Bite the Bullet

by L. A. Banks

  The only way was to get pack mentality to take precedence over mob mentality. They had to work as a cohesive unit or the huge beast that was on Hunter would soon prevail and then would attack them.

  “Stay in human form!” Sasha shouted. “Weapons up on the predator only! You hit our man and you lose an amulet! There’s no telling how many are already here, and that’s our only way back!”

  It took only a second for the information and threat to register. They’d been lucky once going through the Shadow lands with no amulet bearer to keep them from being snatched beyond demon doors—and they all seemed to know that had more to do with the beasts’ probable feeding frenzy than divine intervention. If they left Hunter ass-out, or hit him with a shell, it was clear that she’d leave the lot of them without a way to safely get back to whatever larger pack they hailed from.

  Positioning quickly around the fray as the beast roared, lunged, and missed Hunter again, Sasha motioned to Bear Shadow to tend to Silver Hawk. “Staunch his wounds. Take cover!” The old man was bleeding to death, her heart was in bloodied sections within her chest, ripped apart by what she knew was happening but couldn’t stop.

  An abandoned truck from the garage whirred past her head, made airborne by the frustrated beast. Down on her belly she flattened herself to the ground as the enraged creature followed Hunter; then she quickly rolled onto her back and fired three successive shells, catching it in the gut.

  Rolling away fast, she avoided the rain of entrails and the thud of the huge monster that crashed to the ground. It was down but not dead. Shadows on the ground held their fire. She couldn’t tell if they did so to keep from hitting her, or to let the mortally injured thing do what they so badly wanted to do—let it rip her face off before they went in and finished the job.

  Sasha popped up at the same time the yellow-eyed beast staggered up. Out of shells, she turned to run as it smiled. But it snatched her leg so fast and with such force that it almost felt like her hip was being yanked out of the socket. Then, its grip slowly eased at the same time a sickening crunch-gush sound filled her ears. She looked up just in time to see Hunter in semiwolf form raise the truck axle over his head while standing upright, and then drive it down into the back of the beast’s skull.

  He jumped off the creature beneath him, threw his head back, and howled, and then transformed into his human shape.

  Sasha scrambled up, limping, and headed to Silver Hawk’s side with Hunter. Bear Shadow had covered the old man’s body with his own to protect him from flying artillery and debris after stuffing his shirt into a chest wound and tying a tourniquet around his wounded leg.

  “He’s still breathing,” Sasha said, trying to instill hope. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but if we can get him to Doc . . .”

  “How? Take him bloody and broken through demon-infested Shadow lands? And if we got him to Doc, then what? He’s not human! They’ll fucking dissect him in a human military base hospital!” Hunter was on his hands and knees beside the only father he’d ever known, about to cover the near-fatal injuries with his own hands and pulled back.

  Sasha’s hands replaced his. There was no need to say it; the infection was rampant within Hunter’s system and the effect on the old man was beyond anyone’s guess. The rest of the alphas saw that, too, but for the moment, no one was willing to tempt Hunter’s ability to reason. Right now, and over this one dear, blessed old man, it was clear that Hunter would take a pack brother’s life.

  “We arrest the bleeding as much as possible, and yes, we take the whole squad here through the Shadow lands to the safe house in New Orleans—where there are medical supplies for battlefield conditions. Ammo. Food. Water. Clarissa can do the basics—she’s in-field certified as a trauma medic, if you don’t trust the NORAD facility—and we have communications there, so we can chopper Doc in under stat conditions. The house has a flat roof, Hunter.” She looked up into his eyes. “We’ll get him through the pathways whole, we’re on a mission going in armed and extremely dangerous. One pack, one family.”

  Hunter stood and looked around the group, unconvinced. A shirt hit him in the chest. A found pair of boots dropped with a thud by his feet. He caught a pair of pants that were slung in his direction.

  Lion Shadow made a fist and crossed his chest with his forearm. The rest of the Shadows present did as well.

  “One pack, one family,” Hunter said, and threw his head back and howled.

  Chapter 16

  “You have to lead in the Shadow lands,” Hunter said, pulling his shirt over his head. “Only you have a vision of the safe house now. I’ll bring up the rear.” He looked at the group that had carefully transferred his grandfather’s limp body to a door taken from the lodge. “Tight formation, Bear Shadow on point behind Sasha watching her back and Silver Hawk’s front. I want a man flanking him on each side. Drop him to cut and run, and you die in the Shadow lands. I’ll bring up the rear to keep anything barreling down on us off your asses. Roger that?”

  “Roger that,” Lion Shadow said with a curt nod and then checked his artillery.

  “No matter how crazy it gets,” Sasha said, “no shape-shifts in the pathways. We can’t beat the enemy wolf-to-wolf. As you’ve noticed, they’re stronger, bigger, faster. We have to rely on human evasive maneuvers and the artillery we have on hand. That’s particularly important given the precious cargo we’re carrying. We need human hands, and my guys on the other side need to see humans coming out, not wolves—unless it’s the enemy—because they’ll wig and fire at will. We need them to hit the right targets, not us. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Bob said, glancing at her and then Hunter before his gaze sought the ground.

  “Good.” Hunter rounded on the four men that attended his grandfather, reached out to touch the old man’s chest, but then, as though remembering, made a fist instead.

  Sasha was at his side and covered his amulet with her palm. “You’ll be able to let him know you were there for him,” she said quietly. “Tell him through the light.”

  Hunter nodded and placed a palm over her amulet and closed his eyes. In that moment she saw how exhausted the man was—weary not just from the recent battle but the one he’d fought all his life.

  And even though watching that had broken her heart into a million pieces for him, she was also plagued like the others with a niggling doubt. What if his condition worsened in the demon-infested Shadow lands?

  No question about it, Hunter’s mild hybridization was frightening, given what they’d seen from the more advanced cases. He’d actually spoken with a human voice while in wolf form. He’d reared up on muscular hind legs to combat a threat—and for an instant his foreleg had morphed into a fur-covered forearm, his right front paw becoming a clawed fist to rip an axle from an overturned truck. Everyone saw it; there was no mistaking what had been seen. That combination wasn’t normal under any circumstances and it had been an abomination to his pack brothers to witness. She saw the humiliation in Hunter’s eyes once the threat had passed and he’d normalized to human.

  Guilt stabbed her as they both stood facing each other, palms over amulets, coaxing the radiant silver-white light of protection from the ancient wards. They needed the light to quickly surround them and their group; it was the process by which alpha clan leaders had moved their people to safety for eons. Only that would keep weaker members from being picked off from the group at entrances and exits. There were always entities that hovered at the fragile nexus where choice could be made between taking a pathway or going through a demon door. It might also be the only thing to hold off intrapathway attacks in the Shadow lands by infected pack members. But the light wasn’t coming.

  “Maybe he’s too far gone?” Bob said. Although his tone wasn’t malicious, it grated Sasha no end.

  “Maybe so,” Hunter said, and began to step away from her. “Give my amulet to Lion Shadow, then. I don’t care who gets us through, as long as we hurry up. The old man has been down for ten minutes—and every
minute we waste could cost his life.”

  In that moment Sasha knew it wasn’t Hunter that was the problem. Her doubts and fears that put a wedge in the partnering trust had blocked it.

  “No. It’s me,” she admitted. “I was scared—try again.”

  He looked at her, his gaze intense but not angry. A strange combination of hurt, but understanding and appreciation for the truth filled his eyes. After a few seconds he nodded and stepped closer to her. She dropped her palm away from his chest and hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder.

  His embrace was initially tentative and then became all encompassing. Within moments she felt the radiating heat of their amulets awakening. When they stepped back from each other a bright, blinding swath of silver light that stretched the length of their bodies and their standing-width apart was between them. As they backed up, the light continued to expand.

  “Everyone between us for safety,” Hunter said, never losing eye contact with her. “Stand by. We’re going in.”

  “It’s a setup,” Dexter growled, lowering his nose to the Shadow pathway. Slowly the distinctive scent of gunpowder and explosive discharge singed his nose from a place deeper within the Shadow lands. He looked around at the group and then reared up on his hind legs to his full height.

  “Think about it. . . . They came in here close to dawn when we’d be transforming back. They trailed Shadow Wolf blood to draw us and then blew the pathway.” Enraged, he railed at the hazy mist that covered the ground’s surface. “Same tactic, just like back at the cemetery! They’re using military weapons retrofitted by Hunter’s bitch to work against us.” Dexter closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled, then slowly shook his head. “But I have to give credit where credit is due—I’d’ve done no less.”

  “The plan?” another beast asked, gazing up at Dexter, not sure of their leader’s mood. “The moon has already dropped and we haven’t shifted back.” He glanced around at the others, unnerved.

  “The Vampires were supposed to meet us in the bayou with the blood they’d promised,” a voice rang out from the pack. “We did our part, as promised, and chased all Werewolves back behind their demon doors and into human habitat hiding. We showed them what we can do—there hasn’t been a sighting since we’ve been on the hunt.”

  “Yeah, we shouldn’t have to lay low in the swamps,” another voice called out. “The Vamps reneged—used us.”

  “We got played; now we’re eating our own,” still another yelped and then released a mournful wail.

  “Face it, Dexter,” Barbara snarled. “This close to dawn, the Vampires aren’t making a delivery . . . unless they’d send a human emissary to do the drop-off. But then, the likelihood that he’d be eaten might make them wary to send a trusted servant.”

  “Point well taken,” Dexter growled and began to walk on his unnaturally bent hind legs. “Then I say we take us a quiet little stroll over the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway Bridge to the ritzy district. I have a hunch that since the flooding, the Vamps might still party in the French Quarter at night and have no doubt taken up residence in St. Tammany Parish. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way and put our noses to the ground and find those bloodsuckers. Maybe then we can shed a little light on our dilemma to help them understand just where we’re coming from.”

  “Shogun, we have to stop. The men are dropping where they stand from fatigue and dehydration.” His second in command’s eyes stopped glowing as his wolf form retreated to leave a naked, shivering man on the verge of collapse. “We’ll die in the tunnels, and there’ll be no glory for that.”

  Shogun paced back and forth and then shifted into his human form. Rage and frustration hardened his almond-shaped eyes, and his normal, neat, single braid was loosed as a wild mane of black silk. “How many of us have they fed on, eaten like cattle before the UCE Conference has even commenced?” He spoke through his teeth, his eyes glittering with fury as he appraised his exhausted men. Murmurs of discontent rippled through the underground Werewolf caverns, echoing off stalactites and stalagmites.

  “And the Shadow packs talked about us, separated themselves from our breed because they thought only we carried the contagion,” one soldier muttered.

  “Bitches,” another weary were-soldier said. “They pointed the finger at us because they knew that if they caught the contagion, it would be so much worse in them than ever in us.”

  Shogun ground his teeth, seething as he listened and remembered years of civil wars between the Shadow Wolf clans and Werewolf clans. Torn between his own personal vendetta that caused his father’s death and what was right for the Southeast Asian clan that he now headed, he spewed words from his mouth in hot, angry bursts.

  “It’s a matter of honor!” Shogun shouted, having heard enough conjecture from the ranks. “For forty-eight hours they’ve preyed on us—infected Shadow Wolves—drawing us into lairs behind demon doors where even our own infected brethren might attack us. But our own would have enough respect not to be filthy cannibals . . . and they shun our kind? Am I not to seek redress?”

  “Yes . . . but at the UCE table—not here. We’ve done as much as we could do, have chased as many as we could as far as we could, and have enough evidence to prove that it was infected Shadow Wolves on the loose, not infected Werewolves this time.” His second in command held his gaze with a plea in his eyes.

  “I am not placating those goddamned Vampires!” Shogun bellowed, and then spit on the ground. “To hand over hard evidence at the UCE against our distant cousin wolves is to give the Vampires what they want—an open license to kill us all. Our battles are internal . . . wolf-to-wolf.”

  “What about the prophecy?”

  Shogun stared at his enforcer. The cavern was so quiet now that only the drip from moisture echoed amid the breaths taken by weary were-warriors. After a stunned pause, he raked his fingers through his hair. The prophecy: When the wolf would be one, brought together by one not born of them, yet made . . . strengths of both warring wolves will be sealed in one skin, with one heart.

  Strategy replaced rage. Shogun turned away to look into the pitch-black darkness in the cave before him and then turned toward the weak light filtering in from the opening. Sasha. She was a Shadow Wolf. He was a Werewolf. Although he’d never admit it to his pack brothers, he’d wanted her so badly before, wanted to tell her of the prophecy, but time had run out and she’d rebuffed his advances.

  His sister would be a problem. So would Sasha’s current mate—the huge North American Shadow clan leader. But if anyone could be the go-between, to get word to the Shadow packs that they needed to meet and had to form a cohesive unit before the Vampires, it was her. Sasha was different . . . even her aura was different, although he wasn’t sure why it didn’t resonate with the thin band of silver that would normally nauseate a Were-male. She also was oddly raised by humans, not in a pack, and worked for the human military in a way he couldn’t understand. But then she’d taken a male Shadow to her bed and had hunted beside him as though they were mates.

  Shogun continued to focus on the gray filter of light. This gorgeous female warrior presented a conundrum. The moment he’d laid eyes on her his soul told him she was a part of the prophecy, if not the prophecy itself. His enforcer was right—there was another way.

  “We gather our forces, rest, replenish . . . and then we gather information.” Shogun’s shoulders relaxed and true fatigue clawed at every muscle in his tall, lean frame.

  “How? When they have us hiding and on the run like dogs?” one of the men called out.

  “There’s a little pub in the French Quarter—The Fair Lady—that has Fae peacekeeping forces. The proprietor there, Ethan, is the nervous Fae type. He wants peace at all costs and will broker information for the grant of protection.”

  His enforcer smiled. “We can do that.”

  “Francois, man . . . I thought we had a deal?” Dexter flung the lid off the pristine, mahogany coffin that was placed on a central marble stand within the master bedroom. T
he Vampire within it awakened with a belligerent hiss. “Thought I might find Etienne in there with you. Coulda gotten two for the price of one.”

  A wicked smile tugged at Barbara’s misshapen snout as she flipped on the wall light.

  Francois immediately went to the gold-leaf frescoed ceiling near the crystal chandelier, arched, and spit like a treed cat wearing a paisley silk robe. The crimson fabric dangled precariously from his pale, upside-down, athletic frame as he bared fangs in a rage.

  “How dare you violate my mansion! Where’s my manservant?” Francois’s irises became coal-black orbs of gleaming fury.

  Dexter chuckled and spit out a small bone and a piece of gristle that had still been lodged in his teeth. “Tasty, although a bit old for my liking. Too chewy.”

  “You . . . swine . . .” Francois glanced around nervously at the gang of infected Shadow Wolves that were amusedly fingering his timeless keepsakes and damaging the expensive upholstery on his Louis XIX furnishings. He watched, mute and furious, as Dexter rounded his four-posted bed and yanked on the satin cord that moved the velvet drape to expose four nude and very dead society women.

  “I understand that you have gorgeous gardens here, Francois,” Dexter said in a low, laughing growl as he stalked to the window on his bent hind legs and clasped his clawed hands behind his back. He faced the heavily draped window, the threat implicit. “Acres of antebellum grandeur, Spanish moss–laden trees . . . so pretty in the daylight.”