The sweat running down Isaiah Gabriel’s forehead seemed a bit more than stage lights. Then again, Carter tried to stay as far away from religion and its trappings as possible. The vague look in Isaiah Gabriel’s eyes could be other things. The deacon could ill. He could be on drugs. Could be. Yeah. Right. With that pleasant cadence in his voice, Carter was hedging his bets on mild hypnosis. A little extra ‘push’ to his sermon of intolerance and prejudice.
“How long before our anything goes attitude becomes our downfall? I ask you, Did Christ allow the demons to reside in human shells?” Deacon Gabriel took a deep breath, straightening his short pudgy body to its full height. With a name like that, no doubt the man imagined himself as God’s mortal right hand. “No!” He slammed a hand back on his podium, picking up his Bible, raising the book for all to see. One large finger swept over the crowd and behind him. “Christ took matters into his own hands and purged the demons from society. He drove the sinners from the church!”
Whatever. He went back to examining the dart that bothered him, wondering if the dosage was off. Not knowing the chemical makeup of the drugs ruled out an up close and personal look of what was in the dart. Not that he wanted to waste what energy he’d built back up. Could he be developing a bit of precognition this late in life? He doubted it. His subconscious likely found a new way to combine and tweak the gifts he already owned for a different purpose. Too bad the good deacon couldn’t find a new outlet for his calling. Something a lot less conspicuous would be helpful in Carter’s book.
Carter himself had zero tolerance for the unnatural things that preyed on humanity. Too many times he’d faced off with the monsters and seen them for what they really are. Normal, null humans had no defenses against that kind of evil. Neither did they have much defense against those like Deacon Isaiah Gabriel. How long before some idiot took his message at face value and targeted regular people for no other reason than prejudice?
Gingerly taking the dart apart gave him no clues as to his disturbance over the dart. Putting it back together, he set it aside on a cheap table tray with the others that also gave him a ‘bad feeling’ while he rearranged the good ones all in a colorful, neat little deadly top row. The ones he felt uneasy about using, Carter delegated to the bottom row of the case. He’d rather not keep them together, but safety measures and lack of a spare lockbox limited his choices. As a breed of psychic whose very survival depended on listening to a combination of his gifts and intuition, he took those ‘feelings’ seriously, bad or good. Something told him that more half of his remaining poison and tranq darts were ‘off’.
He pulled his new cell phone out of his jeans pocket and dialed. The line rang six times before his idiot assistant answered.
“Uh…hey, Carter. You haven’t been checking in.” Chowder’s sleepy voice held more confusion than irritation. The sleepy tone wore off fast. “What’s up? Hey! This is a new number. I tried calling, but you haven’t been answering. Then your phone’s GPS said you were hanging out in a dump in a place called Whitehouse. A real trash dump not just some other…dump.” Chowder wound down, finally taking a breath. “Something bothering you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What would be bothering me Chowder?” He asked mildly. What did you do to my equipment, you good-for-nothing? Carter wondered if he had been finding reasons to avoid checking in. “I need you to check the tags on a vehicle.”
“Okay. Wait. I gotta get a pen and paper.” Chowder grunted, the sound of him rummaging made Carter think of the gerbil he’d owned as a kid. The thing kept him awake, scurrying back and forth all night. “Okay. No. Wait! My pen won’t write.” More rummaging as Carter pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He clenched his teeth instead of snapping at Chower’s usual ineptness. “Um. Go ahead.”
Carter relayed the black truck’s tag number, remembering how quickly the driver had realized he was being tailed. For about fifteen minutes, they’d been travelling down highway one fifty-five. Carter had only to keep that supernatural glow in range of his psychic senses and he could have followed as far as a mile behind. Then, the black truck decided to turn onto a small county road leading to the town of Neches. The Hunter never saw any town, but they managed to pass a brick storage building with a Post Office sign and a small school he identified with the bus sitting in the U shaped drive. After that Carter had a an interesting time keeping track of all the turns in the road before they erupted on highway 79 in the opposite direction, back to Palestine and the Supercenter parking lot. After consulting a map, he still wondered how they managed that turn around.
He only glimpsed the back of supernatural that exited the truck, leaving Carter with the impression of a dark haired yokel in his prime wearing the requisite t-shirt, jeans, and boots. Once the werewolf, or whatever it was, walked into the store without a backward glance to make an ID, Carter let go of his Sight and drove off.
“Hey, Carter?” Chowder’s erratic keystrokes held the edge of tap dancing squirrels. “I’m having a bit of a problem with this.”
“I thought the Department of Motor Vehicles was an easy one.”
“Yeah. Usually. This is coming up as a business vehicle owned by Lobos Luna Construction. Ha-ha. I get it. Werewolves an’ claw hammers. Maybe I can find the insurance owner and a list of drivers. Shouldn’t take long.”
“Right. Email me with what you find.”
“Hey! I’ll call you.”
“No. Don’t bother. Email is fine.” Carter fidgeted with the new SIM card he’d already set up wondering if maybe the blond female werewolf’s tags would give him anything to go on. As the delicate seeming beauty’s face hovered in his mind’s eye, Carter decided to keep that bit of information to himself for a future date. None of the creatures he hunted knew either his scent or his face. At this point, the female was a contact he could use if needed.
“Carter?” Irritation at his assistant’s inability to get the hint to hang up made the Hunter grind his teeth. “You think maybe it’s time to call in some help with this one?” This time he did make a noise, almost a growl like one of the monsters he hunted. Still Chowderhead didn’t get the point. “I mean, we’re kind of worried about you. You’ve been kind of weird since Pete died.”
“What do you mean by we?”
“Victoria and me.” Chowder’s quick answer tumbled out on a nervous note. “You haven’t killed those werewolves yet. It’s not like you. You’re a bad-ass, just like Tracker was. The old man wouldn’t have spent so much time messing around with them.”
“Well, just go ahead and say what you mean, Chowder.” Angry sarcasm dripped from Carter’s tone. Damn, why couldn’t he have an assistant that did what he needed without questioning everything to death?
“Okay.” Chowder’s nervousness dissipated into righteous anger. “They’re monsters under that human disguise, Carter. It’s almost like you don’t want to make the kill.” His assistant’s voice rose in frustration. “And now, you’ve got the perfect opportunity to balance the scales for what those things did to us. You’ve got everything you need to wipe them out once and for all.”
Cold calm seeped into Carter’s veins, slipped into his voice. “While guys like you stay safe in their homes, Tracker died doing his duty. In the field. Not in an office playing computer games. Got it?” Armchair quarterbacks in general irritated the hell out of him. In no way did he think that Victoria had anything to do with this. Carter pictured Chowder, and whomever the idiot hung out with, swapping Hunter stories over a pizza. The vision made him want to break his so-called assistant’s neck. “So until you think you can go toe to toe with three hundred pounds of pissed-off teeth and claws about to make a meal of you, shut the fuck up and let those who can do their jobs.”
More silence on the end of the line. If it weren’t for the soft uneven breaths, he would have thought the line had gone dead. Chowder’s voice came back far more subdued. “Yeah. I got it, Carter. My last name’s still Hunter, even if I do sit at a computer and do your busy w
ork.” The bitter wounded quality in his cousin’s voice almost made Carter relent. Instead, he stayed strong. In the Hunter’s world, family was a weakness the enemy could exploit. Chowder’s next words made him wonder if he might have pushed the little guy too far. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my job.”
* * * *
India sat in the kitchen slicing bread under Diana Weis’s watchful eye. Every nerve was on alert as others drifted in and out of the room. “Make sure the slices are at least as thick as your thumb.” She glanced at India’s long tapered fingers. “Well, at least as thick as my thumb.” She handed India another warm loaf, fresh out of the bread machine. “We don’t buy regular bread. Not only does this group eat like the proverbial pack of wolves, but we’d just be making too many trips to town for groceries. At twenty minutes one way, the gas bill alone would be astronomical.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” A pretty ginger-haired female walked into the room toting a toddler dressed all in pink and ruffles. India remembered seeing both woman and child in the living area when she arrived. Tall and lanky, the female’s distended belly showed her to be about halfway through her pregnancy. “Mom’s got everyone on a strict high protein, low sugar diet plan. She has since before she and Adam married.” Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out a child-sized cup already sealed with a spill proof lid from a tray of similar multi-colored ones and handed the cup to the little girl’s outstretched hand. The sipping side of the cup went straight into the girl’s mouth as she climbed one handed into one of the table chairs. India wanted to smile at the pink ruffled butt waggling in the air as she found her balance. She straightened, one hand on the small of her back, and smiled. “I’m Karen Weis by the way.”
“India Demos.” Carefully slicing the bread, India stacked the pieces neatly on the plate. Diana pulled a large ham and cheese from the refrigerator as Karen set a tray down. Together, the women began assembling sandwiches from the sliced bread as the other children wandered into the room.
“We’re hungry,” announced a boy of about ten years. He carried another pink ruffled little girl. The twin boys and the Changed pup whined behind him.
“Me an Jolie dressed the same.” The pink girl announced from the chair. Both Karen and Diana smiled, still making sandwiches like crazy.
“You can all sit on the linoleum to eat.” Karen instructed, handing out sandwiches to the children. The oldest boy took two sandwiches while one of the identical twins took a second.
“I’m gonna hold Justin’s so’s he can eat the same as us.” The twin said.
His brother nodded. “Yeah. We ain’t dogs. We’re wolven.”
“That’s right. We’re not dogs, so stay out from under the table.” Brandon, the lean, scary warden entered the kitchen. The others right behind him. Chaos reigned as the children clamored for the adult males’ attention. Adam picked up the older girl, her blond hair almost a match to his. He tossed her up before kissing her head and cuddled the child into his chest.
India’s heart caught in her chest. This was what being part of a pack was all about. Somehow her old pack had forgotten the basics. Yes, they had been part of the pack, but over the years the Orange County Alpha had been more concerned about appearances. This type of closeness faded as the pack’s focus shifted to money and social importance. The younger girl squealed, nearly falling out of the boy’s arms until Brandon grabbed her up and went straight to Karen. Concern tightened his features as he gently leaned down to kiss his mate on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine, now that you’re listening to reason.” Taking the resistant child, Karen handed him a sandwich. The little girl’s grabby hands latched onto Brandon’s shirt so that she hung halfway between the protective couple as he ate. “You worry too much.”
He slid an inscrutable glance at Diana, then back to his mate. “Your choice of an overnight vacation spot left a lot to be desired.”
Karen smirked. “Pregnant doesn’t mean stupid. If you’re going to haul me across Texas, I get to pick where I want to go.” She turned to her mother, giving Diana a wide and mischievous smile. “Right, Mom?”
“Oh, sure,” Diana answered. “Where were you going?”
Brandon growled, glaring at his mate as he took a bite of another sandwich to keep from answering. Karen’s laugh eased the building tension. Good, since having faced Brandon’s teeth once already, India wondered how dangerous the warden could be at home. Karen obviously, was the music that tamed his savage soul. “I thought, if we’re going to get away, do it in style. Corpus Christi or Houston would be fun to bump around in,” she told her mother. “Brandon isn’t going to admit it, but he was having fits because the baby is due in a couple of months.”
“Ahh,” Diana nodded. “He’s getting nesty.”
“I’m not nesty,” Brandon swallowed, his glare returning. This time his eyes were full of rage as he surveyed the room. “Guys don’t get nesty.”
“You are one wild and nesty guy.” Chase strolled into the kitchen, pausing to ruffle the oldest boy’s hair. A spurt of happiness erupted in India’s chest at his sudden appearance. Ignoring the other warden’s growl of warning, Chase closed the distance to her. “No one does nesty like you.”
“Are you hungry?” India asked as the companionable teasing faded from Chase’s expression. Cool neutrality masked his feelings from her gaze. The matebond was closed, the doorway to his emotions locked from his side. India nodded at the rapidly disappearing sandwiches. She feared her sudden neediness broadcasted to the room. “Would you like a sandwich?”
“I’m fine.” Chase’s emotional wall intimidated her. Unsure of her welcome, she kept her hands to herself instead of cozying up to him, like she wanted. “I’ll probably grab something on the run while we’re gone.”
Apprehension jolted through her that he planned to leave her alone. “Where? How long will you be gone?” Hunting the Hunter, of course. She knew that. The new fear of losing him to the Hunter made her want to grab him and demand he stay. India forced herself to act as if her heart didn’t cramp in her chest. She would have to get used to the warden’s way of life.
Unaware, or uncaring of her turmoil, he shrugged, downing the food in a few bites. Picking up another sandwich, he headed for the back door without even a goodbye. The blunt snub hurt. She kept the emotion from her face and hopefully her scent while making and handing out sandwiches to the hungry males. When the wardens left, leaving nothing more than crumbs and the ham bone, India had never felt more alone and unwanted.
“Hey, is it safe to come out?” A skinny and be-speckled male poked his head into the kitchen. His messy hair stuck out in every direction, as if he’d forgotten to comb it this morning. An easy, if uncertain, grin transformed his shy gawky features into sweet. Homesickness for Reggie swamped India.
“Hey, yourself Eddie.” Karen opened the refrigerator, preparing to wrestle out another tray of meat, when the oldest boy intervened. Still smiling, she shooed him out. “Go tell the others to come eat. We’re having on the go.” More bread appeared in front of India to slice and she quickly got to work as more packmembers filed in.
“Can we go outside?” One of the young twins asked.
“No.” Karen steered the youngster out of the kitchen. “Go to the playroom or the den. All of you. And don’t break anything.” She shrugged at her mother. “Better the TV and video games rotting their minds, than…” the Hunter killing them.
Mark, of the tacky Hawaiian shirt, entered with a lanky dark skinned young man, hair trimmed to a tidy mat against his head. A Hispanic appearing male draped an arm over Karen’s shoulder. More males and a blonde female made India slice faster, trying to keep up with the orders. She told herself that this was no different than working in the diner.
“India!” She jerked and stared at Reggie’s happy bruised face.
“Reggie!” Relief swamped India. Setting the knife down, she launched herself at him. Wrapping his arms around her, she allowed him pick her up, dancing i
n one complete circle before she pushed herself away.
Grasping his face between her hands, India twisted her packbrother this way and that, cataloguing every mark on him. “What happened to you?” Displeasure at his treatment put an edge in her voice that made him twist away.
“Nothing.” Reggie brushed her hands away and stepped back, apparently unaware that the brush-off smarted. “The warden brought me here. Me and the guys are working on a program that will track all the places the Hunter’s been. You know, hotels and stuff.” He grinned again, the purple mark on his jaw looked painful, but he seemed happy enough as if he’d settled in without a thought of her. Someone handed him a plate that he gave up readily to the Hispanic male. “We want to help too.”
With another plate in hand and a glass of tea in the other, Reggie started to follow his new friends out of the kitchen. He paused and glanced back, swallowed the bite of sandwich. “India? Do you think you could check on Betty? She’s going to worry.”
India nodded. “I will.”
“You should eat too.” The blond female handed India a plate of food. She almost hesitated, then smiled. Vaguely, she remembered someone calling her Tamara in the commotion.
“Thank you, Tamara.”
“Don’t worry.” The blonde risked petting India’s arm. “He’ll be happy in nerd-land with Eddie and Hamilton. They won’t come up for air again until their stomachs start gnawing through their bellies looking for sustenance.”
A cute country tune erupted from the Tamara’s jeans. Pulling it out, she frowned at the obviously unfamiliar number on the display. “Hello?”
“Tamara?” Everyone with wolven hearing tuned into the conversation, watching the female’s cheeks turn a pretty pink. “You might not remember me. I’m—”
“Carter. I remember. You helped me with my groceries.” Eyeing Diana and Karen’s very real interest, Tamara edged toward the door. “I, ah, how did you get my number?”
The man’s voice was pleasant, even if holding no discernable accent. “I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of stalker. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing, but I used the Bluetooth on my phone to grab your number before you drove away.”
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