by L. A. Banks
For a moment all she could do was stare at the tiny transistor that was mounted in a small cavity within the heel. Unnerved, she pitched it out of the window and then jammed her free hand in her pocket to find her cell phone. Quickly unhooking the casing, she yanked out the battery housing, and glimpsed the thin transistor chip that was glued to the back of it.
Flicking it off and out of the window with her thumbnail, she dialed Doc Holland’s private number as a new wave of panic overtook her.
“What’s going on?” she said, the moment the call picked up.
“Say nothing,” Holland’s urgent voice replied. “Do not say my name. Your clothes, your car, all monitored. We have fifty-five seconds left to speak. Are you safe?”
“Yes. Rod—”
“I know. Later, I’ll explain. Get a prepaid phone and do not call until you do. Search all surfaces and clothes. Your car is low-jacked. Rent one, get new clothes. I will give you a meeting point when you call back. Sweet pea, I’m sorry.”
The call disconnected. Tears ran down her face. Doc had used the pet name he’d given her as a child. He was like her only dad, and she could tell he was on the run. He knew about Rod. Her free hand covered her mouth as a sob threatened to rip through her. What was happening to her world? The stranger had warned her. He hadn’t lied. She was being monitored, even Doc knew. The man of the shadows said he’d come to protect her from what Rod had become.
She swerved her car into the vacant lot, spinning and sliding on the ice and then finally lurching it to a complete stop. She got out quickly as a gleaming, black Ford F-150 slowly pulled in and came to a controlled stop. Hobbling on destroyed boot soles, she rounded her red Nitro like greased lightning, opened the back hatch, and came around the front of her vehicle toting a pump shotgun loaded with silver shells.
“Talk to me and say it from a distance!” she called out.
She watched the figure she’d come to associate with dread get out of his truck, hands raised and motions steady as he approached. Inside her gut she knew that he’d only taken that position to calm her; it wasn’t working. The fact that he was so sure of his ability to outrun her gunfire kept every cell in her vibrating with fight-or-flight hormone.
“That’s close enough!”
He stopped walking.
“The lining of your jacket,” he said, inclining his head. “Somewhere in the hem toward the collar. Listen. It’s whining.”
Shit. That was her favorite jacket.
Warily she shrugged out of her bomber jacket and flung it onto the hood of her SUV.
A slow half-smile appeared on his face as his gaze traveled down her body to land on her feet. “I see you found what was in your boot.”
Her gaze narrowed. She refused to dignify the comment and bristled against the shiver that his hot, visual assessment of her had caused. To her horror, all she could do was watch his gaze slide down her body again to this time stop at her belly button, causing her stomach to clench. None of what was happening made sense. She’d just killed Rod!
“I hate to tell you, but those beautiful leather pants are—”
“You must be crazy or think that I am. Say what you gotta say!” She raised the gun and cocked back the hammer, entirely willing to blow his head off.
“In the waistband,” he said calmly, unmoved by her outburst. He closed his eyes and tilted his head from side to side and spoke in a breeze-soft murmur that ran all through her. “On the left hip, in the seam. Run your nail along the edge and you’ll feel it . . . right where the tag is, probably so that you wouldn’t notice it.”
Sasha hesitated, but then finally removed one hand from her weapon, hating that he’d been right so far. She kept her eyes on him and smoothed her left hand down her hip against the seam, blindly searching, allowing her nail to score the butter-soft leather. It didn’t help that she’d seen his breath hitch, or that his eyes held a dark hunger that clearly had nothing to do with killing her tonight.
“I can find it for you,” he said in a husky rasp.
Her nail hit a metal object and she blindly scrabbled with something that felt like the size of a pencil lead while still staring at him. “Thanks, anyway, I got it,” she said with a half-snarl, and then glanced at the bit of technology that fit under her nail.
Flicking away the offending device, she lowered her weapon. “Why are you following me and my pack?”
“Because one of your pack was demon-infected and it was soon going to overtake him . . . and you were at risk. I think you saw that. I’m sorry you had to.”
“So how is that your business?” she said with an edge in her voice, not willing to allow a complete stranger to see how thoroughly broken up she was. Rod, demon-infected. She could hardly believe it.
Howling winds separated them as liquid silver moonlight bathed them together.
“You’re of my clan. You are my business.”
Taken aback by his plainly spoken statement, she fell mute for a moment.
“A little while ago, though, you were talking about murdering my pack brothers,” she finally retorted. “How do I know you’re not some wacko vigilante or serial killer? How do I know you won’t try to kill me, just in case—since like you said, I was with Rod before?”
He shook his head and his eyes grew sad. “Even you don’t believe that, Sasha,” he said quietly. “Listen to your inner wolf.”
“How do you know my name?” she said, her tone deadly.
“I followed you and heard you say it to the couple outside the town house. But don’t worry. You can’t get what your alpha had,” he said, the low rumble of his voice making her insides quake. “Your blood is different. You are shadow wolf. Werewolf virus cannot co-opt that.” He sighed and slowly lowered his arms to his sides, obviously no longer fearing that she might shoot. “But the two younger pups . . . the ones named Woods and Fisher, are only wolf. Familiars. But we do not understand how they were made. Their paternity is unclear; they are not like our other Familiars. I don’t know why, but they only smell of wolf, not shadow, not demon wolf. That part has intrigued me since I began tracking the new predator in the area. But you needn’t worry about Rod again. He was badly injured before, but they never got him in the heart. You hit him point-blank. That hunt is over now.”
Her head felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to it. “How long were you following us?”
“Six full moons,” he stated plainly. “I had to be sure he was Turning, had been infected, and I wouldn’t have moved against him if the medicine I saw him taking had worked. I, like you, hoped the scientists had come up with a cure.” He looked off toward the horizon, his voice mellow and somber. “I want to be out of a job, unemployed one day . . . I would welcome no longer hunting the beasts.”
Sasha lowered her weapon to her side slowly, completely, the pure shock dazing her. Everything was on her now. She had to lead the pack. That had always been Rod’s role. The weight of the reality felt like a gut punch. “You work for the project?”
The unnamed man before her shook his head and returned his endless gaze to hers. “I work for an ancient clan that has kept the balance in the Great Spirit’s land for centuries. The military is playing with fire, and will get burned.”
The look he gave her scorched all the saliva out of her mouth. There were too many questions and too few answers competing with way too many emotions.
“I don’t understand this shadow wolf, or how Woods and Fisher are just . . . natural wolves from their attacks. Familiars, as you called them?”
“You will have to ask those who know, for I do not.”
“But you seem to know more than me! Who gave you orders to track him, and hunt him? He was . . . my friend, my family. Who told you to assassinate him? What gives you that right!”
“Did you love him?”
She blinked and remained very still for several seconds. “He was my alpha, my brother. Pack member. Of course I loved him . . . just like I love Woods and Fisher—maybe a little more.�
� She looked away at the dark stand of trees when her voice hitched. The last thing she was about to discuss with a complete stranger was her relationship with Rod.
“Then, when you saw him, you did the right thing by putting him out of his misery quickly. Now just pray his spirit onward to better hunting grounds. I am glad that you loved him but were not in love with him. Later, as time wears on, you will find that this will make what you had to do easier. I am so sorry, and would have done it for you, if you had let me. If any other of your family Turns, next time call me on the howl of the wind.”
The horrifying offer was made with such honesty, even what one could sense as integrity, that for a moment she was speechless.
“It is our way as hunters to spare each other the pain.” The man before her released a weary breath as though hunting Rod were the last thing he’d wanted to do in the world, but was resolved to complete the brutal task. She could relate, had been on many a mission of said nature, but hated it now that she was in a deadlock with someone on a mission against her own. However, that also told her several things in an instant; he hadn’t found Woods or Fisher yet, hadn’t assassinated them yet, therefore there was still time. With time, if she could get the guys back to the labs, back to Doc Holland, there was still hope.
She eyed the dark stranger who stood seeming to wait for her decision. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer—she’d heard that before. Now she understood the axiom completely.
“Understand that they cannot reverse what is done,” the unnamed man finally said, pressing his point when she didn’t respond. “Your Rod was too far gone. He finally took human flesh and would have taken yours, while the moon had him, especially while sustaining a gut wound. He needed human blood and flesh to knit, heal. It would not have been personal, Sasha, but a matter of his survival. You or him. Just as you chose yourself over him in an instant back at his town house. That is why I came to you; to protect both your life and your conscience. You had to do what you did. Clear your conscience now, tonight. Purge it.”
He stared at her until she looked away. “Could you have been able to live with yourself if you’d let him go, knowing he’d taken a human life and knowing that a beast dwelled within him? What would you have done if you’d tripped over a child’s body in that house of horrors? How many feedings do you think occurred between when he was hurt overseas and tonight—how many did he have to eat in order to properly heal enough to be strong again? You saw it in his eyes! There was no shame. The beast reveled in the carnage—that is the demon! They grow to love the killing and kill more than they could possibly consume or would ever need!”
She shook her head and hot tears rose in her eyes. The unnamed man before her had finally pushed the right buttons. “Who sent you?” she said, her voice a shaky rasp of emotion.
“The elders.”
“Fuck the brass!”
He shook his head no. “Tribal councils. Not your hierarchy.”
“There has to be a cure, a containment strategy, first. I’ll find Woods and Fisher, my way—I’ll get them off the streets. Not you!” Her voice fractured and she clenched her jaw, breathing hard. She knew this man was right, his concern sound. She’d seen evidence of Rod’s deteriorating condition with her own eyes. But it still carved her up. Then it came to her in a jolt. Shogun had said that her kind was trying to take demon-infected werewolf blood and introduce it to a wider audience. Was it the military and could they have been using Rod as a guinea pig? Testing the demon infection on him? Did it have anything to do with why they had been sending him on one mission after the other? It would definitely explain his growing edginess over the last four to five months. Could Doc have known about it and allowed it to happen? Could he have been the one who had given it to Rod? No, she couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. Doc was the only one who looked out for them. But she could believe that he may have been forced to keep his silence about it. They might have even hung her life over his head. From their all-too-brief conversation, it was clear that Doc was still trying to protect her.
“Sasha,” the stranger said, bringing her back to her current problem. “I will respect your territory, so long as you hunt with purpose and keep the innocent safe. But I will be your shadow . . . until you learn to be your own wolf. That is as much of a compromise as I’m willing to offer. Purge the guilt, Sasha. Do it now, before it consumes you. Grieve for the man, but do not grieve for having to do what you had to do.”
She let the wind howl between them for what seemed like a long, cold while.
“Would you take my coat?” he asked quietly, truly wanting peace between them. “Perhaps we can drive to a diner, so we can talk? You can see my goal is not to harm you, and I believe you are capable of defending yourself, even if that was my intention.”
“I’ll follow you in my car.” She backed up, still wary, her heart heavy.
“I thought we’d established that you were being tracked.” He waited, his voice calm, flat, matter-of-fact. “I am no liar.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her Nitro, knowing that it could take her the rest of the night—until dawn broke—to find a minuscule transistor embedded within it. Doc Holland’s words tumbled around in her brain. She had to get a new vehicle, had to get new clothes, had to get an untraced cell phone. Had to call Doc again. If she was going to find Woods and Fisher and protect them for their own good, as well as protect the general public, she had to learn more. But the fact that Doc now knew how far gone Rod had been made her worry less about Woods’s and Fisher’s safety. If Doc knew, surely he wouldn’t have allowed the brass to ship them off together. He was possibly working on a cure even as she thought about it. If anything, they might already have the guys contained . . . if they were dead or about to be killed, Doc would have told her, right?
Caution still made her back up to her Nitro. Her gaze unblinking on the mystery man before her, she opened the passenger’s side door, and traded her pump shotgun for her nine, wedging it into her now loose waistband, and gathered a fresh clip and a Bowie knife from her glove compartment. For a moment her hand slid over her medical case, and after fingering it, she decided to leave it, no longer sure of what she’d been injecting herself with for years.
Stripping her wallet, she jammed loose cash, her ID, and credit cards into her back pants pocket and tossed the potential bug carrier onto the car floor, and then slammed the door and locked it.
“Try anything funny, and I slaughter you,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact and her gaze steady. “I don’t care if you’re driving at a hundred miles per hour—yes, I’m just that crazy, will blow your head off just for grins, and will take my chances with an airbag. We clear?”
“Very,” he said with no strain in his tone.
For some odd reason, she felt a lump form in her throat as he cautiously slid his deerskin coat off his body, exposing wide shoulders, a massive, stone-cut chest, and biceps that flexed as he moved like liquid night. Feeling surreally drawn to him, despite what had just happened, seemed so bizarre. She didn’t understand it, and could only chalk it up to postbattle trauma. Perhaps it was the need to connect and forget, simply blot the horror out of her mind with something primal, something raw and feral. She wasn’t sure.
But it was impossible not to be mesmerized as she watched his muscles move beneath his dark sweater and skin. He tossed the coat to her and she caught it with one hand. His scent spilled over her, making her hesitate to cloak herself within it.
He understood exactly where she was. Distrust was in her eyes, as well as deep heartache. More than anything else, there was a loneliness of spirit that drew him. He’d been there too many times to count.
“Before, when I followed you to the back of the bar and outside, there were a lot of you.” She glanced around to be sure there was no ambush coming.
“A gift of the shadows—taking the scents from the shadows that you step into in order to throw a hunter off your trail . . . the same way you would stand upwind o
f a doe, or hide in a blind covered by the scents of the woods. I will show you the shadows . . . your wolf that they have never explained . . . as well as the nobility of your clan . . . if you just have coffee with me.”
He watched her dissect the subtle plea in his voice, knowing that the nonthreatening resonance of it made her tilt her head and study him harder, unsure of why he’d taken that tack, knowing that she had to be wondering if it was all a part of his game to lure her. It wasn’t.
“I truly mean you no harm. You can leave at will. But even if you don’t trust me, there are things that you should know if you’re ever to survive an attack by the ones you have befriended.”
That was as much as he could give her while standing outside in the bitter cold. It was the bitter truth. She had to do the rest. Only she had the power to take the first step to gain knowledge and to shed her blindness. Now it was a waiting game to see if she would accept or reject what he’d told her.
Quiet relief washed through him as she grudgingly hoisted his coat over her shoulders. Remaining statue still, he watched her move toward him with the wariness of a she-wolf cornered by a potential trap. Her lovely nose was raised, scenting everything around her for a trick along the way, each step a careful footfall closer to him.
Just watching her approach, he fought to remain still, almost not breathing. She had no idea how gorgeous she was under the waning light of the moon, her eyes brimming with tears. He knew that no one had ever shown her the glory of her wolf, how it wasn’t a monster like the aberration of the demon-infected.
His own loneliness suddenly pressed down on him, making him want to howl. He wondered if one day, once the pain of her loss ebbed, she could ever feel that pull to one’s own like he did now.
She touched the side of his truck as though sensing, her shadow abilities beginning to awaken even though unbeknownst to her. The touch was more like a caress and she studied it, then studied him. He nodded as she carefully got in the vehicle and then pressed her body against the still partially open door, ready to bolt. He got in the truck slowly and slid into the seat, keeping his motions easy, fluid, and his hands visibly on the key and wheel at all times.