Sentinels: Wolf Hunt

by Doranna Durgin

  The woman looked at Jet and smiled, lipstick suddenly looking far too starkly red and her expression full of cruel dare. Her hand trailed along the arm of the lab assistant, making the reason for her grudge all too clear, and she picked up a short, weighted leather whip from the instrument table.

  Just play it quiet, Nick told Jet, knowing she couldn’t hear him…unable to stop himself from trying. My people will be here.

  He hoped. He wished.

  For there was no telling if anyone at brevis had truly understood what he’d been trying to say to Annorah. Follow the problem to the source. Or, if they had, that they could then locate this place. He had no doubt it was shielded and under dampers, just as Gausto had claimed. And while he had faith in Lyn, he also knew she had to be within a certain distance to detect such obscured trace.

  If Gausto had used their stealth technique, she’d damned well have to be right on top of them.

  Gausto said, “Vasilisa, we’ll be quite busy here this afternoon. On your way back, please bring a cache of the quiet blanks. Hurry, if you will.” So casually spoken, the request held a world of menace behind it.

  Vasilisa hastened to respond, reaching Jet with nononsense stride of high boot heels against concrete—taking her arm in a less-than-gentle grip and wrenching her around to leave.

  Play it quiet, Nick told her, trying to keep the desperation from his thoughts—trying to keep the effort from his face. My people will be here. Jet. Trying to keep you safe, Jet—

  Jet didn’t even look at him as the woman led her out.

  Nick jerked to sudden attention at Gausto’s voice, grunting at the pain the movement brought—realizing then that he’d drifted away. The workroom had gone quiet, aside from Gausto’s unexpected voice—a cell phone voice, the kind used by clueless people in public places talking about their intimate doings, their surgeries, their recent intestinal upsets, or their sexual indiscretions…as if no one else would notice, or perhaps as if everyone else should care.

  In this case, Nick cared. Nick cared greatly.

  It wasn’t often he had the chance to eavesdrop on a conversation between the Septs Prince and one of his misbehaving drozhars.

  “Completely under control,” he was saying—and anyone dropping by at just that moment might conclude the same. The workroom was back to status quo—clean, tidy, and relatively quiet. Only the occasional whine from the three remaining wolves…the occasional moan from the creatures who had once been human or wolf. The dogs had gone silent…too worn for any continuing protest. There was only Eduard’s battered appearance—and that, too, was much improved by Vasilisa’s ministrations. “The night’s operations are still playing out, but they are so far a great success. My preparations were painstaking, my prince—the Sentinels were caught unaware.”

  When had his eyes closed? Nick forced them open again. Gausto stood in the middle of the cavernous room, legs braced, eyes on the ceiling as he spoke. “I took every precaution. Even if they catch my inside woman, they can’t trace her. I used the quiet workings with every contact. No, no—she’s utterly reliable. I’ve been grooming her since childhood—one of my very first. She has no idea—no, she thinks it’s her idea to work with us. But she knows nothing.” A moment of listening, of nodding. “Yes, my prince—Anthony has more skills and complete dedication. But I felt it better not to risk exposing him.”

  Anthony.

  Anthony?

  Nick lost his focus on Gausto, too startled by that news—too full of self-recrimination. Right under my nose. The consul’s exec.

  “Berger,” Gausto was saying, words with such derision behind them that they pushed through Nick’s thoughts. “That fool. He didn’t have a clue. Not even after the last adjutant didn’t survive finding Anthony at work.” A pause. “I don’t see any way to cover our involvement with Carter’s death. But why bother? He came to me…he meant me harm.” There was smug satisfaction in that voice, as it took truth and spun out a story. “I have no idea what provoked him, but of course my men defended me.” Then, more matter-of-factly, “We’ll make sure the condition of the body supports that story.”

  Well, that was only to be expected. But it wasn’t what Nick desperately wanted to hear from this conversation. He wanted to know more about the operations instigated during the night. He wanted to know what was still in play, what had happened to his Sentinels, who had survived.

  Who hadn’t.

  Gausto wasn’t the least accommodating. “Yes, my prince. Regular reports. Once I twist what I can out of—” A pause. Nick watched Gausto through slitted eyes, saw his countenance change, his mouth tightening and his brows drawing down. None of that was reflected in his voice. “I understand. I’ll…keep it simple.”

  Nick didn’t need translation for that. The Septs Prince had just laid down the law. Don’t play with your food. Get it done.

  A clang on the kennel bars jerked him to alertness; he sucked in breath at a slash of pain, biting back on the growl that wanted out so badly. He opened his eyes to Gausto—the phone gone, the man intent on his prize.

  He’d lost time again.

  “Time to talk.” Gausto inserted a key into the lock that held this kennel secure—a prison that had, unlike the others, always been meant to hold human as well as animal. The door swung wide in invitation.

  Options. Not great. Staying here until he regained some strength wouldn’t be allowed. Emerging into that workroom…

  Well, nothing good would come of it.

  “You’re going to die, of course,” Gausto said. If he showed regret, Nick was certain it came from the directives to keep it simple. An uncomplicated death.

  In a way, ironically appropriate. It was Jet, after all, who had pared away all the complications of his life and given him what was important. Jet, whom Gausto had made.

  Maybe a little of that growl made its way to Nick’s throat after all. “Of course.”

  “Consider yourself lucky.” Disgruntled resentment showed in the turn of Gausto’s mouth. “It’ll only be as bad as you make it.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Nick said, without moving.

  “You realize, of course, that your cooperation is almost incidental at this point. What I’ve accomplished here…” Gausto shrugged, as if it hardly needed to be said. Behind him, the lab assistant glanced over, and the look on his face said it all: Gausto was taking credit for his work. “The truth is, I’ve done what I wanted. I’ve slashed through your brevis. I’ve got a man safe on the inside. Marlee’s usefulness may be at an end, but she’s served her purpose.”

  Marlee Cerrosa? Nondescript, full-bodied, pretty features and a sense of permanent hesitation? Light of Sentinel blood—worked down in tech support.

  Tech support. With the skills and aptitude to cause the troublesome internal systems issues they’d experienced since Nick had come on as adjutant.

  Marlee Cerrosa. Damn.

  “Truly, this conversation of ours is one to which you’ll want to pay attention.” Gausto’s face held a mixture of amusement and annoyance; Nick realized he’d faded away again. “You may even find it advantageous to participate.”

  Nick shook off the entangling fog. “Blame yourself. If you wanted clever repartee, you should have gone light on the juice.”

  “Probably true.” Gausto’s regret seemed real. “I was relying on that inconvenient Sentinel bounce-back.”

  So was I.

  “Of course, there was the amulet. What did you do to it, exactly? That’s the first question. Then we’ll get into your current field Sentinels, your plans for the Core, and other such things.”

  “No,” Nick said. “We won’t.”

  Gausto gave the exam table a meaningful glance. “Did I not explain clearly enough how much my prince wants you dead and disposed of?”

  “Clear,” Nick said. “Not convincing.” He looked past Gausto to where Eduard had laid out his stash of amulets on the other table, smoothing the defining thongs and ribbons, sorting and touching them al
l. For the first time, he saw the mini-amulets about which Sentinel specialists had speculated.

  Gausto followed his gaze. “Ah,” he said. “The right series of intention amulets combined with the correct stored energy, all invoked with the correct timing and imprinted on the final piece…it’s an art.” He scowled at Nick, quite suddenly. “An art your people took away from me, requiring me to rely on those with lesser imagination.”

  The lab tech stiffened infinitesimally, never pausing in his task.

  “But you made the stealth amulets anyway,” Nick guessed.

  Gausto laughed. “Do you really think you’re going to get all the answers, just because you’re about to die? Give me some credit. We’ll play this hard and fast, and then you’ll die.”

  We’ll see about that. Nick scraped around inside himself, looking for reserves. Preparing himself. “And Jet?”

  “Jet,” Gausto said, “is mine.”

  Nick lost control of his voice, of the snarl in it. “You’ve gutted her.”

  “Don’t worry about Jet.” He pulled an amulet from his pocket, stroking his thumb over it in a reverent fashion. “She’s earned a place here—she was the first step to this masterpiece. With this, the Sentinels will lose what little advantage they ever had over us.”

  He means it. He believes it.

  The most dangerous of zealots.

  “Come then,” Gausto said. He gestured, and two men peeled away from their position at the door, instantly responsive. “I want to know how you overcame my amulets.”

  You can’t be serious. Marlee had said it out loud once; now it rang in her head—over and over and over. As she struggled into a flak jacket. As she was outfitted with a stun gun and admonished not to put herself in a position where she’d have to use it. As Meghan pulled a pair of lightweight sneakers from the ops outfitting closet and shoved them at her.

  It was her own fault. She’d answered their question—the one she’d been dreading. The why did you do it.

  “Because I’m afraid of you!” she’d finally shouted at them. And once her mouth was open, it stayed open—revealing her fear of their strength, her awareness of how they abused it.

  “Fine,” Lyn had said. “Then maybe it’s time you came out to see how things really happen in the field.”

  There had been some protest, of course. Ryan, saying she’d get hurt. Treviño, saying she’d get in the way. Maks, saying nothing…but saying it with a scowl. And then Meghan, exchanging a look with Lyn and slowly nodding.

  And Lyn, intractable.

  She’d been serious, all right. Serious enough so Marlee now huddled in the middle seat of the hybrid SUV as they headed north on I-10. Lyn commanded, “Take this exit!” and Treviño made an unflappable shift through two lanes of traffic to do it, and Ryan said, “Nothing’s moving, but it’s doing that wrong,” and Maks looked grimly satisfied.

  Marlee could only guess that Nick had kicked off enough amulet activity to make Gausto’s formerly hidden home base evident.

  You can’t be serious.

  But Lyn had been. And she still was.

  Marlee just hoped it wouldn’t be deadly.

  Vasilisa’s fingers felt like claws in Jet’s arm; the hallway moved too quickly around them. Her eyes didn’t perceive as they had when wolf…her legs felt strangely absent, as if any call for action would result in no response at all. From wolf to wolf-human to human alone…

  Three different existences, and the only one that felt right was the one that tied her to Nick.

  The man who had just dismissed her.

  But he’d tried to say something to her in the workroom, in those brief moments she was wolf—she was sure of it. And then Gausto had taken the wolf away, and she’d felt nothing.

  But she was sure—

  No. I want to be sure of it.

  Maybe that was okay, too.

  Maybe a wolf whose world had been changed so many times, in so many ways, had to believe in what pulled at her heart.

  Believe in me. Believe in Nick.

  Humans had strange ways. She wouldn’t try to understand them right now. She would simply do what was right, when it was right.

  Vasilisa snatched the chains that hung from Jet’s new collar, jerking them. “Pay attention, little bitch.” She hefted a long leather whip with a weighted flap on the end. “You made a mistake when you hurt my Eduard—or don’t you see that the drozhar rewards me with this duty?”

  Even without her wolf, Jet knew how to shadow prey. She fell in beside Vasilisa, anticipating rather than following, movements smooth and predatorial and not the least bit submissive. Vasilisa, foolish one, did not note the difference.

  She took Jet down past her bare little room and through a door into a hall where Jet had never been, one that felt like a part of the main house. Inside the highceilinged room she entered, she shoved Jet away and went swiftly to the two-door wooden cabinet against the wall. Opulent wood, opulent furnishings…all dark, rich colors and textured walls and thick carpet with an oriental carpet layered over. As Jet moved to follow her—shadow her—Vasilisa shoved her back. “Wait there.”

  Jet felt the loss of herself a little too keenly to growl. But she narrowed her eyes in a way that any human should have noted.

  And maybe Vasilisa did, at that. She used a key to open the cabinet, targeting a single drawer of the many and withdrawing from that a heavy pouch before relocking the cabinet. “Eduard deserves the same respect you show the drozhar,” she said, with a significance that let Jet know this was why she was in this room—to learn this thing. “He is the one who has developed the new amulets for which the drozhar takes credit. In the future, you will remember that.”

  What Jet would remember was that these amulets were significant. And that Gausto had asked Vasilisa to bring quiet blanks.

  Stealth amulets, before the workings were placed.

  She’d looked at them a little too hard; a little too long. Startlingly hot pain streaked along her arm; the sharp smack of it made her jump.

  “Now, do you understand?” Vasilisa drew the flat, heavy end of the stick gently down Jet’s arm—over the torn spot she’d just made in Nick’s shirt, her voice smug. “Your respect and obedience is expected at all times.”

  And Jet said nothing, absorbing the pain…absorbing the situation.

  Vasilisa’s first mistake had been hitting her. But her second was to take Jet’s silence as acquiescence.

  Because Jet might be missing her wolf, but it became clearer—every second, every minute—that she was nonetheless still very much herself.

  Vasilisa gestured at the door, giving Jet no time to respond before shoving her at it, her mouth flattened by a grim little smile. She’d liked that first taste of power, it seemed. Enough to shove Jet again when they turned back into the basement, and again as they approached the door to Jet’s room.

  And then Jet had had enough. She turned.

  The whip cracked down sharply on her shoulder; she growled deep, and rejoiced to feel it in her chest and soul. The part of her that no man, no woman, no Core amulet, could ever take away.

  And this woman had not earned her respect; had not proven herself dominant. Had not shown she could handle any part of the wolf.

  Vasilisa must have seen it in Jet—in her eyes, in her face. Alarm flashed; the whip flashed. Jet raised her shoulders and crouched ever so slightly, eyeing Vasilisa from beneath tipped and lowered brow, and for an instant they stood frozen—Vasilisa’s hand drawn back for another blow, Jet balanced between obedience and defiance, a growl still in her throat.

  And then Nick cried out. A sound full of agony and defiance both, a sound wrenched from an unwilling body, long and drawn and choked at the end. The sound of a man far beyond what any should ever endure.

  Fear flickered across Vasilisa’s face.

  And then Nick cried out.

  Indecision no more.

  Cold liquid splashed in his face and down his shoulders; Nick sputtered, choking. More tha
n water—bitter, stinging, creeping into cuts and bruises and flaring to fiery life as it pooled beneath his back. He couldn’t lift his head to clear his nose and mouth; inexorable restraint pulled at his throat, a thin band of cold metal stapling him down to this cold table.

  The exam table.

  He twisted his head aside, desperate for a clear breath; the onslaught stopped and a bucket clanged to the floor.

  “Did no one ever teach you it’s rude to pass out during a conversation?” Gausto asked.

  Dolan Treviño had faced this man. Meghan Lawrence. Joe Ryan and Lyn Maines.

  And Nick had sent them out to do it. He could damn well take his turn. He blinked his eyes open, squinting against the light that fractured off drops on his lashes. Gausto, looming above him. The exam table beneath him. His blood, still oozing out to mix with the tainted water, clammy at his bare back. Thin metal restraints at his neck, his wrists, his ankles, biting into flesh.

  Restraints not made for Sentinel strength.

  “Pay attention,” Gausto snapped. He dangled an amulet between them—reminder and threat. “And consider telling me just how you defeated my workings these past two days. Those workings were developed specifically for you…matched to you. There’s no way you simply shook them off.”

  No. Nothing simple about it.

  “If your Sentinels have developed a new ward—”

  You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? But Nick didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t remind Gausto of how Meghan Lawrence had trapped him, permanently warding him from the use of power—and at his own command, although he hadn’t realized it at the time.

  Then again, he didn’t need to say it out loud. His face must have shown it. Gausto’s brows grew thunderous and close; his mouth tightened. “How,” he said, and dropped the amulet on Nick’s bare stomach.