by J. D. Tyler
“I’ll bet. Speaking of healing, how’s that tiger shifter who came in not long ago? What’s his name? He was pretty bad off.”
Noah’s expression sobered. “Leonidis. He’s still in rough shape. His family is taking turns staying at Sanctuary to be near him. He may make it, but we’re not sure yet about a full recovery.”
“Damn.” Micah shook his head. “I could never be a doctor or nurse. I admire what you guys are doing over there, putting broken guys like me back together.”
“You’re not broken,” Noah said softly.
Uh-oh. Here came the unwanted sympathy.
“Nah, you’re just cracked,” Nix put in, breaking the awkward moment before it could fully form.
Micah chuckled, and the others visibly relaxed, appearing relieved. Christ, did they really think he was that freaking fragile? “Cracked and superglued so tight I’m a damn work of art. Right, Noah?”
The nurse shook his head, but his lips were turned up in a small smile edged with concern. “Right.”
Quickly Micah took two last bites of his pancakes. Then, pushing his plate away, he stood, pasting on a cheerful grin. “Well, this has been fun. Gotta go check on my bike, so I’ll see you guys later.”
The others issued a round of good-byes, but Aric watched him with a narrow-eyed stare. Nothing got past the redheaded wolf, but he didn’t challenge Micah’s excuse as he turned to leave. As he started toward the exit, Micah saw that Nick was still finishing up breakfast and talking with his mate, so maybe he’d get some time to himself before the meeting with the commander.
On the heels of that thought, a loud tone pulsed through the air, startling everyone into silence. Micah halted briefly, his current troubles blown away like so much dust, for the time being. The alarm meant only one thing—the Alpha Pack had to take to the air, fast. No time for a team briefing. Nick would receive a call from his boss, General Jarrod Grant, stating the emergency situation that needed to be handled and the location. The commander had already risen from his seat and was on the move, putting his cell phone to his ear.
Micah, for one, couldn’t wait for the fight. Adrenaline coursed through his blood like fire.
He took off after Nick, his Pack brothers following suit. There was no time to dash back to their quarters. They ran outside, across the driveway, straight for the huge hangar that housed their land vehicles and aircraft to find their standby pilots already firing up two of the Hueys. Aric would pilot the third.
Some of the team armed themselves with weapons from the secure storage unit in the hangar, but aside from his knife, Micah didn’t bother. Honestly, his wolf was much stronger than his human half in a fight. And unlike most of the others, his particular Psy gift as a Dreamwalker wouldn’t help anyone much in battle—unless all the combatants suddenly fell asleep.
Not damn likely. Snorting to himself, he climbed onto Aric’s copter. If the man was flying, he couldn’t give Micah shit. Of course there was his sister to deal with, along with Sorcerer/Necromancer/black panther Kalen Black, Channeler/gray wolf Ryon Hunter, Hammer—aka former FBI agent John Ryder—and a watchful Nick.
The commander pulled out his cell phone, answering an incoming call with a greeting loud enough to be heard over the engine and whirling blades. “Jarrod, what’s going on?” After a brief conversation, he ended the call and keyed the handheld radio that would send his voice through their headsets.
“Got a bad situation fifty miles north, a panicked family under siege by what they described to the dispatcher at the sheriff’s office as large beasts with wings.” He let that sink in as the copter lifted into the air through the portal in the hangar’s roof, and several of the team cursed.
Micah almost choked. “Demons?”
“Demons are my best guess,” Nick confirmed for the benefit of those listening on units in the other helicopters. “We haven’t fought anything this lethal in a while. They’re going to make the goblins look like poodles. You guys ready?”
A chorus of Fuck yeah and We got this chimed in through the headsets, and Micah grinned in spite of the sliver of fear that send shards of ice sliding into his blood. Some things never changed. The Pack never backed down from an enemy. Never.
“Watch the fangs and claws,” Nick went on. “Their venom can be deadly, even for shifters. Go for the kill, fast. Don’t listen to anything they might say, or engage in a verbal confrontation. Let the bastards get into your head, and you’re fucked. They love to take slaves to the Underworld almost as much as they love to kill—which is probably why the family they’re trying to get to isn’t dead yet. They’re toying with the poor people, but they won’t wait much longer.”
Micah shuddered. Of all the horrors never to experience, aside from his own kidnapping and torture, being taken to the Underworld and subjected to whims of demons were right among the top five. According to legend, the demons answered to Hades. Was that even true? Another item to add to the list.
Let’s not find out.
Across from Micah, Kalen and John were talking. Glancing next to him at Rowan, he was disconcerted to find her observing him worriedly. Shaking his head to stave off any questions or lectures, he looked across to Ryon to find the man staring at him. Or, not at Micah, exactly. More like, glancing around him.
“Man, what are you looking at?” he growled.
The other man stilled for a few moments, eyes glazing over, which was creepy as hell. Then he met Micah’s gaze and simply said, “Later.”
“What?”
“I’ll talk to you about it later.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” A suspicion struck him. “You seein’ dead people again? Around me?”
Ryon’s grim silence was answer enough.
“Who are they?” Rowan demanded, startled.
“Seriously, fuck that shit. Tell ’em to buzz off.”
Ryon just sighed and turned his gaze out the open side of the Huey. “Doesn’t work that way. Wish it did.” He refused to say more, and silence descended between the three of them.
“Go on, fly away,” Micah hissed to the spirits or whatever was hovering near him. Of course, he couldn’t sense them, but that didn’t mean it bothered him any less. Ryon knew they were there, and that was good enough evidence for him. What the fuck did they want?
Ryon gave a negative shake of his head to indicate that hadn’t worked to send away the spirits, and went back to watching the forest whiz past below them.
Well, Micah’s friend didn’t seem too concerned, so apparently there was no immediate danger. Putting it out of his mind for now, he closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself for the coming battle.
Demons were big bastards. Shut out their voices. Get underneath them. Avoid sharp objects. Go for a quick kill, head and heart. Easy. Like taking a Sunday stroll.
Okay, maybe not that simple. But Micah couldn’t deny he was looking forward to the fight. Anticipation began to pump through him the closer they got to their destination, and by the time the Hueys landed in a meadow surrounded by mountains, his mind was totally focused on the job.
As soon as they were clear to move around, his sister and John bailed from the helicopter without looking back. With their particular Psy gifts—Rowan was a Dreamwalker and Hammer a Tracer—they would fight better in human form, with weapons, like when they had been in law enforcement. Kalen’s panther was lethal, but his skills as a Sorcerer were essential in a battle against such a formidable enemy, so he remained dressed in his dark jeans and long leather duster. Micah, Nick, and Aric shed their clothes quickly and shifted into their wolf forms.
Nick, a large white wolf, led them about a hundred yards from the helicopters. Jaxon Law, RetroCog/Timebender/gray wolf and the Pack’s second in command, strode quickly to the head of the group in human form to stand with Nick and John. Jax was an imposing figure, tall and muscular with short black hair and a neat goatee. He was a son of a bitch in a fight, too, no matter what form he chose.
“Listen up,”
Jax called out. Then he pointed over the meadow to the north. “The homestead is just over the rise, about a mile and a half away. Unless the demons are stone deaf, they heard the copters, which means we need to strike fast. Hopefully the noise distracted them and bought the family some time, but that and landing closer meant sacrificing the element of surprise. Hit those fuckers fast and hard! Let’s go!”
Handing the enemy advance warning of your arrival? Not optimal. But sometimes there was no help for it, and you did what you had to do. They took off, their pace quickly eating up the distance. About a half mile from the place, the team’s human sniper, A. J. Stone, set up on a ridge. It was always damned comforting to know A.J. was out there, ready to pick off the enemy sneaking up behind them.
As they raced down the slope, a large, sprawling log cabin came into view. Nestled in the hills, surrounded by trees with the mountains rising majestically around it, the scene should’ve been breathtaking.
But to the terrified family inside, their haven had become a nightmare. Their screams could be heard clearly through the broken windows and bashed-in front door, even if Micah hadn’t possessed a wolf shifter’s enhanced hearing.
Pouring on the speed, Nick cleared the threshold of the front door ahead of them, Micah right behind him. The sight that greeted them should’ve terrified him, but there was no time to be afraid.
The demon standing in the living room splintering the sofa like a matchstick whirled to face them, a grin full of yellowed teeth spreading across its broad gray face. It took up the whole space at nearly seven feet tall, leathery wings spanning some twenty feet wide. Long, razor-sharp claws tipped the big, almost-humanlike hands and feet, and its chest was broad.
“Greetings, fools,” it said pleasantly. Then it tossed the sofa aside and launched itself at Nick. The fight was on.
More demons materialized seemingly from nowhere, and the team had all they could handle.
“Micah, look out!”
John’s shout came just in time to keep Micah from losing his head. Turning, he ducked, avoiding the demon’s claws but losing a tuft of fur in the process. Shit, that was close!
Snarling, Micah rushed the creature, going straight for the throat. The demon wasn’t going down so easily, however. Though it stumbled backward, it managed to grab him and fling his body across the room and into the wall. He hit hard enough to crack the plaster, which rained on him as he fell to the floor. Stunned for a moment, he shook himself off and went in for round two.
On this second charge, he changed tactics. The demon was prepared for him to jump again and go for the throat. Instead, he hurtled himself at the creature’s legs. In a flash, he sank his fangs into the vulnerable thigh muscle—and ripped out the demon’s hamstring. Screeching in pain, the bastard fell hard, writhing.
Got you now, fucker. Micah swiftly tore out its throat, and as the demon gurgled helplessly, Micah shifted into his half-man, half-wolf form. Then he used his own sharp claws like knives, plunging them into the creature’s chest and ripping out its black heart. The beast died, eyes glazing, surprise still etched on its ugly mug.
He didn’t get to savor his victory. A hard blow took him in the side, and he rolled a few feet. A new demon attacked, and he used the hamstringing method again, with success. Dispatched the enemy. And again, on another. The Pack was winning the battle, and hopefully they’d find the family—who’d stopped screaming—alive, safe, and barricaded in the basement.
Just as he finished taking the heart of another demon beneath him, Rowan screamed from somewhere behind him. “Micah!”
Still in half-form, he turned—
“Ungh.” Blinking, breath stolen away, it took him a couple of heartbeats to register the demon towering over him, smirking in triumph.
“Die, wolf.”
The claws of one of the beast’s hands were buried in Micah’s chest. The strange, cold burn of the venom was spreading through his limbs, his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He tried to lift his arm, to swipe his claws at the creature, but couldn’t. The demon laughed and dug the talons deeper.
“Micah! No!”
A loud bang sounded. And the demon fell away in a shower of blood, brain matter, and bone. The claws were torn from Micah’s chest, and he sank to his knees, gasping. Unable to retain his shift, he returned to human form and stared at the blood gushing from the grisly wound to stream down his abdomen.
“Shit,” he wheezed.
The instant he toppled to the floor, hands were on him. The noise of the waning battle faded into the background. Suddenly he was on his back with Zander Cole, the Pack’s Healer, beside him dressed in fatigues and a dark T-shirt. Tucking his gun into his waist band, Zan placed a hand over the bleeding wound.
“Steady,” he said in a quiet, soothing voice. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Micah’s next breath was strangled in his chest, as though a fist was crushing the life out of him. “Hurry.”
Zan closed his eyes and stilled. Micah was in too much pain to look down and watch what he was doing, but a warm glow began to seep into his chest. Gentle waves lapped at the agony, wearing it away gradually. His breath came easier, and he began to relax. Thank God for the Healer, or he might not have survived the trip back to the compound.
“I want you to stay still, okay?” Zan was frowning slightly, trying not to show his worry.
“Why? I feel a lot better.”
“I’d just rather you take it easy until we get you back and let the doctors examine you.”
Nick crouched at Micah’s side, back in human form, a borrowed coat wrapped around him. “House is secure. Family is safe. Kalen is wiping the demons from their memories and replacing them with poachers who broke in, looking for money and weapons.”
“Would poachers do that?”
“It was the best he could do in a pinch,” Nick said wryly. “Sheriff Deveraux is here, too. We’re letting them take over the scene.”
Sheriff Jesse Deveraux was a big, mean-tempered asshole. And a good ally to the Pack. He was one of the few humans outside the compound to know about the paranormal world and the Alpha Pack’s role in it. Grumpy or not, he was also an honest man, and a good guy to have on your side.
“So, basically, we were never here,” Micah said.
“You got it.” The commander eyed him, then glanced at Zan. A look passed between him and the Healer before he addressed Micah again. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure that was totally true, but that’s what he was going with. Clearly neither of the men was convinced.
Nick patted his shoulder. “You’ll do as Zan says. Like I told you, a demon’s venom is nothing to fuck with. Zan healed the worst of the wound, but you’re going to feel like shit for a couple of days. Stay put while I send somebody for a stretcher.”
Micah opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from the boss cut it short. “Fine.”
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and drifted, ignoring the activity around him. Jeez, he was tired. Someone covered him with a blanket. Rowan stroked his hair and whispered, “I love you, you jerk,” which made him smile as he murmured the sentiment to his sister in return.
A few minutes later, he heard Nick, Zan, and Rowan talking some distance away and realized they were discussing him. He probably should’ve alerted them to the fact that he was awake.
Nah, screw that. He wanted to know what they were so uptight about that they weren’t saying to his face.
“What is it?” Rowan asked, voice quiet.
Zan answered. “I’m concerned about some anomalies I detected while I was healing your brother.”
“Anomalies? What do you mean? Like tumors or something?” Alarm tinged her questions.
“Not like a disease, but more of a sense that something isn’t right inside his body. The healing was more difficult than it should’ve been and—”
“But Nick said that demon venom is deadly, so of course something wasn’t right.
Besides, it wasn’t so long ago that your healing abilities weren’t up to speed. Maybe you’re still having some trouble.”
Zan didn’t seem to take offense to that suggestion, but he was insistent. “I assure you, my healing is right on target again. The cells in Micah’s body weren’t knitting as quickly as they should have been, even after a demon attack. They needed a lot of coaxing to re-form, more than usual for one of us. I just think it bears watching, that’s all.”
“All right.” She sighed, her tension palpable. “Thanks, my friend. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me. I want to see him well as much as anyone.”
Humiliation crept through Micah. He loved them for caring, but hated being a burden. Hated lying flat on his back when he was supposed to be stronger than his problems. A protector. But at the moment, it didn’t matter that he loathed his situation, because his body was doing its job. Shutting down, forcing him to rest whether he wanted to or not.
Exhaustion claimed him. And in seeped the nightmares.
“Bring him this way.”
Micah stumbled along the dim corridor, held between the two big guards. Fear clogged this throat. He knew where they were going. What they were going to do to him this time?
He’d resisted so far. Each time, the doctor upped the stakes. Pushed his mind and body further. Withheld food and water. Tortured him nearly beyond endurance, What more could they do to him? Nothing but kill him. That would be a blessed relief.
In the dark chamber, there were two shifters waiting. Unkempt hair hung over their round, frightened eyes, and their bodies were unwashed. One was chained on a concrete slab over a drain. The other, bolted to the stone wall, faced his companion, spread-eagle.
This was a new game their captors were playing. A chill of trepidation raced along his spine as he watched Dr. Bowman stride forward, a small smile on his face.
“Ah, Micah. Welcome. Let me introduce you to Parker and Tyler. Parker is there,” Dr. Bowman said, pointing to the shifter positioned over the drain.
Dread grew in Micah’s chest, settling like a lead weight. Whatever game Bowman was playing, it didn’t bode well for any of them. Especially when the doc and his goons had always referred to their captives by number—until now. He had a terrible suspicion that Bowman had moved on to the next stage of his plan to turn him into a killing machine, someone who wouldn’t let personal details like names interfere with his objective.