by Lisa Daniels
Bron's attention diverted elsewhere. His nostrils flared, as a new scent carried to him, faint and fair, perhaps imagined rather than real. A scent of danger.
“Excuse me,” he said politely, causing all eyes to turn upon him. He recognized that scent. It made the hairs tingle upon his skin, and the hackles rise on his back. “But how is the fight between you and the Russian clans going on?”
Elinor pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It's not great, though we do have superior numbers, now. We routed them in Sapareva Banya, but they've whittled down our numbers elsewhere. As it stands, they've lost about thirty-four werewolves. We've lost forty-five.”
Big numbers for the fact that werewolves barely went over two hundred in any established country. The threat loomed closer.
“What will happen if they kill all of you?”
Elinor exchanged a look with Filip. “It would put them at an advantage.”
Bron nodded, and started morphing on the spot. “Get your battle forms ready. I sense danger on the horizon.”
“What?” Elinor stared at him. “I sense nothing.” She paused, nostrils twitching. The others followed suit, giving a comical display of wriggling noses.
It might have been worse, if the enemy hadn't chosen to stalk them upwind – which suggested that they opted for surrounding the property, rather than approaching it from one side.
How had they known? How had they followed?
“Shit.” Elinor grabbed her phone. “Everyone, call for backup. Ordri, where can we go? Hide?”
Yanus, Kostya, Markus and Elinor assaulted their phones, calling for help, as the impending scent of doom neared. Bron inhaled the familiar scent, his hands clenching into white, balled fists, his hackles rising in anger and the overwhelming sense of loss and betrayal.
Was this his fault? Did they follow him?
No. Impossible. No one had cared about him for years. And he would have known, would have caught wind of them months ago.
Ordri, trembling with eyes now wide in terror at the realization that they were all in terrible, terrible danger, pointed a shaking finger out back. “We have... a safe passage. A tunnel that leads to it from the library. Timaeus liked his old-fashioned hideouts. Bron... did you?” She swallowed the words, then continued, “did you know this would happen?”
No. I really didn't. “I didn’t.” He gritted his teeth. “I am sorry. My timing... not the best, is it?”
“No,” Elinor agreed. “But you did warn us. So that's something.”
Heart heavy, Bron stood up with the rest of the werewolves, morphing into their feral forms, a vibe of savagery permeating the atmosphere. A surge of protectiveness overcame him, and his instinct sent him over to Ordri's side. She examined him with those glowing orange eyes, her gray and brown flecked muzzle twisted in a grimace.
“You better put that combat talent of yours to good use,” she growled at him. Fiery determination soared in her eyes, made him consider the power she emanated. Where had she been his whole life?
“To protect you, I will,” he promised. In a bizarre quirk of fate, Bronislaw the wanderer, Bronislaw the nameless, found himself fast embroiled in an oncoming battle.
Against the side that had conquered his original family, and given him no status.
That was the scent he recognized, like his own back hand.
A scent that came heavy with years of black cigar smoke, of haughty judgements and grand ambitions. A leader of the name he was forbidden.
An enemy of his new people. His new family. He placed a reassuring paw on Ordri. “You are mine. And I will defend you until the end.”
He knew his words sounded absurd, puny in the face of everything occurring, but he saw the relief etched in her face, the reassurance.
“Big words for someone you've known a week,” Ordri said, though she leaned her furred head onto his shoulder. “But thank you.”
Chapter Three
Eight of them. Eight of them against a surprise invasion, and by the looks of it, with only two guns to boot – Elinor's Glock and Ordri's former mate's AK 47, with only a few pitiful rounds of vanadium. Normal bullets seemed to bounce off their skin, as if a magnetic field surrounded their bodies. Werewolf teeth, jaws and vanadium were what inflicted irreparable damage.
Ordri's breath hissed in her throat as they descended into the secret passage, built possibly centuries before by the Vordomir family, back in the days when they once held noble status, before being stripped of it by the current ruling families. Cobwebs draped the stone walls, and dust stirred under their clattering footsteps as they packed themselves into darkness. The passage split into three, and they took the middle one.
“This doesn't,” Filip wheezed, gnashing on the words through his feral jaws, “lead to a dead end, does it? Because I'm afraid that might make things rather difficult.”
Ordri let out a hysterical laugh, which reverberated in the thin corridor. “No. It leads to a former treasury, and then there's another passage that ascends into the woods which are to the rear of the property. The only problem is, we might still be caught in their net.”
“Why don't we hold them off in the corridor?” Bron whispered, his voice scratching the shadows. “It's thin enough. In the open we are more exposed. We could stage a resistance down here, through these winding tunnels. Look at it.”
The tunnel became narrow, forcing the largest of the male to shuffle sideways. Ordri became hesitant as she toyed with Bron's idea. For once, the albino might actually have something, and she sensed the others contemplating the idea as well.
“It's true,” Yanus said, his voice measured and calm. “In the woods, we can either make a run for it, or reach our vehicles. But we don't know the enemy's position. Only that they have encircled the building, and it is likely their greatest force yet. Our allies will take too long, perhaps.”
“I am afraid I cannot fight nor run fast,” Filip said then, his voice wisping, cracking. “If we run, I should remain behind. I should not be in a position to jeopardize the young.”
“We're not leaving you behind,” Kostya snapped, along with Sebastian's stubborn agreement.
“You must prepare for the possibility,” Filip snapped back. “We are, after all, in peril.”
That was accurate, Ordri thought, thinking about the fact that eight fully grown werewolves had stuffed themselves into this narrow tunnel, clacking jaws at one another as they decided what their best chance of survival might be. All had at least agreed that remaining in the house or leaving the house would have been tantamount to disaster. A hand groped for hers in the damp tunnel, and with a shock, she realized it to be Bron's. This huge, furry titan of a werewolf was comforting her. Intending to live up to his promise of protection. It made her smile. She could have been claimed by a werewolf much worse than this one, who seemed more naïve rather than brittle and cruel.
“You know, Bron, if we get out of this, I'm planning to reward you later.”
“Is that so?” he replied, with a suggestive growl
“Oh, God. Please, no,” Kostya said. “Not now. Just no.”
“Oh, let them be. They may die,” Filip said, adding a darker twist to the narrative.
“Thanks,” Ordri said sourly to her grandfather. “You have this way of just brightening the mood, don't you?”
“Okay. Let me change it. Everyone will be fine and we're not in any trouble at all.”
“Grandpa...” Sebastian sighed, even as Elinor let out a low chuckle.
They finally reached the original treasury room, which was now threadbare except for a preparation table and several rusty tools for sawing wood and perhaps skinning animals. Ordri examined the worn tools, not detecting anything that might help them with their cause. They were isolated and pinned into a secret passage, with no clue how many or where all foes lingered.
The tension became palpable, as Ordri risked venturing down one more lonely tunnel, and peeked through the locked trapdoor at the end. Inching it open so she could peer
through a crack, with leaves and earth debris tumbling into the passageway, she instantly spotted five ferals loitering around the woods, and heard one of them bark at the others in Russian.
Well, shit. She discreetly closed the door, carefully locked it again, and crept along the passageway into the treasury.
“Yeah, we're not getting out that way.”
Filip's lips curled in scorn. “Then we will fight. Best shooters, take guns.”
“Best fighters,” Elinor said, jabbing her fingers at the males, “will fight in pairs at choke points if possible.”
Ordri reached for Bron's hand and squeezed it again. “I have a feeling Bron might be the strongest of us,” she said, and she meant it. After seeing him take down three fully grown werewolves in the blink of an eye, she didn't think her belief misplaced.
Sebastian examined Bron. “He does look like he's been sculpted out of granite, doesn't he?”
“A snow demon,” Elinor murmured, which made Bron's hairs stand on end. He didn't like being called demon, Ordri suspected.
Their lives on the line, they hastily set up choke points, even as thumps and shouts could be heard from above, as the invaders ransacked the house.
“I know you're here!” One invader shrieked, followed by the sound of smashing glass. “You can't have gotten far, little cowards.”
Kostya growled softly. Ordri positioned herself with Elinor and Filip, guarding the back entrance, and wielding the only two guns in their arsenal. Elinor was designated as the free roamer, to oversee the whole operation, whilst the males held their chokepoints – Bron in front. Ordri intended to protect the elderly Filip, who insisted he had some bite left to him.
All Ordri could do now was pray, and hope they all made it through this ordeal alive.
Funny, to think the potential future of the Bulgarian werewolf clans might be decided in a tiny passage in the middle of nowhere. People were still mortal at the end of the day, werewolf or not. If only she hadn't asked them to come here, and instead insisted on the Gregorovitch residence or the Spirova fortress. If only she had waited, because damnit, there was conflict boiling in their region. Dumb to think they might not have spies tracking the movement of the leaders, or that the leaders wouldn't be keen on testing the newcomer in their clan dynamics, to ensure he wasn't a backdoor infiltrator.
If only.
Chapter Four
They came, tightly packed within the darkness. Bron focused, making his breathing calm, even though his blood simmered for vengeance to tear apart each of these so-called conquerors from limb to limb. He had a new family to protect, a new world that might just accept him into their ranks. And then there was Ordri.
Sweet, beautiful Ordri, with that sheen of fire which resurrected itself in his presence.
Ordri, who was his. Now all that needed to happen was to make sure he or she didn’t die.
Gunshots blasted the tunnel. The sound of books thumping the floor above told Bron that they were dismantling the whole study room, widening the entrance. Bron stood vigil as the first line of defense, the first to die – but there were many cracks and bends in the corridor, and he crouched at a sharp bend, with only room for one person to fit through at a time. Two more bends forked off before his, and those were where Kostya and Yanus waited, flanked by Elinor and Sebastian in adjacent spots.
“We're going to need to be careful, they might have escaped into the woods,” one voice was saying. “I can smell their odors, they all came down here...” the speaker turned around the bend, and Bron lunged.
He did it like a striking snake, mercilessly tearing at the enemy's throat before he even had time to gurgle his surprise. Then, his companion, holding a gun, exclaimed – but not before Bron muscled past the corpse and shredded the next opponent in a burst of blood. He spat out dripping flesh from his muzzle and snarled triumphantly. He grabbed the weapon and ducked out in time for the hail of bullets to miss him.
Death skimmed him by centimeters. The unforgiving narrow space preserved him, but it fast became obvious to the Russians that Bron was doing his job too well, holding the chokepoint, claiming another two lives, and spraying his newly obtained gun blindly around the bend, hoping to mow down more werewolves. He was eventually forced forward when they had chosen instead to invade the other corridors.
Confusion and fear mingled with the invaders, and Bron lapped up the scent. What should have been an easy rout turned into a desperate, guerrilla scrabble in the tunnels.
The Russians knew they couldn't wait – not without drawing reinforcements. So, they simply peppered the tunnels with bullets, forcing all the defenders to retreat.
Bron heard a screech of fury from Elinor Spirova, and fled down towards the source of the noise, having to clamber over bodies that packed the ground. He slashed into the backs of still-living Russians, mouth tearing indiscriminately, struggling through this cluster of bodies to protect, to rip and tear and kill.
Blood rained the walls, stank up the corridor with the tang of rust and copper. The coppery, furry taste and texture coated his teeth. There were just too many... a bullet skimmed past his ribcage, and he hissed from the sting, and he heard the enemy shouting above for a way to block them. Then, he heard a deep, booming voice scream, “We will lose too many lives! Their reinforcements will be here soon. We must retreat. Our surprise has failed. They will be like rats, picking us off one by one...”
Bron gnawed his way through another struggling body, before using his awesome strength to smash through into the treasury, and take out the three who had made it past Sebastian and Kostya. He saw Kostya lying in the dirt, groaning feebly, and Sebastian bleeding from his neck and leg.
One, two – lightning claw swipes – a moment of resistance, and then nothing more but corpses lay in Bron’s way.
Ordri stared at Bron in horror and amazement as he whirled, coat fully drenched in blood, and took on the wolf Filip contended with. The old man still had some fight left in him, focusing on wily dodges, maneuvering the opponent into easy access for Ordri and Bron. Ordri struck before him, shrieking like a banshee. Filip sustained two slashes across his chest, but succeeded in the killing blow as Ordri raked and tore at the foe's backside.
“It's not looking good, boy,” Filip panted. Kostya made it to his feet, swaying as he stood in front of his uncle. “Find Elinor. Please. She is the one that cannot afford to die the most.”
Bron snarled, and, still eyed by Ordri, he scampered off into the single tunnel, colliding with another gun-wielding invader. The enemy, in complete disarray, kept screeching above.
“We've wounded some of them! We should keep trying!”
“No. It's not worth... it's not worth this...”
A scuffle reverberated from above, as the screamers sounded as if they had tackled one another for their differing opinions.
Bron couldn't find any sign of Elinor anywhere – and he needed to scramble over a heap of dead bodies that littered the entrance ahead of the tunnels, before pausing as he detected the faintest movement in it.
Gunfire spat out of the corpses, mowing down two more Russians who had made it past. He laughed as he realized what was happening. Elinor Spirova, it seemed, was just fine – and so was Yanus Armanev.
“Got a gun?” a voice asked from the pile of bodies. “You can join me if you want.”
“Fucking...” someone spat, just before a bullet lodged itself in his throat. The invasion into the tunnel miraculously stopped. Bron balanced himself on the body heap and stared at the gaping entrance torn through where the bookcase previously concealed it. No one dared loiter in sight.
“Run out of bullets,” Yanus muttered, out of earshot from the Russians. “How's it going for you, Elinor?”
“Not great,” she replied, before calling out, “Our allies will be here in minutes! Nice try, assholes! I can do this all day.”
Screeches of rage answered her, along with a thunder of bullets, which punched the corpse shield Elinor and Yanus hid in.
> One more body fell, before Elinor's gun clicked. Out of bullets.
“Fuck,” Yanus hissed. “Bron, be a devil and get ready to protect us as we escape?”
“Retreat! Retreat!”
Footsteps vibrated above them. Somehow, it had escaped the Russians' notice that Elinor had run out of ammunition.
The noises faded into the distance.
“Fuck me,” Elinor said. “That was close.”
Yanus exhaled relief. “Just as well they didn't discover the back entrance. Was real worried for the old man.”
“The old man has some chew in him yet,” Bron said, and Elinor let out a dry laugh.
“Thanks, Bron. Is anyone...?”
“They were all alive, last time I checked.”
“Good.” She waited a moment later, until shaking herself free from the bodies. “Gross. But they all were just lying around at this point, so...”
“Yeah. We made a meat shield.” Yanus scowled at the dead, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Just gonna say, I feel like I'm never gonna be clean again.”
Bron sighed then, and slumped against the side of the wall, his limbs burning with lethargy. Honestly, if the invaders had been better organized, instead of keeping their mentality with the pack wars of the past, they might have stood a better chance.
Maybe.
Thankfully, they also had eight plucky defenders, who did not crumble in the face of danger. So that was that.
Chapter Five
This time, when Bron approached her in the darkness, eyes burning like coals, she didn't resist when he grabbed her roughly, growling in a possessive way as he pulled her close. She didn't resist as he tore at her clothes, shredding them within moments, even breaking the metal clasp on her bra so that it pinged and bounced off the wall in the dim room.
He shoved her onto the bedcovers, and ripped into her panties, before fighting to be rid of his boxers, his huge erection springing free. Ordri examined it with a shudder of anticipation, positioning herself so that her legs spread wider for him, waiting to take him in.