Air: The Elementals Book Two

by L. B. Gilbert

  Emergency surgery at their private hospital had brought Connell back from the brink. Because they were the largest pack of shifters in the country, they had resources that other groups lacked. In this case, that included a small clinic outfitted with a surgical suite. Of course, no one had ever been treated for a bullet wound there. Kiera, the pack doctor, had surgical training, but they’d only ever used those skills for more commonplace injuries—fingers being sewn back on due to carpentry accidents or C-sections during difficult births. These were things their shifter healing ability didn’t help with.

  Kiera hadn’t wanted to do the surgery. She had taken one look at Connell and panicked. Only the chief’s calm, but implacable, demand had gotten the small, dark Were into surgical scrubs. Kiera had extracted the two bullets from his chest and had done her best to repair the damage. But Connell’s healing ability wasn’t taking over.

  Her father had tried to help his body mend by borrowing some of the pack’s energy and surrounding Connell with it. But without his wolf, her brother hadn’t been able to absorb it.

  He was still unconscious now, some of her blood running in his veins. He’d lost so much of it that he’d needed a transfusion, and they were the same blood type.

  Derrick was sitting nearby in a chair, his arm in a sling. Stirring, he turned to the window, which had been left open. He moved up and reached for the sill with his good hand, but she snapped at him.

  “Leave it open.”

  “But shouldn’t we keep it closed? There are germs and shit flying around,” he pointed out.

  “Leave it,” Mara ordered.

  Her father nodded. “She’ll be here soon.”

  42

  Logan was a comet streaking in the sky. She had never moved so fast, and with good reason.

  She wasn’t supposed to reorder the major air currents. The jet stream ran in a predictable pattern for a reason. What she was doing was forbidden. But she didn’t care.

  Logan had manipulated the flow of the jet stream to carry her back to Colorado. If the Mother wanted to punish her for messing with the natural order of things, She could sideline her and choose another Air Elemental—after Logan got back to Connell.

  He wasn’t dead yet. She could feel the connection between them still intact. It was like a silvery thread tying their auras together. When she tugged on it, there was a vibration along the aether.

  But he was hurt, grievously so. And he could still die. She didn’t know how she knew that, but the knowledge was there, burning a hole in her brain.

  The blurred scenery beneath her changed, filling with a sea of green and brown that could only be pine trees. She honed in on a low, concrete building nestled in the woods in the small town ten miles from the chief’s compound.

  This was the right place. A crowd of wolves of every shape and description was milling around outside. They had even started a few bonfires. Some were passing around food and drinks—and they were showing every sign of settling in for a long stay. Logan felt like weeping when she realized it was a vigil.

  And the tears did fall when she plunged into Connell’s room, materializing next to him on the bed.

  Reaching out, she touched his beautiful face. He was so still and cold, but his aura was still there. It hadn’t bled off into the aether. He was still holding on—barely.

  Mara appeared in her line of sight, next to Connell’s head. Logan looked at her ravaged face.

  “What happened?” Her voice was thin and thready.

  “He was shot. So were two others. Leeland died.”

  Confusion swamped her. “Shot with a gun?”

  Mara nodded. “We couldn’t track the asshole. The scent disappeared.”

  “The scent!”

  Logan whipped her head around. A tall, attractive wolf with his arm in a sling was standing in the doorway next to Douglas. “He wanted to tell you something about a scent.”

  “What was it, Derrick?” the chief asked.

  The Were shrugged helplessly. “I think he realized something right before we were ambushed. His last words before passing out were tell scent. But I don’t know what he meant. The scent trail of the attackers died at the scene. It wasn’t masked with something stronger. It was just gone.”

  “Witch’s spell,” Logan said, turning back to Connell. “Why isn’t he healing? He still has some of his gifts.”

  “Not the ability to heal. Not in this form. There’s too much trauma,” Douglas rasped from behind her. “If he could shift, it might be different. But he can’t heal trapped in one form. It’s in the act of transitioning that our wounds mend.”

  “Well, can’t you tap into the pack’s energy to heal him yourself? Can’t a chief do that?”

  Douglas shook his head sadly. “He’s too far from us now. If there’s no wolf, he’s not pack.”

  Her stomach twisted, a heavy ball of lead somewhere in the center of it. Logan turned to Douglas, but a glimpse of his face made her quickly turn away again. The chief had aged ten years in a few hours.

  For a second, the world titled wildly. Had Douglas accepted the loss of his son? Logan searched Connell’s face. The light in his aura was very weak, and it was growing dimmer, blinking in and out like the last flames of a spent fire. He wasn’t going to make it. Any minute now, he was going to slip away.

  No, no, no. Logan couldn’t accept that. She had just found him, and she wasn’t about to let him go. “Let’s give it back to him.”

  “What?” Douglas asked blankly.

  “His wolf. He needs it to heal—specifically, he needs to shift. Let’s give his wolf back to him.”

  “He’s too weak.”

  “And he’s going to stay that way unless we restore him.” She was sure.

  Douglas frowned. “I’m not sure he can survive the blast in his condition. You almost didn’t the first time.”

  Logan shook her head and turned to face them. “I was fine. I needed to reboot is all. Granted, there were some issues—problems that are bigger this time around. Sammy was small, and Connell possessed a full-grown shifter’s energy.”

  “So you can’t do it,” Mara said, the nascent hope in her eyes stuttering and dying.

  Logan held up a hand. “The blast would be bigger,” she admitted. “But there might be a way. Now that I’ve done it once, I think can control the energy transfer better. And I have to modify the ritual to use a filter.”

  “What kind of filter?” Douglas asked.

  This was not going to go over well, but Alec had been clear about this point.

  “It has to be another werewolf. I can diminish the force by running it through someone with a similar signature. The energy would be less harmful to them. But whoever it is will suffer. There might be permanent damage.”

  Given enough time, she might have found a way to soften the blow to the volunteer, but they couldn’t afford to wait. Someone was going to have to put their life on the line for Connell.

  She stared at them, wondering if the chief would let Mara volunteer or if he would insist on doing it himself. Maybe she should suggest they draw straws.

  “I’ll do it,” Derrick volunteered in a rush.

  Logan turned to him in surprise.

  “Connell has stuck his neck out for me multiple times,” he explained. “Any man in our unit would do it. I can go round them up if you want. They’re all outside.”

  Mara twisted to glare at him. “No, you’re already hurt, and the others all have families to look after. I should do it.”

  “No.” Douglas shook his head. “It should be me.”

  And she had been worried about getting one volunteer. “I don’t care which one of you does it,” Logan protested.

  “I’m his twin, the closest to him genetically. It should be me,” Mara insisted.

  “But you’re female,” Derrick said. Mara blasted him with a glare that could kill, and he held up his good hand. “I just mean that you’re very different from Connell in a fundamental way. Any of our team members
would be a better fit. We’re all large men, all alphas.”

  “No,” Douglas announced with an air of inflexible finality.

  He came to stand next to Logan at the head of the bed. “It will be me. Being the pack’s chief affords me a certain amount of protection from black magic. I know this isn’t the same, but I still have the best chance of coming out of this alive. And you two,” he turned to point at the other wolves, “will keep hunting for the asshole responsible for this mess if this goes sideways.”

  “Dad—”

  “This discussion is over.” He turned to Logan. “What do you need?”

  “Charcoal or chalk. Something to draw with. Can we move this bed to the center of the room?”

  They were ready in a matter of minutes. Logan busied herself drawing the runes, altering the ones representing the path the energy should travel. This time, it was going to take a detour—right through Douglas’ body.

  Logan took one last look at Connell, moving to hold his hand. It was icy and lifeless in hers. Mother, if you can hear me, please, help me. Please!

  Trying to hide a tremor, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She had to be calm for this. Connell would die if she screwed this up.

  “Are you ready?” Mara asked anxiously.

  “Yes.”

  Logan wiped the charcoal dust from her fingers on her pants. Her palms were sweaty, but her heartbeat was steady. Focus.

  Shifting, she moved to the foot of Connell’s bed. The chief was in between them. It grew very cold around them. The wind picked up, coming through the open window and making a circuit around the room. For a second, the babble of voices came with it, but it was abruptly silenced.

  Begin, a voice in her head said. For a second, she imagined it was the Mother herself, but it wasn’t. It sounded like the same spirit that had helped her find the shard from the dragon staff, the one that sounded like her Nai Nai. Logan spared a second to thank her.

  She started the chant in her mind, letting it spill over her lips at the second verse. The wind carried her words through Douglas. They wrapped around Connell, caressing him the way Logan wanted to.

  She felt the energy coming. It didn’t blindside her this time, but it was still strong enough to knock her to her knees.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mara move toward her, presumably to help her up, but Derrick stopped her. Logan had warned them not to cross the barrier of the circle or risk interrupting the ceremony—and possibly blasting them all to hell.

  Logan staggered to her knees. She hadn’t passed the shifter energy to Douglas yet. If possible, she was going to get them all out of this alive.

  Collecting the current within herself, she was startled to see the surface of her aura start to heat and bubble.

  Panicking, she pushed the energy out toward the chief, trying her best to keep some of it with her. But the stream leapt toward him eagerly, hitting Douglas like a brick wall. He grunted but kept his feet.

  Shit. The shifter energy wasn’t cooperating with her attempt to slow the transfer down. It recognized the chief’s signature and rushed toward him—a torrent of power that couldn’t wait to leave her incompatible body and settle in a shifter. Getting her teeth, she used the winds to hold it back—her heart dropping when she saw the same sizzle in the chief’s aura as her own.

  Logan fought to adjust the stream, keeping her chant going rhythmically. The energy tore at her aura as it went, and her vision dimmed. Pain began to consume her until it was beyond her ability to register it. A broken gurgle escaped her, and she tasted blood. Breaking off in between verses, she spat on the floor before she choked on it. Ignoring the alarming amount of blood, she refocused on her chant.

  Her pain didn’t matter. She needed to finish. Connell, who was partially blocked by his father’s bulk, moved on the bed, and she knew it was working. Then her view of him started to obscure as her aura became visible to the naked eye, an unearthly light appearing in the cracks.

  Okay, faster, before she killed herself by burning off her own aura. Loosening her hold, she let the power run out of her. The remaining energy moved around Douglas like a boulder in a raging river and settled to fill the void in Connell.

  By the time it was done, she was on her hands and knees. She couldn’t see anything but a field of white flecked with grey streaks. Blinking, she realized she was staring at the scuffmarks on the tiled floor.

  “Logan?” Mara’s hands appeared in her field of view. She was hauled to her feet.

  Logan let Mara carry her past the chief, who was lying on the floor. Her muscles screamed with tension until he groaned, to her everlasting relief.

  Derrick hustled to Douglas while Mara propped her up in front of Connell’s head. “Is he okay? Will he be able to shift?” she asked.

  Logan squinted at the dark blur that was Connell. Her eyes watered, but she could still recognize her own handiwork.

  Crap. She’d done it again. Big bits of her mate’s red-and-gold aura were interwoven with hers. It was far more extensive than what had happened with Sammy. While the child’s aura had briefly sported a Band-Aid-sized bit of her silvery-blue aura, this was like several giant skin grafts.

  Logan looked down at herself, relieved to see her own aura was intact. It was a bit frayed, the net of shimmering threads more widely distributed than she remembered, but she was fine. She sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Mother for seeing her through this.

  “I think so,” she rasped eventually, wiping her mouth. There was definitely something like a shifter signature to Connell’s energy again.

  “Oh crap,” Mara said, spinning her around. She pressed something to Logan’s mouth and under her nose.

  “What’s that?” Logan blinked, reaching up instinctively to pull away whatever it was.

  “Leave it. Fuck. Blood is coming out of your ears too. Here, hold this to your nose.”

  Mara nudged her, urging her to sit next to Connell. Logan took the cloth from her while Mara accepted another from Derrick and started to wipe around her ears.

  “I think it worked,” Logan repeated, her voice muffled behind the towel.

  “Well, now I hope my brother doesn’t wake up soon, because if he sees you bleeding like this, he’ll kill us.”

  Other wolves started to filter through the door. Derrick and a few other strapping Weres picked up Douglas off the floor.

  “Is he okay?” Logan asked, holding her middle. Her entire body felt as if it had been stung by a horde of wasps.

  Derrick shot her a worried look. “He’s breathing. Does his energy thingy look okay?”

  “Uh…yeah, kind of.” She probably should have made an effort to sound more sure of herself, but the flaring threads in Douglas’ aura were wigging her out.

  She squinted at him. His aura was sporting a few holes here and there, but he was the Canus Primus. They were already knitting closed.

  Mara straightened, her head held high. “He’s still breathing. And he’s the chief. He’ll recover,” she declared firmly before starting to bark orders at the growing group of men.

  Derrick nodded deferentially, and he and the others scrambled to carry out her orders. Soon, the chief was laid out in a bed next to Connell. One short, dark female Were came around the bed to check their vitals. In another minute, she was attaching an IV to Douglas’ thickly muscled arm.

  Logan leaned back and watched the wolves mill around while Mara directed everyone from the head of Connell’s bed, her arms crossed.

  Interesting. Mara’s authority was apparently alpha enough to fill the temporary vacuum. The burly soldier Weres didn’t even seem to notice they were taking orders from a woman.

  Connell moved again, and Logan forgot about their audience. She crawled up higher on the bed, lying next to him. Reaching out, she put her hand on his chest, reassured by the regular rhythm under her fingers. His pulse was still a little weak, but it was steady.

  Mara leaned over him too, testing his temperature with a hand to the
forehead.

  “What do you think he meant by tell scent?” Logan asked.

  “I don’t know.” Mara shrugged. “Maybe he thought we could follow the culprits after the attack. But it wasn’t possible. Their scent had vanished.”

  Logan cocked her head to the side. A thought occurred to her. “What about the smell of the gun? I’ve never used one before, but don’t they smell like smoke and gunpowder? Or gun oil?”

  Mara stopped to think about it before replying. “I don’t think we can use that to narrow it down. Most male wolves have served in some branch of the military at one point or another. They all have guns, although most don’t use them much at home except for target practice.”

  “Do you even need practice? Don’t your superior reflexes and eyesight make you all natural marksman?

  “That doesn’t mean every man around here doesn’t try to prove his masculinity by shooting at cans and bottles. What’s your point?”

  “My point is that they don’t do it that often. They don’t need to,” she huffed. “Especially now with the shit hitting the fan. So we track the smell of freshly fired gun.”

  “But there was no trace of a spent firearm in the woods either.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Logan said. “I think that’s because the assholes are using a spell to mask themselves like before. It moved and shielded them as they left.”

  Mara frowned. “Is that possible? Wouldn’t it have to be fixed in one place like that weird bubble dome we found?”

  “Unfortunately, no. One of my sisters ran into a spell kind of like this recently. It masked a person’s aura as well as their scent and heat,” she admitted.

  In fact, the similarity was troubling. The witches who had crafted that spell were dead or had been stripped, but they had been selling their hexes and charms for a while before Diana took them out. Could she be dealing with the same fucking spell?