Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series

by Veronica Singer

  The muffled crack of a shot reached us from the floor below. Only Logan, Naomi, and I heard it, the advantage of preternatural hearing.

  "Kuga," I said, "please pay off that mortgage."

  "You don't know if he wrote what you wanted yet," said Logan.

  "Doesn't matter," I said. "I had no intention of hurting his family to get to him."

  Kuga looked up from her iPad. "It's done, alpha."

  "Thank you," I said.

  I looked around our group, noted the time and said, "It's time to wake Mike up. I'm sure he'll be hungry, so why don't we get ready and go out for a nice meal?"

  Logan, Naomi, and Kuga left to prepare, and I moved in close to Mason for a hug.

  I looked up at him and bit my lip. "Do you think what I did was evil? Forcing him to commit suicide?"

  "It was underhanded, complicated, and Machiavellian," said Mason.

  I dropped my eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

  "And I loved it," he said.

  I looked back up at his smiling face. I hugged him tighter, eliciting a tiny "oof."

  "I'm glad you don't think I enjoyed that," I said.

  "No," he said, "but you did what was necessary. That's exactly the attitude you need when you meet my family."

  Buoyed up by Mason's approval, I headed over to Mike's room to give him his wake-up call.

  I used my spare keycard to let myself in. Mike was still asleep on the queen size bed, his body contorted to favor his least-bruised side. It couldn't have been very comfortable, but he slept on.

  I leaned over, hands on knees, and whispered, "Mike, it's time to wake up."

  He snorted and his eyes fluttered, but he didn't wake.

  "Mike," I said more loudly, "I need you to wake up now."

  His eyes opened, and he looked at me, blinking in confusion. His eyes fixed on my breasts as I stood up.

  "Oh, crap," he said. "I'm still in a coma, still dreaming."

  "What? No, you're not."

  He reached for my breasts and I backed up quickly. "Hands off, soldier. I got you out of the hospital and I can put you right back!"

  "I'm a sailor," he said absently. Then he shook his head. "That sounds more like the Luna I know. Are you sure you're not a dream?"

  "I'll be your nightmare if you try that again."

  He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, then bent over and put his face in his hands.

  "Oh, Lord," he said. "This is embarrassing. It's the uniform. I've had this recurring dream where you show up in BDUs, then take them—"

  "Mike!"

  He probed the largest bruise on his leg and winced in pain. "Ouch! That hurt. I'm awake."

  He looked up and said, "I think I owe you an apology, Luna. I won't do that again." He rubbed his head and grunted in pain. "Can I blame it on brain damage?"

  I resisted the urge to touch his head and probe for further injuries. That could be taken the wrong way. I just checked his temperature visually and caught his scent.

  "You don't have a fever," I said. "No scent of infection. Is your vision blurred? Are you seeing double?"

  Mike shook his head. "No, my vision's normal. Even better than normal. I'm getting my extra sight back."

  "What do you see?" I asked. "Blurring and halos can be a sign of concussion."

  "When I look at you, I see the outline of a big dog." He blinked rapidly, then asked, "Am I still dreaming?"

  I bit back a snappish answer to his "big dog" comment. It's hard for normal humans to confront the supernatural. Great spells woven long ago make it very easy for humans to rearrange their memories to explain away whenever they see something abnormal. Hell, Mike had seen my pack and I transform, and he still refused to believe.

  But Mike wasn't exactly a normal human anymore. Mason's treatment had given him the capability to see beyond the human spectrum. Add in my intense treatment to restore and upgrade his skeleton and muscles, and he would soon draw the attention of other supernaturals. Mike needed to learn the truth about our world.

  "Mike, look at me," I said. "It's time you knew the truth about me and my pack."

  "Pack?"

  "The 'big dog' you see when you look at me is my inner wolf. I'm not human. I'm a werewolf."

  "Whoa," he said. "It's like a batch of memories just appeared. Did a pack of giant werewolves really help us break out of that Arctic prison?"

  "Yes, that was us," I said. "The government was capturing werewolves and experimenting on us. They made a prison perfect for werewolves, designed to counter our strengths."

  "A perfect prison for werewolves, that countered your strengths? But you broke them out," said Mike. "But it couldn’t hold you? Aren't you just a werewolf? How did you get out?"

  "You had a security clearance in the Navy, right?"

  "TS/SCI," he said. At my puzzled expression, he explained, "Top Secret, with access to Sensitive Compartmentalized Information."

  "That means you can keep a secret?"

  "Yes," he said simply. No scent of deceit.

  "Mike," I said, "I'm not just a werewolf." It was dangerous to let Mike in on my secret, but his life could depend on knowing this.

  Mike squinted and examined me closely. "I remember seeing other auras. You have something extra in your aura. Something like Mason has."

  "Yes," I said. "Something extra, something that can get me killed. I have a talent for magic. That's how I healed you last night."

  "That was you? Not a DARPA machine?"

  "There's no machine, doctor, or hospital on earth that could bring you back from the injuries you sustained. Even with magic, it was a very close call."

  Mike was watching me with slightly unfocused eyes. "Your aura tells me you're telling the truth. Even though what you said is not humanly possible."

  Time to clarify things. "As I said, Mike," I said, "I'm not human. You must remember that. Can you remember that?"

  Mike opened his mouth in surprise. "That's why you don't care about nudity. I thought that was because the cult that kidnapped you practiced nudity."

  "That 'cult' was my former wolf pack. Werewolves don't care about clothes; we have fur."

  "And when I met you in prison, you hugged me," said Mike.

  I opened my mouth to explain, but he held up a hand to stop me.

  "I remember now," he said. "You said with your scent on me, your pack wouldn't tear me apart. You hugged me to save my life. That wasn't a 'friendly' hug."

  "Werewolves can scent attraction," I said, "so touching isn't a big deal for us. Humans often mistake that for attraction. With us, there's no room for misunderstanding. I'm mated to Mason. If I ever touch you, it won't be because I'm attracted to you."

  "Oof," he chuckled. "Tough to be rejected." Then he said, "Oh my god. It wasn't a pack of huskies pulling a dogsled that helped us cross the tundra in Alaska to the port. It was you and your pack."

  "Yes. What else do you remember?"

  "We were being chased by a helicopter with an infrared sensor," he said. "I remember you did something that made my eyes water, then the helo zipped off about a mile and shot up some empty ground."

  "I used magic to make it look like we were somewhere else," I said.

  Mike stood and hobbled over to the mini-bar and took out a Coke. After a long drink, he said, "If Mason is a magician, like you, why does Logan hate him so much?"

  "It's not just Logan," I said. "All werewolves hate magic. It gives off a scent that drives us insane. The pack thinks my attachment to Mason is because he helped me escape my former alpha."

  "But you can perform magic," he said. "Doesn't the scent affect you?"

  "I grew used to it. I can, and do, perform magic," I said. "Mason is much more talented than me, but I'm learning."

  "Luna, this is a lot to take in."

  "That's why I asked if you could keep a secret. None of the other werewolves know that I can perform magic."

  "And if they found out?"

  "It would force them to kill or exile me," I sai
d.

  Mike finished the Coke. "You know, I'm remembering more about my attack. I was in terrible shape. You really saved my life."

  Should I tell him the truth? "Even if you had survived by some miracle, you would have been disabled, probably paraplegic."

  Mike nodded soberly. "Yes, I remember the doctor saying that while I was in that coma. Thank you for saving me."

  "You saved me, too, Mike," I said. "More than once."

  "So we're even?"

  "Close enough," I said with a smile.

  Then I changed the subject. "Get dressed, we're going out for dinner. They have a great buffet here."

  "I think I should stay in. I don't have any clothes and with this face"—he gestured at his ravaged face—"I don't want to be seen in public." The swelling was going down, but it would be at least a week before his face would not cause people to stare.

  "I can take care of some of that," I said.

  "Are you going to use magic?"

  I snorted a laugh. "No. Mason's the only one I know that can magic up clothes and illusions. But I’ll use the magic of my credit card to get someone to pick you up some clothes from the stores downstairs."

  Minutes after calling the concierge, a young man knocked on the door. He handed over the toiletry kit I had asked for and asked, "What can I do for you?"

  "My friend has lost his luggage and needs some clothes for tonight." I handed over ten hundred-dollar bills. "Please get him a few pairs of underwear, some polo shirts, and two pairs of slacks. Oh, and some sneakers he can wear around the hotel."

  The bellhop looked at Mike and said, "Thirty-two waist, thirty-two inseam. Medium shirts. Ten—no, ten and a half shoes. I can find everything for you." He stared at Mike's piebald skull and added, "You could use a ball cap to cover your stitches."

  "Great idea," I said. "Please pick out something nice."

  "But you could get all this yourself and save a bit."

  "No, we're short on time," I said. "If you're back with everything in thirty minutes, you can keep the change."

  He was out the door before I finished the sentence.

  "Thirty minutes, huh?" said Mike. "I think the pants and shirt will be tight. It should be a thirty-four waist and a large shirt."

  "No, Mike, you lost a lot of weight last night. You must stay here, rest, and eat a lot of calories to get back into shape."

  "Yeah, about that—I don't think I can afford to stay here. I'll probably have to move out by tomorrow. I might need to pay for my hospital stay."

  "The Navy will pay for that, even though you were in a civilian hospital. And in any event, Mason and I are covering your bills," I said. "We'll cover whatever the military doesn't."

  "You're loaded," he said with a laugh.

  "Not really," I said. "But our company has some lucrative contracts." I waved around at the nice room. "We can't afford to stay here all the time, but we have enough for now."

  Mike didn't need to know I had other income sources. Our pack was getting paid for curing Kuga's cancer and rejuvenating her, but that took a lot of our pack's energy to maintain. The money the government paid to my wolf pack, to keep us away from civilized areas, would probably get cut off as soon as they found out about Major Forrester and his Roid Rangers. I was suddenly glad I had made backup plans with the gold.

  "Can't you just use magic to win some money at the casino?"

  "No," I said. "Casinos have low-powered witches and magicians on staff to let them know when someone is messing with the tables."

  "How do you know all of that?"

  "That was the first suggestion Logan came up with when he found out we were coming here."

  A quiet knock at the door was the bellhop delivering Mike's clothes. He had even noted Mike's injuries and brought a first-aid kit to cover his cuts.

  "Mike," I said after the well-tipped bellhop had left, "only Mason, Naomi, and Kuga know about my magic."

  "I won't talk about it with anyone else," he said.

  "It's not just that," I said. "Werewolves have supersensitive hearing. Don't discuss it with anyone, unless we bring it up first."

  "Understood."

  "Okay," I said, "we'll meet you in the lobby near the buffet in thirty minutes."

  18

  I’d almost forgotten the uniform until I started walking back to our room. In a few short steps, I had three people thank me for my service.

  Back in the room, I decided to dump the BDUs, as wearing them made me feel like a fraud. It was nice to shower and dress up for dinner—a bright red knee-length dress with a low neckline, matching shoes and purse, and wickedly long nails colored exactly like my dress.

  I put on lipstick, then looked over my shoulder in the big mirror. I spun to get a good look, and said, "Damn, Luna, you look good. Enjoy it while you can. In a couple of months you won't be able to fit in anything but maternity dresses and sweats."

  When we met for the buffet, Mike looked much better. He still looked like he had been in an accident, but at least he was clean. He had used one of the baseball caps to hide his scarred head.

  After eating our fill, we sat around the table, eating desserts and finishing our drinks.

  Logan stared at Mike and asked, "We never had time to talk on the boat. How did you meet Mason and Luna?"

  "It was a ship," said Mike.

  Logan shrugged his shoulders to acknowledge the correction, then said, "Frigging sailors."

  "Ground-pounder," said Mike, but with a smile. "Anyway, I was in a bar in Casper, drinking away my sorrows because I had just failed the entry physical for the Navy."

  "You could pass a Navy entry," said Logan. "Even with all the busted bones. They aren't picky."

  "They are if you want to be in Special Forces," said Mike. "My eyes were terrible. Sure, I was in good shape, and a great swimmer. But my poor eyesight meant all the Navy could offer me was a desk job."

  Logan said, "How about Lasik? Couldn't that have helped?"

  "SEALs require 20/20 vision," said Mike. "Even Lasik couldn't bring my eyesight into the correct range."

  "Yeah," said Logan, patting the pocket that held his reading glasses. "Poor eyesight is a bitch."

  I held my tongue. As a werewolf, Logan should be able to fix his eyes when he shifted. For some reason, he didn't do it. He also kept his crooked teeth, potbelly, and poor complexion.

  "You met Mason in a bar?" I said. "That's strange, so did I."

  "Yeah, it was a country and western place. I was drinking my third shot when Mason sat next to me and said hello. After a couple more drinks, I wanted a snack. Mason saw how hard it was for me to read the menu, and said, 'It's too bad my vision enhancers didn't get approved. We could fix your eyes right up.'

  "‘I already tried Lasik,’ I told him. ‘It can't bring my vision into the range I need to enlist. Plus, it's expensive.’

  "‘What we have makes Lasik results comparable to using lenses made from Coke bottles,’ Mason said. ‘And they'd be cheap, if we could mass-produce them.’ So, Mason and I talked, and we made a deal," said Mike.

  "You trusted him?" scoffed Logan. "You should never trust magicians."

  "I didn't know he was a magician," said Mike. "Anyway, it was a small favor, and I didn't have much to lose. It was very lucky I met Mason that night."

  "That was quite the coincidence," I said.

  Then I remembered—Mason had a Wiccan witch-doctor friend who had flashes of precognition. "Was this after your visit with Dr. Patrizia?"

  Everyone looked at Mason. "She told me I might find help there that night."

  "Who the hell's Dr. Patrizia?" asked Logan.

  "A witch-doctor," I said.

  Logan barked a laugh, and I added, "No joke. She's a witch, and a doctor. Sometimes she can tell the future."

  Logan snorted. "Too much magic around this guy," he said as he pointed a finger at Mason and scowled.

  Mason just smiled and locked eyes with Logan. They stared at each other a bit too long, so I interrup
ted. "So, Mike, let's hear the rest of your story."

  "Mason said he had once had poor vision, too. But after his treatment, he could see better than ever. He even proved it to me by reading a menu from across the room. After eating, and a few more beers, he offered to let me test the last set of his experimental vision enhancers. He just needed a little favor—asked me to help him pick up his girlfriend who needed to escape an abusive cult. I drove him out to a remote area in Wyoming, then waited for him and his girlfriend.

  "Mason helped Luna escape, I drove the getaway car, I got my eyes fixed, and that was that. I joined the Navy, went through SEAL training, and got a reputation as a guy with excellent vision, both day and night. Our team worked several missions, but I was growing frustrated with the military. We never seemed to know the reason for our missions."

  "That's the 'mushroom theory of military management,'" said Logan.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Keep your people in the dark and feed them bullshit," laughed Logan. "Just like mushrooms."

  Logan waved for another bottle of wine and motioned for Mike to continue his story.

  "Yeah, we were the mushrooms. It was what I had always wanted, but I had a lot of doubts. It was like we were fighting an invisible war. But I was loyal and kept doing my job.

  "Until I received a new assignment. Part of the guard force for the 'dangerous' prisoners at a black site. It was strange. I was part of a multi-force team, the only SEAL in the group. The others were Rangers, a few Green Berets, and a lot of regular soldiers. That was the first time I ran into the recipients of the drug protocol. The treatments that make them as strong as werewolves."

  "Almost as strong," I said.

  Mike nodded in agreement. "Almost. They offered me the treatment but I declined."

  "Why?" asked Mason.

  Mike pointed at his eyes. "I’d started seeing things with my new eyes. Forms or shapes that surround living bodies."

  "Auras." Both Mason and I spoke at the same time.

  Mason continued, "I didn't expect that from my treatment. Maybe you already had the propensity and treating your eyesight released it."

  "I thought I was going crazy," said Mike. "It didn't affect my regular vision, but it scared the crap out of me.