Air: The Elementals Book Two

by L. B. Gilbert

  His father, whose face did a good imitation of being carved in stone, cracked. He looked at Connell with uncharacteristic concern. “I don’t want you going alone. Malcolm wasn’t your equal in a fair fight, but that was before you lost your wolf. And whoever is behind this has no honor. They could be lying in wait for a second chance at you.”

  “I’ll take a few of the guys from my old squad,” he promised. “Mara and Yogi should stay behind to keep an eye on things here.”

  His father hesitated before nodding. “As long as you watch your back.”

  Connell paused at the head of the stairs. “I always do.”

  38

  It had taken some convincing to get his sister to stay behind at the house. His announcement that he was returning to the site of the third attack had broken through the cool, icy shell she’d wrapped around herself since Malcolm’s death.

  Mara hadn’t wanted him to go without her. But after assuring her he wasn’t going alone, he’d talked her into staying to watch over Sammy and the others.

  His sister was the dirtiest fighter in the pack. If the threat came to their doorstep, he wanted Mara there, even if his father still refused to acknowledge her skill.

  It took a little longer to get to that spot in the woods than he’d wanted because his two most trusted lieutenants, Derrick and Leeland, had both been at home. But he’d called, and they had come. Now they were all there in that cold, quiet spot where Malcolm had died.

  “What are we looking for?” Derrick asked while he and Leeland walked the perimeter where the concealment dome had met the forest floor.

  Both wolves had served in his elite Special Forces unit. He trusted them implicitly—even more so than Malcolm, who had coveted Connell’s position as second, although he’d never done anything about it.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Something that should be here and isn’t,” he added in a lower voice.

  Neither of the other wolves questioned him. They were too well trained. Instead, they fanned out, sweeping the area for clues.

  He pivoted on his heel, his eyes gravitating to the spot where they had found Malcolm. The image of him lying on the forest floor, the staff driven through his chest, was burned into his brain.

  Would Malcolm have challenged him if he’d lived? Before he lost his wolf, it would never have happened. Connell had been tested. Malcolm knew he couldn’t beat him.

  Mara had been right to some extent. Being the chief’s son had kept the number of contenders down, but Connell had fought viciously to become his father’s second. Each time, he had been the clear victor. But if he failed to get his wolf back, he would be expected to step down. And with Malcolm dead, there wasn’t a clear successor. The fight to establish the next in line was going to get messy.

  Pushing his concern to the back of his mind, he refocused on his task, bending close to the ground where the body had been found.

  It was probably pointless to come all the way out here, but he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling he had missed something. This seemed like the best place to start. Connell carefully scented the air, grateful his sense of smell was still intact. But aside from the fading trace of death and blood, there wasn’t much.

  Except. There it was again. The faint smell of surprise. Malcolm’s surprise. It was Sammy’s attack all over again. Malcolm had been surprised, and that was it. A split second of fear, and then death had come quickly. The barrier spell had prevented them from smelling those strong feelings, but now that it was down, that tang of negative emotion clung to this place.

  Malcolm had seen someone. He’d been shocked by whoever it was. And then he’d died. There was no way around it. Malcolm had been killed by someone he knew. It wasn’t an outsider after all. It was one of their own.

  Derrick and Leeland were talking in a low tone at the periphery of his vision. For a second, he watched them, suspicion clouding his thoughts.

  Stop it. These men had served with him. This situation was making him paranoid. They were good men, and as far as he was concerned, above suspicion.

  Connell watched approvingly as the other two walked the diameter of the bubble spell. Maybe they would find something since his mind was clearly elsewhere.

  What am I missing?

  There was something clamoring for his attention at the edge of his memory. Deep down, he knew who was responsible.

  What the hell is it? What did I not see?

  Though it was cold out today, the breeze was suddenly warm, whipping around him in a rush that felt almost deliberate—like it was trying to prod him into remembering what he’d forgotten. The scent of the other two men, salty pine mixed with musk, carried to him.

  “Oh shit,” he gasped aloud. “His scent. His scent was gone. It was missing.”

  He spun around to the two men, intending to shout across the clearing. They had to get back to his house right away. He knew who the enemy was.

  But it was too late. When the attack came, it was out of nowhere.

  39

  Logan was holed up in the corner of the Egyptian room in the archives, dourly flipping through the piles of research Noomi had pulled for her on werewolves.

  Though she was still suspicious of the archivists, she agreed with Gia that Noomi was probably okay. Painfully proper and circumspect, Noomi had never stepped a toe out of line for as long as Logan had known her.

  Noomi worked her entire life to achieve the position of head archivist, and when it came right down to it, Logan didn’t think she would do anything to jeopardize her job. And Noomi seemed genuinely appalled that such a thing had happened on her watch. She’d offered to resign her post—practically prostrating herself at Gia’s feet. But right now, they needed her, so Gia had put her to work.

  “Here are some more accounts of the Anibus form,” Noomi said, coming into the room with a stack of scrolls she couldn’t see over clutched in her arms.

  Logan hopped up from the table to help her when a few of the cylindrical cases slid to the floor. “I think I have enough for now,” she told the archivist for the second time as they arranged the scrolls on the table next to her to-be-read pile.

  Noomi turned to her with eyes that shined too brightly. Logan suspected she was on the verge of tears, and that she had been since she learned of the thefts. “Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly. “Because there are several more accounts from the time of the Pharaoh Khayu that may be significant.”

  It had been the head archivist’s suggestion that Logan research the Anubis form of Egyptian Weres because they were the only shifters they knew of that could alternate multiple forms.

  Like the werewolves of Connell’s pack, Egyptian Weres could turn into four-legged wolves, but they could also hold a second form where only their head shifted. Their body remained human. It was an evolutionary synapomorphy—a trait characteristic and unique to the Weres of that region.

  No other shifters could do anything like it, which was why Noomi thought it might help to read more about it. The situation wasn’t quite what Logan was dealing with back in Colorado, but it was a place to start.

  “Seriously, I have enough to read for now,” she said, shooing Noomi away before the pile got any bigger.

  “All right,” the head archivist called out, backing of out the room, bobbing her head respectfully.

  That respect was just for show. “Why don’t I start a second pile in the other room?” Noomi asked when she was at the doorway.

  She was gone before Logan could disagree. Huffing a hard breath to blow the hair out of her eyes, she climbed back on the table and forced herself to pick up another volume.

  Gia was also still here, but she couldn’t help research a solution at the moment. She had her hands full keeping the Elders at bay. The group of old-timers had descended on them hours ago, which was why Logan was hiding in the back storage room. She didn’t have time for the endless debate and politely phrased recriminations that were currently flying around in the central chamber.


  They still hadn’t heard from Serin. Logan kept telling herself that meant nothing…but she was starting to worry.

  Diana, on the other hand, had contacted them a little while ago. And she was spitting mad. Logan didn’t blame her. If an evil witch had stabbed her in the gut with a magical blade, and then she’d found out said knife was supposed to be dust—destroyed by your own people—she’d be pissed too.

  Logan only hoped Diana hadn’t blown up and burned something important down when she found out—although Di did a good job controlling her temper these days. Alec helped with that. He had a way with her.

  Both of them were en route to the island. They’d flown out of Cairns a few hours ago and would stop in the Bahamas to switch to a seaplane. T’Kairie was too small for an airport and had no natural harbor. A seaplane was the quickest way for a non-Elemental to travel, and Diana didn’t want to leave Alec behind.

  He would pitch a fit if she tried.

  Alec had been champing at the bit to get inside the archives for some time now, but the Elders had been reluctant to allow a vampire on the premises—even one mated to an Elemental. But the Elders couldn’t put him off anymore. Not if he was escorted here by his mate.

  Logan sat up, the lightbulb in her head flashing like neon. She could put Alec to work doing this research! He was a renowned scholar. She knew he would love to help if it meant he could riffle though the stacks with impunity. Plus, his vampire speed extended to his reading ability. Alec could blow through all these scrolls and books in a fraction of the time it would take her.

  Connell would object if he knew a bloodsucker was pitching in to help his pack out, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him… For that matter, he also didn’t need to know that Alec had already helped her modify the ritual for the shifter energy transfer. They had sent messages through Diana about it. With any luck, she wouldn’t burn herself out again if she followed his advice.

  Logan was about to call out to Noomi to broach the subject of Alec helping out when pain exploded in her chest. Her vision was swamped with red, and she screamed aloud. Her shriek of pain echoed off the walls, reverberating back to her, seeming to magnify the agony ripping through her. Clutching her stomach, she rolled off the table, literally trying to hold herself together.

  Gia came at a dead run. Naomi peeked from behind her with wide, frightened eyes.

  “Logan! What’s wrong? What is it?” Gia asked.

  Logan struggled to stand, putting a shaky hand on her stomach, which was twisted into one huge knot. She could barely breathe. “It’s Connell. I don’t know. Fuck. Something’s wrong with him.”

  It felt like she was being torn in two. Almost limping, she headed for the door as fast as she could. “I have to go!” she yelled.

  Gia ran after her. “Logan, I just heard from Serin. Jordan is missing.”

  She stopped short, spinning around to face her sister. “What?”

  “He’s gone. Serin can’t find a trace of him anywhere. She’s frantic. She thinks he’s dead.”

  Logan shook her head. “No! She would have felt it.”

  Like I’m feeling Connell now. By the Mother, was he dying? The pain of that thought nearly knocked her to her knees, but she forced herself to stay on her feet.

  “I know,” Gia quickly agreed, the wounded light in her eyes catalyzing to anger. “I think he’s hiding.”

  Gia had felt the pain she was feeling once herself. She would know that this agony was unmistakable.

  There was only one way Jordan could hide from them—using a witch’s spell. Rage bubbled up her throat. She clutched at Gia’s arm, her grip so tight it would have severely hurt anyone else.

  “It’s him! He’s behind the missing weapons. Go find him. You find him and make him pay.”

  She staggered back to the doorway, struggling with her panic and fear. With a herculean effort of will, she closed it up until she was cold through and through. But she was able to function again. “I have to go to Connell.”

  She dematerialized.

  “I can go with you,” Gia called after her. But Logan didn’t stop. She had to move now. Even at her top speed, Colorado was hours away.

  It might already be too late.

  40

  Connell stared down at the hole in his shirt in disbelief.

  A bullet? Really? The surprise of being struck down with a prosaic weapon froze him in his tracks…until the second gunshot hit him.

  Reacting too late, Connell threw himself to the side behind the partial cover of a small boulder. Pain belatedly exploded in his chest. Clutching his hands to his front, he pulled his head down, trying to keep his most vital areas out of the line of fire.

  A roar went up behind him. Twisting, he tried to catch sight of Leeland and Derrick. One of them must have been seriously wounded to make that sound. He shouldn’t have brought anyone with him. It had been stupid, and it might have cost his friends their lives.

  They were being attacked with human weaponry. He had never dreamed a Were would do something so underhanded. Even rogues came at you face to face.

  This was his fault. He should have known something like this might happen. Their enemy had used witchcraft to hide himself—why would he be above a cowardly attack with a gun? Now they were pinned down, taking fire from a machine gun hidden behind the cover of some shrubbery on the far side of the clearing.

  Blood was pouring out of his chest. It was quick and warm, but growing cooler by the second. His natural healing ability, already decimated by the loss of his wolf, wasn’t working. He struggled to take a breath.

  He wanted to call out to the others, to tell them who their enemy was, but all that came out of his mouth was an alarming rattle.

  “Connell, get down,” Derrick yelled from somewhere to the left of him.

  Squinting through a haze of grey, he saw the green of Derrick’s plaid shirt pressed against the trunk of a large tree.

  Good. At least Derrick was still alive.

  The shots came faster and faster until it was almost a barrage. The gun had to be an automatic weapon of some kind—most likely a Kalashnikov. And the hail of bullets seemed to be focused on him.

  One blast sounded next to his ear. Chunks of rock flew, striking his left ear and cutting his cheek open. Much more of this and the small boulder he was hiding behind would be blasted to smithereens. Muscles screaming, he sat and rolled over to the left, trying to stay behind his cover.

  His vision was starting to darken when a dark blur veered toward him from the right. It was Leeland, his dark grey fur flying up to Connell like a wave of darkness. Sharp jaws snapped at his shirt, tugging him left in an unmistakable message to move.

  He wanted to protest. How could he get to the trees in this shape?

  The tug came again, and he forced himself forward in a controlled fall. Leeland came around him, getting between him and the rock. Half-pulling, half-nudging, he covered Connell from the right—a moving barricade between him and the hail of bullets.

  “No,” he managed to whisper when he realized what Leeland was doing. He couldn’t allow his man to be a living shield.

  But Leeland’s jaw gripped and pulled him forward inexorably. Forcing his legs to move, Connell crawled toward the trees, a trail of bright red blood staining the ground in his wake.

  A hard thump knocked the wolf’s flank into him. Leeland’s front legs collapsed, and his whine abruptly cut off.

  No. Please, don’t! He couldn’t allow his friend to sacrifice himself for him.

  Connell pushed the fur weakly, trying to herd his man into the trees, but Leeland wouldn’t go. His shaggy head turned to him, and he snapped at Connell’s shirt, adjusting his grip. He resumed pulling, forcing Connell along.

  It was the thought of Logan that made him keep crawling, but he only made it a few more feet before Leeland collapsed. Unable to go further, Connell fell over on his back, his bloody chest filling his view before he turned to stare at the sky.

  At least he was ou
tdoors. He would always feel closer to Logan in open air.

  Connell put his hand on his brother wolf’s fur, his vision dimming. I’m not going to see her again.

  Hard hands bit at his shoulders, but he barely felt them. Both he and Leeland were moving. He was pinned between Derrick and Leeland as the former dragged both of them behind the cover of the trees.

  His mouth opened and closed several times. He needed Derrick to warn his father.

  “Tell…scent.”

  That was all he managed before everything went dark.

  41

  “How the fuck did this happen?” Mara demanded.

  No one answered.

  For once, her father didn’t chastise her for her language. They were both standing over Connell’s hospital bed. He’d been rushed there after Derrick had called them for help. They’d been ambushed in the woods, pinned down by automatic gunfire—a human weapon, not magic.

  The bullets had been impregnated with silver. Connell had taken three slugs, two to the chest and one that passed through his upper arm. He’d managed to get down behind a boulder, but it had been too small to provide complete cover.

  Leeland had been killed. He’d shielded Connell, who had been his superior officer in the Army. The younger wolf had taken multiple hits before a bullet to the head ended his life. Derrick had been hit too, but not before he’d gotten Connell behind a tree using their Ranger brother’s body as a shield.

  The bullets had still been flying when the call for help came. Mara had heard them over the line. Then the world had exploded. His father had shifted and bayed, howling for his top lieutenants to come to him. Mara had run after him and the others.

  Minutes later, everyone had poured into that clearing in the woods, but the culprit was long gone. Spent shells were found scattered on a patch of ground above the clearing. Two sets of fresh boot prints had been uncovered a few feet away, but they abruptly disappeared. There was no scent trail to follow. The search was over before it began.