by KH LeMoyne
“Stanton was still at Black Haven and got our call. He’ll be ready for Shanae when they land.”
“Where’s Black Haven?” Matthew stood, arms crossed and staring around the group. “Why isn’t she being taken to Missoula or Spokane?”
“She needs specialized attention, not just blood and stitches.” Deacon exhaled. They didn’t have time for Matthew’s meltdown. He hoisted Lena’s backpack and secured it, then motioned for Wharton to do the same for Matthew’s. “Our surgeon is one of the best, for shifters and humans. If we hurry, we can make it up to that meadow in twenty-five minutes, before the storm hits.”
He didn’t mention the feral army headed their way. Matthew had the sense to notice Lena’s use of his scope and Wharton’s slip. Deacon picked up the rear of the litter as Wharton grabbed the front. “Trim, take the lead. Matthew, follow her with Trevor. Lena, keep your weapon ready and cover me. Breslin and Grizz will sweep alongside us to cover.”
Matthew swallowed hard but fell in line with the rest.
Deacon spoke quietly to Lena as he walked. “How many rounds do you have?”
“On my last one.”
Damn. He should have had Breslin send more. “Any more of Matthew’s toys?”
“One flare gun—holds two flares. I also have three knives. Two of them are good for throwing. From my recent experience, I’ve learned shifters move too fast and have too much hair to hit the vital targets from any distance.”
“Is your wound still bleeding?
She craned her neck and stared away from him into the brush and hillside. “Whatever you’ve been doing to me keeps it in check. I only scraped the scab against the rocks in the water.”
What crap. Her pain beat against him in waves, but if she refused to admit it, there was no benefit to him pointing it out.
“Do you hear—” She sniffed and shrugged her shoulder. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”
“They can smell us. For whatever reason, they still want the boy.”
Her eyes widened, but her lips pressed tight as she gripped her gun at her side.
Something about her comment puzzled him. “What do you hear? Or do you feel them?”
“I thought I felt something earlier. Now—” She shook her head but didn’t turn his way as she continued a sweep around them. “Garbled static, but I can almost—can’t make out specifics.” She caught his gaze for a second. “This is only since I was bitten. Sort of negates your theory of me being unchanged.”
With a heave, he hoisted Shanae’s litter over rocks as their ascent steepened. “I can’t predict the impact of their chemical cocktail.” He waited as she climbed and joined him. “I do know there is nothing changing in your system. You don’t carry the signature of those ferals. Or even Trevor’s signature. You’re as human as you ever were.”
A double-edged sword, really, since he suspected she’d always had a little something extra in her genetic background. He couldn’t decipher it, and that irritated him, but his wolf was not only unconcerned but downright pleased.
“Because you treated me with your saliva?” Jaw rigid, she stopped, waiting.
“I offered you what is in my power to give.” He jerked his head for her to move forward. “The only reason it worked is due to your own unique circumstances. You may not want to hear this, but instead of worrying about the consequences, you could try using it to your advantage. Can you only hear them? Or can you call to them, perhaps misdirect them?”
She climbed the next stair step of large rocks more slowly and pulled his jacket tighter, blinking. “You make this seem like a game.”
“Lena,” he growled softly. “You have no idea how hard it is for me to see you in this situation. But survival is always a game, and you’re strong. You’ve already saved Shanae. She owes you her life.”
“I owe you mine,” she snapped. “We’re even.”
He leaned close enough to bump her with his elbow. Hell, he wished they had the time for him to stop and ease her concerns, but he could feel the ferals approaching like a tight coil closing around them. “Saving you is my job.”
“I’m not a member of your family.”
“Semantics.” He lifted the stretcher to shoulder height and pushed as Wharton hoisted it over a ledge. He turned toward her, hands at her waist despite her backward step. “As rear guard, I need you to do the smart thing. Lean on me even if you don’t want to.” He already had her hoisted up and her bottom on the ledge before he’d finished speaking.
With a snort, she raised a brow, scrambled to her feet, and stood back a pace with her weapon ready. “Better?”
God, she was something. He gave her a quick nod. “Perfect.”
She didn’t balk at the next several steep assists, but the tension in her body increased each time. He suspected her stiffness had returned, exacerbating her pain even with his soothing touch. Unfortunately, small white flakes swirled around them, leaving him little opportunity to help her.
Already covered in a light dusting of snow, the small field lay visible through the sparse trees some thirty yards ahead. The several-hundred-feet escalation from the riverbed had precipitated a drastic drop in temperature. He felt nothing, nor did the shifters with him. However, Lena tugged the jacket collar higher as Matthew wrapped Trevor beneath his own jacket.
Deacon forced himself to look away. He’d reserved a cache of his power for the fight ahead. He’d sensed the other rogues trailing them, just out of sight. Lena’s unease came from more creatures preparing to attack.
The scents registered ahead of the creatures that were too stupid or too egotistical to utilize surprise. Either way, delaying with the new enemy could cost them all dearly.
What power he could spare he sent in a small band of warmth around the humans and Shanae. Warm drizzle fell instead of snow. Eventually it would chill as well, but he expected to deal with their adversaries and have Shanae on the helicopter and Lena in a warm vehicle before that happened.
Lena squinted at the sky, frowning at the changing precipitation, and then around them. She gave him an odd look but whipped around as the first cackle ripped through the air. Another echoed with a growl.
Trim moved out, covering the edge of the clearing.
Three ferals stalked over the ridge at the far side. Mottled fur, irregularly shaped limbs, and sickly red eyes obscured what little wolf DNA they possessed—the brands from the chemicals present in the attackers from the other night. A roar issued behind them. They danced sideways and crouched.
Another roar broke like thunder from behind the ferals. Then a yelp, and the attackers backed away.
Caught in the giant maw of a several-hundred-pound cougar, one feral hyena had time only to gnash its teeth before being flung back over the cliff at the clearing’s edge. A mass of thick brown fur breached the rocks and crawled into the clearing as well. The golden streak of cougar at its side looked small in comparison to the grizzly newcomer. A misleading image.
Deacon felt small satisfaction as several ferals lunged within range of immense cat paws and wicked sharp claws only to lose limbs. They were burning precious minutes on this fight.
Trim shook her head and arms, preparing for shift. “Well, at least those two showed up in time to help.”
Lena blinked. “More of yours, I hope.”
“Grizz and Breslin will hang back with you.” Deacon lowered his end of Shanae’s litter. Dried and matted grasses and wildflowers offered no place to hide. The same was true for their attackers. No one would approach them undetected. He unfastened Lena’s backpack and laid it on its side to shelter Shanae and the others from immediate view. Wharton did the same with the one he carried. “Stay behind this and keep low. No matter what, don’t run.”
“Got it.”
Pointing the way they had come, Lena crouched, prepared to shoot.
“Save your bullets.”
Lena released her clip and checked again as if she expected the number might have changed. She gently swore and sl
ammed the cartridge back home. “How many more do you expect?”
Deacon inhaled deeply. “Twelve.” He ignored her gasp and shook his head. “No, make that twenty. They’re standing behind each other to cover the extra scents.”
Lips pursed, she turned toward him, examining his expression. For what, he didn’t quite know, but whatever she saw seemed to encourage her to be forthcoming. “Those are horrible odds. If we don’t make it, I want to—”
Unable to resist, he crushed his lips against hers before she could finish. Oddly heartened, he pulled back and watched her dazed expression with a grin. “I thrive on horrible odds.”
“Remember, stay down.” Then Deacon stalked toward the closest feral.
True to his calculations, Lena watched one feral aberration after another leak out from behind the trees and rocks surrounding them. She pushed down Matthew’s shoulder until he knelt on the ground. He’d pulled Trevor close and sheltered his wife’s head with his body.
“Lena, I can’t believe—”
“It’s okay, Matthew.” Still on her knees, she turned her back on him and tried to gauge their weakest defensive point. “I appreciate that you think you didn’t pay me enough for this. When we get out of this, I’ll take it out of you in a month of steak dinners.”
His laugh, while a bit strangled, bordered on normal. “Yeah, that’s so not what I was thinking, but you have a deal.”
The brown-furred outline of the grizzly bear caught her peripheral vision. It took effort to ignore the combination of teeth that could crush her and long claws capable of turning her into human jerky strips—Grizz. What an apt nickname.
The sleek and heavily muscled kitty, Breslin, didn’t fool her either. Beautiful he might be, but those paws were the size of her head.
A feral set its sights on Lena.
It didn’t make it within twenty feet. Those razor-sharp cat claws flayed the creature from neck to hipbone in the blink of an eye.
As terrifying as a grizzly and cougar were, they covered her position with Matthew’s family while Trim’s and Wharton’s wolves defended against the larger circle of attackers.
Satisfied her flank was covered, she scanned around her. The key to survival in battle was reducing one’s focus to only the most important adversary. You had to trust the ones at your back. Her own teams had taught her that, never leaving her in physical danger. Deacon’s people weren’t her concern. At least not right now. For the noise in her head—the crash of voices, battle cries, and howls—had all escalated with the battle’s onset. It was all she could do to hold back the rush of voices.
“Betrayer. Pretender. Time to die.”
She shivered and tried, as Deacon had suggested, narrowing the chatter. None of his family invaded her mind. “You are meant to save my people.” Her childhood savior’s voice rang in her ears, and she sucked back frustration. It hadn’t worked so far, but she had no choice but to try.
“Mine.” Deacon snarled, and the noise blew across her like sand for a few precious seconds. How had he heard her thoughts, she didn’t know, but she didn’t doubt it for a second, and she clung to the familiar sound. Guilt at taking his attention battled with her need for sanity. Some faint thought echoed that perhaps the door was open from her to him again as well. Fortified, she hung tight to the memory of his voice.
The snarling swarm of ferals broke rank. A man walked through the line, a veritable fireplug with black hair and beefy muscles distorted by a maze of scars. His hips pivoted oddly in an exaggerated swagger due to one leg being shorter than the other.
“Deacon Black.”
“Stromer?” Deacon stalked toward him, with a puzzled expression. “What do you want?”
Grizz and Breslin moved in tighter, the cougar behind her. The grizzly lumbered before her, almost blocking her view. She bent to the side to watch between his legs.
“I thought you were dead and gone for good,” Deacon said. “However you survived I have no idea. But I have no problem ending your miserable existence?”
“Resurrection—and enhancement—through chemistry. I may have been human before, but no more.” Stromer sent a nasty glare in Grizz’s direction. “But I won’t be the one dying today because we’re evenly matched. There are enough factory-made killers here to annihilate you and your pathetic team five times over.”
“You were dead before. And to be involved with the ferals, you have even less intelligence than you do honor.”
“Honor.” Stromer spat to the side. “That’s what I think of your brand of honor. From what I’ve heard, you guard the females, coddle the pups, and soil them all by breeding outside the bloodlines. Not that I care. But you’ve made enemies, Black. Lucky for me.” His gaze roved over the clearing, spinning past Lena until he stared at Grizz with undisguised hatred.
Deacon didn’t bother with a response.
“Do you know how long I’ve planned and waited to kill you, Deacon? But I’ve sided with a strong team this time.” Stromer chuckled as another four of his bedraggled misfits joined the outer circle. Riddled with incompatible traits of hairless snouts on wolves and ratlike tails on bears, the creatures were so incompatible with their DNA origins that Lena gave up trying to figure out what they were. But they all stood nearly as tall as Grizz. “Today, you self-righteous bastard, you die at my hand.”
Lena shook her head. Good heavens, kill Stromer now. At least that way they wouldn’t have to endure his babbling. She’d been lucky none of the previous ferals had bothered with cartoon-villain chat before attacking. They would have bored her to death.
She immediately regretted her thought as another half-dozen feral creatures joined the ones beside Stromer.
Then Stromer lunged and shifted—well part of him did. A grotesque version of the ferals his face elongated with fangs and his fingers sprouted claws. Deacon shifted, meeting him in midair.
The two spun in a flurry of fur. Black streaks melted together in the quick tucks and turns. Teeth slashed. Claws swiped.
Deacon didn’t relent. He clamped on Stromer’s chest and pulled away fur and flesh. Feral red eyes gleamed brightly from Stromer’s wolf, but he landed, seemingly mortally injured, allowing his guards to fill in for him.
“You will be his final fall from grace. Such a pretty little whore I’ll make of Deacon’s mate.” The words battered against Lena’s mind, and she shrank as her safety thread to Deacon’s power broke.
“Fine, Stromer. You asshole,” she shoved out through her thoughts. “If Deacon doesn’t kill you, I will.” As the growls circled her, Lena swiveled, her gun steady and waiting. Thirst for blood didn’t begin to describe the rage she felt, but she couldn’t find Stromer anywhere in the crowd. A shot now would be wasted. The rest would converge before she finished the clip, leaving Matthew’s family defenseless.
Which had probably been Stromer’s aim. He didn’t fight his own battles, and while he wanted Deacon dead for some past argument, her mind was clearing as Stromer’s rattle in her brain dissipated. This whole ploy revolved around unhinging the team. If Deacon’s support broke ranks, Stromer would have Trevor.
Not happening. Her mind was clear now of the buzz of voices, leaving only a low sizzle in the background. She started a low hum, a chant of Stairway to Heaven muttered beneath her breath. Not a current favorite, but she knew the lyrics, and it was damn long. Perfect.
A hiss and yowl behind her reminded her to stay low. Gold blurred above her, close enough for her to see the white spots on the cougar’s belly as it sailed over her head and pounced on a rogue edging closer.
Lena realized she was merely a distraction for her team. Not enough of one to pull the ferals’ attention from Deacon. In a sickening turn, six more rogues fell upon him as a hyena positioned himself closer to the humans.
She did a quick three-sixty, checking for any more ferals approaching. Grizz held off three, with another impaled on his thick claws. He waved the loser before the others in warning. Insanely stupid, they jumped him. The bear�
��s jaws and several hundred pounds of muscle won out.
The mutated DNA must fry the feral brain cells, she thought. She trusted Deacon, but she could only hope something killed her before she ever turned out like one of these creatures.
Beside her, Breslin opened his mouth. What came out was deep, fierce vibration. Rage, ferocious and terrifying. His roar, nothing catlike, startled the ferals around him for only a second, but with his ears flat against his head and eyes narrowed to slits, he waited as if holding on a mark.
At the first flash of canines, he launched forward. Back claws punched the ground before his teeth clamped tight. The feral swirled and yelped, trying to disengage him.
Terrified, but confident in her guards, Lena turned back toward Deacon as five more advanced with gnashing teeth. Stromer’s replacement, a small but wiry jackal, executed one foul swipe to Deacon’s chest. Inches higher, and it would have been his throat.
She clenched her gun grip tighter. A shot one inch the wrong way would mean Deacon’s death, not his attackers’. She counted slowly and blocked out everything around her.
“I will dance on your grave.”
Her gut tightened. Then white noise, a wild rush in her ears, forced back any intrusion as she monitored every movement for the source of the insane mutterings.
Deacon spun. A quick snap dug into the jackal’s chest. Eyes spinning back, the feral dropped to the ground and rolled to a stop. Deacon twisted and clawed at the remaining four.
The jackal was down. Dead, likely, but she couldn’t see it through the toss and turn of fur in Deacon’s current fight.
An icy finger traveled up her spine. Then a sickly laugh echoed past her efforts to block out the noise in her mind. Someone was playing possum, and Lena prayed for a small window to find her target.
A quick opening in the action verified that Stromer still lay motionless. The jackal as well. But her skin crawled, and she couldn’t let go of her disbelief.
She lifted from her crouch and waited.