The instant she was alone, Carla covered her face with her hands, breathing hard, and all she could smell was him. His scent covered her, inside and out, and she wondered if she would ever be free of it.
The day went by in a blur of tension and frantic activity, and twelve hours later, as she pulled in a deep breath of the nighttime air, she realized that her head was finally clear of Eli’s scent.
But that was only because the night smelled like death. And Shadow Peak looked like a warzone.
Keeping to the shadows, Carla surveyed the scene before her with a pounding heart. The night winds howled through the quiet town, eerie and hollow, like the lamenting cry of a banshee. As a trickle of sweat slipped its way down her spine beneath her tight, long-sleeved black top, the thick, meaty scent of blood filled her nose from the drenched street that currently resembled a crimson river. Voices from the street carried easily in the silence as the wind took a brief respite, and she heard someone say, “It’s just as the call said. All that talk of the Silvercrest pack coming together was just a trick to try and put us off, and now the idiots have slaughtered themselves.”
She moved closer to the corner of the building she was hiding in the shadow of, eyeing the two males standing among the bodies. They were human, and she recognized them both from the descriptions Kyle had given her of Jack Bartley and his second-in-command, Joe Mackey.
“It’s disappointing,” Bartley muttered, nudging a body with the toe of his boot. “I was looking forward to seeing their fall.”
“Me, too. But now Claymore has gotten what he wanted without shedding a single drop of Whiteclaw blood. That’s going to do wonders for our reputation.”
“There is that,” Bartley drawled, before giving a low laugh. “But he’ll die if he thinks this means he no longer owes me our final payment.”
Mackey grunted his agreement, then asked, “So what do we do now?”
Voice thick with disgust, Bartley said, “We bring in the soldiers and let them get to work. It will take forever to deal with this mess. Bloody mongrels.”
Flexing her hands at her sides, Carla had to physically restrain herself from lunging into the street and ripping the merc’s throat out, knowing she had to bide her time. One false move and everything would be ruined.
A few minutes passed, and then the Whiteclaw soldiers poured into the town square that lay at the end of the street, cursing and muttering to each other. Peeking around the edge of the building, she watched as Roy Claymore climbed the steps leading up to the Town Hall, and felt bile rise in the back of her throat as he looked out over the crowd and shouted, “Shadow Peak is ours!”
The crowd cheered, and then Roy yelled out, “Rid the streets of the filth and pile the bodies on the south field, where we’ll burn them at tomorrow’s celebration!”
Another raucous cheer went up, and her pulse slowed to a hard, thudding beat, the way it always did just before she engaged the enemy.
When Kyle had first brought the mercs’ plan to the Runners’ attention, he’d told them, “The control of information is key.” And he’d been right. By controlling what was going out of Shadow Peak via the rumor mill, they’d set the stage, spreading tales of a growing dissention within the town. An escalating tension between those who supported the Runners and those who didn’t, that tension supposedly exacerbated by the arrival of Eli and his fellow mercenaries.
Taking deep, controlled breaths, she watched the Whiteclaw soldiers make their way through the piles of bodies that covered the streets, and waited for the signal that Eric would give from the top of the Town Hall. She counted down the seconds in her head, and then the first signal came—a low, warbling whistle—and she undid the safety on the automatic machine gun strapped over her shoulder. Then she heard the second signal, and she lifted the weapon as she stepped out of the alleyway where she’d been hiding, spraying the Whiteclaw with bullets. At the same time, the blood-covered Lycans lying on the ground who had pretended to be dead rolled onto their backs, weapons at the ready, and fired from below.
Many of those Lycans were women who had wanted to defend their town, but didn’t have enough training to effectively fight with their fangs and claws. But as Mason had told the group during another meeting they’d had that afternoon, even if the women weren’t properly trained in hand-to-hand combat, they could still do a hell of a lot of damage with the right kind of gun, in the right kind of situation, and he’d had a good point. Eli hadn’t been happy with the decision, but he hadn’t gone against the Runner. Instead, he’d used his expertise to create the safest situation that he could for the women under the circumstances, and she was hopeful that they would have limited casualties.
Hating the violence, but understanding that it was necessary when one group had to protect itself from another, Carla kept firing as wave after wave of Whiteclaw soldiers, many of who had clearly taken the “super soldier” drugs, swarmed into the streets. She could sense Eli somewhere near her left side, and she knew he was purposefully staying close to her. But as long as he didn’t interfere with her job tonight, she wasn’t going to complain. An argument right now would only get someone killed.
When her machine gun fired the last of its bullets, she tossed it to the ground. A quick glance at her watch told her that the women in the street would soon be making a run for the security of the buildings, where they would hide while those who had been trained in physical combat dealt with the second phase of the battle. They’d already taken down a good portion of the enemy, but the fight was far from over, and the soldiers who had been wounded by the bullets now needed to be killed.
Stepping back into the alleyway, Carla quickly did a weapons check on the blades she’d secured to her body, turning away from the group of mercs who were with her as they stripped down. Though she’d decided to fight in her human form, since she would be able to use a variety of weapons as well as her claws and fangs, the men would be fighting as werewolves, and she glanced over her shoulder just as Eli and the others allowed the shift to wash over their expanding forms. Bones cracked as fur rippled over their skin in a mesmerizing display of power, muscles increasing to nearly twice their original size. When the transformations were complete, they would stand at nearly seven feet in height, with wolf-shaped heads, lethal, claw-tipped hands, and long, deadly fangs that gleamed in the silvery moonlight.
Of course, that was what she’d assumed would happen, given her knowledge of Lycan transformations. But when Lev, Kyle, Sam and James completed their shifts, she realized they were even taller than Eli and the other Silvercrest males who were coming to join them, and she could only gape in shock.
“Um, Eli,” she croaked, blinking her eyes in astonishment. “What the hell are they?”
* * *
Eli reached out and gently pushed her chin up with a claw-tipped hand, a crooked grin on his wolf’s muzzle-shaped mouth as he said, “Not the time, Rey.”
“Uh, right,” she murmured, shaking her head.
“Stay close,” he told her, not giving her time to argue as he turned and headed back out to the street. The others followed behind them, and it didn’t take long before they were embroiled in battle, the Lycans they were going up against a mix of ones who’d been enhanced by the “super soldier” drugs, and ones who thankfully hadn’t. Most of Bartley’s men, it seemed, had been taken out in the initial wave of the attack, and Eli was grateful as hell to his guys for coming up with such a brilliant plan.
“Sam,” he said in the deep, guttural voice of his beast, “watch your right. They’re coming in hard and heavy from the next street over.”
“Got it covered, boss man,” Sam replied, sounding like he was actually enjoying the fight, and Eli figured once a mercenary, always a mercenary. Or maybe his friend just liked kicking bad guy ass and helping those who needed it, the same as he did. Either way, Eli was glad to have Sam and the guys there, and if they survived this, he was going to make sure he told them how much their loyalty meant to him.
&nbs
p; Carla was fighting beside him, and like the night they’d been ambushed on their way up to the Alley, they were working together in perfect synchronicity. It should have made him feel better, but he was still raw inside with fear over the danger she’d put herself in by coming here. He knew she was still seriously pissed off at him, but damn it, he’d only done what he’d felt was right. What he’d felt he had to do, because he loved her and couldn’t imagine ever losing her.
A little farther down the street, he noticed Cian working his way closer and closer to Sayre, who was fighting with a skill that was remarkable in an eighteen-year-old. But then, Sayre was more than your average girl, her powers apparently some of the strongest that either her mother or sister had ever seen in a witch. But Cian clearly wasn’t any more comfortable with her fighting than Eli was by Carla’s determination to be there.
When three burly Whiteclaw soldiers charged Sayre all at once, the Irishman roared for her to run for cover as he tore through the Lycans in a deadly flurry of claws and snapping jaws that was truly impressive. Well, to anyone but the witch. She shouted at the Runner to leave her alone, going so far as trying to use her power to hold him back when Cian snarled that he was getting her out of there. But to her obvious shock, the Irishman stormed right through the crackling wall of light she’d raised between them, hooking his arm around her waist and leaping onto the top of an RV that’d been left parked against a tall building on the far side of the street.
Eli could have sworn he saw Constance Murphy give the Runner a nod of thanks, or maybe even approval. But then her attention was drawn away by a fallen Silvercrest Lycan who needed her help, leaving Cian to deal with a furious Sayre all on his own. She growled something at him that Eli couldn’t hear, but the Runner stiffened and growled something right back, before jumping off the top of the RV and ripping any of the Whiteclaw who tried to get near it to pieces, while a still enraged Sayre looked as though she wouldn’t mind blasting him with another shot of light from her hands.
Yeah, the Runner definitely had his hands full with that one, and he almost felt sorry for the guy, until Eli realized that he was in the exact same boat. Because his woman was also a serious little badass. And as he finally took a moment to stop letting his fear control him, and really watched her in action, he saw that Carla Reyes was truly breathtaking when she fought...and he was a major, shit-for-brains jackass.
Christ, I’m an idiot.
He might have been slow on the uptake, but he was starting to see that he’d been wrong to worry so much. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t worry, because he loved her and would always put her safety above his and anyone else’s. But he knew a natural warrior when he saw one. In truth, the realization had been creeping up on him for days, though he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. And his men had been hammering it home, none of them shy about telling him that it’d been a dumb move he’d pulled on her during the meeting at Mason’s that morning. But it wasn’t until right then, until that very moment, that it truly sank in. That he saw what they had all been telling him.
She was a friggin’ goddess on the battlefield, gorgeous and deadly and seriously skilled, and he needed to get a grip, because that wasn’t ever going to change.
When another heavy wave of the enemy suddenly poured into the street, Mason and Elliot quickly joined them, and the fighting became brutal. “Reyes, fall back!” Mason shouted, tearing his claws through one soldier’s throat, before breaking another’s knee. “This is getting too intense!”
She shot the Runner a blistering glare as she took down one opponent and then immediately engaged another. “What the hell, Mase?”
“I mean it, honey,” Mason grunted, cutting her a worried look. “These assholes know they’ve lost, which means they’re desperate.”
Knowing he needed to speak up, Eli said, “Mason, it’s okay, man. I know you mean well, but she’s where she’s meant to be.”
Both Runners turned their heads toward him the instant the soldiers they were fighting fell, their shocked expressions almost identical. Mason recovered first, growling for her to be careful, then got back into the fight. It took Carla a little longer to recover, but she finally shook herself out of her daze, took a deep breath, and then gave Eli a tender look of thanks that he swore he could feel reach all the way down to his soul.
“You ready?” he asked, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
* * *
Carla blinked, thinking that crooked grin of his was about the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen on a sexy-as-sin Lycan.
“What?” he asked, when he caught the way she was looking at him.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
He had the audacity to shrug one of those massive, muscular shoulders, as if he didn’t know what the big deal was. “Why wouldn’t I? In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re a serious little ass kicker.”
I will not smile...I will not smile...I will not smile. She repeated the words over and over in her head, still too hurt by what he’d done to forgive him that easily.
As if he sensed the confusing rush of emotions she was feeling, he winced and said, “I’m sorry, Rey. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been a blind, stupid son of a bitch.”
Not knowing what to make of the change in him, she shook her head a little to clear it and got ready to get back in the fight. But a few moments later, when she saw the group of Whiteclaw soldiers who had just come around the corner up ahead, she knew what she needed to do. “Hey, Eli?” she called out, drawing his attention.
He hurried to her side, as if he’d just been waiting for her to call him closer. “You okay?” he asked, his bright eyes narrowed with concern.
“I’m good,” she told him, gesturing toward the Lycans. “I just thought you might want to help me take out those assholes over there. They’re the ones who knocked me around when I was in Hawkley.”
“With pleasure,” he growled, flexing his deadly claws at his sides. Together, they fought the soldiers, easily taking them down, working with that same startling precision and intuition that they’d used before. By the time the bastards who’d beaten her had fallen, more Silvercrest fighters, along with many of the Runners, were making their way into the street, since it had been set as their primary meeting point before the battle that had waged across the entire town had started. From what she could hear everyone saying, it sounded as if those Whiteclaw soldiers who were still standing were abandoning the attack and making a run for it.
Looking over the group, Eli spotted Jeremy, who had returned to his human form and was dressed in a torn pair of jeans, and asked, “Where are my brother and sister?”
Using his forearm to wipe the specks of blood from his face, Jeremy said, “They’re helping Wyatt and Brody search for Roy. The last thing we want is for that asshole to slink away.”
“I’m not going anywhere!” a belligerent voice called out from the far end of the street.
Turning around, Carla stared at the Lycan who’d spoken, thinking he was the most unattractive male she’d ever seen in wolf form, his fur a dingy gray and his head too small for his shoulders. “It’s Roy. He’s here,” she said, and the mercs around her growled with aggression, while Eli simply watched Claymore with a cold, deadly gaze.
Walking across the fallen bodies of his soldiers as if they were nothing more than dirt, the monster responsible for all this bloodshed looked over the gathering of Silvercrest wolves and snarled, “I want the bitch Runner who brought the goddamn mercs here to help you. Give her to me, and we’ll leave.”
“You’re leaving anyway, just not on your feet,” Jeremy growled from Eli’s side. “Because you have a hell of a lot to answer for, you twisted bastard.”
“That’s the problem with you Silvercrest,” the Lycan sneered. “You let emotion get in the way of everything.”
Instead of charging forward and taking Claymore’s head off, the way she’d fully expected him to do, Eli turned his head and looked at her, holding h
er sharp gaze with his. Speaking in the wolf’s garbled, gravelly voice, he asked, “You gonna let me take this one?”
“If you want him, go for it.”
The instant the words left her mouth, she felt the change coming over him, and knew precisely what it meant.
Eli’s dark wolf—that most deadly, primitive part of him that could only be created by a bloodline as powerful as the one he and his siblings shared—was awakening.
She’d heard it said that a dark wolf could only fully awaken, embracing its total power, once it had found its true life mate. Like so many things in nature, the rule was meant to keep balance, since it was a dark wolf’s need for its mate that was meant to temper its savage, visceral aggression.
However, the rule no longer applied when that aggression was being channeled toward someone who had threatened the wolf’s woman. In that event, all bets were off, and the threat was destroyed by any means necessary.
And that was just what Eli was getting ready to do.
Yes, in this case, Carla was perfectly capable of defending herself. But she freaking loved that Eli felt so protective of her that he was taking the shape of his dark wolf now.
Eyes burning with emotion, he looked down at her and said, “This doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in you. It only means that I love the hell out of you.”
With those incredible words buzzing through her head, she jerked her chin toward Claymore, silently telling Eli to get on with it, and he gave a low, wicked laugh that struck her as impossibly sexy, even in these dangerous, deadly circumstances. Though the danger and death at this point were all for Roy.
There was an aura around Eli as he prowled forward, a power pulsing like a physical force that you could feel in the air, and it made her shiver as it swept over her skin. Everyone around them was watching in awe, including his fellow mercenaries, who she would have guessed had never seen a dark wolf in action before, though they would have surely heard of them. He stood even taller than he had just moments ago, his body more muscular, while his eyes burned a deep, mesmerizing shade of amber. And when he started to fight, leaping through the air and catching Roy around the neck, slamming him into the side of a building, it was clear that Claymore didn’t stand a chance. The older Lycan might have experience on his side, but he was no match for Eli’s ferocity, speed and strength. His body was like a blur as he punched and clawed and kicked, and within mere moments the encounter was over.
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