the angel fired, the barrel facing several of his own comrades. Their screams were drowned in the angry explosion that followed. Spencer broke the cannoneer’s arm in several places, each snap more satisfying than the last. His mouth watered for blood as he snarled and leaned in close, ready to clamp down on the angel’s throat. Just as he was set to deliver the killing blow, he was yanked from his feet by an impact so powerful it stole the air from his lungs.
He skipped off the ground four times and slid to a halt, a smoking wreck. He’d gotten sloppy in his blood rage and neglected the second platoon that had moved in to reinforce the one he was carving up like Christmas fixings. He tried to stand up, but pain drove him to his knees again. Vicious, blinding pain all but stole his ability to think. He glanced down, realizing that his arm was shattered and scorched. Even with his healing abilities, the damage was intense. He yelped in pain and held the injured limb gingerly.
Like a golden noose the angels closed in, ready to finish the pair off. Sneering and grinning, they leveled their weapons on him and Dale, and his gaze drifted back to where he’d left her. A tear stole down his blood-matted fur. Even though he’d finally mated her and claimed her as his own, he did regret that it took him so long. He wanted more time. Just another minute—another second—in her arms.
He watched the commander lift his arm and the winged op-for prepare the weapons. The sound of twenty-plus weapons being locked and loaded bore down on him. So this was it. Spencer Pena and Dale Foxx KIA on some shithole battlefield in the ass-end of beyond. He turned his gaze to her, determined to make her the last thing he saw in life. He waited. The Commander’s hand lowered.
Spencer closed his eyes and waited for death to claim him and the woman he loved.
Chapter Five
Death didn’t arrive.
Instead there was a sensation of movement. Spencer knew he was in transit, but the nature of his wounds made it hard to register where he was. The next thing he knew he was next to Dale. The sound of weapons fire was there, but the embrace of death was absent. Then he realized he was bathed in shadow. There were two massive tree-trunk-like legs in front of him. He followed them up to a scar-riddled torso and further to two piercing, red eyes that looked down at him. The face creased, then the owner huffed at him and crooned with a nod toward Dale. He gritted his teeth and used his good arm to crawl to her side and pull her close into him. She groaned in pain, but at least she was still with him.
The weapons fire ceased, and the massive figure stood upright. Then Spencer knew what was going on. It was Jon. He’d come to bail them out. The concrete jungle they stood within echoed with the angry, rage-filled howl that Jon let out, and a moment of fear-laden silence settled over the angels. He ploughed through walls, steel, light, and angels, the movements too much of a blur for Spencer to follow in his injured state. As he lay there though, his body started healing, his senses recovering. His acute hearing could pick up muscle and tissue being torn and crushed, armor and weapons being broken, shattered, Jon making the angels dead with a quickness. At last a call for retreat was issued, and the remaining forces bailed from Jon’s reach, into the safety of the sky.
The earth shook with each thundering step Jon took. The huge Nephilim loomed over both of them and scooped them up in massive hands to carry them back to a small field camp not far off. Spencer spotted General Pendragon, one of the Resistance leaders, barking commands and making order from chaos. Spence’s body shifted back to human as his Nephilim taxi ride brought him to a halt in front of her.
“Boss—” He coughed out, trying to ignore the pain in his side.
She turned, brows snapping together. A small woman, she radiated a force and energy that made her seem larger than her physical form. Spence had once seen her asleep, a rare occurrence at the best of times, and remembered being startled by how tiny she was, especially compared to Jon, the other Resistance leader. Jon grunted as the General gave him a look and a nod toward the ground. The pair didn’t speak to each other often; the two seemed to have some other form of communication. None of the troops had ever asked what. No one dared.
“Pena, what the fuck have you been doing to yourself?” MK asked, her voice curt as she cast a glance over his arm and turned to Dale, who was silent as Jon laid her gently on the ground.
Her expression darkened as she knelt in the dirt and dust by Spence’s fallen mate. She checked Dale’s arm and shoulder, hands steady. Then she looked up, her eyes black, and real fear surged through Spencer.
“What was she hit with?”
He coughed, the tiniest disturbance sending tidal waves of pain roaring through his nervous system, reminding him of how lucky they were to still be alive. Unsure, he shook his head and gave a sloppy one-shoulder shrug.
“Fuck if I know Boss. Some kind of cannon. They made those damn light-spittin’ lances into a freaking handheld howitzer. Bastards surrounded us and pounced. Dale wasn’t even looking when it caught her in the back. I got sloppy, lost control, and took a shot to the side.”
Jon’s glance went down and away at the mention of losing control. He lumbered off to the perimeter, patrolling the edges of their makeshift camp. Spence watched Jon stalk for a moment, until he passed behind Pendragon. The big demon’s eyes sought her out again, as though he was reassuring himself that she was okay.
Damn, as much as he loved the fact that they were on his side, these two creeped him out.
“Bastards. Shouldn’t be using those on the battlefield,” MK muttered as she moved her hands over Dale’s shoulder.
Spencer watched, attention sharp despite his own pain. His tension eased somewhat. Dale was in the best place she could be right now. There wasn’t anyone he knew who was better at healing than the General. Indeed, as he watched, the edges of the massive wound on Dale’s shoulder started to close in, the skin forming beneath.
MK settled onto her heels, her lips moving as she muttered something under her breath, like a litany or chant—Spence wasn’t sure which—as she tilted Dale to the side and swept down her ribcage. She stopped, a frown creasing her brow.
“Shit…” She looked up and around, searching the perimeter. “Jon!”
The horizon was clear of any sign of him, but a whistling sound announced something large descending. It slammed into the fallen wall of an old building in the center of the district, showering the surroundings with debris and dust. Jon emerged from the chaos, his glowing red eyes darting to and fro like heat-seeking missiles. When no sign of imminent danger presented, every taut, hard muscle in his body relaxed a little.
He huffed, announcing his arrival, and lowered himself on all fours to look MK in the face at her level. Hunched over as he was, it was no wonder the resistance thought of him as a tank. Spencer was always awestruck at just how fucking big this guy was. Yet he always treated the Boss like a dainty flower.
“He always come when you call like that?” Spence asked, trying to brighten the grim mood.
MK slid him a look around a massive forearm. “Usually, yes. Sometimes when I don’t as well. Can be a right pain in the ass when you’re shopping for lingerie.”
She reached out and patted Jon’s arm, shifting him around until she was leaning against him. Then shit got real. She closed her eyes and did something, summoned something. Even Spence registered the rush of power, as though everything in this twisted version of reality turned toward the hard-nosed resistance leader kneeling in the dirt.
A breeze surged and circled, like a hot air riser, as she laid hands on Dale again. Her chanting got louder, the words strange but melodic. Almost familiar but alien at the same time. Her skin lightened, then started to glow, darker patches moving over and under the flesh. Spencer frowned and tilted his head, trying to make them out. They looked almost like runes, maybe?
Spence watched as the nine-foot-tall, charcoal-skinned, walking battle tank started to shrink and revert back to his normal form. Now this was new, and the fact they were weird was seriously amplified. Was she pulling something from him and giving it to Dale? At this point, given the way it was fixing Dale, he didn’t much give a shit what they did. He watched as the glow from MK channeled along with the runes into Dale’s body and radiated out the edges of the wound, pulsing at it, forcing it shut bit by bit. Dale stirred under MK’s touch, and Spence’s heart skipped a few beats.
“Fuck almighty…you did it.” He mentally face palmed when he realised what he’d said. Not exactly the best tact, but it enunciated his relief clearly. Dale would be OK. That was good enough for him.
MK nodded, the strain evident on her face as she turned to him.
“Your turn.” Her voice was soft, different than normal, and even he could tell it was weak. Not wanting to strain her further after what she’d done for Dale, he struggled to his feet and knelt next to her.
Her lips quirked in a small smile of gratitude, and then her hand was on his arm. He yelped as power was shoved into his body in one blinding rush. White hot, it slammed into his injured arm, shattering the bones further then, miraculously, re-knitting them whole. Torn and damaged flesh slid and caught, healing in the space between one heartbeat and the next. He watched in amazement as the skin pulled together and sealed.
“Sorry.” MK’s hand dropped from his arm as though she had nothing left in her. “That was rushed, and it had to have been painful.”
He shook his head no, grateful for the help. His arm had been ruined, and the effects of the weapon would have left him down for quite some time, even given his ability to heal. He trailed his index finger up and down over his now patched-up arm, surprised.
“Thanks Boss…for everything.” He gave a nod to the resting form of Dale. To have her healthy and well was an intense relief, and it let him focus on getting rested himself. “Thanks to you I’ve still got a reason to fight.”
The General nodded and went to rise, but shook her head and sat back on her heels. She smiled a little ruefully. “Think I might just sit here for a while. Take in the scenery and all that.”
Jon stood up and scooped her into his arms with minimal effort. He was a hell of a lot stronger as a regular Joe than he looked.
“None of that,” he told her when she started to complain. She pursed her lips, but the look Jon gave silenced the normally bossy woman.
Spence caught Jon’s gaze as it went from Dale back to himself.
“Take care of her, she’s going to need the help once the baby comes.” Then he walked off, leaving Spence blinking as he tried to replay the last line through his head in a way that would make sense.
“Wait…what?!”
Jon turned and paused, confusion on his face. “I thought you knew?”
MK shot him a dark look before turning to Spencer.
“Ignore him, he’s been hit around the head one too many times. I suggest you get back to your quarters and look after her. You’re both off rotation until I say. Understand?”
Spence could only nod and watch as MK and Jon bickered with each other on the way to their own tent. Then he turned to Dale, pulled her up into his lap, and caressed her face softly as she rested peacefully. He’d always wanted to do this. Watch her sleep. But their lives weren’t that kind. Most times they were asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow at night, and that’s if they were lucky enough to make it back to the barracks at all.
She murmured his name. Spence smiled and curled around her in his lap, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She was alive and…and… His head shot up as the realization of what Jon had said hit him harder than that damn angel cannon.
Baby.
Shit.
They were going to be parents.
His protective tendencies multiplied tenfold as he gathered her up into his arms.
“So…that was pretty tense back there. The Boss patched ya up. How do you feel?” he asked, trying to keep himself from just blurting it out and confusing her as much as Jon had him. He knew they’d had a bad fight before heading out, but this day had been his worst fears all realized.
The one thing he’d given up on was the notion of guardian angels. Hell, good angels at all. He didn’t realize that a pair of them had been looking out for what was left of mankind. And they saved his life, his mate, and now…his new family.
She blinked at him, eyes a little unfocused at first but rapidly sharpening.
“Like I got run over with a truck. What hit me? Are you okay?”
He gave a nod to his arm. The skin was a shade lighter than the rest of his body, but the tissue wasn’t gnarled or knotted the way normal scars were.
“Got hit by it too. Some kind of new, high-powered weapon. Man portable. Packs a helluva punch. And somehow keeps us from healing. I think they’re trying to adapt to us…” He tried to keep the concern and hints of dread from seeping through his voice but suspected he failed miserably when she patted his thigh in comfort.
“Shh…we’ll manage.” Her voice was quiet but reassuring as she settled closer into his embrace. She brushed a kiss over his shoulder, one of the little things she’d started doing since they’d mated. Just small things, small touches, but ones he felt down to his toes.
With a grunt, he rose to his feet with her still in his arms and started back toward the barracks. The fact that Dale didn’t argue was evidence of how weak she was. Any other time she’d have been spitting feathers, as mad as a wet hen that he was trying to coddle her.
Some of the troops in the camp gave them thumbs up signs and waves, genuine pleasure at two returning soldiers when so many perished on the ba
ttlefield. The camaraderie forced a grin across his face as they made it to their building. Nudging open the door with his boot, he made his way inside, careful not to bump her on anything, and laid her down on the bed. She looked almost fragile there. His hand drifted to hers. How to say this?
“So…since we’re together now, we’ll need to look at growing our pack, and uh…you should probably start picking names very soon.” He scratched his head then tried to cover up the nervous gesture. It was a tell when he knew more than he was letting on. Hard to suppress damn it, but how do you just spill something like that?
“We’re going to be a bigger family soon…”
Dale hurt all over. Every cell in her body felt like it had been worked over with a two-by-four, but none of that mattered as she tried to process Spencer’s words. He couldn’t mean…no. They hadn’t been mated long enough for that.
“Yeah, right.” She chuckled and made a half-hearted attempt to throw a pillow at him. It skittered across the sheets and fell on the floor. “We haven’t been…um, trying? Some wolf couples take years to catch like that.”
Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes for a second, sheer relief that they’d made it out alive rolling through her. She didn’t remember much of the battle, other than it was a complete fuck up and the odds had been stacked against them. They’d furred up and gone in, but that was all she recalled. She didn’t even remember being hit, but she must have been.
She opened her eyes. Spence leaned over her, lines of strain and concern on his handsome face. She reached up to cup his cheek.
“I’m sorry, you were right. We should never have taken that mission.”
He shook his head, his whiskers tickling her palm.
“It’s ok. You were right too. If we start turning our backs on people because we’re afraid to lose what we have then we’re just going to lose this war. Thankfully we’ve got some guardian angels of our own.”
He caressed her cheek then stroked the hair back from her face. His hand dropped down to cover her stomach.