Missing

by KH LeMoyne

  She inhaled deeply, forcing oxygen to counteract her panic. Adrenaline delivered blood to her legs for flight, but she needed calm and control to stay and fight.

  Clutching her knife tighter, she let her training take hold. Come on, Ranger Juarez, how do you expect to survive if you can’t beat my ass? It hadn’t mattered which defense, assault, or survival course she’d been charged with completing, the rhetoric was always the same. For her, challenges always worked as a wonderful motivator. Years of practice and experience created a good backdrop of habit. Fear and panic wiped out short-term memory and fine motor skills in a heartbeat, but habit—good fighting habits saved your life.

  “Come on. I can take your sorry asses,” she whispered as she shifted softly back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her gaze flickered between the increasing numbers of glimmers focused on her position.

  “Don’t be predictable, Lena. Think two steps ahead.” Advice from a former instructor she’d been certain possessed fox DNA. “Hold back until you have an opening for a surprise.”

  The first animal broke through the tree line, and Lena gasped. With a massive head and flank that easily cleared her waist, it stalked into the open. Two more lurked behind in its wake.

  Lena gripped her surprise weapon behind her back in her left hand—a Taser Matthew had modified with a long whip. Brandishing her knife in her right hand, she pivoted slowly, ignoring the distraction of more beasts.

  Rearing on its hind legs in front of her, her stalker possessed the general outline of a wolf without the refined beauty or grace of the breed’s normal features. Then he dropped back to all fours and paced her way. Casting a long shadow, it bared two rows of misshapen, yellowed fangs. The lower jaw didn’t close evenly with the upper and jiggled as the creature moved, giving her a disgusting view of gums and throat. Mottled fur, a frayed gray carpet of lackluster hair and speckles, covered its body. Lacking any undercoat, flesh peeked through barren patches. Limbs not quite the same length, the creature’s joints moved in a painful-looking uneven gait.

  She swallowed back disgust and choked on her breath as a stench from its muzzle hit her face.

  It rumbled a long, deep warning as its head lowered and the eyes, now shifted from red to flat milky white, locked on her. No, the disturbing red still flashed there as it paused and raised its nose in the air, scenting her. Perhaps she could work some advantage from the creature’s misshapen physique.

  Granted, outweighed by a hundred and fifty pounds topped with claws and a deadly overbite took her advantages down a notch, but she had secret skills in her arsenal. Her training didn’t erase the paralyzing fear threatening her, but she’d developed a strong backbone and resilience. Fight first, pee in your pants later.

  An eerie silence descended, absent crickets, birds, or wind. With another round of growls, five more creatures revealed themselves from the shadow of the trees, hackles raised, clearly anticipating their turn. From missing ears, oddly set eyes, and half-formed facial features, each possessed its own deformed characteristics. Strange mixes of wolf, hyena, and one animal whose curled tusks and thick snout loosely resembled a wild boar, posted positions at the perimeter of the clearing.

  They all claimed the same wild milk-white eyes with swirling red. The first was a sign she equated with near-death. The enhancement of the feral red indicated these creatures were closer to madness than death. White foamy spittle dripped from the jaw of the wolf hybrid nearest her.

  Rabies? Lena’s heart beat faster.

  Sweat slid down her back, cold prickles racing along her skin. She planted her back foot against solid rock, angling face forward toward the closest attacker, not quite making eye contact. Never make eye contact.

  Growls from the others drowned out her ability to gauge their movements. The creature before her snarled.

  Two loud bursts of gunfire stalled the creature. Then he lunged for her.

  Her vision narrowed to the gaping muzzle and claws flying toward her. One one thousand. Fetid hot breath hit her face as Lena whipped Matthew’s stun baton through the air in front of her, the tail of the whip snapping across the snout and head of the creature, tearing into its skull. A prolonged cracking noise ripped through the air along with the acrid scent of burning flesh.

  For one interminable second, she stared into the mutated eyes. Then the beast dropped at her feet, and she gulped much-needed air into her lungs. It twitched, eyes fixated on her, still working its tongue as if tasting her. She swallowed hard until the eyes closed.

  The rest hung back in silence, but not long enough to give her a rest. It couldn’t be that easy.

  Without warning, the hybrid at her feet vaulted back up.

  Lena swung again, holding the button as she lunged forward and swiped her knife across its throat.

  With one garbled snarl, it slid back to the ground. A growing pool of blood flashed her success with honed steel over electricity. But two options were better than one. Pressing the baton’s button with no response, she cursed. One use, and the power was dead.

  Breathing hard, she dropped back in a crouch as the next creature advanced. It whipped its dirty-brown muzzle back and forth, spittle flinging through the air. Following its progress made Lena dizzy.

  Several more gunshots rang out, and dirt sprayed. None of the creatures scattered, but one hissed, while a second whined and slunk along the ground.

  Her newest attacker, a poorly formed hyena with huge paws, bunched its muscles and launched forward.

  Lena pitched the baton at its head. It didn’t even flinch as the unit rebounded off its brow bone, and the furred body barreled into her. The eyes widened as she ripped a hole with her knife along the hyena’s rib cage. Her glancing blow drew blood, but its teeth snapped around the upper flesh of her arm. The force spun her facedown on the ground as the body landed with her, still clutching her with a rasping hiss.

  She didn’t take her gaze from the muzzle, not even as it clamped tighter on her arm. She groaned at the blistering pain. The wrestling jerked her onto her side, freeing her good arm that had been trapped beneath her body.

  Gritting her teeth, she dug her backup knife into the creature’s armpit and twisted, hoping to connect with whatever functioned as a heart. “Take that, asshole.”

  The teeth disappeared, but she rolled away too slowly. Razor-sharp claws slashed across her back. Choking on a scream, she fought for consciousness.

  Another bullet sprayed dirt at her side. She felt brief satisfaction at the yelp following it. Matthew’s aim was getting better.

  Rolling back to her stomach, she wedged her injured arm against her side and watched a new attacker narrow its eyes at the ledge above and then fix back on her.

  The creatures that had jumped aside during the shooting now crept closer, their ears flat to their heads and their bellies scraping the ground. They eyed the cave’s ledge as well.

  Not getting Trevor while I’m still breathing. Lena tightened each finger on her knife, preparing for a lift to her knees and a stab for her next target.

  Her enemy paced several feet away, stalking from one side to the other as it regrouped. Its eyes zeroed in on the blood pooling on her sleeve. The dead red swirl in the pupils changed to flaming scarlet as it lowered its body to assault.

  Bloody knife in hand, she rose to her knees, swaying.

  A new, deafening roar ripped through the air.

  A gunshot echoed, then another. At a lower pitch, but equally as threatening, snarls and a low-bellied caterwauling of death hit Deacon in a wave. He didn’t stop to think but burst across the ground toward the mayhem.

  Lena.

  Lungs exploding for air, he stretched his limbs longer with each landing. His claws slammed the ground and punched hard, gaining the maximum distance possible. Spit dried in his mouth.

  He didn’t care. He’d quench himself on blood if Lena had been harmed.

  Another foreboding shot echoed, rumbling in a thundering shockwave through the woods. He faltered, then
raced on, man and wolf frenzied in a whirlwind of anger and fear.

  Faster. Faster. He flew past trees and rocks, oblivious to the terrain as he zeroed in on the discordant animal growls. Trim and Wharton would be on his heels, but they couldn’t match his speed. Or his motivation.

  Not bothering to gauge the depth of the stream before him, he plunged, struggled against the current, and dragged himself free on the opposite side.

  All the dark places of his past converged in a haze before his eyes. Rage, primal and savage, burst from the cage where he kept his potential for destruction locked safe. His bones cracked and his muscles screamed, but both gave in as the power of his territory acknowledged his demand to Mother Earth for more strength and greater size to protect her children.

  He lunged forward, twice the size as before and trembling as he extracted power from the soil, from every animal and shifter for miles around. He ate up ground as he powered up the hillside. His call roared from his throat, and animals froze in their tracks. The very leaves on the trees shook.

  My land. My people. My mate. The last thought dissolved as he burst through the tree line, registering the scene before him in the blink of an eye. Matthew above with a gun. Lena cornered—bleeding!

  He snarled as he flew through the air, his paws skimming over her as he slammed into her attacker. Death.

  A blur of chocolate, auburn, white, and black flashed over Lena’s shoulder and barreled into the creature in front of her. Larger than the others, this new contender possessed no imbalance and no deformities.

  Deacon?

  The clouds grew thick as a brilliant flash of lightning struck a tree hiding several of the hybrids. Lena winced and watched them scatter, their fur smoldering. Despite the distraction, they regrouped as if to take on the new contender together.

  The new wolf was a picture of symmetry and artistic beauty, and it battled with a ferocity pulsing in rhythm with the thunder. She would bet her last breath they couldn’t take him.

  Hackles raised, her defender bowled her mutant attacker over, taking a bloody chunk out of its shoulder. Then he—confirmed by a set of prominent male genitals—backed up, step by careful step, forcing Lena backward until she pressed flat against the rock.

  Gripping her knife, she watched as her ally launched forward again, his weight breaking bones and knocking the red-eyed rabid creature into a roll before he snapped its neck.

  Angling his body, he faced the others, blocking her from their view. His challenge roared again as he shook his head and bared his teeth with more promise than warning.

  Lena shivered as another clap of thunder shook the ground, but took the time offered by his distraction to wipe her hand of blood and regrip her knife. She doubted he’d saved her life just to eat her, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  He snapped his teeth as his tail shivered in a tight circle. With a calculated change of position, he watched the enemy. Spurred by the slight twitch of one of their paws, he reared and dropped, pounding his front paws onto the ground, twice—a dominant challenge. One her next nemesis, a gangly hyena with formidable incisors, ignored as it slunk forward. Her wolf lunged, his jaws meeting the feral creature from below and grabbing its neck. With a jerk of his head, he flipped the hyena toward a tree. It contacted with a sickly crack.

  Lena swallowed back bile and attempted a sideways move. She gasped as the pain fired from her lower spine up to her neck and into her head in a nauseating roll. Eyes closed, she fought against her tightening lungs for breath.

  Another snarl and whine followed by a sucking noise confirmed her next attacker had most likely lost his windpipe, but she didn’t look, barely holding on to consciousness.

  Breathing helped. Focusing on her odds helped more. Not that she could count the number dead or the challengers remaining as her vision wavered.

  There were still too many.

  Not great odds even for the wolf on steroids before her. If this was Deacon, he dwarfed the others. Luckily, he didn’t look like he was running out of steam as he stalked a mangy feral wolf that refused to back down. There was stupid and then there was taking on her wolf with no chance of surviving. These feral hybrids didn’t seem to understand the risk.

  She gritted her teeth and edged toward a tiny niche in the rock with her knife ready. As another of the attacking pack shadowed her, she considered the best way to take a hit and cause maximum injury as well.

  She could do this. One good strike to the throat should do it. The last bit of her adrenaline would be enough to punch upward.

  The creature moved closer.

  “Lena.” Her rescuer growled as he detoured, planting himself in front of her in a crouch. She caught sight of his golden eyes, eyes filled with knowledge and recognition. He turned toward her stalker, then the two beasts launched at each other, the collision a kaleidoscope of fur.

  She held her breath, her previous silent prayer for strength now changed to a fervent chant for her wolf—Deacon. One creature was indistinguishable from the other in the spewing dust and flying legs and teeth. The remaining attackers waited, their mouths panting as their eyes widened with excitement.

  On the chance even more lurked in the woods, she glanced back, then muttered a soft curse.

  Two more wolves stalked into the clearing. Their shoulders hunched and their ears flat, they edged between the fight and the remaining threat, facing Lena’s enemies. Then they snarled and attacked.

  Like her latest rescuer, the newcomers had gleaming coats and lacked the horrific mucus-white eyes marbled with red. Wrapped in beauty and palpable energy, they were easy to distinguish from the others. One with brilliant red fur and eyes of sherry wasn’t the size of her wolf, but it fought with cunning and flexibility—a female.

  Trim? The wolf swiveled unexpectedly, gnashing sharp teeth at every vulnerable spot on the feral creature beneath her. With apparent glee, she tore into him.

  The second wolf was almost pure silver with ice-blue eyes. Wharton.

  He lacked the devious attack nature of the red wolf but made up for it with increased strength and agility. The silver wolf remained between the attackers and freedom, shepherding them back into the fray with Trim, refusing them exit. He danced and parried with almost choreographed moves, and the ferals slowed noticeably, faltering in their movements.

  The gruesome display barely fazed Lena. Her sympathy for these mutants had vanished when they pursued Trevor. For them, killing her and Matthew seemed merely sport. God only knew why they wanted the child.

  “Lena.”

  At the faint whisper, she looked up and winced at the pain of her movement. Matthew had his gun trained on her rescuer, her wolf. Deacon probably wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. She didn’t care. “Don’t shoot him.”

  “What?” Matthew’s stunned look turned to a frown as he raised his gun again.

  “No.”

  Lips pursed, he glared at her but lowered the weapon and wiggled the rope line. “Tie it around you. I can get you up before they notice.”

  Lena stared at the rope but didn’t move. Proximity wasn’t the problem. The rope’s end wasn’t far from her head. But her arm felt strangely numb and her back burned. The adrenaline had already spiked through her body, and the evaporation of it left her cold, sick, and out of control.

  There was no way she could move without creating attention, and her arm trembled, rendering her muscles undependable. She glanced up and shook her head. “Just wait. Okay?”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “They’ll kill you.”

  “No. The new ones are like—Trevor.” Probably not what he wanted to hear, but Trevor shared the energy she’d sensed in these newcomers. Then there was her certainty Deacon fought in front of her. She was willing to bet her life on the newcomers.

  Whether he believed her or not, Matthew remained above her, not retreating into the cave, his expression tense. She didn’t waste time on his dilemma. It was her ass at the edge of this nightmare.

  Breathi
ng slowly, she concentrated on not moving her body or allowing the pain to claim her as the fight wound down. She couldn’t risk Matthew’s and Trevor’s lives for her mistake, but this had to be Deacon’s team. The certainty of her decision settled over her like an old friend.

  Only one attacker remained alive. Trapped beneath the silver wolf, the wild boar mutation whimpered on the ground. Its eyes crossed as it rocked its head back and forth. Wharton shuffled back enough for the attacker to move. When it did, he slashed at it with his paw and snarled until the boar cowered.

  The rest of the attackers lay in awkward piles. Lena closed her eyes against the images she hoped to forget. These aberrations bore no similarity to the men and women she’d worked with, whole, intelligent human/animal creatures she had trusted with her life and those of countless others. She glanced to her side.

  Trim’s wolf sat at the far edge of the clearing, cleaning her paws.

  Deacon’s wolf turned toward her, glanced up at Matthew, and then sat in front of her. He stared at her, the black mask of fur around his eyes illuminating the golden irises. God, she really did recognize those eyes. She’d stared into them too many times in the last few days.

  He cocked his head and then stood.

  Lena watched as he slowly ambled toward a dead wolf, picked it up by the scruff, and dragged it into the forest.

  Trim’s wolf paused in her personal hygiene, offered Lena more of a glare than a look of interest, and then, with a nasal huff, picked up another dead body and followed.

  The silver wolf lay down, a calm sphinx that occasionally flattened his ears and issued a low growl when his captive tried to move.

  “Now what?” whispered Matthew. Then he glanced toward the trees, and his jaw dropped.

  Lena looked as well, and relief flooded her system. Hazy spots swam before her eyes. Not able to keep herself up any longer, she sank against the rock.

  “Matthew. Come down and explain what this was all about.” The command came from Deacon as he crouched beside her. He frowned at the bloody mess of her arm. His seeming calm didn’t hide the undercurrent of anger radiating from him. She hoped it wasn’t directed at her.