by L. A. Banks
“You got that right,” Fisher said quietly. “You know how they ran us through all those simulations?” He let out a little snort and leaned against the wall. “That was all bullshit compared to the real McCoy. Let a real one of those suckers charge you and you’ll piss your pants before you lift your weapon—I guarantee you.”
“That’s why we’re thanking you,” Clarissa said quietly. “We were all freaked out just seeing incoming on the radar. We never even saw what it was.” She looked around the group, her gaze landing on Fisher and then Woods. “Because you’re willing to put it all on the line, you’re essentially giving us the luxury of staying in the house, in the lab, doing our jobs, and living our lives out of harm’s way. There aren’t enough thank-yous for that.”
“Never stated so eloquently or so true,” Bradley said.
Winters let out a hard sigh. “Yeah . . . we owe you big time. But for now all we can say is thanks, dudes.”
Fisher and Woods nodded and then studied the floor.
“We’ve gotta move out,” Woods said slowly and quietly, bringing his gaze back up to the group. “Never seen so many of them charging at one time. They tell us that the demon-infected ones are solitary predators, and if they’re moving in wolf packs, something is very, very wrong. We’re sitting ducks in this house.”
Fisher glanced around. “There’s a lotta artillery to move, man. Can’t leave this for the local-yokels to get their hands on. God forbid we let a military-issue MLRS or bazookas fall into the hands of neighborhood kids, drug dealers, and what have you.”
“We’ve gotta call into HQ anyway and let them know we’ve had an artillery incident. They can send in the cleanup guys and spin doctors to feed the general public some bull about it being lightning that struck a house and nearby cemetery, ya know?” Winters’s line of vision raced around the group and then he hesitated as he saw a mixture of emotions in Woods’s and Fisher’s expressions. “What?”
“They think we’re dead,” Woods said flatly.
“Who?” Again, Winters’s face held confusion. “The brass?”
“Yeah, the brass,” Fisher said and spat on the floor. “So, if we’ve gotta call in, the only person we give intel to on a secured line is Doc—Trudeau rolls like that, too.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I thought they knew you guys were really alive, had the phony memorial funeral services, that is, we thought all that once you guys passed muster, because it was some kinda top secret—”
“No, Winters,” Woods said, staring at him. “Doc Holland saved our asses. The brass tried to exterminate us like they did the rest of the squad.” He walked away, his voice tight and trembling with rage and hurt from the betrayal. “They thought we were infected, but we weren’t! Only Captain Butler was!”
Fisher rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes hard. “Doc is the only one, other than Sasha and I guess you guys now, from inside that I trust. Woodsey told it to you straight. We were out there in the fucking Afghan mountains supposedly on a mission to look for a terrorist threat—when really they’d set our squad up to see what would happen with a trained team under live Werewolf situation def con. Cocksuckers watched it on satellite, is my bet, and then when Woodsey pushed me to safety and called in, they sent a conveniently close Black Hawk chopper in that napalmed our squad.”
“Friendly fire,” Woods said with a brittle chuckle. “Let it go, man, or it’ll eat you alive like the Werewolves.”
Tears filled Fisher’s eyes and then spilled, causing him to turn away. “Gave my whole life to them. I believed! Then they did us like this? Even messed with our DNA? Our whole lives have been a lie, man. It was fucked up!”
“It was,” Winters said with disgust. “We didn’t know. None of us did. Probably not even Doc. And I know Trudeau didn’t.” His eyes wild, he looked around at Bradley and Clarissa. “And I also know that nobody in here knows what you’re talking about as far as them screwing with your DNA. All I do know is, we’re not the enemy, and we have your back. We saw you guys do some real Superman shit just now and seriously appreciate it.”
“If it’s any consolation to you gentlemen, the general that ordered the mission, our own Donald Wilkerson, got his face literally ripped off by some supernaturals . . . and that’s why they’ve finally given Trudeau her own budget and staff. She was the only one who seemed to know how to track down and eliminate the threat.” Bradley glanced around the group.
“Yeah,” Woods said with no small measure of pride in his voice. “That’s our girl. Her and Hunter. Remind us to fill you in on this new category of supernaturals that’s on our side that even the brass doesn’t know about. You don’t want to screw up and accidentally hit one of them in a firefight, because they might just save your ass. They’re not Werewolves, far from it.”
Fisher shook his head. “We’ll tell you all about it, how to spot the differences in a Shadow Wolf on the move versus a Werewolf. You only have a split second to know, hold your fire, or blow its head off when it comes from outta nowhere, so you’ve gotta learn it cold while we wait for Trudeau and Hunter to rendezvous with us.”
“This intel has gotta stay here, though,” Woods said, his gaze steady like his voice. “You slip up and notify the brass before Trudeau is ready to reveal what she needs to, and you’ll have us all strapped to a fucking lab table with mad scientists running tests.”
“As far as I’m concerned, I don’t work for the government, I work for Trudeau, Doc, and my conscience—which is this band of brothers and a sister right here,” Bradley said, his eyes on Woods and Fisher. “After what I’ve heard, and from what I figured out before, I know to the powers that be I’m just an insignificant cog in the wheel, thus cannon fodder as far as the big boys in Washington are concerned . . . so . . .”
“Hey, you ain’t gotta tell me twice. Trudeau saved my ass,” Winters said. “Long story short, I got duped by a Vampire and she let it slide, covered for me so I didn’t get life for accessory to a base breach . . . that really wasn’t my fault.”
“I saw how they disrespected me and Doc’s work,” Clarissa said in a quiet, bitter tone. “Saw how they would go against his reports and his advice until they had a debacle on their hands—then they wanted to blame that man. I saw the real tears in his eyes for the ones that didn’t make it at the memorial services and felt the knots in his soul. You don’t have to worry about me. Ever.”
Clarissa folded her meaty arms over her ample chest and lifted her chin. “Me, Winters, Bradley were all saved by Doc from the experiments they were doing in the paranormal phenomena field during the early days. I had second sight and Bradley had innate knowledge of all things magical . . . Winters, poor kid, could make anything electrical work with kinesis. None of us wants to be one of their research monkeys.”
Fisher nodded and drew in a shuddering breath. “That’s good to know because it’s real fucked up not having a family anymore, not being a part of anything bigger than you. Like, not having a soul you can trust is real shitty. Even in prison they’ve got gang family, ya know? I thought the military was mine for life.”
Clarissa covered her mouth with her hand slowly and went to Fisher. She touched his back with a gentle palm. “We won’t turn on you, Jim. I swear, we’ve got your back.”
He allowed her to pull him into a careful embrace, and slowly but surely relaxed enough to exhale and lower his head to her shoulder. Two big tears rolled down the bridge of Fisher’s nose as he closed his eyes and simply soaked in Clarissa’s compassion. For what seemed like a long while, no one said a word. It was as though they all knew that two left-for-dead soldiers needed to heal; their bodies had survived, so had their minds, but their hearts and spirits had taken near-mortal rounds.
Finally Fisher let her go and wiped his face. Woods lifted his chin from where he stood across the room and swallowed hard, but everything in his rigid posture told her not to go to him in front of the team. One hug, one gentle caress and he’d shatter—and for the sake of his dignity it was cle
ar that he preferred not to have that happen. She agreed with her eyes, told him with a glance that when he was ready to heal, ready to weep in her hair, he could. His response was a brief nod of thanks. In this small squad he was the alpha male and couldn’t afford a show of weakness while danger was still on the move. They all seemed to understand and quietly appreciate that.
Sasha took the cell phone that Silver Hawk handed her as Hunter drove. Doc, no doubt, was losing his mind if he’d caught wind of these serious vibrations. Yet in her core she felt a distress signal from her men and the team, as well as, oddly, Crow Shadow—whom she thought was dead.
Maybe it was simply residual impressions coming to the fore, but the bleating worry that pierced her mind refused to allow her to dismiss any of it. On the second ring, Doc picked up. Just hearing his voice melted her bones.
“It’s me,” Sasha said. “Where are you? Are you all right?”
“I am and have the same question. Are you at the contact point yet?” Doc asked quickly.
Sasha closed her eyes. “No. I got delayed.”
“Good,” Doc shot back quickly. “The zone is hot. I’m moving the location.”
“What happened?” Sasha held her breath. “Did we lose anybody?”
“No, but I’m going to have to send in a cleanup team, media adjustments. There was an attempted attack originating in a cemetery that required an MLRS launch.”
“Oh, shit . . .”
Hunter nearly drove off the road and had to refocus on the task at hand. Silver Hawk was staring down her throat.
“Precisely. I’ll send new coordinates. Will have to give the brass something to go on. French Quarter,” Doc said succinctly, his tone efficient and crisp. “Vampires are involved again. Tried to breach the base, so I did have to send that up the food chain. You look alive and stay alive, Trudeau—you hear me?”
“You too, Doc.” She clutched the receiver. It was all she could do not to tell the old man how much she loved him.
“Debrief,” Hunter said, glancing at her as he barreled the Dodge RAM down the road.
“We’ve got a hot situation in New Orleans. Something attacked the safe house—or was about to, when the guys fired off serious ballistics that backed it up.” Sasha’s gaze ping-ponged between Hunter and his grandfather. “If they fired off an MLRS in a residential zone, two things: one, it had to be demon-infected incoming; two, it had to be an insane level of threat for trained men to go there among civilians. The other issue is Vampires are involved.”
Silver Hawk nodded. “Then my instincts back at the lodge were not wrong.”
“No, sir,” Sasha said, anger making her voice brittle. “They tried to breach the base, probably get back into the lab. Apparently there’s still something there they want—and the only thing I can think of that’s in any kind of supply is infected-Werewolf virus antitoxin . . . since the first break-in all but depleted any supplies of the werewolf virus itself.”
“The part that makes no sense to me is why would Vampires help those who stole the toxin?” Hunter raked his fingers through his hair, now just holding the wheel with one hand. “After Dexter, Guilliaume, and Fox Shadow double-crossed them before, why would they again partner with them?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said quietly, her voice trailing off in deep thought. “You’re right, it just doesn’t make sense.”
Silver Hawk’s quiet tone drew their attention and then imploded in their minds like a sonic boom. “It makes perfect sense, if you wanted to start a war.”
“We’ve got ten betas missing, at least one from every pack,” Lion Shadow said, glancing around at his alpha Shadow brothers.
Bear Shadow’s eyes roved the group. “My pack brother Crow Shadow should have met up with us by now. He took the familiars to their drop-off point where they were able to get the last flight out, and then he was to drive in as far as he could before going on foot to meet us here.”
“Hunter was headed toward the lodge. I think we should go there, convene as a clan—something isn’t right,” a voice called out from the large gathering.
A series of howls cut through the air and the group stood slowly, each member helping to douse the large campfire. Then all fell eerily silent as a whiff of an enemy scent flitted through the night air. A twig snapped. Twenty-five shotguns lifted in reaction to the sound. Just that quickly, all hell broke loose.
Out of the stand of trees fifty yards out, massive demon-wolf bodies hurtled forward. Shadow Wolves still in human form fired dead-aim shots and then took cover, but the crazed beasts anticipated their moves and dodged in and out of demon doors, avoiding direct mortal hits. Even in the darkness and mayhem, familiar pack eyes met the eyes of beasts. The psychological destruction of seeing one’s father, cousin, brother, friend transformed into the unthinkable took a devastating toll during the melee.
Shots that connected with foul creatures blew off body parts to begin an agonizing death. Demon-wolf retaliation was just as swift in gruesome savaging.
Arms, legs, torsos, and skulls littered the small snow-covered clearing that had become splattered with gore. Instant family recognition often paralyzed the shooter just long enough to commit his life to another charging beast. Complete chaos took over the hunting party ranks, as Lion Shadow’s voice barked out the command to hold the line. Those with spent artillery shape-shifted and charged the much larger beasts, immediately losing their throats to the struggle.
“Fall back!” Lion Shadow shouted, watching in horror as demon-infected wolves didn’t just kill Shadow Wolves but began eating from the bodies left on the battlefield.
There was no way his mind could make sense of what his eyes witnessed. His Shadows needed to regroup. They had never been attacked full-scale like this with so many beasts at once. Always it was only one beast, at most two—two being legendary . . . the time when Hunter’s mother was killed. But they’d never fought in a coordinated effort like a Shadow pack. They had never been of their own kind.
Winded, wounded, but still standing, a snarl filled Lion Shadow’s throat as he looked around at the ragged warriors that remained. Of twenty-five good men and women with some honorable betas who’d joined the fray, he now had only fifteen that would possibly live to see sunrise. This plague had somehow come from within their own ranks. What else could explain such an abomination? Not all those that changed could have tried Dexter’s drug. Many of whom had become beasts were above reproach. This had to be forced from involuntary contagion. The beasts had to come from the lodge . . . from the only one among them that had carried the disease in his very DNA for a long time. Hunter. Why else would he have wanted to go forward into this level of danger alone?
Dexter leaned both clawed hands on his knees, bending over and breathing hard. He looked around the shadowed bayou at his remaining pack, seething with rage. “Familiars. Only familiars would have picked us up, just like we homed to them.”
Growls rumbled from the nine wolves that surrounded him.
“I thought you said there was Shadow blood in that house,” a tall, matted demon with a patchy silver and black coat complained, saliva dripping from his massive jaws as he spoke.
Dexter’s gaze narrowed on him. “I smelled it, we all did.”
“Don Juan, you scented it like the rest of us,” a dark-eyed female snarled.
The tall wolf lunged at her and she met the charge, both wolves colliding in the air, jaws locked in a death match.
“We’ve already lost eleven of our kind!” Dexter shouted, reaching in with a steel grip to pull the combatants apart, and flung them to the ground with a yelp. “This dissension in the ranks is what keeps original demon-wolves weak. The infected Werewolves do not work together like Shadow packs, but we have the best of both worlds. Until we find out how many of us made it to Terrebonne, we cannot have this!”
Snarls were the response, but the combatants went to neutral corners in the swamps nonetheless.
“Get back to the blood,” the beast nicknamed
Don Juan growled. “Being stronger is only an advantage if you can control your shifts.”
All eyes were on Dexter, narrowed to glowing distrustful slits that threatened a mutiny.
“I, for one, did not sneak away from my husband to live in the godforsaken bayou like an animal,” the female growled. “I thought you had an ironclad deal with the Vampires—one that would allow us an endless supply of the drug that we could sell to foolish humans to make us filthy rich. Plus, a way to come down from this . . . this . . . high, for lack of a better word.”
Dexter lowered his head in pre-attack mode, his voice a threatening rumble. “Barbara . . . you bitch,” he said between his teeth. “You left your husband for this, first, the money second, so let’s not play games and get brand-new,” he said, clutching his groin.
“Personally, I don’t give a damn why she left,” another wolf growled, stepping out from behind dense bayou foliage. “We need the Shadow blood on tap to control the infected-Werewolf shifts now that this shit is in our systems. Without that, we’re no better than them . . . no smarter—each shift I can feel myself losing the ability to think, to speak while wolf.” He glanced around the group, gaining subtle nods of approval. “And the money is something we definitely need to discuss.”
Growing bolder, the challenger stepped closer. “I think you got your dumb ass set up, Dex. Maybe the Vamps hit the trail with Shadow blood and we got flat-blasted by running up on a paranormal military installation?” He smiled, seeming to enjoy Dexter’s momentary loss of control of the group, and turned to look at the other wolves with a shrug.
In a flash Dexter was on him and had separated the much smaller wolf’s head from his shoulders with the help of both jaws and claws. “Or maybe your dumb ass just lost your head for overthinking some bullshit I already thought of?” Dexter shrugged, looking down at the twitching body and mimicking the dead wolf’s smug expression. He scanned the group with a deadly stare. “Who knows? Maybe that’s what happened?”
