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

by Veronica Singer

  “Can you keep him calm enough that he won’t attack if we touch him?” asked Mike.

  “I can’t promise,” I admitted. “He’s in a lot of pain right now.”

  Logan’s eyes fluttered open and he growled. I pulled the gloves off and sat next to him, stroking his head and crooning until he slept again.

  Then Manny seemed to snap out of his astonished daze. “Good thing I came with you,” he said as he rummaged through his pack. “This is what we need.”

  He held up a hacksaw with a smile. Then his face fell. “It would take an hour to cut through that chain. This might not work either.”

  “Give me that,” I snapped, irritated I hadn’t thought to bring tools to free Logan. Too much emphasis on magic, not enough on human resources.

  “Mike, I need you to hold the collar still while I saw.”

  Logan growled slightly as Mike approached, but calmed down at my barehanded touch. One last pat for Logan, then I pulled the gloves on.

  Mike held the collar still while I started sawing. Even though I was careful, the specks of silver the hacksaw threw off burned both Logan and me.

  Finally it was finished, and Logan was free. His throat was ravaged and he had lost a lot of blood, but he was breathing.

  From across the room, Manny said, “You went through that thing like it was made of butter! That’s not possible.”

  “Country girls are stronger than they look,” I said.

  “Can’t you zap him with moonlight to heal him?” asked Mike, as he slid the hacksaw into his pack.

  “I can only give him so much without burning him out.” I thought for a moment. “We’ll have to carry him out.”

  “I’m not carrying a rabid wolf out of here on my back,” said Manny.

  “He’s not rabid,” I said sharply. But he had a point; Logan might wake and attack anyone nearby in his rage and pain. His wolf side had always been hard to control.

  “Still, you’re right. I’ll have to force him to shift back to human.”

  “Shift to… human…” Manny’s voice faded as he tried to process the words.

  “Don’t freak out, Manny,” said Mike. “We still need you.”

  “Probably better if you don’t watch this, Manny,” I said as I bent over Logan’s head. I stroked his head and forced lunar energy through him—not directed at healing, which might have killed him, but coaxing the wolf side to give up control so the man could emerge.

  It took several minutes of intense effort, but Logan finally began to shift. First his fur receded, then his pointed ears shortened and morphed to human shape as his skull shifted with a crunch of bones. His muzzle shortened and his fangs retracted. Last to change were his claws, which finally receded to human length.

  Once the change was complete, I looked at Mike. “I hate to ask you to do this, but I need to keep my hands free and Manny’s freaking out. Can you carry him?”

  In seconds, Logan’s naked form was draped over Mike’s shoulder in a fireman’s carry. We stepped to the door—which was blocked by Manny. His mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish, but no sound came out.

  I reached out and tried to stroke his cheek to comfort him, but he jerked away as if my touch was poison.

  I pulled my hand back and crooned in the same tone I had used on Logan. “Don’t worry, Manny. If you’re like most people, this memory will fade away and be replaced by something more realistic.”

  As they followed me up the stairs, I heard Manny whispering to Mike. “They had that guy chained up and wrapped in a rug on the floor. Damn, I thought he was a dog.”

  Mike nodded in agreement as Manny explained away the impossible.

  Good. His memories were rearranging to avoid confronting the supernatural.

  We stalked through the main floor, following Alisha’s scent. The corridors were still darkened, forcing Manny to use his night-vision goggles again. Viewing the world through a tiny screen seemed to settle him down.

  We turned left at the main corridor. There was an elevator at the end of the hallway, and next to it was a stairwell door.

  The scent of Alisha came from upstairs. As one, we moved through the door to the stairwell, ignoring the elevator. Elevators were too easy to block, too easy to turn into tiny kill boxes.

  I briefly considered leaving Logan downstairs with Mike. Sure, I was strong enough to carry Logan around like a designer handbag, but it would be tough for Mike to climb those stairs with him.

  “Mike, do you want to wait here for us to bring Alisha down? Logan must be getting heavy.”

  “Better if we don’t split up. If you leave us, we won’t have access to any of your gadgets.”

  Damn it, he was right. I couldn’t leave Mike and Logan here; the sound suppression and other spells only worked in my vicinity. Plus, Logan might wake and wolf out. “Okay. Let me know if you need a break.”

  “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother,” said Mike with a little grunt as he climbed the stairs after me.

  It took ten seconds for me to realize Mike had made a joke, quoting an old song. I suppressed a giggle. I like guys who can joke on a suicide mission.

  The second floor was a duplicate of the first, with the little tables and knick-knacks exactly matching the layout below. I held a finger to my lips, then pointed to my eyes, then made a horizontal circling gesture to let Mike and Manny know I wanted to take a quick look around on this floor.

  They nodded understanding and stayed in the stairwell as I opened the door and slid silently through. I walked down the hallway, stepping over rugs that duplicated those on the first floor, until I hit the intersection.

  The scent of wild magic came from my right, so I turned there. A large room at the end of the hall was laid out like an auditorium. Instead of chairs, there were prayer rugs laid on the floor in precise rows. A podium with a tiny spotlight above it held what I assumed was a copy of the Koran. My internal compass indicated that the rugs all faced Mecca.

  I breathed the still air, seeking the scent of magic. No, the prayer rugs and the holy book were all mundane. On the right and left walls were small, recessed shelves, each holding an objet d’art. Exquisite figures of gold or platinum, or of ancient make, were displayed.

  There it was. A tall, intricately-etched glass bottle that pulsed brightly in the magical spectrum. On closer approach, the scent the bottle gave off was reminiscent of the genie I had trapped. Was this the bottle that had held the genie I had trapped, or was it another genie?

  I had the bottle in my hands and was about to remove the glass stopper before my wolf stopped me with a jolt. Not a smart move, Luna. She was more focused than me. I had wasted enough time here.

  I had the bottle stashed in my bag when I froze with a new thought. Was it theft to take this? Would I face the wrath of the owner—or a genie—for taking it?

  It isn’t theft. It’s depriving a kidnapper of a weapon that can be used to shoot you in the back.

  Conscience eased by self-justification; I retraced my steps to the stairwell. Mike and Manny seemed relieved to see me, but I wasn’t good enough with sign language to let them know what I had been doing. I made the opening and closing fingers gesture for talking, followed by a vertical circling gesture to let them know I would tell them later.

  Manny tapped on his watch in a ‘hurry up’ gesture. Dawn was approaching—dawn, and the first call to prayer that would have dozens of people up and about.

  We headed up the stairs to the third level. Once again, the décor was duplicated. No scent of wild magic or Alisha here, so we proceeded to the fourth floor.

  The fourth floor was yet another replica of the ones below. But the scent of Alisha was strong here.

  I tracked her scent to the third door on the left. Soft snores came from the rooms of the other residents. Strangely enough, they were all women. In fact, there had been no sign of any men above the second floor.

  I paused outside Alisha’s cell. The door looked like a standard model, no fancy locks or has
p on the exterior. From inside came the sound of music, so faint that it must have been from a set of headphones.

  Well, we couldn’t stand out here all night. I prepared my lock-pick for use. But before I inserted it in the keyhole, I put a hand on the door handle. To my surprise, the handle moved freely.

  She isn’t even locked in?

  I stepped through the door, expanding my soundproof bubble to encompass the entire room. We might have to cut her out of chains.

  Alisha was sitting at a desk, facing away from us, watching an iPad screen with Air Pods stuffed in her ears. She was moving in time with the music, seemingly unconcerned with her imprisonment.

  I surveyed the room. A luxurious four-poster bed, festooned with silk sheets, stood against the far wall. A door to a walk-in closet was on our right. Through the open door I could see dozens of high-fashion dresses. A dresser next to the bed held a jewelry box stuffed with precious gems, and the air was thick with expensive perfumes, as if she had been testing various combinations.

  At my left, Manny had produced a hood, the kind used to blind and muffle prisoners. He took a step toward Alisha but stopped at my gesture. He gave me a stubborn look and gestured with the hood, but I shook my head.

  I stepped up to Alisha and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around quickly, saw us, and froze.

  Her face grew dark as she jerked out her headphones.

  “Luna, what the hell are you doing here? Get out! You’ll ruin everything!”

  18

  “Ruin what? Your kidnapping? Grab your stuff, we’re taking you and your dad home.”

  For a moment, I thought she would listen. She grabbed her iPad off the table and pushed some buttons. The faint music coming from the ear buds stopped.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you guys.”

  She finally focused on the men with me, eyes flicking back and forth. Mike turned slightly, so that Logan’s unconscious face was visible above his ravaged throat. Her face paled at the sight. She fingered the charm bracelet Logan had commissioned for her—a genuine lucky charm crafted by Mason.

  Then her mouth pursed in anger. Alisha spat, “Serves him right. He’s not my dad, and I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  I wonder who told her. Has she always known? “He’s cared for you for your entire life. He risked his life to come here to get you out.”

  In my peripheral vision, Manny was tapping his watch in that ‘hurry up’ gesture. He was right; every second of delay only made the mission more likely to fail.

  “I don’t care about him! He’s too controllin—” Her voice was cut off by Manny putting the hood over her head. He pulled a drawstring to ensure she couldn’t jerk the covering off.

  Alisha stood quickly, letting the iPad drop to the floor, and reached to tug at the hood. She let out a bloodcurdling scream that would have alerted the entire household, but it was muffled by the hood and my sound barrier spell.

  Manny quickly captured her wrists and spun her around, binding her wrists behind her with a set of flex-cuffs. Then he tossed her on the bed and reached for her ankles. She twisted to her side, pulled her legs up, and kicked out as hard as possible. She caught Manny in the solar plexus, taking his breath away.

  Despite that, he grabbed one ankle, then the other, and managed to flex-cuff them together. He flipped Alisha onto her stomach, then climbed up and put one knee on her back, forcing her to stay in place. He strung several zip ties together and looped the resultant plastic chain between her wrist and ankle restraints.

  All the while, Alisha was screaming her head off. Before I could use my nitrogen gas spell to knock her out, Manny leaned down and placed his mouth next to her ear.

  As she drew in breath for her next scream, he said, in the coldest voice I had ever heard, “Shut the fuck up, or I will hurt you.”

  Alisha’s scent spiked with fear and she shifted from screams to sobs.

  I was suddenly glad Logan was still unconscious.

  Manny slid off the bed and faced me. He mouthed a silent ‘I’m sorry’ at me, then tapped his watch again.

  “You’re going to have to carry her, Manny,” I said. “I still need my hands free.”

  Manny nodded and slung the now-silent Alisha over his shoulder. He gave Mike a grim smile. “At least I got the skinny one.”

  I dropped the sound barrier spell and listened. Running footsteps and muffled curses. On the dropped iPad’s screen was a blinking red icon.

  “Crap. She sent out an alarm through her iPad. We’re going to have to face the guards.”

  I pulled on my gloves and prepared for battle. These bastards probably had silver weapons, but the gloves would protect me somewhat. I brought my wolf side to the fore. My eyes shifted to pure blue, muzzle stretched, fangs extended, and claws sprang through the slits in my gloves. Not a full hybrid shift, just enough to make me many times faster and stronger than human. Stronger and faster, but still able to cast spells.

  I listened at the door for three seconds.

  A hundred escape plans flashed through my head. Jump through the window and land in the yard? I could survive a four-story fall, but could the others? Mike might, but what about Manny, Logan, and Alisha?

  Rappel down with Silkworm? That would work if we weren’t encumbered by the hostages. One slip and both rescuer and hostage would splat on the ground.

  It had to be the hallway. I opened the door and looked. Nothing there; the way was clear. I exited the door and turned right, heading toward the stairwell. It was a choke point, but not as bad as the elevator.

  I smelled them before turning the corner—three women blocking the hallway. I stepped around the corner and bowled into them, knocking all three to the ground. They scrambled to rise, clumsy in their long dresses, untrained and merely human. Still, they each carried a silver knife and could be dangerous to the others.

  The two smaller women were already on their feet, while the portly one was still on her back. I grabbed her dress, neck and crotch, and lifted her like a sack of flour. One spin for momentum, and I threw her at the other two, tumbling them all to the end of the hallway. They ended up in a heap in front of the elevator. Their knives lay on the floor where they had dropped them.

  Manny said something in Arabic, and they froze in mid-scramble, staying on the floor.

  I snatched up the knives. Silver-coated stingers of hate. I snapped each and cast them behind me.

  The hate in their eyes turned to fear. The weapons they had assumed would quickly kill me had been broken like Popsicle sticks. Then their eyes fluttered closed as my nitrogen gas spell rendered them unconscious.

  I pulled out a handful of flex-cuffs and bound the women. I didn’t think they would attack us from the rear after what they had seen, but I didn’t want them in any shape to try.

  The elevator started moving, bringing something nasty our way. I waited a long five seconds, timing the car so that it was between floors when I slapped the call button and sent a surge of electricity through the wiring.

  Smoke erupted from the panel, both the Up and Down buttons flashed erratically, and the elevator stopped moving.

  At the stairwell door, I put one ear to the door and, hearing nothing, opened it a crack to sniff.

  “Tear gas on the next floor,” I said. “Mask up, Manny.”

  “What about you and Mike?” Manny asked as he fumbled one-handed to pull on his mask.

  “Nostril inserts, DARPA,” I said as I activated my gas-mask spell. Mike’s spell was on less than a second later.

  “And the hostages?”

  “The hood will protect Alisha,” I said as I generated a gas-mask bubble for her. “And Logan’s tougher than he looks.”

  We descended the stairs single file, me in the lead. Clouds of tear and vomit gas spewed from two canisters sitting midway down the stairs. The gases obscured the third-floor landing, but I heard the heartbeats of five men. With no scents coming through my gas mask, I couldn’t tell what weapons they would be using.
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  I jumped from halfway down the stairs, landing in the middle of the five. If they were smart, they wouldn’t shoot at each other in this confined space.

  With one iron-knuckled punch, I took out three ribs of my closest opponent. Then I jerked his mask off. Before he could choke on the gas, I had broken the elbows and knees of another two. I removed their masks as well, then sent them tumbling down the stairs. They scrambled to get further down, trying to escape the noxious fumes of the heavier-than-air gases flowing down to the next level.

  That left two. One was professional, the other cannon fodder. The professional pushed his compatriot in my direction, sacrificing him to buy time, which he used to pull out a silver sword.

  I punched through the mask of the closest, breaking the eye shields and his nose. Before he had time to gasp, I threw him over the railing. He plummeted down the open space all the way to the basement level. Before he landed on the concrete, I turned my attention to the sword-wielder.

  His straight stab was an inch from my torso when I grabbed the blade with my impervious gloves, stopping it as if he had hit cement.

  He tried to pull the sword back, perhaps hoping to slice my hands up. I pulled the sword from his grasp as you would take a knife from a toddler. He bent over, trying to hold on to the sword, and I backhanded him across the face, ripping his mask off.

  I had him bent over the rail, ready to push him down to the basement, when my inner wolf surged up in rage.

  “You tried to use silver on me!” I growled, in a voice so savage even I didn’t recognize it. I grabbed the sword and plunged it hilt-deep in his ass, spitting him like a chicken.

  He was dead before he hit the basement floor.

  I grabbed the two canisters still spewing that noxious mixture and tossed them down the stairwell. The survivors scrambled to drag themselves away from the gas.

  I expected an attack on the second-floor stairwell, but it was clear. I dropped my gas mask spell to get a good sniff and popped the door open to see if there would be anyone on our rear.

  From the prayer room came the sounds of crashing and cursing in Arabic—as if a pissed-off man were trashing the room searching for something. The glass bottle in my bag suddenly seemed a bit heavier and I was glad I had stolen—no, disarmed my enemy.