by Anna Lowe
For one gut-wrenching moment, Cal wondered whether Moira’s forces could have snuck in and kidnapped Joey. But there wasn’t a trace of a stranger’s scent, and the helicopter hadn’t landed yet.
He spun and strode to the porch, thinking it through. All the comings and goings had eaten up a good ten minutes. Plenty of time for a kid to wander off somewhere and hide. But a scared kid didn’t hide — he’d run to his mom, right?
Joey wouldn’t be scared, his wolf growled with a strange sense of pride. As if that were his kid or something. Jesus, was his mind fucked up.
But it was true. Joey idolized the men and women of his pack. He wanted to be a hero just like them. Which meant…
Cal stepped down the stairs, wondering what the hell Plan Zulu was and what role Joey would want to fill. Then it hit him.
Not Plan Zulu? his wolf asked.
He turned to the mountain slopes rising from the upper edge of the plantation, remembering his own words.
See that ledge? That would be the perfect place to position your defenses, don’t you think?
His jaw dropped. The kid wouldn’t have run off the grounds, would he? Surely, he was too much like Barnaby to do any such thing. Ponderous. Cautious. Taught from birth not to act without thinking.
But, damn. The kid also shared Cynthia’s stubborn streak, and Cal had seen fire burn in Joey’s eyes once or twice.
One quick leap took Cal flying over the last few stairs, and soon, he was churning up the ground, sprinting for his Triumph. A minute later, he was roaring down the road.
“Hey,” Tim yelled, flagging down the bike at the front gate. Apparently, Plan Zulu called for a bear at the upper entrance.
Cal motioned furiously at the gate. “It’s a long shot, but I think I know where Joey went.”
Tim’s face fell. “Off the plantation?”
Cal revved the engine in a not-too-subtle hint. It was possible, yes. The grounds were hemmed in by sections of wall and fence, but Joey could probably find a place to wiggle through.
“Open the damn gate.”
Tim hesitated a moment longer, then obeyed, and Cal roared off into the night.
* * *
Technically, Cal didn’t need the bike to chase the kid down, but it would speed up the process. Especially on the steep uphill slope, and especially in the middle of the night. His mind spun as the Triumph’s engine strained. If he was wrong about Joey…
He pushed the thought from his mind. If he was wrong, Joey was probably back at Dell’s place and already being bustled into the pack’s safe house. That would free up Cal to man his own battle stations. Either way, he was headed in the right direction.
But Christ, did his heart pound, and damn, did his palms sweat.
He crossed the main road — not another vehicle in sight at this hour of night — and gunned the bike up the steep trail on the opposite side. Following instinct, he headed to the very end of one branch, then ditched the bike, sprinting before he hit the ground. His weapons cache was only a few yards away, and—
“Joey,” he breathed, stopping in his tracks.
It was dark, but there was no mistaking the little redhead. He was up on tippy toes, straining to lift a spear into the frame Cal had built.
“Joey,” he called.
Joey turned, looking more earnest than ever. “I think I know how it works. The spear goes here, right? But I can’t lift it…”
Cal stared. Did the kid really think he could protect his home from a pack of mercenaries?
The fierce set of the little boy’s jaw answered that one loud and clear.
Cal held back from screaming, Are you nuts? Everyone is searching for you, feeling scared to death. Instead, he spoke as calmly as he could.
“Dell needs you back at home, Joey.”
Joey shook his head. “Mommy says everyone has to help.”
A helicopter thundered overhead, and Cal dove for Joey, hoping they hadn’t been spotted. He rolled and held Joey flat along the ground then brought a finger to his lips.
Quiet. Okay? he let his eyes say.
The kid nodded once and stayed still.
Good kid, Cal’s wolf murmured.
Cal rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hug or kill the kid. But he had bigger problems now, because the helicopter was touching down not too far away. Cal belly-crawled to the edge of the rise and watched as four men and two tigers leaped from the helicopter and fanned out. When an engine revved on the main road, he whipped his head around and saw at least a dozen more men — and animals — leap out of a van and scatter into the vegetation surrounding the plantation grounds.
Jesus, this was it. The attack they’d all been preparing for. Somehow, Moira had managed to sneak her forces in from the mainland — or more likely, stage them over from the Big Island. Silas had informants all over the islands, but if Moira chartered a private plane to the Big Island and moved fast, anything was possible.
It’s more than possible, his wolf grunted. It’s happening.
His heart pounded, partly in elation, because this was the battle he’d spent a lifetime preparing for. But part of that was in fear, because this wasn’t how it was all supposed to unfold. Instead of hiding in safety, Cynthia had raced into battle. And instead of being able to arm the defensive positions he’d prepared, Cal had a kid to think of.
Shuffling backward, he grabbed Joey and rolled into a hollow, hoping the boy wouldn’t yelp. But the kid was a trooper and remained quiet, though he did tremble in Cal’s arms.
“Don’t move,” Cal whispered.
The bushes before them rustled. Something big was on the move.
Joey’s chin dipped the slightest bit, and Cal could feel the kid hold his breath.
A huge, plate-sized paw came into view, along with the lower edge of a furry leg. One of the tigers was stalking along, blending into the landscape.
Cal clenched his teeth. If the breeze wavered the slightest bit…
But it didn’t, thank goodness, and the tiger disappeared a moment later, intent on the property below. The lights were all out on the plantation, but Cal knew it was there.
So did the tiger, it seemed. Not good.
Moments later, another striped shadow slunk past, and even the crickets stopped chirping at that. Cal didn’t exhale until what felt like a good minute later, when the shifter had passed.
Joey’s eyes were wide as saucers, and his face was pale.
Not knowing what else to do, Cal patted his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “Dell and the others will be ready.”
When Joey turned those huge green eyes on him, Cal swallowed hard.
“Are you sure?”
Cal pursed his lips. Hell, he sure hoped so. Then he nodded. “Hang on. I’ll make sure they know.”
He gazed over toward the property and half closed his eyes, concentrating hard. Dell… Silas…
It was one thing to communicate mind-to-mind with another shifter up close. But to make that mental link over a distance, with shifters he’d only barely gotten to know — and with everyone scrambling in preparation for a fight — was hard. Finally, he homed in on Silas’s powerful aura and traced it over to the right.
Two tigers coming in from the mountains. Four other shifters not far behind.
Joey… Silas grunted in a voice tight with concern.
I have him. Tell the others. And watch out for—
Footfalls sounded in the darkness to his right, and two shadows swooped overhead. Cal swore under his breath, then concentrated on Silas again.
Two tigers, plus two wolves and two dragons moving in.
Four dragons, Silas corrected a moment later when two additional winged shadows swooped in from the south.
Cal remembered the van, then turned away. Silas, Dell, and the others had been warned. He had to get moving if he was going to enact his secret plan.
Gently, he pushed Joey uphill. “Come on. Help me over here.” Three steps later, t
hey reached the earthwork he’d dug days ago, along with the equipment he’d concealed. “Can you grab that end?”
Joey had followed instantly, but the moment Cal threw back the camo netting covering his construction, the boy stared. “Wow.”
Cal nodded to himself. Yeah, wow fit that weapon, all right.
“It’s called a ballista. Kind of like a slingshot, but bigger,” he explained while stepping behind the firing mechanism.
And deadlier, his wolf snarled.
“Ballista?” Joey breathed, looking absolutely rapt.
Cal allowed himself a microsecond to admire the device. While it was fairly simple, it was also fail-proof. All he had to do was crank the launcher arm back, sling the spear into position, and… Enemy dragons, watch out.
“Get that end, will you?” He motioned. Not that he actually needed Joey’s help, but he figured it would keep the boy distracted enough to avoid panic.
Together, they maneuvered a ten-foot spear into place and cocked the mechanism that would release it.
“See how it works?” He pointed along the moving parts. “You sight along here, then pull this…”
“Wow,” Joey mumbled. “I thought wolves fought with their teeth and claws.”
Cal made a face. He wished.
“That works with other four-footed shifters, but not against dragons. So I came up with this.”
Actually, the idea was Barnaby’s, but that would take too much explaining right now.
Would rather fight, his wolf grumbled.
As usual, the beast ached to face his enemy on four feet. But Cal had learned the hard way that only brains — and the element of surprise — would allow a wolf to vanquish a dragon.
He sighted down the shaft of the spear then gave a curt nod. Weapon One, armed. It was time to set up the second launcher he’d hidden in the undergrowth. The motions were all familiar, but one thing was not. How was he going to keep Joey safe while he fought? Another shifter might prowl out of the undergrowth at any time, and—
A huge shadow rose from somewhere behind him, and his blood went cold.
“Down,” he hissed, taking Joey with him a second time.
The hairs on the back of his neck tingled as his nose registered a familiar dragon scent.
Kravik, his wolf snarled.
Slowly, Cal turned his head, watching the dragon rise higher into the sky. The blood in his ears pounded so hard, he worried that Kravik might hear.
That bastard. Here? his wolf growled. Now?
They’d tangled twice over the past three years, but Kravik was a slippery bastard, and nearly impossible to kill.
His wolf growled as he looked up into the darkness, tracing Kravik’s outline against the backdrop of night. The bastard was magnificent — Cal had to give him that, with black-on-black scales that glittered in the moonlight. He was also considerably bigger than the average dragon — a yard extra in snout-to-tail length. His eyes glowed red in the night — red, snobby, and fucking entitled.
Cal swallowed away the bitterness in his mouth. It figured that Kravik and his gang of European dragons would eventually become entangled in one of Moira’s schemes. But Cal had never anticipated everything coming to a head now. Not when the woman he loved had set out to fight a battle on her own. Not with her son entrusted to his care. And not with what looked like an entire shifter battalion poised to batter down the gates of Koa Point.
And yet there he was — Kravik, the massive black dragon, hovering overhead while eyeing the ground. Searching for him?
A low, throaty sound yanked Kravik’s attention around. Another two dragons appeared, reporting to their leader. The three of them swooped in slow circles, watching the fight unfold from a distance.
Cal did a quick count. Four dragons were already flying over the estate and plantation grounds, engaging with Silas, Kai, and Cassandra. Countless other shifters stole through the shadows on the ground, met by a fierce shifter pack determined to protect their home. Kravik and his two cronies remained overhead, hanging back for the time being. Apparently, they were waiting for their frontmen to weaken Silas and the others before they moved in for a final assault. Meanwhile, Moira and her personal bodyguards had to be over on the Big Island facing Cynthia, Connor, and Jenna. All in all, enough to make a wolf’s mind spin.
What it really came down to, though, was Moira and Kravik. Two of the most ruthless, evil dragons the world had ever known. The only real question was which of them was the other’s pawn?
Cal dug his fingers into the ground. The details didn’t matter. He’d come to Maui ready to slay a few dragons, right? Having Kravik there gave him the opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.
Or three, or four… his wolf snarled.
He looked right, judging the distance between his first launcher and a cache of spears he’d stashed earlier. Then he tapped Joey on the shoulder and motioned to the right.
“Time to mobilize, kid. You ready?”
It was unfair to ask the kid as much. But Joey was a Brenner and a Baird. And, hell, maybe there really was something about classy old bloodlines. Because the little guy, though pale and trembling, nodded immediately.
“Yes, sir. Are you?”
Cal nearly laughed at the way the kid mimicked the Special Forces men he’d spent so much time among. A moment later, Cal’s smile faded, replaced by a grim frown as his wolf vowed to bring hell and damnation on the dragons overhead.
“Ready. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cynthia lunged for Moira with her teeth bared, screaming to herself.
Kill her. Kill Moira, once and for all.
But Moira was shockingly fast and managed to heave Cynthia aside. Cynthia barely had a chance to fold her wings before crash-rolling over the ground. At the sound of a hiss, she rolled again — just in time to avoid the scalding blast of a volcanic vent. Then she scrambled to her feet and launched herself into the air.
Moira did the same, and her guards swooped in, all converging on Cynthia at the same time. Licks of flame nicked her wings, tail, and ears. She spun in midair, releasing a burst of flames bigger than anything she’d ever produced before.
Back! her dragon screamed, spraying a circle of fire.
A moment later, she hovered, blinking at the tails of six retreating dragons and reeling from the echo of her own roar. Had that really been her?
Bet your ass, it was, her dragon murmured, borrowing a line from Silas’s mate, Cassandra.
Even Moira looked a little stunned, but she covered up quickly. My, my. And I always thought you were all proper and ladylike.
Watch me, Cynthia grunted back.
Curling her wings, she circled Moira, looking for an opening. Moira’s guards quickly regrouped and started swooping around both of them, moving in the opposite direction. All that motion was enough to make her mind spin, especially with the volcano belching toxic gas and blistering heat.
Damn it, she muttered, looking for a clear flight path through that gauntlet.
Did I hit a nerve, dear cousin? Moira taunted.
Cynthia didn’t bother answering. Instead, she darted toward Moira, nipping at her long, brown tail. But one of the surrounding dragons dove at her, aiming to shred Cynthia’s wings with its razor-sharp talons.
Quick, she yelped at herself.
She folded her right wing while tipping the left and barrel-rolled. Then, with a snap of her tail, she twisted in midair and spat fire.
Her attacker screamed and beat its wings, trying to escape, but Cynthia exhaled long and hard, maintaining her fire until it chased the enemy right into the ground. The dragon crashed, making the earth shake, and a primal cry escaped Cynthia’s throat. A victory cry that wasn’t so much her voice as the voices of her ancestors.
You shall not best us. We are Clan Baird.
Energy like nothing she’d ever felt coursed through her, and she took a deep breath. Maybe there were advantages to being the last in her line.
She g
lared at Moira. I will not back down. I will fight until you are gone.
Without thinking, she gained altitude, making sure she didn’t offer Moira any advantage. The power of her ancestors might be fueling her, but Connor’s military-style training had taught her when to attack and when to observe.
Observe, a little voice said in her mind.
She glanced around. One of Moira’s henchmen lay dead on the ground, but the other five were circling with a sharp new look in their eyes. They wouldn’t underestimate her again, that was for sure.
Moira stared at the limp form of the dragon below. Apparently, she’d underestimated Cynthia, as well. But in typical Moira fashion, she just laughed.
Oh, you’re making this so much more fun.
Cynthia spat flames in her direction. What kind of person found death and destruction fun?
Moira, her inner dragon grunted in reply.
You remind me of Barnaby, Moira sighed into her mind. Playing the brave, selfless dragon.
Cynthia roared. Barnaby wasn’t playing, and neither am I. Not that you’d understand anything about bravery.
Moira turned, tracking her movements. What do you know about bravery? Or are you mixing up bravery with that laughable thing called pride? Barnaby wasn’t so interested in protecting you as protecting his own name.
Cynthia knew better than to answer. But then again, she had to buy time, so she hissed a comeback into her cousin’s mind.
He was protecting the people he loved. Love, Moira. A concept you’ll never understand.
Another vent blasted below, and even from fifty feet up, Cynthia could feel the air rush. She backed away quickly, as did Moira, just in time to avoid the column of scalding steam that rose between them.
Oh, I know all about love, Moira murmured smugly. I love power. I love revenge.
Cynthia had never been much of a revenge gal. But, heck — she was starting to see the appeal. On the other hand, her father had been right in teaching her the dangers of that path.
Revenge starts but never ends, he used to say. It will only eat you up.
