Shadow's Moon

by Jami Gray

  Her thoughts whirled, worry for Warrick, Ethan, Ryuu, and even Raine mixed with her simmering anger aimed at Dmitri. The damage the bastard had caused was staggering. She knew he was going ambush Warrick. All along he had played the puppet master, making others dance to his whims, leaving death and destruction in their path. Not once had Dmitri directly challenged Warrick, nor would he unless he could determine the outcome. Chances were Dmitri was already at Warrick’s, but she’d bet good money he wasn’t alone. There was no way he’d go in without skewering the odds in his favor.

  Using their connection, Xander reached out to her mate and found him running through the forest, his wolf ascendant. She let her spirit brush against his, offering what comfort she could as his turbulent emotions rose and fell like unseen tides. Under it all was a solid core of ruthless determination to protect what was his, regardless of the cost.

  Her wolf rose and stretched, padding forward. Ours, she thought, ours to protect. Anticipation sang through her, finding an echo in her mate, their bond pulsing with quiet strength. Together, they would remove the threat to their pack and family.

  Like a silent shadow, Warrick stepped out of the heavier cover of the woods and came to a stop just inside the tree line. His lips lifted, exposing long, sharp canines. His ears flattened as his muscles coiled, the hair along his spine and neck rose, and his tail lifted.

  “Surprise, brother,” drawled Dmitri. Leaning against a wooden beam supporting the back deck, he waited, arms folded across his chest, his lips curled with derision. “Hard morning?”

  Fury rose in a choking wave, adding a red tinge to Warrick’s vision at the vicious taunt. His wolf surged to the forefront and had taken two slow, stiff-legged steps forward before Warrick leashed his more primal instincts. He lowered his head and let a menacing growl roll from his chest. Dark satisfaction flashed across Dmitri’s face.

  Wait, look, Warrick whispered to his wolf. Dmitri thought him lost to his animal.

  Not taking his attention from his brother, Warrick let his other senses stretch. A small breeze curled through the trees. When it reached him, he siphoned through the scents, cataloguing those that belonged, and pinpointing those that didn’t.

  As expected, Dmitri had brought along a few friends. The problem was Warrick couldn’t decipher what form they were currently wearing. There were three distinctive scents, all some combination of fur and skin. Such odds required two feet, not four.

  Drawing fast and hard on his ability to change, he took another step forward, relishing the shock on his brother’s face as between one step and the next, a man stood where a wolf had once been. Heedless of his nakedness, Warrick stopped where his backyard began, the forest behind him. No need to allow the others to circle behind him. “And do I thank you for that?”

  Dmitri pushed off and sauntered closer with studied casualness, stopping just out of reach. He sketched a mocking bow. “How does it feel, Warrick, to be left with nothing?” A nasty grin appeared. “Do you hunger for blood? My blood?”

  “Are you offering?”

  Dmitri’s grin widened. “Oh no. You see, there are a few others who have a bone to pick with you first.” His voice dropped. “I did promise them first dibs.”

  A shape leapt out of the trees, slamming into Warrick and taking him to the ground with a canine snarl. Warrick let his wolf slip his skin, taking on his warrior form. Thick claws tipped his fingers and dug into soft tissue as he pushed his attacker up and off of him.

  He rolled to his feet as muscles layered over bone, adding density and strength to his frame. Upright, he faced the twisted features of another drugged maverick. As he met the maddened gaze of his attacker, he felt his jaw stretch as his teeth to sharpen and lengthen.

  They circled each other, both looking for an opening. Warrick ignored the skittering along his spine, indicating there were other threats waiting for their chance. For now, he needed to get rid of the one in front of him. The maverick was a mass of heavy muscles, but he was quick. Something he demonstrated when he stepped in and swung a feint that had Warrick jerking his head back, leaving him open to the bruising punch that landed on his ribs.

  Warrick let his body double over the maverick’s fist, using the movement to mask his hands. Digging his claws in, he anchored his hands on the beefy arm and spun into him. Taking advantage of his body’s momentum, he pulled the maverick off balance and forward. Without hesitating, he slammed his elbow into the maverick’s temple before releasing his grip.

  Stunned, the maverick stumbled and fell to a knee in front of Warrick. Warrick didn’t wait, but wrapped his arm around the wolf’s throat and, using his other hand to lock his arm in place, settled his fists just under the maverick’s ear. Fire ignited along the skin of his arm as it shredded beneath the clawing nails of the choking wolf.

  Even though the maverick was heavier, Warrick used his own body weight to pull the maverick backward, elongating the spine. Then he stepped in and to the side, torqueing the wolf’s body. He tightened his hold, muscles flexing in response, and gave a sharp yank, ignoring the searing whip of agony radiating along his ribs.

  The dull crack of the maverick’s neck breaking was audible only to Warrick, who didn’t loosen his grip until the body in his arms went lax. Opening his arms, he let the weight fall into a crumpled heap at his feet. Warm blood trickled down his forearms and dripped off the tips of his claws. His sides heaved as he dragged in air, ignoring the pain of his damaged ribs. He raised his head, letting his beast look through his eyes as he stared at the one who had once been his brother. Contempt and adrenaline rushed through his system, leaving him hyperaware.

  Branches and leaves rustled off to his side. On the other side, a branch snapped underfoot. It was his only warning before two figures burst from their cover in a whirlwind of fangs and claws.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Leaving her bike well off the roadway and half-hidden behind the trees, Xander ran through the forest. With her wolf so close to the surface, she wove in and out of the woods with uncanny ease. Something was wrong. Her connection with Warrick had gone eerily quiet. He hadn’t shut her out, not completely, but he had done something that put distance between them. She knew he was alive, but that was all she was getting.

  Branches whipped across her face and arms, leaving bloody welts behind. She leapt over fallen logs, her steps sure even as her shoulder throbbed. As she ran, she shoved her worry and apprehension for Warrick into a box and locked the damn thing shut. Right now, emotion was useless. Instead, she took comfort in the clear practicality of her wolf’s impending hunt.

  The trees blurred and she knew she was close when the nose-wrinkling scents of drugged wolves teased her nose. When the musky smell of a big cat hit, she slowed to a stop. She scanned the treetops, knowing Raine preferred to go up whenever possible. The rain from earlier was gone, leaving weak sunlight to dance on the leaves.

  Xander pulled the blade Gavin had lent her from her boot and made sure to keep her footsteps silent as she continued forward. The wind changed direction and brought her the sound of snarls and growls. Her wolf pushed her faster, knowing her mate faced more than one enemy. But they needed to identify all the players. Otherwise, they were asking to be ambushed at the worst possible moment.

  Above her, a branched rustled and Xander froze in place, waiting. A whiff of metal and oil hit her. She dropped to the ground. A sharp crack echoed through the forest and something slammed into the bark where her head had been. There was a muffled grunt and a short scream that was abruptly cut off. Off to her side, something heavy began to fall through the trees. She was on her feet before it hit the ground.

  Raine dropped to the ground beside Xander as she stopped in front of the body. Deep claw marks replaced his throat and he was sporting a black handled blade in his chest.

  She caught the rifle Raine tossed her, noting the bloody handprint on the wooden stock. It was heavier than it looked, and the smell of silver and gunpowder rose from the thick barrel t
o mix with the familiar scent of shifter. She sheathed the knife, examining the gun.

  Son of a bitch. Since when did wolves start carrying hunting rifles loaded with silver? That was cheating. Disgusted, she vented her anger by bending the barrel of the gun and tossing it aside.

  Raine curled her hand around the blade’s hilt and pulled it free with a small sucking sound. She wiped the blood, coating the blade, off on the body’s shirt. Rising to her feet, she slipped it back into one of her many hiding spots.

  Knowing how well voices could carry in the forest, Xander used the hand signals known to all Wraiths. Others?

  Raine raise an eyebrow and two fingers, a third waffling.

  So two, maybe three still lurking about. Thanks to the shot, they were bound to come investigate. The need to be by Warrick’s side tugged at her. She could leave the others to Raine and Ryuu when he finally showed up. Which reminded her…

  A few rapid hand movements later, Raine slipped into the forest to hunt. Xander left her to it, knowing Ryuu would help with cleaning up the stragglers, then the two would join her and Warrick.

  Drawing on her wolf, Xander continued toward the sounds of fighting. She wove her way through the foliage, using cover where she could. Speed was sacrificed for stealth. The trees began to thin and the occasional snarl and yip was accompanied by the meaty sound of impacted flesh. Natural wolves were silent hunters, using growls and yips only before or after a hunt. Mix human nature with a wolf’s and, when things began to hurt, noises would emerge. Even without the over-powering scent of coppery blood, floating through the air, the noises alone would have told her that someone, or a couple of someones, were in some serious pain.

  She cleared the heavier trees and stopped, caught by the savage beauty of the scene before her. Warrick was in warrior form, the graceful meld of man and wolf creating a mesmerizing creature. Muscles curled and bunched through his shoulders and spine as he caught the vicious swing of an attacker’s arm in a bone-breaking lock. The dull crunch of bone snapping was followed by a high-pitched yelp of pain.

  Warrick ignored the sound and spun, putting the injured attacker directly into the path of the second shifter who was in mid-leap, claws extended. Unable to change the trajectory of his flight, he crashed into his friend. The heavy impact forced Warrick back a step before he regained his balance. The muscles of his arms coiled and released as he shoved the two shifters back, giving him more room.

  Now that he had turned, Xander had a clearer view of her mate. Blood decorated his skin in an abstract pattern, visible even through the light layer of fur covering his naked body. A wicked-looking set of claw marks seeped a rich red as they curled around his ribs and over his lower back. His lips were curled back, exposing sharp lethal-looking teeth. Heavy, malicious claws tipped long fingered hands. Silent, lethal, and pitiless, Warrick stalked the idiot who thought jumping him was a good idea while his buddy lay on the ground, groaning.

  Leaper somehow managed to keep his feet under him and now stumbled back from the approaching monster. He found purchase and charged Warrick, swinging out with his arm.

  It was a feint, one Warrick didn’t fall for, turning his body to the side to avoid the punch as his claw-tipped hands wrapped around the leg aiming for his ribs. The claws sank deep, dragging a pained hiss from his opponent just before Warrick pulled him closer. He jerked Leaper off balance and forward, directly in line with his right fist that drove into Leaper’s face with a sickening crunch. Leaper went limp.

  Mesmerized by the fight, a mixture of pride and feral satisfaction filling her, she watched Warrick beat the living crap out of the two lesser wolves. He wasn’t an alpha for nothing. It was only when the one on the ground decided to stop sniveling and join in that she finally stepped clear of the surrounding trees.

  Even with a mangled arm, the second wolf still managed to attach himself to Warrick’s back, one arm wrapping around Warrick’s neck as he tried to pull her mate off his friend. Xander whipped Gavin’s blade free as wolf number two decided to make a snack out of Warrick’s neck. The exquisitely balanced blade flew end-over-end and imbedded itself at the base of his skull. He jerked and half-turned to her, releasing his grip on Warrick. Feral madness looked at her through a human mask, before his body folded to his knees and collapsed face down on the ground.

  Seeing her, Warrick took a step toward her. Behind him, something or someone moved and two sharp cracks sounded. In front of her, Warrick jerked in tandem to the sound, his amber eyes widening as he half-turned toward the shooter and stumbled.

  “Warrick!” she screamed, moving before the sharp tang of silver and gunpowder hit her, her heart seizing.

  She cleared the distance between them, fury and fear lending her speed. Leaping over the one she killed, she snagged the knife out of his neck and landed in front of Warrick, deliberately placing her body between her mate and the man who had shot him. Throwing under-handed, she let the blade fly just as another shot tore through the air. She rushed her throw and the blade embedded itself in the shooter’s shoulder.

  Even as the bullet’s impact slammed the breath from her body, she watched the gun fall from his now-nerveless grip. For a moment, they stared at each other, her need for his blood meeting his dark hatred. Then the silver hit her bloodstream with a fireball rush.

  She struggled to stay on her feet as agony spread its icy tentacles from the impact point somewhere below her ribs and began wrapping around her legs and spine. By the deck, the one she assumed was Dmitri took an abrupt seat on the ground, his back against a wooden support post.

  Pressing a hand over the wound, she took a step and almost fell. Her legs shook, threatening to collapse, but she gritted her teeth and forced them to move. Warrick was behind her, injured. She wanted to turn and rush to his side but knew she couldn’t afford to take her attention off Dmitri.

  He was still conscious, fumbling with the hilt of the blade, trying to pull it out. His muscles boiled as he tried to rush his change.

  Each step drove thick needles of pain through her, sending small white starbursts exploding on the edges of her vision. The only thing keeping her on her feet was the need to feel the spill of warm blood as she ripped out the throat of the one who threatened her mate and pack.

  Soft snarls fell from her lips, her wolf adding her strength and fury to the mix coursing through Xander. Her gaze locked on Dmitri with lethal intent. She and her wolf were in agreement. It was time to eliminate their enemy.

  Under her rising rage, warmth curled through her. Fur, love, strength, it wrapped around her. Warrick. It pushed back the instinctive need to kill and dulled the nerve-rending pain, allowing her to press forward. Grabbing tight, she wrapped their connection around her and her wolf, adding her own determination and love to the bindings until the two became one vibrating bond.

  There were answers only Dmitri could give them, which meant she couldn’t just rip his throat out and leave his body to rot. At least, not yet.

  She came to a stop and stood over him, keeping out of his reach.

  His mouth twisted in an ugly snarl as he stared at her with cold eyes. Even with his incomplete change, for a strangely disconcerted moment, she was caught by his resemblance to Warrick.

  “Stupid bitch!” he growled.

  And then it was gone.

  Her lips curled with contempt, she took two steps closer and channeled all her rage into a savage backhand. Her blow knocked his hand away from the blade and sent him sprawling on the ground, stunned. “Coward!”

  Bending over was out of the question, so she slowly, carefully crouched down, keeping her hand over her seeping wound. Watching him, she wrapped her hand around the hilt of the blade in his shoulder, leaned her weight on it and twisted it deeper.

  He made a feeble attempt to claw her hand off the blade, but she ignored the sting of the deep scratches his nails carved into her unprotected skin. She took perverse pleasure in his wrenching groan before yanking the blade out, not caring how brutal the move w
as. Sweat broke out on his pale face as his body jerked once then went boneless. He passed out, either from the wound or her hit, she didn’t care. For now, he was out. The blade was silver, so he wouldn’t be healing his wound any time soon.

  Her fingers tightened on the knife. The cold voice of practicality urged her to bury it in his unprotected stomach or slash it across his throat. Her hand actually trembled as she fought her darker urges. Information, she reminded herself. They needed information he had. Still, she needed to make sure he didn’t go anywhere while she checked on Warrick.

  What to do?

  She sat back on her heels, taking shallow breaths to combat her rising light-headedness. Near her feet the black matte of the fallen gun caught her attention. She tucked the blade into her boot, picked up the gun and slowly rose to her feet. Upright, she swayed for a moment until the world righted itself. Then she peeled her hand away from her wound, feeling the blood trickled over her skin.

  With both hands free, she considered the gun. Sig Sauer, P225 nine millimeter if she wasn’t mistaken. She may not use guns, but it didn’t mean she didn’t know what they were or how to use them. The slide wasn’t locked back, meaning there was a bullet in the chamber. Good enough. Depressing the magazine release button, she caught the magazine and counted. Four bullets left, one in the chamber. Dumping the four silver bullets to the ground, she shoved the now empty magazine back into place.

  She raised the gun, aimed, and fired. Dmitri’s hoarse scream echoed on the heels of the loud report. Blood seeped sluggishly from just above his knee. Satisfied he wouldn’t be dashing off, she pressed the decocking lever on the left side then tossed the empty gun away.

  Ignoring Dmitri’s spitting snarls, she turned and began picking her way back to Warrick, who was crouched on all fours, blood pooling around him. Feral and beautiful and all hers. She smiled.