by Jane Kindred
“That’s a rough approximation, sure.”
“So since you can sense malevolent energy, your wolf can sense it.”
Leo nodded slowly. “I think I see what you’re getting at. As the wolf, it will be a more primal tracker, and it can home in on the wolf aspect of this evil, a sort of sympathetic magic.”
“Exactly. I’m not sure it will work, but I’m willing to try anything at this point.”
“But Lucien tells me you still don’t know how to kill the beast.”
“No,” Lucy admitted. “But now that I’m convinced that it isn’t a strictly physical being and more of a projection of malevolent intent, I’m hoping that projecting my own intent when I fire on it will do the trick.”
“I suppose it’s worth a try.” Leo closed his eyes and gave his broad shoulders a little shimmy, and the wolf appeared beside him. It looked more like a scruffy hunting dog with wolf ancestry, but hopefully it would do. “Just don’t get it killed,” said Leo. “If my fylgja dies, I die. And Rhea would haunt you to the depths of Náströnd if you were responsible for my death.” He grinned, but it was a warning that sobered Lucy a bit. She was asking a lot of him.
“Thanks, Leo. I promise to take care of it as if it were my own.”
As the dog trotted over to her, Lucy opened the door of her car, and it promptly hopped in. “Do I need to do anything special to communicate with it?”
“He’ll understand you. Just talk to him like he’s me.” Leo hopped back into the saddle and galloped into the air before she could thank him again.
Sliding into the car beside the dog, which had obligingly settled into the passenger seat, Lucy studied it for a moment. “I assume you got all that. But in case you didn’t, I need your help to find the wolf I’ve been hunting. I don’t think it’s really a wolf, but I’m hoping the wolf energy it’s putting out is something you can tap into.”
The dog panted at her. What the hell was she doing? Was this dog even listening to her? She was starting to feel a little nuts. But she’d suggested this, and Leo had been extremely generous in lending her his fylgja. The least she could do was commit to her own idea.
“Okay, let’s hit the road, I guess. I’m heading back up to the mine shaft where I’ve fought this thing before. Hopefully, you’ll let me know if I’m off track.” It didn’t seem to object, so she went ahead with the plan.
At the end of the dirt road, she parked and got out and opened the door for the dog. It hopped out while she grabbed the crossbow and quiver and put on her thermal-imaging goggles. When she turned around, it was trotting toward the path to the open mine shafts. So far, so good.
The dog’s hackles rose as they neared the opening she’d used before, and it growled low in its throat. Lucy took out her Nighthawk Browning. She’d loaded it with specially modified bullets this time, containing ketamine instead of Soul Reaper serum, with twice the dosage as the darts Oliver had used. If she could get enough bullets in the thing, maybe she could finally knock it out and shoot some Soul Reaper arrows straight into its heart.
Leo’s fylgja ran ahead of her into the shaft, and Lucy called out after it. She’d promised Leo she wouldn’t get him killed, and now he was already charging ahead to face the monster.
She switched on the goggles and hurried inside. The dog was halfway down the tracks. “Leo—Leo’s fylgja—whatever—wait!”
Thankfully, it slowed and waited for her to catch up. She stepped up beside it, petting its scruff. Maybe she should have asked Leo for a collar and leash. Yikes, no. That would have been rude. If she was going to trust Leo to help her, she had to trust the dog’s instincts, as well.
“So you’ve brought your own little hound.”
Lucy whirled at the sound of the rough voice behind her. Oliver stood between her and the exit. Beside her, the fylgja’s growl kept her grounded. This wasn’t Oliver.
She managed to maintain a cool demeanor. “I thought maybe you two could relate.”
“Do you think I’m afraid of the master of the Wild Hunt? I am the Wild Hunt.”
This thing seemed to have an ego bigger than Lucien’s. Maybe if she got it talking about itself, she’d get some more information about it and distract it from the shot she was simultaneously getting ready to take.
“How exactly are you the Wild Hunt and Death and the Pit and a ravenous devouring maw all at the same time?”
The Oliver-beast grinned lasciviously. “You forgot Sex. I’m also Sex.”
But that part had been in her dream, not something the actual beast had said.
“Did you think I didn’t join you in your sleep, lovely Lucy? I’m everywhere you are.”
The dog moved closer to her with another throaty growl.
“What do you mean?”
“You breathed life into me.”
A chill crawled over her skin. “When the hell did I breathe life into you?”
“Don’t you remember my birth? You and my father were there on the hill before the great cross.”
“The hill before the... The Chapel of the Holy Cross?” She was having trouble not breaking down into a full body shake as it began to dawn on her.
“Now she starts to remember. You could feel me there, couldn’t you? My father held open hell’s mouth and let the seed of his hatred spill over the ground through Lucien’s infernal blood. Through you.” He’d been stepping slowly closer to her, and Lucy was locked in a paralysis of bone-chilling fear.
Carter Hamilton had been absorbing hell’s energy while the gates were open—and Lucy had been possessed by a shade under Carter’s control.
“You remember now, don’t you? Mommy.” The Oliver-beast was right in front of her, and he slipped his arm around her waist and thrust his pelvis against her with a rude gesture.
“I am not your mother. And ew.” She tried to take a step back, but her legs weren’t working.
“You were the vessel. My father let the energy of hell flow into the dirt and up into you, open and willing for him.”
“No.”
“That’s why I take this form. The form of your desire.”
“No.”
His other arm went around her, pinning her gun arm to her side. “How else could Father have used you to lure your own twin brother to him on that hill? Your own blood, once half of yourself. How else could he have used your hand to take the charm that was keeping your own father alive from around his neck and let him slip into oblivion? You were born to break Madeleine Marchant’s curse, and Father was ready to help you do it. Just let me in and we can devour everything together.”
“I don’t want to devour anything.” She could barely get the words out. Her jaw felt frozen. Her brain felt frozen. She couldn’t think. What had she come here for? She’d had a plan. “Leo,” she murmured. “What do I do?”
The beast laughed, his breath warm against her cheek, and he ran his tongue over her skin from her temple down to the hollow of her throat. “You think a dog is going to help you? Look down. He ran away like a coward.”
Lucy glanced down, turning her head. Goddammit. The fylgja had abandoned her. If she lived through this, she and Leo Ström were going to have some fucking words.
The Oliver-beast kissed her throat. “Let me in, dear heart. I’ll give you more pleasure than you’ve ever known. More than you ever dreamed. I was made for you. I am the embodiment of your desires.”
“Get. Off. Of. Me.” With a monumental effort, she managed to squeeze her finger against the trigger of the gun and fire a tranquilizer bullet into Oliver’s leg. The beast’s leg. Well, damn. Oliver’s leg. Because he was going to feel it.
Oliver-beast shuddered with the impact, and his eyes went dark. “That wasn’t very nice. I’m offering to give you supernatural orgasms, and you shoot me in the thigh?” He grabbed the gun from her hand and tossed it aside. “Maybe I shouldn’t have wasted
my time with you. I could be sucking the marrow out of tasty little hellhound pup bones.” He licked his lips. “You have no idea how delicious that is. If you’re good, I’ll save you some.”
“You’re not getting anywhere near Colt.” Whatever else Darkrock’s minions had done, they’d gotten the hellhound safely out of the hell beast’s grasp for the time being.
The Oliver-beast laughed. “I have news for you, Mommy dearest. I know precisely where your little puppy dog is, and he is far from safe. Your fool of a fireman is retrieving him for me right now.”
Fireman? Jesus. Fire man. Man of flame. She was an idiot. And so was Oliver, apparently. They’d both played right into this thing’s hands. If it actually had hands.
The Oliver-beast stroked her arms, nipping at her neck. “I’m saving him for later, though. Because you taste like warm p—” He made an odd grunting noise against her at the same moment that a shot rang out, and his knees buckled, forcing Lucy to grab hold of him to keep them both from hitting the ground. Behind the Oliver-beast, Leo stood holding Lucy’s gun. He’d shot the beast in the ass.
“Fucking...dog,” the beast murmured, and shoved Lucy away, turning on Leo. He grabbed for the gun, and Leo fired again, this time into his neck. Oliver-beast’s hand went to the blood streaming from the wound. Leo had hit a major artery, and the drug was going rapidly to the beast’s brain. He slumped onto his knees with a gurgling roar and shifted into wolf form before vanishing with a strangled little snarl.
Chapter 20
“Leo, thank God. I thought your fylgja bailed on me.”
“It’s Gunnar.”
“I’m sorry... Gunnar?”
“I’m Leo’s hamr, a projection of his physical self. The fylgja warned us there was trouble, and Leo sent me, imbued with his luck-self, the hamingja. We thought you could use some backup.”
“Ah. Thanks, Gunnar. You saved my ass.”
The dog trotted up behind him, eyeing Lucy with reproach as if to chastise her for having doubted him.
“And you, too,” she acknowledged. Unfortunately, they hadn’t killed the thing. But she knew more about it now. More than she’d ever wanted to know. Now she just needed to figure out where Oliver had gone and make sure the beast hadn’t managed to rematerialize there to take Colt.
“I hate to ask for another favor, but can either of you help me find someone who isn’t a murderer or an oath breaker?”
Gunnar smiled. “With our extra luck from the hamingja? I can help you find anyone.”
“Fantastic.” She was really going to owe Leo one after this. And Rhea, for that matter—if she didn’t kill Lucy first.
* * *
Oliver’s instincts hadn’t been wrong. The Blackstone Ranch compound lit up the night like a sparkling power plant in the flat expanse of the farming valley southeast of Bullhead City. And like a power plant, it was well guarded. And they were expecting him.
Finch and another agent approached him as he walked up to the gate. “Benally.” Finch eyed him with apparent newfound uneasiness after what had gone down at the Grotto.
Oliver handed him the pebble. “You have something of mine. I want it back.”
“Artie didn’t think you’d show up here without that Smok bitch.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry. Don’t mean anything by it.” He was definitely rattled by Oliver’s connection to the siren. “I’m supposed to escort you to him. To Artie, I mean, not the kid.” Finch nodded to the guard at the gate, and the gate buzzed loudly, sliding open on heavy wheels. “I gotta say, I don’t know what’s so special about that kid. He hasn’t done anything but sleep.”
So at least he wasn’t awake and terrified or being physically or psychologically tortured. That was something. “There isn’t anything special about him. He’s just a kid. Darkrock’s intel is fucked up.”
“Tell it to Artie. This is his mission.”
They led him inside the compound to a brightly lit corridor, industrial bulbs buzzing within metal cages in keeping with the power plant theme, to where Artie and his security retinue were waiting outside a locked door.
“Here comes the chief.” Artie sneered.
Oliver stepped in front of him. “One of these days, Artie, you’re going to call me that, and I’m going to split your skull before you finish saying the word. So if you like to gamble, just keep saying it.”
“Relax, man. It’s a nickname. It’s meant with affection.”
“It’s racist, and I’ve asked you a dozen times to knock it the hell off with that. I’m also having a hard time seeing how there should be any affection between us at this point.”
“All right. Jesus Fucking Christ. Goddamn snowflake.” Artie’s hand rested on the butt of his gun in his holster as if he expected Oliver to attack him at any moment. “I take it you get why we brought you here.”
“For a trade.”
“Hey, he’s a bright boy. Give him a medal.”
“I want to see Colt first.”
Artie nodded to the guard at the door, who unlocked it and pushed the door open. Inside, a bright bulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating Colt’s sleeping form on a foldout cot. They’d put him in an oversize uniform—he’d been unclothed under the covers at home, since he’d still been in wolf form. The fact that he was in human form now meant he must be closer to consciousness. And according to Finch, they hadn’t seen him as a wolf when they abducted him. With any luck, they didn’t know what they had.
“See?” Artie stood between Oliver and the open doorway. “No harm done.”
Oliver folded his arms. “You didn’t have to bring him into this. He’s an innocent kid.”
“Is he your kid?”
Oliver’s jaw tightened. “No, he’s not my kid. He’s a street kid. I’m trying to find him a safe place to stay.”
“Kinda looks like he could be your kid. Plus, there’s the fact that he ain’t human. And you...” Artie shook his head. “We’re not too sure what you are.”
A few hours ago, Oliver would have scoffed at that. Despite his odd ability to take wounds that weren’t his and heal them in record time and his inexplicable control over fire, he hadn’t doubted his own humanity. Now...what did being half Welsh elven royalty make him?
“Finch said you were willing to trade. I’m here. What are you going to do with him?”
“We don’t need him, so as soon as he wakes up, he can go.”
“How’s he going to go anywhere? We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s his problem.”
Oliver didn’t doubt that Colt could travel back to Jerome—or wherever he wanted to—on his own. But they weren’t just in the middle of nowhere; the hell beast was still looking for Colt.
“Let me take him back to Jerome. You can follow me, and I promise to turn myself over to you as soon as he’s safe.”
“No deal. You’re not going anywhere.” Artie nodded to the guard, who pulled the door shut and locked it once more. “Take him to the interrogation room, Finch. Blake wants to talk to him.”
Oliver stood his ground as Finch took hold of his arm. “I’m warning you. If I don’t have proof that Colt has been allowed to leave, there’s going to be blood spilled.”
Artie rolled his eyes. “All right, Chie—tough guy. We’ll get you the footage from the camera on the gate when he leaves. Now move.”
* * *
Gunnar turned out to be better than metaphysical GPS. It was nice having luck on her side for once. Lucy had shown him the list her assistant had sent of the Darkrock sites, and he’d perused them for a moment, before pointing to the Bullhead City site.
“This looks like a good bet,” he said. “It’s out near Golden Valley and there’s nothing else around for miles, so they have good visibility for keeping it secure. Which of course doesn’t exactly work in our
favor, since they’ll see us coming.”
“I don’t care if they see us coming. I just want to get there before the hell beast thing wakes up and rematerializes.”
“Gus will alert us if it does.”
“Gus?” Lucy glanced at Gunnar as they got into her car.
He nodded to the dog lying down patiently on the back seat. “That’s what I call him. Easier than saying ‘the fylgja’ or ‘the harbinger’ all the time.”
“Makes sense. Okay, Gus, we’re counting on you.”
The drive west from Jerome was a roller-coaster ride through dozens of switchbacks. If the road up the mountain from Clarkdale was slow, this was a virtual crawl. Golden Valley was a three-hour drive once they’d gotten to flat ground.
As they neared the lights of the compound, eerily illuminated against the predawn sky, Gus began to growl quietly from the back seat.
Lucy steeled herself. “The hell beast?”
Gunnar glanced back at Gus. “I think it’s the hellhound. We must be on the right track. Gus isn’t sure what to make of him. Smells funny.”
“How do you know what Gus thinks?”
Gunnar laughed. “Lucy, he’s me. We’re all Leo.”
“This is just weird.”
“That’s what Rhea always says.”
Armed security guards lined the gate in front of the compound, and Oliver’s truck was parked just outside. Lucy parked next to it. So she’d been right about what he’d do. And so had the Oliver-beast. And Darkrock. Everybody was batting a thousand tonight.
She approached the guards at the gate. “I want to see Oliver Benally. Now.”
The pair closest to her glanced at each other, and one of them addressed her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Lucy Smok.”
The other guard called it in on his two-way radio. “Lucy Smok is out here demanding to see Ollie Benally.”
The gate buzzed and started rolling open. Apparently, that was her answer. She started inside with Gunnar and Gus at her side, but the guards stopped them.