by Unknown
"Wait!" Mark pleaded. "Don't d—"
The butt of a rifle cracked the back of his head and he staggered, falling to one knee. His vision swam and a pained grunt dislodged from his throat. He searched for the creature that he knew lurked in his animal hindbrain. But it was no use.
He needed to get angry, to find the beast. But his thoughts fragmented as fear gripped his gut.
With lightning speed, Cruz latched onto the wolf, his jaws crushing around the smaller animal's neck. The echoing yelp cut short with an abrupt snap.
"No!" Mark roared and struggled to stand. But a guard smacked his spine as another kicked his black boot against his temple.
Jeremiah slumped in his captors' hands. "Please," his voice croaked. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. Just—" He gritted his teeth as the guards jerked him back to his feet. "—spare my pack."
Cruz dropped the limp body to the ground and turned slowly with a savage grin, blood staining his teeth. "That's not an option."
Jax lumbered up to Slate. "About our deal. I've done my part." He glanced at Mark. "I need to split."
Slate turned slowly. "Oh right. The deal."
The guards half-dragged Mark to the center of the room. As he found his feet, he glared at the traitor. He wanted to strangle the black beast and his fists clenched behind his back. But just as the temptation was overriding his control, he saw movement through the window at the far end of the room. Three distinct shadows passed by in the moonlight outside. Wolf shadows.
He glanced away, hoping that no one had followed his gaze. But with their attention focused on the spectacle unfolding inside the room, he was the only one to notice.
Either friend or foe. Those were the only two options. But which were they? And more importantly, how could he turn this to his advantage?
"Yeah," Jax licked his muzzle. "So we're square, right? You got what you wanted. Now you'll leave me be."
Slate pursed his lips. "We can't let a stray werewolf wander around our cities."
"Fine, you can monitor me or whatever." Jax growled. "Just let me go."
"Can't do that. But we'll let you live out your days in one of our comfortable facilities."
"That wasn't the deal!" Jax snarled.
Slate's arm flashed back and Jax's black body hurled across the room. He slammed against a wall before sliding to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Mark grimaced as his suspicions came to fruition. Slate was powerful even without changing into a wolf. In hindsight, it was so obvious. They weren't looking for weak links in wolf populations. They were making super-werewolves.
Slate lifted his fist in front of Mark. A lone tooth stuck out from between his knuckles, the bloody root still intact.
"Do you see the kind of power you have?" Slate grinned as he plucked it from his skin like a piece of dirt and tossed it aside. "The Hunt has room for a few more agents. You and your wife would be well cared for."
Mark spat in the man's face. "Go fuck yourself."
His frustration was reaching a breaking point, but the beast inside him was still distant. He was like them, having been infected by the blood they were testing. If only he had their training, he could control his changes and fight them on even terms.
But there was something else too, tickling his senses. A slight scratching sound caught Mark's ear, faint and above their heads. While Slate was distracted, he chanced a look upward, but he couldn't see anything. Nothing besides the bright, accusatory light of the moon glaring down on his failure to change.
Slate wiped his eye and leaned in close to Mark. "It's a shame I didn't get to go further with your mate. She was whining like a bitch in heat when I mounted her. Maybe I'll get another chance after we round her up." He winked.
A subtle smile spread across Mark's lips as the blood boiled in his veins. "Thank you."
The man raised an eyebrow. Then he glanced up.
The skylight exploded, raining glass down on them, and three wolves landed on the ground in front of them: one yellow, one red, and one gray.
"—the fuck—" Slate cursed.
Lacey! Mark wanted to cry out, but her name died in his throat as he was already changing. What the hell was she doing here? He'd told her to stay out of danger. But even so, part of him was damned happy to see her. And what an entrance. She and Rebecca and Torry had given him just the opening he was looking for.
Fur sprang up over Mark's body and metal split apart as he tore his wrists free. Then his hands slapped over Slate's ears with a crunching pop. Before the man's limp body hit the ground, Mark sprang at the guards holding Jeremiah. One gaped as he stared up at Mark's massive body. The other fired his gun.
He hardly felt the bullet passing through his shoulder. But he roared as he knocked the men down, crushing them under his weight.
The room erupted like a fireworks show; rifles snapped in quick bursts, shotguns boomed, and the walls cracked from the shots. A red wolf lunged at one of the guards as a gray wolf dashed around, dodging bullets like a hummingbird. Torry's furry body braced in front of Jeremiah, guarding the pack leader as his frame rippled with his own transformation.
Power rushed in Mark's veins and he knocked two soldiers together. Bullets zinged into his flesh but he ignored them. They were inconsequential, like bee stings littering his back. Not silver, so not a concern.
Then he spied the lumbering shape of his prey and leapt across the room, his eyes focused on Cruz's incredulous gaze.
The other beast stepped aside, slashing Mark's arm as he landed on the bare ground. The cuts were deep, laying muscle and tissue open. Mark gritted his teeth and dashed to circle his opponent. Only Cruz anticipated his move and his fist hooked under Mark's chest. The force slammed into him like a train as he crashed against the wall. Then open jaws lunged at Mark's throat. With a quick strike, Mark brought his own fist up, clocking the beast's chin.
As Cruz reeled back on his heels, a clawed hand clamped over Mark's muzzle. He had enough time to see Slate's angry yellow eyes before his vision flashed as the beast brought an elbow down on his head.
Mark's legs buckled, the ground appearing to fly up as he fell. His jaw struck the ground first, and his teeth skewered his tongue. Then strong hands lifted him up, restraining him as he tried to regain his footing.
"You should have taken our deal," Cruz whispered in his ear.
Mark's head lolled for a moment. Jeremiah wrestled with a guard. Torry's wolf body lay sprawled with blooms of red dotting his coat. Rebecca limped as another bullet struck her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Lacey was pinned in the hallway, as gunfire tore up the walls around her.
Cruz shook him. "You could have helped to eradicate the disease."
Mark scoffed and his blood-soaked saliva sprayed Cruz's face. "Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? These people didn't have a choice to become werewolves. They're just trying to get by without hurting anyone." Mark's vision wavered. "You morons cursed yourself so you can hunt a threat that doesn't exist. You're hypocrites in wolf's clothing."
Cruz snarled and stood back, bracing Mark with his strong arms. Then Slate's fist slammed Mark's cheek.
His mind blanked out as his feet left the ground. And in the haze of his thin awareness, he felt his back crash through the wall. Cinder blocks dropped around him and dust filled his lungs as he stared up at the swaying light on the ceiling.
I'm not doing so good, he thought as his body melted back into his human form. Then a shadow fell over his face.
Fear cut through the daze, chilling his spine as he gazed up at the large round face of a black bear. Its tiny eyes locked on his and its massive snout sniffed his hair. By instinct he held still, his befuddled mind latching onto the basic training he'd had as a hunter.
"Not that one. Get the others," said a voice he recognized.
The bear looked up and charged through the hole in the wall, roaring with fury.
Then Cole knelt over him, an absurdly large iron collar around his neck. "You gotta get back
up," he said as he braced his hands under Mark's shoulders.
"There's a bear," Mark mumbled as he pressed his hand to his forehead.
"I know," Cole smiled weakly. "Her name's Ursula. She's on our side."
Mark slowly sat up. "—the fuck did you find a bear?"
"Snap out of it!" Cole shouted in his ear. "You have to save Lacey."
With a spark of recognition, his mind focused like an arrow. Then he leapt to his feet, his body morphing back into the beast as the rush of blood heated his muscles and his anger.
Ursula's massive black body slammed into a group of soldiers, sending them flying like pins in a bowling alley. Then she reared and slammed Cruz's body to the ground with one powerful swipe. Slate took one glance at the bear then dashed down the hallway.
Oh no you don't, Mark thought as he cut back into the room, and charged the heavy, steel door. He hoped he had enough time to catch the bastard.
The hinges popped and the metal curved around his shoulder as his weight tore it from the frame. He felt it crush against the opposite wall with a satisfying yelp underneath.
Flexing his arms, he tossed the bent door aside and stared down at Slate's squirming body. Blood seeped from the beast's nose and his arm crooked back at an odd angle.
With a sneer, Mark lifted Slate and stared into the man's eyes. "Give up."
"You think that's it?" Slate blinked and grinned with missing teeth. "I'm not done."
His good hand shot up and closed over Mark's neck. Reflexively, Mark gripped the man's arm but he couldn't free himself from the iron-like hold.
Slate snarled. "I can still rip your throat out."
The hand flexed, and Mark heard a popping sound in his neck. Sharp pain streaked up his face. Claws bored into his flesh and he gurgled as blood flooded his mouth. His eyes rolled back and a gray tunnel vortexed in his vision.
Then Slate jerked. The grip on Mark's throat loosened. A confused look widened the beast's yellow eyes before he toppled forward, falling on top of Mark with a limp thud.
Mark stared at the silver bolt protruding from the creature's back. His eyes flicked up and he saw Lacey, standing in the hall. The fluorescent light shone down over her breasts and sparkled off the spent crossbow braced against her naked hip. Despite the agony pulsing from his mangled throat, Mark grinned a wolfish smile. If he could speak, he would have told her how much he loved her. Instead he made a wet gasping sound as his head fell back and darkness closed in on him.
* * * *
Lacey took a moment to breathe as her chest tightened over her heart. The gunfire had ceased, leaving the room in deathly silence.
Quickly, she knelt next to Mark and cradled his head on her knee. His neck looked terrible—deep punctures and dark bruising—but he was breathing.
Cruz lay prone, his naked skin dripping with sweat as the bear held him down with one paw. Cole ran to Torry's limp body and pressed his fingers to the man's neck. "He needs help," he said with a grim look.
"We all need help." Rebecca rose to her feet, her brow pinched. Her creamy smooth skin was stained by splotches of blood.
Jeremiah joined her, but his movement was sluggish, weary. His naked skin was bloodstained as well, though he had no obvious injuries. He groaned as he glanced at the drying blood along the wall. "Jax escaped," he stated with a sour tone.
Lacey looked up. She wanted to say something to them, but it was all too much to process. Mark was alive. That was the most important thing. Beyond that... she couldn't stop the horrible scene from replaying in her mind. In bright, discordant flashes of memory, bullets struck the plaster behind her, her husband flew through the wall, and her hope began to collapse. Then the bear appeared and, with dread clawing at her chest, she knew they were done for.
But the creature had attacked the guards instead—taken most of them out in one charge. Its roar caused the rest to flee. That's when Lacey ran to Jeremiah. Blood caked the side of his face but he waved her aside. Then she heard a crash. As she glanced up, she saw the yellow-eyed wolfman grab Mark and hold him up by his throat.
The creature was still strong. Too strong. Even wounded, it would rip Mark apart. She had to do something.
"Take this."
With a quick glance, she saw a man lying on the ground, naked except for a quiver looped over his shoulder. He was slender yet muscular and his skin was a deep mocha tone. Blood glistened on his forehead, just under his short-cropped hair. With an annoyed jerk, he offered the crossbow. One silver bolt was locked in place.
Her muscles rippled as she flowed back into her human body and she quickly crawled to him.
"You got one shot," he wheezed. "I'll spit on your grave if you miss."
"Jax?"
"Don't think I'm doing you any favors. I j—" He coughed and blood dripped through his fingers. Then he snarled. "Shoot the bastard already."
She had no sympathy for Jax. He was ruthless and selfish. But regardless of his motives, he'd given her a chance to save her husband. So she took it.
Hastily, she snatched the crossbow and hefted it like a rifle—as Mark had once tried to show her. Up to her shoulder, her feet parted in a shooting stance. The weight was lighter than she expected and the smell of silver burned into her sinuses.
Part of her wanted to drop the weapon, to cast it away, but she swallowed and forced herself to hold steady. To aim. The melee around her slowed to a crawl as her vision narrowed, her focus on the wolfman attacking her husband.
She squeezed the trigger.
The world sped up again as she blinked away the memory. She wiped at her eyes and then touched Mark's jaw. "You're safe now," she whispered.
The deafening sound of helicopter blades whirred and thumped above the building, shaking the ground with a thundering beat.
Rebecca braced against the wall, one hand pressed to Lacey's shoulder. The red-haired woman glanced up at the ruined skylight, then shook her head. "The Hunt doesn't use helicopters."
* * * *
Lacey pulled the oversized pants up over her hips again as she waited by the road, watching the strange men filing into the building that was once the site of her husband's work. The clothes were bulky and made for a man twice her size. But it was better than nothing.
Several military-style ambulances sat in the parking lot, tending to the wounded. And a plain white semi-truck had backed up to the receiving bay, its long trailer unmarked by any logo.
When they first arrived, a man named Charlie had identified himself as a member of the Council. He certainly fit the part of an archaic bureaucrat, with a brown tweed suit, and a shock of white hair spilling over his ears. His beard was neatly-kept with black and gray streaks. Lacey thought he looked like an uncle or grandfather.
But his tone was terse. "I'm here to clean up your mess," he'd said before he took Rebecca and Jeremiah aside for a private discussion.
Questions swirled in her head as she was handed the clothes. But the uniformed men remained silent as they ushered her out of the way. So she had wandered to the edge of the property and quietly watched from afar.
"How you holding up?" The hoarse voice called from across the parking lot.
Lacey glanced up with a grin. Mark strode toward her, his white teeth shining in the moonlight. His chest was naked but a shirt hung from his fist, and ill-fitting pants billowed over his bare feet.
"I could use a cup of hot coffee. Other than that, I'm great now that you're here." But a frown tugged at her lips as she spied the white bandages around his throat and upper arm. She lifted a hand when he reached her, her fingers tenderly brushing his neck.
"Don't worry. The doc said I've already healed the worst of it back." He carefully coughed against his hand and then turned back to her. "The sensitivity should be gone by the morning."
"You sound like you've been drinking whiskey and smoking cigars most of your life." Lacey giggled.
"After all this—" Mark crossed his arms. "Maybe I should."
"Torry?"
&
nbsp; "He's stable. They're going to treat him until his body catches up with healing itself."
The sound of shoes scuffing against asphalt echoed across the lot. A man in an unbuttoned coat and loose tie jogged toward them. Mark put his hand on Lacey's waist and eyed the stranger.
"This is for you," the man said as he stuffed an envelope in Mark's other hand. Then he turned and raced back to the building.
Mark cocked his head in confusion. Then he flipped the letter. "This is from Rebecca."
"That's strange. She's right over there." Lacey shook her head. "Why didn't she j—"
The thunder of helicopter blades erupted from the other side of the lab and rose into the sky before fading into the night.
As soon as the sound waned, Mark hastily opened the envelope and squinted as he lifted a paper up to his nose.
"Don't do that." Lacey snatched the letter from his hand. He stared at her with subtle hurt in his eyes. She smiled and softened her tone. "You'll hurt your eyes without your glasses," she added.
Quickly, she scanned over the handwriting. Then she blinked. "They left."
Mark scratched the back of his head. "That's strange. Did they say why?"
Lacey shook her head. "It just says to go home and wait for contact from the Council." Then she touched her lips. "They're putting Cole and Ursula up in a local hotel until they can relocate. And—" She glanced up at Mark. "They'll pay for the damages to the house."
Mark's brows raised. "Well, that was nice of them."
Then she cocked her head. "Huh..."
"What?" Mark tried to read over her shoulder.
"We just have to sign an agreement." She pulled a second folded page out of the envelope, and stared at tiny printed type. "It says here we can't publicly speculate about causes, past or future, for damage done to the house or the lab." She looked up at him. "What do they mean by 'past or future'?"
"I'm not sure."
Lacey glanced back at the paper. "And we have to agree not to experiment with magic."
"You know what?" Mark shrugged. "Screw magic anyway. Does it say anything about science?"
She shook her head and refolded the pages before sliding them back into the envelope.