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

by Veronica Singer

“Really? Talk them out of it? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “My therapist wants me to explore non-violent options before doing what I do best.”

  “Okay. Sweet talk doesn’t work. What do you do next?”

  “If the assailant had a gun, I’d use my transmutation spell to render the bullets inert. Then I’d beat them to a pulp. If the assailant had a knife, I’d overclock and disarm them before they could move. If—”

  “Wait. ‘Overclock?’ What kind of spell is that?”

  “It’s not magic. More like self-hypnosis, plus increased oxygen to rev up my metabolism. It makes me faster than almost any werewolf.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you use it before?”

  “It’s dangerous. The first time I used it nearly killed me. I burned off fifteen pounds of body weight in five minutes. The next time I broke some bones from the stress. I didn’t dare do it while I was pregnant.”

  Mike rubbed the spot on his chest over his heart, where Mason and I had tattooed a magical glyph that gave him the equivalent of my gas-mask spell. “Sometimes I forget how versatile this spell is. I’d like to learn to do this ‘overclock’ thing. Can you teach me?”

  “It takes meditation and a bit of self-hypnosis to master. I can try to teach you, after this mission is over.”

  “You can hypnotize yourself?”

  I waggled my hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Mason taught me the basics, but I never got the hang of it until it was sort of forced on me while I was in prison.”

  We were silent for a bit, trudging through the sands of the moonless desert. Resisting the urge to strip and shift and race to Logan, I put the wolf in charge of my progress and dropped into inner space. Built for four-legged travel, she had become remarkably adept at guiding my two-legged body. For a moment, it seemed as if her furry head rested on my right shoulder. Her warmth and presence was a comfort. She chuffed in thanks that I let her lead.

  If she couldn’t run, at least she could enjoy the walk.

  Free from the physical world, I probed the links I shared with my pack. Silver-colored threads reached from my heart to the hearts of the pack. Every member’s heartbeat pulsed their thread.

  Even the link to that bitch Ariel pulsed, but it was filled with anger. She was far away and receding, following my last order. I might regret letting her live.

  The threads that led to the twins pulsed once every twenty minutes, letting me know they were still safe.

  Finally, I concentrated on Logan’s link. It pulsed with pain. Even under a moonless sky, I still had reserves of energy. I drew moonlight magic from my soul and pushed it to Logan, easing his pain. He tried to refuse, but I was the alpha. It wasn’t much—there were limits on my reserves during the new moon and on how much energy the link could sustain.

  I blinked back to the real world and nearly stumbled as the wolf receded.

  “Welcome back,” said Mike. “Is the wolf back in her cage?”

  “How did you know she was out?”

  “I know your moods. For meditation, you sit down. When you zen out to work on magic, you freeze up like a catatonic. When you stop talking and growl while you’re moving, it means the wolf side is in charge.”

  He knows me better than Mason, came the traitorous whisper from my conscience.

  I spoke sharply. “The wolf is never in charge. We’re partners, better together than apart.”

  He was kind enough to read my mood again and kept quiet for the rest of our trek.

  Over the dunes, a glowing light moved from south to north, accompanied by the Doppler sounds of a truck moving at about a hundred kilometers per hour.

  We left the dunes behind and hit a flat area, making progress easier. We approached the highway, a ribbon of concrete that wound its way north to south under the starlit sky.

  “We’ll stay out here until our ride shows up,” said Mike. “Wait here a minute.”

  Mike raced down to the road and kneeled at the edge of the concrete. He pulled a white plastic bag from his pocket and stuck one edge under a handy rock. It fluttered like a flag in the intermittent wind.

  In a few seconds, he was back at my side. “Let’s back away.”

  We halted about fifty meters from the road and waited. Despite being a main highway between major cities, the traffic on the road was sparse. In fifteen minutes, only a few trucks and two cars had passed.

  Mike exchanged texts on his satellite phone, then said, “He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “Who is he? You still haven’t told me anything about this backup plan of yours.”

  “When I learned about our destination, I checked with some friends to find out who was in this part of the world. One of my former instructors in BUD/S replied, and I sent him a heads-up message before we left the States to let him know I might need his help.”

  “What’s his story?”

  “His name’s Manny. He’s retired, but we still keep in touch.” Mike chuckled. “You’ll like him. He’s a lot like Logan. Always cracking jokes and flirting with women.”

  “This guy just said ‘Okay’ and offered to help? That seems to be an amazing coincidence, you having an old Navy buddy here in Saudi Arabia.”

  “It’s not a coincidence. There’s a lot of us and we keep in touch. I’ve got friends all over the world.”

  “There’s a worldwide secret society of SEALs that you’re a member of?”

  “A guy has to have some secrets,” Mike said, throwing my own quote back at me.

  10

  “You make it sound like a James Bond movie.” Mike laughed and continued, “We’re just a group with common interests and backgrounds. We know we can depend on each other.”

  “And if he called you for help, you’d do the same?”

  “Yes, as long as it didn’t interfere with my work for you.”

  We were silent for a few minutes, while I absorbed the fact that Mike had a long history I knew nothing about. How long had it been since our first meeting? By my internal calendar it was only a year or two, but it seemed a lot more time had passed on Earth while Mason and I had traveled through Fae.

  “Don’t wolf packs do something similar?” Mike asked, bringing me back to the present.

  “We help each other out, if possible. But there are no packs in this part of the world to call on. Ariel’s pack is the only one I know of.”

  I took out my canteen and drank the last of my water. Mike copied my gesture.

  “With wolf packs, there’s usually payment involved,” I said. “Is it the same for your secret society?”

  “Don’t call it that. We have a Facebook group, so it’s hardly a secret.”

  “The question remains. How are we going to pay back your friends?” I mentally juggled figures; with the income from the mine and the hospital, I could probably squeeze out a few hundred thousand dollars. That would be all the cash I could produce on short notice without activating any more BITCHCoins.

  “Manny’s never been greedy. We’ll cover his expenses, promise him some help in case he ever needs it. Maybe a few thousand, plus the future favor.”

  I sighed in relief. “Okay, I can afford that. We’ll take care of your secret SEAL teammate.”

  Mike chuckled at the ‘secret SEAL’ remark then asked, “I thought the US government was footing all the bills, in addition to the fighter jet. Isn’t that the deal you made with them?”

  “With a mole in the organization, I’m not about to send a message asking them to transfer money to a retired SEAL in Saudi Arabia. Right now, everybody thinks we’re dead. Better to keep it that way.”

  “You can print your own money, so it should be no problem. Zap up a few more BITCHCoins and we’re all set.”

  I gave Mike my ‘bad news’ face. “That’s not a good idea. Activating more coins would be a last resort. With Mason out of commission for the near future, there are too many obligations out there for me to handle.”

  Mike shrugged and grinned. “Well, I’ve been broke befor
e. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

  “Maybe I’m overanalyzing this. I can make more money—gold coins if not BITCHCoins.” I took a deep breath and smiled. “I tend to worry about money too much. It comes from growing up poor.”

  A dark SUV pulled up next to the plastic-bag flag and stopped. It was an older model GMC Suburban with a large decal on the side, a blue and orange circle with Arabic and English lettering. The part I could read said “Saudi Electricity Company.”

  Mike’s satellite phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Mike hesitated for a second. “It might be better for you to wait here until I’ve talked to Manny.”

  Irritation flashed at this delay, but Mike knew this part of the world and his friend better than I did. I nodded shortly and he jogged down to the road.

  Manny exited the SUV and shook Mike’s hand. After a whispered conversation, Mike looked down the empty road to ensure no cars were coming, then waved me down to join them.

  Manny was an older Latino man with short-cropped graying hair. Several inches shorter than Mike, he had the shoulders of a weightlifter. All his weight was resting on his right foot and his left arm was curled near his stomach. An infrared scan showed the excess heat associated with inflammation in his wrist, knuckles, and left ankle. Arthritis?

  In the distance, a truck appeared, and the headlights gave Manny an opportunity to see me. What did he think of the tall, olive-skinned, long-haired woman in combat fatigues, carrying a huge backpack?

  “Hi, Manny,” I said. “I’m Luna. Nice to meet you.”

  I was expecting a joke or an attempt at flirting, from Mike’s description of Manny’s character. Instead, I just received a grunt in acknowledgement.

  During our walk, Mike had told me some unbelievable stories about his adventures with Manny. Everything from drinking bouts and barroom brawls to cathouse crawls, always with a smile on his lips or a quip ready. It was hard to reconcile Mike’s stories with this grunting old man.

  Manny pulled Mike over to stand beside him, obscuring any view of me from the oncoming truck. The truck whipped past, stirring up a blast of sand.

  Manny opened the rear door of the SUV, which turned on the interior light.

  Manny stared for a second, then snapped, “Get in the car!”

  I was unnerved by the stare and prepared a sharp comment.

  Manny held up a hand in brusque apology. “Sorry, lady. It’s shocking to see a woman out in public without an abaya.”

  “A what?”

  Manny pointed to the rear door of the SUV and gestured me in. “Never mind. Get in before another car comes by.”

  I slipped out of the backpack and handed it to Mike. I slid into the rear seat and looked around. Wire coat hangers hung from the interior coat hooks, holding clean shirts with the Saudi Electricity logo embroidered on the back. The interior was worn, the odometer read 197,000 kilometers, the engine was idling roughly, and the rear compartment was stuffed with supplies.

  Still, it beat running through the desert. My inner wolf nodded agreement.

  I queried her about Manny, trusting her instincts over mine. She soundlessly indicated that Manny could be trusted.

  Manny pulled up the rear hatch and made room for our packs. His left hand was useless, and he performed the packing one-handed. Mike moved to help, but Manny refused.

  He grabbed a bundle of black cloth and handed it to me over the seat. “Abaya. You’re going to have to wear it.” While he and Mike got in and belted up, I tried to make sense of the bundle. It was like a black long-sleeved robe that would cover me from shoulders to feet. I was thankful it had buttons up the front. My wolf side didn’t like clothes I couldn’t remove in an instant. There was a separate head-covering I left for later.

  Manny put the SUV in gear and drove away. I took a long breath, happy to be moving faster, mixed with a bit of sadness at leaving my oasis behind. Maybe I could visit it sometime.

  I peeled off my jacket and shirt, leaving only the olive-green T-shirt over my pants. I debated pulling them off too but decided against it. If I needed to move fast, the robe would be the first thing to go, and I didn’t want to race around naked.

  I looked up and saw Manny’s eyes flicking back and forth between the road and the rear-view mirror.

  I gave him a reproving look. “Eyes on the road, Manny,” I said.

  “It’s not that, lady.” Manny sniffed in disapproval. “I’ve seen a woman before.”

  I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic, then had a sharp premonition of danger. Distracted by talking, Manny wasn’t paying attention to the road—an oncoming vehicle was straddling the center line, apparently oblivious to our presence.

  “Watch out, Manny!” I ordered.

  Manny jerked the wheel, but was hampered by his weakened arm. The right front wheel hit something solid and the vehicle jerked and tilted. I extended my claws and grabbed the seat backs in front of me.

  We skidded to a stop about twenty meters further down the road. The SUV was tilted to the right, as if we had a flat tire.

  Mike and Manny exited, leaving the engine running.

  “If it’s a flat, we can fix it in a few min—” Mike’s voice halted and I got out to check the damage, leaving my abaya behind.

  The right front tire was flat, practically shredded. But what was worse was that it was canted at a sharp angle, indicating structural damage.

  “Let’s pull the tire and check,” said Mike. “Maybe it’s something we can fix.”

  Manny shuffled to the rear of the SUV and popped the hatch. He fumbled with moving stuff around until Mike stepped up to help him.

  Mike took the jack to the right front and made to slide it under the frame. “Oh, crap,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The frame is on the ground. The jack won’t fit.” He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe we can lift it high enough slide the jack into place.”

  Manny shook his head bitterly. “Mike, I don’t think the two of us could do that lift even at our best.” He held up his swollen arm. “And I’m not exactly at my best. We’re going to have to wait for help.”

  I looked down the desolate road in both directions. No cars visible for as far as I could see.

  “No Triple-A out here, Manny?”

  “I could call someone, but they’d take hours to get here. A Saudi police car swings by every few hours. They’ll help us.” He looked at me and shook his head. “The less contact you have with Saudi nationals, the better.”

  Mike handed me the jack. “Do you know where to put this if I lift the car?”

  “I grew up on a farm in Wyoming,” I said. “I know how to change a tire.”

  “Mike, you’re going to rip a tendon. There’s no way you can lift that much.”

  “I’ve been working out, Manny.”

  Instead of squatting to lift the Suburban with his arms, Mike dropped his jacket on the ground in front of it. He lay down on his back and put both feet under the bumper. He took a deep breath, then straightened his legs, lifting the front of the vehicle into the air.

  I slid the jack under the lifting point on the frame and said, “Let it down easy, Mike.” The lug wrench was also the jack handle, and I used it to lift the jack a few more inches.

  Then without waiting for Mike, I squatted down and used the wrench to spin the lug nuts off the ruined tire.

  Manny blinked in surprise when I tossed the heavy tire and wheel assembly aside as if it were a bicycle tire. “Country girl, Manny. I’m stronger than I look.”

  We examined the damage. The tie rod had snapped, and the lower swing arm was bent from the impact.

  “There’s no way in hell we can drive on that,” said Manny.

  Mike and I exchanged a glance. For Manny’s sake, I said, “I can fix it. At least good enough to get us to Riyadh.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “If she says she can do it, it’s possible,” said Mike.

  “Give me two of
those steel coat hangers and bring out your jumper cables,” I said.

  I rolled Mike’s jacket farther under the vehicle to give me a place to lie. “Block his view, Mike,” I whispered. Then, more loudly, “Hook the jumper cables up to the battery and give me the other ends.”

  I unwound the coat hangers, giving me two lengths of steel rod. I used a claw to scrape the enamel off the metal, then folded the wire. I grabbed one end of the rod with the positive jumper cable, leaving the other end free.

  Mike handed me his sunglasses. “To protect your eyes from the arc,” he said.

  I put the sunglasses on and slid under the SUV. My werewolf sharp vision let me see through the tinted lenses even in the dark.

  First, the bent swing arm had to be coaxed back into place. I grabbed it with both hands and hooked my knees against the front bumper, allowing my body to act like a huge C-clamp, and put pressure on the bent metal. It was hard on my abs, requiring more strength than I had used in years. “It’s okay, Luna,” I said to myself. “It’s time you worked on losing that baby fat anyway.”

  It would normally have been a job for a hydraulic press, but I used earth magnetism as well as werewolf strength to bend the stubborn steel to my will. Millimeter by millimeter, the steel moved back to its original shape. The effort left me breathless and sweaty. Bits of rust, road dirt, and grime dropped into my face and hair. I ignored them.

  “Manny, help me drop the spare while Luna works,” said Mike.

  “What if she needs help?”

  “She’ll call if she needs us.”

  Mike was fumbling the exercise of dropping the spare tire from the under-trunk well to distract Manny. That gave me time to work on the broken tie rod.

  With the swing arm back in place, I placed the two pieces of the tie rod together. They matched, mostly. There was a chunk of steel missing, chipped off by the impact.

  I clamped the negative terminal of the jumper cable to the inner piece of the tie rod. Then I brought the metal rod clamped in the positive terminal up and touched it to the metal, producing a healthy arc.

  Normally, a car battery wouldn’t produce enough amperage for a long enough time to arc weld anything, but I amplified the effect with magnetism and magic. A variant of my gas-mask spell enveloped the tie rod in inert nitrogen, ensuring a clean weld.