by Lisa Daniels
Well, shit. She discreetly closed the door, carefully locked it again, and crept along the passageway into the treasury.
“Yeah, we're not getting out that way.”
Filip's lips curled in scorn. “Then we will fight. Best shooters, take guns.”
“Best fighters,” Elinor said, jabbing her fingers at the males, “will fight in pairs at choke points if possible.”
Ordri reached for Bron's hand and squeezed it again. “I have a feeling Bron might be the strongest of us,” she said, and she meant it. After seeing him take down three fully grown werewolves in the blink of an eye, she didn't think her belief misplaced.
Sebastian examined Bron. “He does look like he's been sculpted out of granite, doesn't he?”
“A snow demon,” Elinor murmured, which made Bron's hairs stand on end. He didn't like being called demon, Ordri suspected.
Their lives on the line, they hastily set up choke points, even as thumps and shouts could be heard from above, as the invaders ransacked the house.
“I know you're here!” One invader shrieked, followed by the sound of smashing glass. “You can't have gotten far, little cowards.”
Kostya growled softly. Ordri positioned herself with Elinor and Filip, guarding the back entrance, and wielding the only two guns in their arsenal. Elinor was designated as the free roamer, to oversee the whole operation, whilst the males held their chokepoints – Bron in front. Ordri intended to protect the elderly Filip, who insisted he had some bite left to him.
All Ordri could do now was pray, and hope they all made it through this ordeal alive.
Funny, to think the potential future of the Bulgarian werewolf clans might be decided in a tiny passage in the middle of nowhere. People were still mortal at the end of the day, werewolf or not. If only she hadn't asked them to come here, and instead insisted on the Gregorovitch residence or the Spirova fortress. If only she had waited, because damnit, there was conflict boiling in their region. Dumb to think they might not have spies tracking the movement of the leaders, or that the leaders wouldn't be keen on testing the newcomer in their clan dynamics, to ensure he wasn't a backdoor infiltrator.
If only.
Chapter Four
They came, tightly packed within the darkness. Bron focused, making his breathing calm, even though his blood simmered for vengeance to tear apart each of these so-called conquerors from limb to limb. He had a new family to protect, a new world that might just accept him into their ranks. And then there was Ordri.
Sweet, beautiful Ordri, with that sheen of fire which resurrected itself in his presence.
Ordri, who was his. Now all that needed to happen was to make sure he or she didn’t die.
Gunshots blasted the tunnel. The sound of books thumping the floor above told Bron that they were dismantling the whole study room, widening the entrance. Bron stood vigil as the first line of defense, the first to die – but there were many cracks and bends in the corridor, and he crouched at a sharp bend, with only room for one person to fit through at a time. Two more bends forked off before his, and those were where Kostya and Yanus waited, flanked by Elinor and Sebastian in adjacent spots.
“We're going to need to be careful, they might have escaped into the woods,” one voice was saying. “I can smell their odors, they all came down here...” the speaker turned around the bend, and Bron lunged.
He did it like a striking snake, mercilessly tearing at the enemy's throat before he even had time to gurgle his surprise. Then, his companion, holding a gun, exclaimed – but not before Bron muscled past the corpse and shredded the next opponent in a burst of blood. He spat out dripping flesh from his muzzle and snarled triumphantly. He grabbed the weapon and ducked out in time for the hail of bullets to miss him.
Death skimmed him by centimeters. The unforgiving narrow space preserved him, but it fast became obvious to the Russians that Bron was doing his job too well, holding the chokepoint, claiming another two lives, and spraying his newly obtained gun blindly around the bend, hoping to mow down more werewolves. He was eventually forced forward when they had chosen instead to invade the other corridors.
Confusion and fear mingled with the invaders, and Bron lapped up the scent. What should have been an easy rout turned into a desperate, guerrilla scrabble in the tunnels.
The Russians knew they couldn't wait – not without drawing reinforcements. So, they simply peppered the tunnels with bullets, forcing all the defenders to retreat.
Bron heard a screech of fury from Elinor Spirova, and fled down towards the source of the noise, having to clamber over bodies that packed the ground. He slashed into the backs of still-living Russians, mouth tearing indiscriminately, struggling through this cluster of bodies to protect, to rip and tear and kill.
Blood rained the walls, stank up the corridor with the tang of rust and copper. The coppery, furry taste and texture coated his teeth. There were just too many... a bullet skimmed past his ribcage, and he hissed from the sting, and he heard the enemy shouting above for a way to block them. Then, he heard a deep, booming voice scream, “We will lose too many lives! Their reinforcements will be here soon. We must retreat. Our surprise has failed. They will be like rats, picking us off one by one...”
Bron gnawed his way through another struggling body, before using his awesome strength to smash through into the treasury, and take out the three who had made it past Sebastian and Kostya. He saw Kostya lying in the dirt, groaning feebly, and Sebastian bleeding from his neck and leg.
One, two – lightning claw swipes – a moment of resistance, and then nothing more but corpses lay in Bron’s way.
Ordri stared at Bron in horror and amazement as he whirled, coat fully drenched in blood, and took on the wolf Filip contended with. The old man still had some fight left in him, focusing on wily dodges, maneuvering the opponent into easy access for Ordri and Bron. Ordri struck before him, shrieking like a banshee. Filip sustained two slashes across his chest, but succeeded in the killing blow as Ordri raked and tore at the foe's backside.
“It's not looking good, boy,” Filip panted. Kostya made it to his feet, swaying as he stood in front of his uncle. “Find Elinor. Please. She is the one that cannot afford to die the most.”
Bron snarled, and, still eyed by Ordri, he scampered off into the single tunnel, colliding with another gun-wielding invader. The enemy, in complete disarray, kept screeching above.
“We've wounded some of them! We should keep trying!”
“No. It's not worth... it's not worth this...”
A scuffle reverberated from above, as the screamers sounded as if they had tackled one another for their differing opinions.
Bron couldn't find any sign of Elinor anywhere – and he needed to scramble over a heap of dead bodies that littered the entrance ahead of the tunnels, before pausing as he detected the faintest movement in it.
Gunfire spat out of the corpses, mowing down two more Russians who had made it past. He laughed as he realized what was happening. Elinor Spirova, it seemed, was just fine – and so was Yanus Armanev.
“Got a gun?” a voice asked from the pile of bodies. “You can join me if you want.”
“Fucking...” someone spat, just before a bullet lodged itself in his throat. The invasion into the tunnel miraculously stopped. Bron balanced himself on the body heap and stared at the gaping entrance torn through where the bookcase previously concealed it. No one dared loiter in sight.
“Run out of bullets,” Yanus muttered, out of earshot from the Russians. “How's it going for you, Elinor?”
“Not great,” she replied, before calling out, “Our allies will be here in minutes! Nice try, assholes! I can do this all day.”
Screeches of rage answered her, along with a thunder of bullets, which punched the corpse shield Elinor and Yanus hid in.
One more body fell, before Elinor's gun clicked. Out of bullets.
“Fuck,” Yanus hissed. “Bron, be a devil and get ready to protect us as we escape?”
<
br /> “Retreat! Retreat!”
Footsteps vibrated above them. Somehow, it had escaped the Russians' notice that Elinor had run out of ammunition.
The noises faded into the distance.
“Fuck me,” Elinor said. “That was close.”
Yanus exhaled relief. “Just as well they didn't discover the back entrance. Was real worried for the old man.”
“The old man has some chew in him yet,” Bron said, and Elinor let out a dry laugh.
“Thanks, Bron. Is anyone...?”
“They were all alive, last time I checked.”
“Good.” She waited a moment later, until shaking herself free from the bodies. “Gross. But they all were just lying around at this point, so...”
“Yeah. We made a meat shield.” Yanus scowled at the dead, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Just gonna say, I feel like I'm never gonna be clean again.”
Bron sighed then, and slumped against the side of the wall, his limbs burning with lethargy. Honestly, if the invaders had been better organized, instead of keeping their mentality with the pack wars of the past, they might have stood a better chance.
Maybe.
Thankfully, they also had eight plucky defenders, who did not crumble in the face of danger. So that was that.
Chapter Five
This time, when Bron approached her in the darkness, eyes burning like coals, she didn't resist when he grabbed her roughly, growling in a possessive way as he pulled her close. She didn't resist as he tore at her clothes, shredding them within moments, even breaking the metal clasp on her bra so that it pinged and bounced off the wall in the dim room.
He shoved her onto the bedcovers, and ripped into her panties, before fighting to be rid of his boxers, his huge erection springing free. Ordri examined it with a shudder of anticipation, positioning herself so that her legs spread wider for him, waiting to take him in.
Roughly, his teeth bared, he seized a portion of her hair and forced himself inside her, sliding into her impossible wetness, groaning as she accepted him fully. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, as he began thrusting in her. His hands moved around her neck and squeezed, before raking along her back, and clutching hard at her rear as he pounded inside her, taking her with delicious roughness. He claimed her as his, sought to keep her close and grunted his desire, his need and longing for her, pounding deeper and harder, hitting her g-spot perfectly each time.
Ordri dissolved under his relentless movement, whimpering as he dove into her again and again, bringing her to climax. This wasn't enough for him, however. He turned her around, even as she shivered through her first climax, and now fell on top of her naked body, staring into her face with intense eyes, groaning as he thrust in her, his hips colliding with hers again and again.
“Bron...” she hissed, reaching up to kiss his lips, taste the salt on them, feel the stubble on his cheek and the closeness of his heat against hers.
“Mine,” he growled, thrusting harder into her, sweat accumulating on his face, dripping over his eyes like tears as he lost himself in her body, consumed himself in her softness.
With a jolt of surprise, she felt herself come again, but he still wasn't done. It took him another minute to come, and a third orgasm rippled out of Ordri like a small wave, numbing her lips in shock from the fact that she had not only come once, but three times.
Holy shit. She didn't even think her body was capable of that. At all.
She lay on the covers, boneless from his efforts. She watched the strong, muscular werewolf disengage from her and position himself on her left side, breath heaving fast. They stared into each other's faces for quite some time without words. Words. They seemed rather meaningless right now, with everything that had happened.
The war might be won. Not without cost. Never without cost. And as long as there were werewolves, conflict existed a stone's throw away.
Werewolves were never meant to sit quietly and live without stirring the waters, without announcing their presence somewhere. They fought, killed, murdered and loved the same as any human. Perhaps more so, since their emotions could be rather concentrated, making them boiling cesspits of passion.
Ordri shivered as she examined her mate, still torn between the conflict of whether he happened to be the best thing that had ever happened in her life, or the worst.
She did know, somewhere down the line, that losing him might hurt more than expected. Certainly more than when her former husband had his throat torn out.
Just when she thought she didn't know how to feel, that she was callous and lacked something fundamental that everyone else possessed – Bron showed her otherwise. He taught her that she did feel. She did love.
There might have been a strong sense of relief with the act as well.
Everyone had survived the conflict of the old Vladomir house, though the worse wounded needed several weeks to heal from the vanadium bullets that poisoned their systems. Sebastian and Kostya fought side by side, and went down together, kicking and yelling. Filip bore one extra scar in his impressive collection. Yanus had one shattered leg, and Elinor two broken ribs. Ordri suffered the least injuries, aside from bruises that healed within a day.
The hold out from Yanus and Elinor did massive psychological damage to the invaders, though they might have succeeded once the bullets ran out, just by piling with better organization into the tunnel. The tight confines still gave beasts like Bron leeway to scrap, but the numbers would push him back.
Bron. What a magnificent hunk of werewolf specimen he was. Any woman would feel secure under his protection, once you got past the whole confusion and misunderstandings.
He wanted a home, and Ordri wanted to be loved. He wanted a name, and Ordri could give him hers. Of course, maybe celebrations might have to hold off until the threat was removed from the Bulgarian mountains once and for all – but Elinor Spirova felt positive, enlightened by the idea that the Vladomir house had inflicted fatal damage to the Russian movement.
“We lost a total of zero people,” Elinor had said. “Zero, and they lost twenty-one. That's one hell of a humiliating defeat. I'd be hanging my tail in shame. They can't have much left to their invasion force.”
“Lucky we had that secret passage, really,” Ordri said. “I doubt we would have been as lucky in the open confines of the house.”
“Lucky,” Elinor agreed, wincing as she clutched her sides, where the ribs healed and itched. “Still could have gone fucking wrong.” She groaned. “Can't wait til I get back to my husband. He's sick out of his mind with constant worry that one of my excursions will be my last.”
Ordri smiled, thinking of Elinor's crippled, wheelchair-bound husband, who quietly managed affairs at the Spirova fortress.
She thought of how things had been. The five of them, Markus, Danniven, Arina, Luelle and her, friends with the humans in the mountains. Their friendship had been one catalyst towards the overthrowing of the flesh eaters, the clans who insisted on the ancient ways. The death of Arina's family and her escape eventually led to Ricten's death years later, and a new world for them to go to in North Dakota.
Then there were the Russians who ran that hotel in Sapareva Banya, Frey and Evo, who between them managed to turn their little hotel into a moot point of resistance, taking in the wounded and helping to bring one major victory against the invaders – who came because of Luelle's escape.
Strange, to see how things wrapped together, and worked out in the end. Strange to think how much their world had changed in the past thirty years.
Strange to see the white wanderer turn up at their gate, to help them cinch one more victory in the face of potential destruction. His presence might have dragged them into the face of danger, isolating the leaders in unexpected circumstances – a bad oversight by their side, really.
Yet, it had actually turned out to be the one thing that might have solidified their advantage, bolstered their defense.
I still don't know who you are, really, Bron, Ordri thought, staring at
his slumbering form, which looked peaceful and happy. And I feel like we might have a long way to go yet. Because you're hella awkward at times.
He was, she thought in amusement, her white knight.
“I know you're staring at me,” he said then, directly referring back to his creepy staring a few weeks back.
“Shh. Let me examine your pretty face for a moment longer without any interruptions. I was just on that freckle behind your ear.”
“Hmpf.” Bron opened dark pink eyes to give her a fond, languid smile. Again, the stark contrast of his features almost took her breath away. And to think, this person really had dropped out of nowhere and chosen her to be his mate?
We shall have strong and beautiful children, Ordri contemplated, imagining the sentence tolled out in her head in a serious tone. She held a straight face for a moment, before the absurdity of her thought made her laugh.
“What did I do wrong, now?” Bron said, confused, his brows knitting together as he tried to work out what his next fault was.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Ordri Gregorovitch stroked her new mate's rough cheek, imagining the future panning ahead of them, and all the possibilities it offered.
To think she would have stagnated here, too afraid to take the next step, to admit that change needed to happen.
Sometimes, change came and bitch-slapped you in the face, whether you expected it or not.
A change in life, in love, and attitude. “I think I can grow to love you,” she said to him at last, and his eyes widened.
“You 'think'? Ordri, I already love you. You're playing catch up at this point,” he said, with a playful grin.
Oh. Wow.
That was slightly unexpected.
“It's not so fast and easy for me, Bron. I just need time. To accept that this happiness is real, you know. That it's not gonna run away.”
“I understand,” he said, his pale lips spreading and curving upwards. “I'm still coming to terms with things as well. And being proven wrong at every turn, apparently.”