Grimly, he stared at the painted over graffiti on the water tower as he climbed up the fence. At the top, Bradley paused. His nose lifted, testing the air for scent. Something faint teased on the feather of wind. The fine hairs on the back of Chase’s neck prickled. Feeling vulnerable, he barked at the other wolf. “Get down!”
There was a faint crack of sound in the air and Bradley yelped, pitching forward off of the fence. Diving for the younger wolf, alarm punched through Chase as he saw dark creep down the shoulder of Bradley’s blue t-shirt.
Bradley pulled himself up, pain pinching his features. “Shoulder is all. Went through.” The taint of silver and scorched flesh assaulted Chase. His skin prickled in warning and he moved, pulling Bradley to his feet, they ran to the truck. Small pfffts the dirt exploded in their wake smelling of hot silver. By silent agreement, Chase ran to the driver’s door. Bradley scrambled into the passenger side while Chase pulled his keys from his pockets. Three bullets hit the truck with a metallic thwap, thwap, thwap before he dug Bradley’s spare key from the midst of the other packmembers’. The scent of blood filled the interior of the truck. The engine turned over on the first try and Chase gunned it.
“There’s more than one.” Bradley growled, twisting sideways to search out the back window as the sound of another series of bullets hit the tail of the truck. Chase growled, shoving his foot harder against the gas pedal while he fought the truck fishtailing through the gravel. An odd whine assaulted his ears, growing distinctly louder. Beside him, Bradley’s pain filled pants stilled. “What the…” Chase glanced into the rearview mirror just as his beloved motorcycle went exploding into a red and black ball of fire. His mouth dropped. Bradley cocked his head. Their eyes met. “Time to go,” Bradley, grunted, grabbing Chase’s shoulder before they were sucked into the light as bright as the sun.
For a fraction of a second, Chase registered trees, then he hit the ground on his right hip. He sat up fast, expelling a soft grunt at the exercise. Beside him, Bradley lay sprawled backwards. One denim covered thigh was dark with blood. The side that didn’t look as if an alien had exploded out of it. Without touching, Chase counted two wounds in the younger wolven’s torso. Bradley’s right arm resembled his right leg. Otherwise the boy was as still as death. Grief and guilt threatened to overwhelm Chase.
Taking a calming breath, Chase concentrated. With his supernatural hearing, he could pick out Bradley’s heartbeat. Strong enough for the moment, but weakening as the organ pumped blood out of his wounds. The stink of blood and silver overrode the earthy scent of pine, decaying leaves, and dirt.
Pulling off his jacket, Chase took his t-shirt off, ripping it into strips to wrap around the worst of Bradley’s injuries. Deciding the thigh was the worst, he glanced up at Bradley’s unconscious face. If there was silver in the wounds like Chase suspected, then being unconscious was a hell of a lot more merciful than the god-awful fucking pain that awareness would be. The dissolving poisonous metal would burn like acid in his veins. “Stay with me kid. Okay? I’m not in the mood to loose anyone else today.” Carefully tearing away the denim on the injured leg, he quickly made pressed a wad of t-shirt material into the wound, before using the discarded jeans to tightly tie off the bandage. He wasn’t as worried about germs. Their supernatural metabolism made them immune to the usual harmful microorganisms. “You know, this is a hell of a time for Tank to take a vacation.”
Bradley’s t-shirt came off in two pieces that Chase quickly used to plug up the holes in the younger wolven’s torso. The lining of Chase’s leather jacket tore out neatly, making more bandages. Feeling watched, he stilled, narrowed his eyes, and snarled into the thick overgrown brush. “Might as well come out. I know you’re there and I’m not going anywhere.” Without anywhere to run before a Hunter could aim and fire, he was stuck out. And he’d fight to the death before leaving Bradley behind.
Adrenaline rushed through Chase’s body. He tingled with the need to Change. Scenting nothing other than nature and old fairy trails, he waited. The bushes quivered before releasing a handful of doll sized male fairies. Pixies, his over stimulated brain provided.
Their hair color, like any other fairy he’d ever seen, was something normally found in a kid’s crayon box. Chase counted six of them while the pixies hovered, waiting. Bright Blue, dark blue, green, pink, yellow, and purple. For what, Chase had no idea. “Uh. Look, unless you’re here to help. I’m kind a busy here.” He dismissed them and bent back to wrestling the bandage around Bradley’s chest.
“Wait.” The bright blue fairy flew in front of Chase, one tiny hand held out. His tiny sing-song voice plainly said that English wasn’t his native tongue. Gauging the little guy, he cocked one head while listening intently to Bradley’s weakening heart. Chase didn’t’ really trust fairies. The prime example lay bleeding into the forest floor while bluebird head began digging in a pea-sized pouch on his waist. With a flourish to do Walt Disney proud, he extracting a gold bead. With a clatter of his wings he turned and chirruped to the others.
The group of fairies flew over, pulling gold beads out of their pouches as well.
“Hey, wait a minute.” Putting a hand between the little pixie and Bradley, he tried not to think of all the evil things Ember the brownie had to say about her pixie horde arch-nemeses. According to the pack’s resident house brownie, pixies were the worst sort of poachers and thieves that would strip a garden bare in no time. She constantly patrolled Packhome property to clear out pixie scouting parties who might think about starting a new hive nearby. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I am called Wren.” Holding the bead against his chest, the blue haired fairy frowned at Chase before understanding softened his pretty features. Wren dipped down until his toes nearly touched Bradley, his solemn gaze swept over the injured wolven male before he flew back up to look Chase in the eyes. “I know this one. The wolf called Bradley Starr sometimes plays the game, Go Fish with the warriors of my hive. It is much more fun than Poker, full houses, and flushes.” He gestured towards Chase with the bead. “You do not know us, though we know of you wolf warden.” He held the bead up, shaking it like one of the kids did to make a soda fizz. The other Fairies followed suit. The beads sparkled and glowed, fine sparkles falling from them in a steady stream. “See? We cannot do much, but we can make sure that Morgan’s wolf will not die until a healer can be brought.”
“Look Wren, I’m sure you mean well.” Chase stared down at his still bleeding packbrother. The makeshift bandages were soaked. Blood had begun to pool and soak into the thirsty forest floor. Bradley’s weakening heart skipped a beat, then struggled to continue. His skin was too pale, taking on a grayish tinge, probably more from the silver poisoning than blood loss. They were on Packhome property, but the kid would never survive the trip to the house in his condition.
The thought of home, made him dig in his hip pocket for his cell phones. He winced as it separated into two pieces. “Well, that explains why the landing hurt.” Wren’s blue head popped between the broken phone and his face. His dragonfly wings beat so fast, they were a blur. The Fairy tsked, then flipped over. He clutched the bead to his chest, patiently waiting while ignoring the steady stream that sifted from the bead. Glitter clung to his clothes.
He’d always treated Adam’s fairy allies with a certain amount of ambivalence. Something to be tolerated. Tank was the only one person he’d ever put his entire store of faith into. Now…Bradley’s heart slowed further. Chase dropped the phone, holding his hand palm-side up in invitation. Wren zipped up and landed carefully, looking for all the world like one the little girl’s dolls. Expectation glowed on the tiny fairy’s face. His wings quivered.
“Wren, why should I trust you with my packbrother?” More male Pixies had joined the tiny group, doubling the size of the hovering group. All had the glowing beads, waiting for direction.
Wren shrugged. “Because your wolf will die soon.” Chase gave a single nod in agreement. “Done and done.” Wren waved a
t the others who darted into the air. Those without beads soon had one out. The pixies chirped and whistled in a strange harmony, spilling gold dust over Bradley’s body. They dove and danced in the air, creating patterns in the spiraling dust. Chase stared as magic stirred along his skin. The rich, exotic scent of Fairy whirled in his head. The pixies wove one more circle around the fallen wolven before rising to hover above Bradley. Between one breath and the next, Bradley went silent. No rising and falling of his chest, no heart beat. Nothing.
“What the hell?” Chase growled, jerking his hand into a fist. Fear and anger surged through him, but Chase checked himself. Wren dropped, then caught himself. “What did you do?”
“Stabilized him,” Wren answered. He zipped around Bradley and stopped in front of Chase. “Your Packbrother is not dead.” He tipped his blue head, looking like a bluebird. “Just asleep. Like this, he will not bleed to death or die of silver poisoning.”
“He looks dead.” Without breath or a heartbeat, the boy sounded dead too. “He would stink if he died,” replied the pixie. “Do not fret. fairykind has the same problem with iron. He will stay like this until wakened.”
“I have to go and I can’t take him with me.” Wren flew to hover over Chase’s hand again. He landed when the warden opened his fist. “There’s something your people should know. Hunters are in the area.”
“We know about the Hunter.” Wren frowned. “We had hoped to put off the migration until he was gone, but our hive is overcrowded. We must move while we have time to build and store food for the winter. We must find a new location now.” His wings blurred. Hovering a fraction over Chase’s hand, he thought the pixie was about to leave.
“Not one Hunter…Hunters. More than one. They used grenades or rocket launchers, or something to blow up the truck. I’ve got to get back to my people and warn them. Hell, evacuate Packhome before they attack.”
The screeching eiii-eiii of alarm carried through the wooded area. Chase sucked in a breath while sending an urgent push through the Packbond to get everyone moving. Backing away from Bradley, he made the decision he knew the other would understand. The pixies hovering over the completely still warden looked pleased at their handiwork. “I have to go. Now.” He turned, pushing away the feeling that he was abandoning Bradley.
The blue-haired pixie flitted in front of him, his humming bird fast wings allowing him to fly backwards in pace with Chase. Wren’s blue eyes glowed purple as his tiny brows drew together.” Nodding as if answering a question only he heard, he stared up, meeting Chase’s eyes. "Perhaps we can help one another wolf.
Chapter Twenty Three
Toweling off, Carter left the dinky rust and water stained motel bathroom, sitting on the edge of the full sized bed. On the tiny Formica topped table, his files spread out fan style. One manila folder for each member of the Anderson County werewolf pack. Despite the shower, his eyes felt gritty and tired from staying up too late talking to his werewolf contact, Tamara. He now had more than enough information to identify and take out almost every member of the werewolf pack. Tracking devices attached to various pack owned vehicles gave him an idea as to their movement patterns.
Manually turning the television on, he turned back to the table as the news droned on about the weather forecast. Carter wasn’t one to lie to himself, at least not for very long. He was unsure as to the reason for his reluctance to finish this job. Chowder was right. He should have already taken out his targets without worrying too hard about any other of the local supernaturals getting in his way. Instead, from his initial contact, he was drawing out the excitement of the hunt, without finishing the kill. He reminded himself that they were monsters who destroyed lives.
His cell phone rang, pulling him out of his irritable funk. Without realizing what he was doing, a smile pulled at the edges of his lips as he read the caller ID window. “Tamara. How are you?”
“Oh, fine.” She sighed. “I think I have a touch of cabin fever, though.”
“Ah. Well, that’s what happens when you spend your vacation at home.”
Tamara laughed, “True. And I’m doing more babysitting than usual so it’s a working vacation. Not that I mind.” The lighthearted feminine sound had him chuckling with her. “There’s certainly never a dull moment around here.”
“Missing your patients already?” he teased.
“Small children who bite when I clean their teeth? Old men who pinch my rear when I reach for an instrument? Matrons who throw their dentures away by accident?” Tamara sighed, loud and heartfelt. Her voice held a note of sadness that wasn’t there before as if her earlier happiness were a veneer hiding the truth of her feelings. “I miss them terribly. I love being a dentist. I can’t wait to get back to work.”
“You’re welcome to it. I shudder at the thought of putting my hands near a kids’ mouth.”
Tamara laughed again at his obvious distaste. Once more he thought the sound was fragile. “So says the man who makes his living as a security specialist. What does that involve anyway?”
“Is something wrong, Tamara?” Moving the damp towel so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, Carter waited. He shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t care what made the werewolf female sound as if she were putting on a brave front. Staring at the flickering television, he tried not to care. The news was filled with the pain humans inflicted on one another. Occasionally, a noteworthy item pointed to werewolf attack, fairy abduction, or a careless dragon decimating hundreds of miles of forests.
“No.” Again, the sound of a barely suppressed sob made a strange dent in his otherwise cold, and unfeeling heart. “No. Everything is fine. I…” The pause made him stare harder at the newscaster’s breaking segment. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, Carter.”
“Wait.” He cast around for something clever to say, damning himself for both the perverse desire to hear her talk more and the fact that his life had never been conductive to interacting with the opposite sex. The urge to see her face made him want to get into the newly purchased used minivan from hell parked just outside his motel door. The television flashed a picture of a Hispanic man, then cutting to the newscaster standing in front of a red brick building. A school, he suspected, by the busses and children milling around.
“I have to go.” The sad sigh stirred him unaccountably. He wanted to…what? Protect her? They were enemies and he was only using her for the information he needed to get to his targets. “Bye,” She whispered. The phone clicked into silence.
Carter flipped the cheap piece of equipment closed, his eyes following the silent newscast. Restless he walked over to the television, turning the volume up. Sitting back on the edge of the bed, he flipped back, an ache in his chest. Realizing the heel of one hand pressed over his heart, Carter dropped his hand. He closed his eyes, letting the murder of a local schoolteacher wash over him. He had to regain the stomach for his job. He reminded himself of all the creatures had taken from his family. His father, his brothers, they’d almost claimed Victoria’s sanity. Carter tried to stir the righteous anger that had always propelled him in the past. The emotion fell flat with a sick thud in his stomach. The feeling that he should be somewhere else itched under his skin.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the remains of his cousin’s family. It was the first time Carter had seen the horror of what the creatures could do to their own once they’d been infected. The women had been ripped to shreds, Chowder—Chuck had been just a baby, tossed aside like a discarded doll. Carter’s uncle never wanted Chowder to know he’d been adopted into the Hunter family. That Chowder’s own father had become the monster that killed his mother. It was why Carter put up with so much from the idiot.
This is Lance Brimmel with a breaking BCS news update. Police are questioning family members in the grisly death of the Palestine middle school teacher Rick Weis. Carter sat up on his elbows to get a better view of the television. On the television, a slicked up man in a suit and tie gestured to the school building Carter had seen earlier. The Te
nnessee Colony resident and beloved teacher was found in a dumpster on school property this afternoon. The police have not released any specifics at this time. However according to our sources the twenty-something year old’s injuries are similar to several unsolved ritualistic killings in the Midwest. A picture of a hunting knife replaced the image of the victim. Carter sat up, the feeling of ice water in his veins. He knew that knife. Just like in the Midwestern murders, pictures of the murder weapon and the victim were delivered to local BCS station personnel shortly after the victim’s body was found. School officials have no comment, though this will surely affect many of the students and teachers at the school.
A graduate of Palestine school system, Rick Weis received his teacher’s certification locally at nearby Tyler UT. He is described as a happy young man, a believer in giving back to his community who actively involved himself in troubled youth programs. Students say he often stayed late to tutor struggling students. School counselors are doing what they can to help students deal with the death of Rick Weis.
The television droned on while Carter reached for his pants and pulled them on. Grabbing his phone he punched in Chowder’s number. When no one answered, he punched in his second contact number. He breathed a sigh of relief when it picked up on the other end.
“Victoria?”
“Carter, what is wrong?” His mother’s cultured voice soothed the frantic edge that gripped him as he watched the events unfolded on the news.
“I can’t reach Chowder. Do you know were he is?”
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