While Mom talked, I asked Mike, “Will there be a third wave?”
Mike scanned the horizon for threats, then shook his head. “No other attacks are imminent. Even the Apache is gone.”
My heart unclenched. Another attack would have destroyed us.
Mom handed my phone back, then stood carefully, resting Mason’s head on the ground. Mom shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, honey.”
Mason’s breathing halted. All my healing skills couldn’t get through his defenses to help him, nor could moonlight power a recovery. I wept with frustration.
“I can’t believe his soul is still hanging on,” said Mike. “He’s a tough guy.”
I had forgotten that Mike could see souls. “He’s still alive?”
“Just barely. Without help, it’s just a matter of minutes.”
Hell, no! I wouldn’t let him go.
“Mom, hold your nose. Mike, oxygen mask for Mason.” A sphere of highly oxygenated air sprang up around Mason’s head. Air forced itself into his lungs and his withered heart beat weakly. I couldn’t heal him, but I could keep him breathing.
I stood. “Mom, call your sons back and gather the wounded. But Mason gets the first ambulance.”
“No,” said Mom. “He’ll get the MEDEVAC helicopter.”
33
An hour later, we were in one of the VIP rooms at our hospital. IV tubes fed into Mason’s arms and electrodes were pasted to his body here and there.
Dad was examining Mason using mundane instruments, as Mason’s magical defenses were still operating. Even unconscious, Mason’s magic made the monitors glitch.
Mike was slumped in a visitor’s chair in the corner, finally succumbing to exhaustion. For a human, he had tremendous stamina, but the events of the past day had finally caught up with him.
I jittered from foot to foot as Dad finished his examination, nervously fingering the handbag I had picked up from our house before jumping into the ambulance.
Dad finally straightened up and looked at me.
“Well?” I asked after a full minute of silence.
Dad tilted his head at the door. I knew it was bad news but followed him out into the hallway.
“Well?” I repeated.
“Luna, there’s no easy way to say this. He’s on a downward spiral. We can’t heal him magically and he’s already beyond mundane medicine.”
“No. There has to be something we can do. He’s recovered from serious injuries before.”
“Luna, no power on Earth can help him now.”
“That’s it!” I said.
I opened the door to Mason’s room and said, “Mike, I need you.”
His eyes instantly popped open and he jumped to his feet.
“Yes, Luna,” he said as he stepped into the hallway. “What do you need?”
I took one of my most prized possessions from my invisible handbag and gave it to Mike. “Here’s a replacement for the portal coin we used.”
“There are only a few of those in the world,” said Mike. “You should keep it. Anyway, with the tattoo, I don’t need a coin to retain my memories.”
“No,” I insisted, “you deserve a replacement. This coin will also identify you as one of Mason’s friends when I send you there.”
“There? Where?”
“If no power on Earth can help Mason, we’ll go somewhere else to beg for help. Fae.”
I outlined my plan quickly, speaking while I typed on my phone. “The MEDEVAC on the roof is waiting for you. They’ll take you to the portal and wait for you to return.”
Mike nodded and left. It was nice to have someone who did what I asked without asking too many questions.
Dad had a million questions in his eyes, but finally asked, “Why send Mike? You’ve been there and they know you.”
“Because if I’m not here to keep his heart beating and his lungs breathing, Mason won’t last long enough to get help.”
Thirteen hours later, I was still on my feet beside Mason’s hospital bed. I had tried sitting but had almost dozed off.
Dad had come in after rounds and sat in a visitor’s chair. His presence was a comfort and he knew not to talk while I was concentrating.
I was in a light trance, trying to duplicate Mason’s trick of ‘sleeping between the ticks of the clock’ with scant results. So many things I should have learned but had put off for my career.
She burst through the door in an explosion of yellow: daffodil yellow gown, golden amber eyes, and hair as bright as sunshine. Princess Chrysoberyl, Mason’s older half-sister and one of the few Fae I trusted.
She gave me a quick hug, leaving a scent of the forest after rainfall in the air, and turned her attention to Mason.
“Little Rock,” she crooned in Fae, “what have you done to yourself?”
She placed her hand on his forehead and white light blossomed from her palm—Fae healing magic. Mason drew a breath unassisted for the first time since his collapse.
I stopped my oxygen mask spell with relief. It was like opened a fist that I had been clenching for a day.
Mason stirred but did not waken.
“That will only stabilize him for a short while. I need to get him home.”
“Home? You mean Fae? Can’t you heal him here?”
“Heal him in this world filled with iron, steel and meager magic? No, he needs to come back home.”
“Okay,” I said. I picked up my bag. “Let’s go.”
“You can’t come.”
“Why not? He needs me. I know he wants to be near when the children are born.”
“That’s the problem. If your children are born on Fae soil, the line of succession will be contested.”
“I don’t care about your throne or any of that crap. I just want to be with my husband.” My claws were out in an instant. “You can’t stop me.”
“You’re right. I can’t stop you. But if you insist on coming, I won’t be part of it,” Chrysoberyl said firmly. “And without my help, his chances of survival are minuscule.”
“But—”
“I saved him once before. I can do it again.”
“Again?” I asked.
“Who do you think he turned to when he was savagely beaten by your former alpha? I treated him then, nursed his broken body back to health.”
Chrys turned away and stroked Mason’s head. No magic this time, just a gentle touch.
“I didn’t know. He never told me about his time there.”
Chrys looked at me with a stern expression. “As I said, I can’t stop you. If you insist on dragging him back to Fae, you’ll do it without my assistance. If those children are born on our world, our heads will be on a pike outside Mother’s castle.”
“You want me to abandon Mason?”
Her eyes flashed coldly. “You abandoned him before. Sent him crawling back to Fae without a thought.”
“I was kidnapped and caged for months!”
“Whatever your excuse, the result is the same.” Her eyes softened. “You can visit after the children are born. Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“Your recent dispute with the Assassin’s Guild caused enormous disruption in our society. The Guild has disbanded and is attempting to re-form under a different name.”
“They tried to kill me and my children. They got what they deserved.”
“You killed their leader, his second-in-command, and interfered with their relationship with the great cats.” Chrys shuddered. “You destroyed one of our oldest institutions. Even Queen Mab is enraged.”
“You should remind Queen Grandmother that I used the gentlest option.”
“What?”
“Mason wanted to drop a mountain on the castle; my pack wanted to form a hunt for anyone wearing those stealth suits. Either of those options would have killed hundreds. I took out two. That’s the price they paid for accepting a contract against me and mine.”
“They were just following their contract. It’s business, nothing more.”
“Whatever their excuse, the result is the same,” I said, spitting her phrase back at her.
Chrys took a deep breath and held up her palms. “I don’t want to argue with you. I came here to help Mason, not fight with his mate.”
I tamped down anger and nodded. To change the subject, I asked, “How long will he take to recover?”
“If he recovers, it will take about six…” Her brow furrowed as she tried to translate Fae time into Earth measures.
“Days?”
Chrys snorted in derision and shook her head.
“Weeks?”
Chrys shook her head.
“Months?”
A tiny shrug.
“Years?”
“Almost certainly not decades,” she said reassuringly. “And you’ll be able to visit. Eventually.”
I took a deep breath and made my decision. It was no decision at all, really. Mason needed to recover, and he couldn’t recover without returning home.
“All right. Take him.”
I turned to Mike, who had understood nothing of our conversation. “Mike, Chrys has to take Mason back through the portal to cure him. Prep the MEDEVAC and we’ll fly back together.”
Mike rushed out to get the crew ready. I started gathering my things.
“I can’t let you fly off with him,” said Dad.
At my glare, he continued, “You’re ready to deliver. Now you want to jump on a helicopter and travel to an abandoned mine in the middle of nowhere? It’s too dangerous for the children.” He shook his head. “Anyway, the copter can only hold the crew, the patient, a doctor—me—and one other passenger.”
Fangs and claws popped out as anger grew. Why can’t we just kill something to solve this?
Dad stepped into my kill zone unafraid, just as he had when helping Mom. He gave me a long hug and patted my back. Slowly, my fangs and claws receded. Tears stained the shoulder of his lab coat when I pulled away.
Dad changed the subject. “There was a John Doe in the group that attacked you. He was similar in size and build to Mason. I identified that person as him.”
“Why?”
“It was Mike’s idea. He called it ‘misdirection.’”
My heart was a jumble of confused emotions. Saying Mason was dead hurt terribly. Telling lies about him hurt even more. Still, sowing confusion among our enemies could only help.
The EMT crew entered and prepared Mason for transport. I followed the crew to the helipad.
Chrys was waiting for us. She shuddered as she gazed at the sun. “What a strange world. The sun moves and the sky is monochrome. Home is so much better.”
She stepped to the copter, gritted her teeth, and stepped onboard. “I can’t believe I’m trusting my life to a flying machine made of iron,” she said.
That sparked another worry. “Mike, can helicopters be taken over by remote control like cars?”
“I don’t know, Luna.”
I gave him one of Mason’s protective medallions. “Put this on the dashboard.”
I hugged Chrys goodbye. Then Dad. Then I kissed Mason goodbye.
I stood on the helipad, staring at the retreating copter until it was gone from sight.
Epilogue
I was busy juggling the babies around and getting them into their car seats. Their six-month checkup had gone smoothly. The little scamps were always calmer around my dad. Now, with just me here, they were acting out.
Mike was standing by the open driver’s door. He waited patiently for me to finish with the twins. He knew I insisted on strapping the kids in myself.
Mike made a tongue-clicking noise to let me know someone was approaching who could be dangerous.
I stood quickly and turned. The stranger stopped ten feet away and kept his hands visible. Mike slid smoothly to the back of the car, ready to block any attempt at the twins.
“Luna White?”
“Yeah. Who wants to know?”
If this were another court summons, GI Joe could talk to my lawyer.
“I’m Colonel Richmond. The president sent me. Your country needs you.”
I examined the colonel. The uniform looked right, with the fancy Special Forces beret and lots of ribbons on his impressive chest. He smelled like a soldier: a hint of cordite from recent firearms practice, the faint smell of aviation fuel that indicated he had recently flown in, and the fragrance of boot polish. He also smelled honest; he wasn’t lying about being sent by the president.
Not that it made any difference to me.
“Tell that idiot to piss off. My kids need me more.” I turned my back on him and shut the rear door.
He was still standing there when I turned around.
“You’re still here?” I gave him my ‘I’m running out of patience’ glare and he backed up a step. “The president may need me, but I don’t need him. Tell him to find someone else to ask for help.”
“Please, just read this.”
Then he handed me the file that would change my mind.
Lycan Legacy - Paladin
LYCAN LEGACY - PALADIN
Veronica Singer
To those who walk on two feet, but hunt on four.
Text copyright © 2021 Veronica Singer
All Rights Reserved
Fantastic Cover Design by:
[email protected]
Created with Vellum
1
The drone of the aircraft engines was shockingly loud to my werewolf ears, bringing back memories of my last trip on a military aircraft—a trip to an Arctic prison specially designed to cage werewolves. At least I wasn’t chained down this time.
This aircraft was smaller, but otherwise similar to my previous transportation: stretched-canvas bench seats along each bulkhead, a swing-down ramp at the rear, and the well-worn look of roughly used equipment. The rear hatch was open, letting in the icy wind of our twenty-thousand-foot altitude. We ignored the cold, but we all wore oxygen masks. Werewolves can survive in thinner air than humans, but even we needed help here.
These masks had something extra: small one-way valves that allowed exterior air to enter. Werewolves hate not being able to smell their environment, so this modification allowed us to wear masks without feeling like we were blindfolded.
For this mission, I was surrounded by werewolves. Unfortunately, these were not my pack. Not only that, they weren’t American. Hell, I couldn’t even read their nametags—they used Hebrew lettering.
The Israeli pack’s alpha sat to my right on the long bench that ran the length of the aircraft. A diminutive blonde with bright amber eyes, she was in charge of this operation.
Yes, she. It was just my luck that the first time I met another female alpha, she had to be such a bitch. Each time she looked at me with that air of superiority, I wanted to smash her face in.
And ruin a month’s planning and put the hostages at risk? I swallowed my anger and put on a calm face. Useless—she could smell my anger and I could smell her superiority.
I smiled at the thought of tearing into her once this mission was over. She smelled my amusement, then emitted her own scent of anger. The bitch wanted me to submit to her. Not gonna happen.
Across from me, against the other bulkhead of the aircraft, sat my one ally, Mike. He was squeezed uncomfortably between two werewolves, who kept ‘accidentally’ bumping and jostling him. Mike just smiled with the calmness of a monk in meditation. He had been through all this before. He had told me that military units, no matter what nationality, would routinely harass newcomers to test their mettle.
And Mike was a puzzle to these werewolves. He wasn’t were, but he wasn’t exactly human. He lacked werewolf healing and senses, but he was inhumanly strong and tough—the result of a desperate attempt to save his life after a savage attack. The cure had involved the combined magic and skill of Mason and myself, and Mike’s own indomitable willpower.
Mike noticed my look, smiled, and rubbed the spot on his harness over his ‘good-luck charm.’ Then h
e winked at me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a green apple. He looked at it with obvious hunger, but it would be impossible to eat the apple with an oxygen mask on. He tugged the side of his mask a bit, but it wouldn’t slide enough to let him get a bite of the apple without risking loss of oxygen. Then he reached to his calf and pulled something from a sheath hidden there. It was his combat knife.
His solid silver combat knife. Even in the dim red light, the gleam of pure silver flashed through the aircraft. Suddenly, the two werewolves who had been boxing him in had scooted away, leaving him with almost a foot of space on each side.
Mike nonchalantly sliced a precise quarter-inch section of his apple, pulled his mask out a bit, and slid the apple into his mouth. He munched contentedly, one slice at a time, until the apple was half consumed. He sliced off another section, then said over the intercom, “How rude. I’m sorry, does anyone else want a slice?”
He proffered a slice of apple, balanced on the deadly knife blade, to the werewolf sitting on his right. The were shuddered and shook his head.
“Damn,” said Mike in consternation. “I’m sorry. Is it not kosher?”
Do Jewish werewolves even follow kosher laws?
I expected that flashing a silver weapon in an aircraft full of werewolves would cause a fight. Instead, the opposite occurred. The were held up both hands in surrender and roared with laughter.
“Thanks, but we don’t like to eat before a mission.”
Tension eased with smiles and laughter all around. Mike finished half of the apple, put the remaining half away, and sheathed his knife. The two weres relaxed and scooted closer, but left a respectful distance between themselves and Mike.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, relying on my inner wolf to wake me if trouble arose.
Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series Page 54