by L. A. Banks
“Right,” Fisher said, nodding. “Like, why would the Whitelighters be scared, especially if the good Fae folk were also on their side for helping to out some black magick that had been used against them? That would make them golden in the Fae community—might even earn brownie points.”
“That is such a bad pun, dude,” Winters said, shaking his head. “Seriously.”
“Okay, okay, but you know what I mean . . . and I wasn’t trying to go for laughs.” Fisher gave the group a sheepish grin. “It just came out like that.”
“That’s why this thing really troubles me,” Bradley said, now staring at Silver Hawk and Doc, and visibly ignoring Fisher’s shenanigans. “Even though I can’t prove it, this smacks of powerful Unseelie magick—because of who doesn’t want to get involved. None of the strong local covens want to touch it, Vampires can’t be directly linked to it, and we don’t have a reason why.” He let out a hard breath and folded his arms. “All I’ve got is speculation.”
“You are right,” Silver Hawk said, choosing his words with care as he glanced at Doc Holland. “We cannot base our claims on speculation. But to understand the enemy and the nature of the attack, one must understand how the enemy thinks . . . One must understand how they feel wronged, and why. This will tell us their passion or not for the battle they have waged, and might tell us the weakness in their defenses.”
The only way to get Hunter to stop was to finally flee his hold by playfully giving in to her wolf. He was still insatiable, not that she’d minded at all. But they had to get back to New Orleans well before moonrise; there was work to do.
In a flip roll, she kissed him hard and broke free. Up and gone, she turned back once, laughing as he scrambled to his feet. Running away from him, she had a twenty-five-yard lead when she slipped into her wolf to bound toward his hideaway cabin deep within north Shadow Wolf Clan country.
It was impossible not to turn for a quick glimpse over her shoulder. His wolf was pure majesty . . . a midnight-black coat that nearly glistened blue. Graceful bounds over logs and bramble, his massive form moving like liquid night through the dense stand of trees—how could she not look? Then his shadow play became an intense aphrodisiac, slowing her retreat as she watched him go in and out of shadows, becoming a blur of motion strategically advancing on her, wearing only the large amulet dangling by thick silver.
She almost forgot she was supposed to be escaping to a shower, finding clothes in their cabin, and getting back on mission. Hunger tore at her insides, as did renewed desire.
Sasha hit the porch on all fours and then transformed, laughing. Bare human feet collided with smooth pine planks the moment her back hit the front door. A huge black wolf landed right in front of her on the top step, baring fangs, head lowered in mock attack readiness, stalking her until she laughed and turned away, pressing the front of her body to the door. A loud growl made her release a playful scream as she hid her face against her forearms. Immediately, hot human skin covered her back, pressing against her butt.
Two strong arms gathered around her as Hunter’s warm breath pelted her neck just before he nipped it.
“I need a shower and I need to eat, man, get off me,” she said, laughing harder as he nuzzled her and began moving against her exposed backside. “No!”
“So, let’s get in the shower and, yeah, I’d love to eat—”
“No,” she said, squirming in his hold. He was making her laugh, was making her hot, but they had to get back before it got dark. “If the moon rises—”
“It’s all over,” he said, losing some of the playfulness in his tone.
“I know,” she murmured, arching despite her protests. “But it’ll be dark and we’ll have allies vulnerable to Vampires while they’ve been weakened . . . we’ve gotta get back.”
Hunter dropped his forehead against her shoulder and let out a hard breath. “Must you always be so practical?”
“I wasn’t earlier.” She smiled as her voice remained easy.
He kissed the nape of her neck. “I am profoundly grateful for that.”
Slowly extricating herself from his fantastically warm embrace, she turned around so that his body could mold to hers. “I’m grateful that you forgave me,” she said quietly, staring up into his intense gaze. “That wasn’t me.”
“It is forgotten . . . We don’t have to discuss it,” he said, taking her mouth.
“We should,” she murmured when he broke their kiss. “Think about it for a moment, Hunter. We were all affected at what felt like ground zero—at Ethan’s place. But once you and I went through the shadow lands and came out on the other side, we were okay . . . we weren’t giving in to really bad wolf behavior.”
A sly smile crept onto one half of his face. “We weren’t altogether cured for a couple of hours, though.”
Sasha chuckled. “True . . . but for me to bait a dominance battle between you and Shogun . . . c’mon, Hunter. I think you know me better than that.”
He nodded and kissed her forehead, sobered by her admission. “And let me be honest,” Hunter added, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against hers before continuing. “I was ready to go to war . . . ready to kill blood, family. That didn’t make sense . . . and he was ready to challenge me outright. Mortal combat.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Sasha murmured, placing a hand over Hunter’s heart. “Not after what all three of us have been through.”
“No,” Hunter said, shaking his head, now staring into her eyes. “Shogun is above a mate challenge; he has more honor than that. My brother is clearly not himself, nor am I . . . or you. We have to get to the bottom of this to avert a possible tragedy.”
“And I’m worried that as the moon rises and gets closer to full, the worse it will get for all of us.” She touched Hunter’s face, allowing her fingers to trace the strong line of his jaw, and he covered her hand with his own.
“It will get worse, Sasha. My brother transformed into his wolf before the moon was full. It was mid afternoon . . . and as a Werewolf, he’s not supposed to be able to do that.”
“What?” A horrified whisper came out on a quick exhale as though Hunter had punched her.
Hunter simply nodded. “Your transition spiked desire in him so out of control that his wolf came immediately. I heard it, the snapping of bones and the tearing of ligaments . . . it was a hard transition and probably the only thing that held my honor intact to not turn around and kill him where he stood. He was vulnerable for several moments, but I opted to find you in the shadows and deliver your clothes.”
“Oh, my God . . .” Sasha covered her mouth with her hand as Hunter’s hands found her hair and he pulled her into a slow hug.
“We must find the source and eradicate it, Sasha. Under the influence of the full moon, who knows what any of us will be capable of with dark magick as a catalyst? And we may not have the shadow lands as an option to protect us all.”
“Shogun can’t go into the shadows . . . he will never have a rest from this thing, no time to purge it or detox from whatever the hell this is.”
“Nor will our men,” Hunter said flatly, staring into her eyes. “My men are supernaturals, just like us. Your familiars are more human than not, but they still may be affected. Woods and Fisher cannot go through the shadow paths without injury to their bodies, just like my brother cannot.”
“But Bear and Crow . . .”
“Only with one of us, or they can lose their way and wind up behind a demon door.” Hunter closed his eyes. “Who knows what weakness within them this thing is preying on or using to make them break ranks, break alliances . . . If a lower-ranking male in our clan were to challenge me—an out of control alpha . . . I could murder my own man. And that’s what it would be, Sasha, murder—not a righteous kill—that would haunt me forever.”
“Or, I,” Sasha whispered, finally understanding the strategic horror of what they were up against, “could attack my human brass, could rip the face off a general, go after a fellow sol
dier or civilian, or, while in a false heat, draw clans into full-scale war.”
“We have to get back before it gets dark,” Hunter said, nodding. “You were right. I just wish we knew where to begin. Dealing with the unseen is such a dishonorable, cowardly act. That is never the way of the wolf!” He stepped away from her and slammed his fist against the cabin wall with a snarl. “We of the Wolf Clans challenge an enemy to their face, we speak of our discontent openly, and we battle outright . . . We do not slide around back alleys and cast innuendo and disappear into the mist. We do not leave booby traps for the unaware to stumble over and detonate. If you are our enemy, you are well aware of the fact and you well know why . . . And we do not put innocents in harm’s way.”
“We’ll find who’s at the bottom of this,” Sasha said, with a low growl in her throat. “We know we’ve got three factions truly pissed at us. Vampires, that goes without saying. Any leftover members from that double-crossing Louisiana Buchanan Broussard faction are also on my potential target list. Plus any Fae that thought they were gonna get paid by ol’ Dugan . . . Could be relatives that were in line for his estate, or any closet Fae traitors—who knows. But one thing for sure, they’re coming at everyone through their weak spots. Phoenixes flame when excited or frightened—and both of Ethan’s girls bought it. Wolves go primal when totally aroused . . . and will fight till the last wolf stands. Fae need their glamour to stay concealed, and when threatened will sling magick—”
“That could backfire if it’s booby-trapped,” Hunter said, stepping even further away from Sasha, finally grasping the urgency of going back.
“Yeah,” Sasha said, opening the door to the cabin. “You know . . . this isn’t something that local human covens would get involved with. I don’t care how much the Vampires paid a human sorcerer, all of the Seelie Fae as a united front, plus Wolf Clans, Whitelighters, and white witches, could mitigate the spell.” Sasha shook her head. “Sigils that had Ethan and Margaret ready to faint dead away—unhunh. That’s Unseelie kinda stuff.”
“We definitely need to get back,” Hunter said in a faraway tone, thinking.
Sasha nodded. “Gut hunch . . . How much you wanna bet this is a progressive thing that gets worse each day and night the closer we get to Sir Rodney’s big bash, where all of us who are left standing will be there to flip out on each other?”
CHAPTER 9
Clarissa sat in the jeep with Bradley and Winters while Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow dismounted with Ethan and his family. Fisher helped the timid Faes unload their suitcases, and Woods got out and took over the vehicle Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow had abandoned. They’d driven the jeeps in as far as they could; any further and the vehicles would get stuck in Louisiana bayou mud. The plan seemed reasonable enough—two Shadow Wolves would maintain forest patrol and would make sure the family was safe behind Sir Rodney’s walls, and then would return to the team on foot. They’d report their findings about Sir Rodney’s fortress to the rest of the paranormal community when they got back. If there were rogue Werewolves in the area, Bear and Crow would be the family’s best defense. Maybe their only defense.
Quiet tension lingered in the air. Everyone was afraid; everyone was on edge. Ethan’s toddler kept his tiny face buried in the crook of his father’s neck. All anyone got to see of the small elf was a profusion of blond curls as he clung to his dad.
Ethan and Margaret’s older ones clasped their parents’ hands, eyes wide with fear and filled with unshed tears. Their glistening, luminescent eyes rapidly changed colors, giving Clarissa kaleidoscope stares that matched their quickening heartbeats.
Her soul ached as she stared at the little girl who couldn’t have been more than six or seven. The child’s forlorn expression made her want to just reach out and hug her. If Clarissa could have, she would have pressed the child’s red ringlets against her breasts and told her it would be all right. However, that would have been an outright lie. Who knew how any of this would turn out?
The little girl’s taller, knobby-kneed brother seemed to be trying his best to keep a stiff upper lip. But the nine-year-old intuitively sensed the danger. Clarissa could feel it deep inside her core. The poor boy’s face was nearly ashen with fear, looking even paler against his dark brown hair and Elfin ears. Clarissa swallowed hard to keep from crying. There was nothing to do but watch a nice family become refugees in their own town all because they’d done the right thing, namely testified against some really bad entities. Where was true justice, she wondered.
Sweating profusely, Ethan urged his family forward into the dense stand of trees. Shadow Wolves hauled luggage while the McGregors toted children. Pure terror gripped Margaret, and Clarissa’s heart shattered as she watched Ethan’s wife move in short bursts of rapid steps, stopping every few feet to glance around like a nervous doe. Her jerky motions only spooked the wolves that flanked them. Every time Margaret stopped, Bear Shadow would tilt his head, his gaze rapidly scanning the terrain as Crow Shadow pivoted and scented the air on alert—which would set off Woods and Fisher in a hunter’s domino effect.
Fear was more than palpable; it was an entity now. Soon it would be dark, and only God knew what would happen then. Perhaps more than anything, it broke her heart to see Ethan gather his family up under duress and have to literally flee into the swamplands with Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow as shaky escorts. But it was the only way.
Clarissa blinked back the renewed moisture in her eyes. Who could do something as horrible as targeting a family that had little kids? Doc and Silver Hawk were right; Ethan had to get out of town before sundown, Old West style. It was clear that he was the epicenter of the spiritual hit. Everything had spun out of control, starting at his establishment.
“I need my cell phone,” Sasha said quietly. “It’s in the pile of clothes we left in the mist.”
Hunter nodded. “But that means we’ll come out of the shadows in Ethan’s bar; in the shadow you found on the stage.”
“Just as well,” Sasha said with a sigh. “If they’re still in there debating, at least we’ll come out dressed and showered and in human form.”
“The better hope,” Hunter said smiling, “is that the meeting was summarily adjourned and they’ve all gone home.”
“Wishful thinking.”
Sasha kept a sprinter’s pace beside Hunter, letting him lead as they dodged corridors, homing in on the scent of her sweat-damp clothes. The shadow lands were always tricky to negotiate. How he did it with such grace and ease always blew her mind. One had to rely on superior tracking skills and attention to the slightest nuances within the practically nonexistent landscape in order to wend one’s way back to a specific point. She was still learning; Hunter had grown up all his life being mentored by his grandfather, Silver Hawk, aka Silver Shadow.
“Here,” Hunter said with a quick sweep into the mist, coming up with a handful of jeans.
“Thanks, but how do you do that?” Sasha accepted the discarded jeans, fishing in the pockets for her cell phone.
“Your scent was in the clothes,” he said with a half smile. “I’d be able to follow that from here to Colorado and back, no problem.”
She smiled but didn’t respond. They were not going to start that kind of conversation when there was so much else that they needed to focus on, and they had to keep their heads on straight.
“Okay,” she said. “Remember the plan. If you feel shaky, go into a shadow to purge it. If you see me get shaky, order me into a shadow or drag me into one kicking and screaming—and I’ll do the same for you.”
“Done. My only concern is encountering one of my men who may have been compromised . . . They may not go as easily or willingly, and if they spike fight adrenaline in me, I might not be of the mind-set to drag them into a shadow alive.”
“I know.” Sasha raked her fingers through her hair. It was a sobering reality. “I’ve thought about that. You might have to let me take them in . . . I’m female; hate to say it, but beta males will follow me to the end o
f the earth, if they think there’s a chance.”
“Which, under dark magick, will make me flip.” Hunter closed his eyes and rubbed the tension away from his neck.
“Then let’s function with a code word—so that you know what I’m doing . . . like a mental trigger.” She stared at him. “We have to have a way to break the spell trance long enough to give the other party pause and recovery time.”
He nodded. “ ‘Safe haven.’ You say that and I’ll know.”
“All right,” she said quietly, stashing her dead cell phone in her back jeans’ pocket. “Let’s just hope that we both remember when we have to.”
“Stop! Who goes there?”
Ethan looked up at the castle gates and then around at the forest floor, confused. “It is Ethan McGregor of Mead-han Lodainn and me family seeking asylum from Sir Rodney—escorted by two Shadow Wolf allies.”
Fae archers lowered their weapons and smiled.
“Ah, good laddie!” a captain called out. “Lower the drawbridge! Ye may enter!”
But Ethan and Margaret didn’t move. Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow exchanged nervous glances.
“Where is your glamour, man?” Ethan shouted. He gave his son to his wife to hold and then opened his arms and began to frantically motion about. “The entire fortress is exposed, is out in the open! You can see the golden pathway right from the forest floor and the trees are neon coming through the normal human foliage!”
“What, are you daft, man?” the captain said laughing.
Margaret neared her husband and dropped her voice to an urgent whisper. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that man had been in his cups.”
“You’re saying this guy is high?” Crow Shadow muttered, shaking his head.
“Watch your mouth, wolf,” an archer said, weaving. “D’not cast aspersions—nothing wrong with a wee pinch of Faerie dust to make a long post go faster.”
“How much dust have you ’ad, man?” Margaret called out, pressing her toddler’s head against her shoulder. “The dust is tainted!” She spun on her husband, her voice tight, gaze panicked. “Ethan, if the Fae’s Royal Highland Fusiliers have been compromised, by nightfall there’s no protection!”