Jack&Teague [& Katy] stories 1-5

by Amy Lane

  “What in the fuck…”

  “I’ve got more than one weapon!” Jack protested, and then it was his boxers on the ground and a big brown wolf in his place.

  I looked at Teague in shock and exasperation, and Teague started swearing—his face, which had been calm and emotionless, was suddenly bathed in the absolute stink of fear-sweat.

  “Goddammit, Jacky—you stay behind me, you hear? It’s not just the wolves out there… do you see the vampires? Do you think our other carload is going to be helpless? It’s going to be a full-on battle, and the last thing they need is another goddamned fucking…”

  One of their werewolves arrived, and instead of skulking outside in the grass, the dumb fucker threw himself at Teague, who would have taken him out, fear or no fear, except Jack threw himself in front and got into a wolf-fight with a junkyard dog.

  Even the arrival of the other car—and the mayhem that Marcus, Phillip, and Nicky started to inflict the minute they got out of it—didn’t distract Teague from the snapping yowl-fest going on in front of him. When Jack got thrown, head first and bleeding, to the ground at Teague’s feet, his slender control over his panic, over the side of him that could, apparently, feel worry without reserve, poing-snapped.

  We all but heard it, and in a second we saw it in the smooth transition from man to furious, angry wolf. It was the only time I’d seen someone do that so well, he didn’t even get tangled up in his own clothes.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, and Nicky fluttered next to me. We heard the occasional random shot, but it seemed to be aimed above our heads, at the rest of Cory’s vampires as they milled around in the sky, looking for a target. There was a ratting of gunfire and a sudden pain in my shoulder.

  “Fuck!” I was whirled back into the car, and in a burst of temper I held my hand out towards the direction of the gunfire. I don’t know if it was the guy firing the gun or not, but a wave of gore exploded out of someone’s mouth, nose, ears, and bowels and I sidestepped as the wave splattered into the side of the SUV.

  “Jesus, Bracken—are you okay?” Nicky turned to me in absolute fear.

  “Fucking swell,” I snarled, and my shoulder felt like a big stinking acid pyre. Nicky reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those little bottles of cold-iron cleanser that Green had started to make as we’d been forced to defend our larger territory. Without saying anything and trusting that I wouldn’t make him hold me down, he forced me back against the SUV. He had a were-creature’s strength—ripping my shirt was not a problem, and with a brief examination, he took the little bottle and dumped it onto my skin.

  “It was a through and through,” he muttered, squeezing out a dollop onto his finger and poking it into the hole left by the bullet, “but you’re blistering, so I’m gonna assume it’s not silver.” I gritted my teeth—the fire was gone, replaced by the normal excruciating pain of having your flesh invaded by a foreign object soaked in salt-water. My vision went dark for a second, and I had to close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing for a couple of moments.

  The wound was bad enough to keep bleeding without some help from another sidhe, but when my vision had cleared, I could feel the wellness brought on by the cleanse. I put my hand on Nicky’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “Thank you, brother,” I murmured, and I was brought back into the battle by a snarl from Teague and a yelp from another goddamned enemy werewolf who was running away from Teague with his tail between his legs.

  “Check Jack,” I muttered, not wanting to make the puppy bleed out. Teague had seemed reluctant to bring his partner in on our little adventures—I could see why now. I wondered how the two of them had stayed alive for so long, but one of the other wolves yelped and ran tearing into the brush and I stopped wondering.

  Teague really was fierce enough for two men.

  Nicky crouched down—he was pretty panicked--he’d lost his leather jacket and shoes in transition, and his brightly colored socks form Cory were now getting full of stickers. He gave Jack a little pat and checked his eyes. “He’ll be fine,” he said with certainty. “He’s healing right now…still breathing, it’s all good.”

  “Excellent,” I muttered. “Tell Teague that!”

  I watched as one of the vampires picked up a werewolf, bled him and dropped him about twenty yards away. I was irritated enough to stick my hand out and call the damned thing’s blood anyway, and there wasn’t even a whimper as his plasma spattered all the brush and long weeds between the dead thing and us. Awesome—it was good when my power came in handy—not so great when I was afraid to stop the big werewolf fight in case I made Teague bleed out.

  La Mark landed next to us in time to say, “Ewwwww…” And I looked up to realize that we had ended up in a little island, occupied by of three of our most vulnerable fighters, a werewolf on a mental/steroidal vacation, and me. The walking Ebola virus.

  Fucking wonderful. I continued to look for wounded wolves so I could suck their blood out from fifty feet away (which I was pissed off enough to do with ease, in spite of the wicked pain of my own wound) and Nicky picked up one of Teague’s abandoned guns and stood at my back, firing when a target made itself available. He’d gotten off about five shots when he said, “Goddess I suck. I really need to get out to the firing range with Cory!”

  And then Max’s Mustang skidded into the once deserted field. I was tall enough to see the doors open and the cavalry spill out. Nicky got off two more shots as Phillip and Marcus landed to tell Cory what was going on, and I could see well enough in the dark to read the expression on her face.

  “I’m sure she’ll make sure you get out there,” I said mildly. Nicky looked over my shoulder and swore. She’d started to glow, and then she reached out with that deadly sunshine force-field and used it as a scythe. There were two werewolf yelps and she was cocking her guns and heading for us with a face like the Grim Fucking Reaper himself.

  “Oh fuck.” He punctuated the oath with a shot, and judging by the yelp, he hit his first target. “She will never fucking let us live this down.”

  Teague snarled and I heard a bone crunch. One of his opponents yelped and limped off into the blood-soaked violent dark. Casually, I reached over Nicky’s shoulder and pulled the life-force out of the retreating werewolf with a vicious yank. My shoulder pounded and my vision went a little skewed.

  “Nope,” I said, my heart at my toes. “I think the little woman is going to be making us into little men for a very long time.”

  Teague

  I Am Wolf

  Jacky wasn’t moving. Jacky wasn’t moving. Not moving meant not breathing. Jacky wasn’t moving.

  Teague was violence.

  He was teeth, he was claws, he was death, he was blood. He was the ravaging snarling ragged scythe that would reap the entire fucking world until the earth bled, the sky bled, the moon bled…

  Bite snap chew rip tear shred kill bite chew tear kill shred kill bite kill claw kill bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed bleed fucking bleed kill die I WILL FUCKING MURDER THE FUCKING WORLD!!!!!!

  Teague tasted blood and it was sweet, and the rage in his eyes was sweet and the dead and the dying fur and flesh in his teeth was sweet and all that was violence was sweet because Jacky was… Jacky was… Jacky was…

  “HE’S ALIVE GODDAMMIT, HE’S ALIVE, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER, COME BACK TO US!”

  Strong arms grabbed him, strong arms ripped his enemies away and flung them over shoulders as though they were heaps of mud. A hand—a cold hand with tendons and sinews like chilled steel cord—grasped his muzzle and held it shut, and there was a smell and a voice and Teague’s growling never stopped but his struggles to kill, to savage, to maim to hurt….

  Eased their rampant hold on his body.

  Someone was speaking—someone was shouting—and she was important… she was Teauge’s alpha and she was speaking Jacky’s name.

  “Jack’s alive! Jack’s alive, Teague, but I need you! I need someone who can shoot so knock this bullshit off and
remember you’re a fucking human being, dammit!”

  The blood haze eased up in front of Teague’s eyes, and he groped for words… groped for memories of what his alpha wanted.

  He looked down at the ground and saw a lovely wolf, a beta, his beta… his beloved… and then he saw him as he was, a tall, loose-limbed young man with dreamy blue eyes and a shy smile… the wolf breathed, the young man—his young man lived, and the tightness, the terrible suffocation of rage loosened it’s grip on Teague’s chest, and he stopped struggling…

  And turned.

  The vampires dropped him and he landed naked on the ground in a crouch. He could hardly look at Jacky, but he was very much himself. His next words were crystal clear.

  “I need my pants and my fucking gun.”

  Cory smiled, a terrible strain in her face and slapped his cheek lightly. There was a patter of gunfire thirty or forty yards away, and she flinched and turned around to the others.

  When the hell had they gotten there? Teague didn’t ask—he took one look at Jacky—watched his chest heave in and out, watch the wounds heal, leaving the pale skin unblemished—and then struggled into his pants.

  “Max—you armed?”

  “Yup-yup.” Max slid in a full clip and readied the gun to fire.

  “Nicky—give the gun to Teague…”

  “Thank God!”

  “Did I give you permission to speak?” A barely leashed anger was there, ready to jump out and savage the throats of its loved ones, and Teague eyed her appreciatively. She could barely even look at Bracken, and he was flat eyed and patient, cradling a bloodied shoulder, ready for the storm to break over his head.

  “No ma’am. Nope. Sorry.” Nicky could not have sucked up any more thoroughly, and her flat-eyed steely look was enough to make Teague damned glad he’d come to himself in time to help.

  But he wouldn’t think about what he’d been in the meantime.

  Teague took the gun from a sheepish Nicky, checked the chamber and stood on the outer edge of the circle, facing out. Cory and Max were doing the same thing, with the un-armed Avians and the two elves in the center.

  “Where’s Mario?” Max asked.

  Cory looked up. “See him there?” Teague looked up and saw Mario, circling lazily in the light of… yeah. Wait. Where was the blue glow coming from?

  “Yeah,” Max said.

  “Don’t shoot him. He wants some action. We’ll try to give him some.” The blue glow intensified, and Teague realized that it was coming from her. There was a bright blue glowing ball of nothing, hovering over her head, flickering with her emotions. Well damn. He kept forgetting she could do shit like that.

  “Lambent!” she snapped, drawing Teague’s attention from the glow.

  “Yes, my liege?” Lambent was right next to Bracken, wrapping his shoulder with the remains of Brack’s ripped T-shirt.

  Teague risked a glance at the guy and saw that he was being snarky and sarcastic—but that he was also very sincere about serving. Okay… good to know the guy could have your back.

  “Is…” Cory swallowed, and Teague knew what she was feeling, knew what she was fighting to stand upright and issue orders. “Is he going to be all right?”

  “I’m fine, due’ane,” Bracken whispered. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” she choked, still maintaining her crouch and staring out at the night, keeping them safe. “I can’t. Oh Goddess, you asshole…” She wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “Lambent?” she asked, with some more control. Something moved out in front of the SUV. She waited a moment, did something in her head, and then raised her gun and shot.

  “He’s fine, luvie. Your bird-man here got to him before the cold-iron could do more than piss him off.” Lambent’s voice was almost gentle. Jesus, thought Teague, how in the hell had the world gotten so fucked up? “He’s still in the fight if you need him.”

  She risked a look at Bracken, and the force of their eyes colliding almost shattered the air. But her voice was crisp when she spoke next, and Teague was glad he wouldn’t be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

  “Good. Thanks Lambent. Go help Jacky get on his feet—and be prepared. We’re going to need clean-up, and I don’t think too many of these guys are walking away.”

  The elf’s voice went sinuous and greedy, and he said “Fire?” in the same way another man might have said “Heroin?” or “Gold?”

  “Yeah, fire later, heal first, you hear me cave-man?” Cory’s ice-cold gaze cut through Lambent’s heated lust, and the elf swallowed and nodded. He dropped to his knees and touched Jack’s ruff, and Jack started to whine.

  “Teague!” Cory snapped, and Teague pulled his attention to her with a snap. “You want to get the fuck out of here?”

  “Amen to that, Lady.” He concentrated solely on her.

  “Good—then listen to me and follow my lead.” Her mind was abruptly elsewhere—Teague had learned to recognize that look. It meant she was talking to someone else in her head, and it was obvious the conversation was fierce.

  “Bracken, can you do the voice thing that Green can?” she asked without looking at him.

  “Probably not on command,” he told her, and she humphed.

  “Oh well…” and then the blue glow intensified around them—Teague recognized it as the shield it was. Cory drew in a breath, firmed up her diaphragm, and shouted in a voice that carried.

  “ALL RIGHT, MOTHERFUCKERS, YOU LISTEN UP! THERE’S A LOT OF DEAD YOU AND A LOT OF LIVE US. YOU WANT TO SURVIVE RIGHT NOW, YOU DROP TO THE GROUND, PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS AND FUCKING STAY THERE UNTIL I TELL YOU ANY FUCKING DIFFERENT, YOU HEAR ME? FROM THIS MOMENT ON, WE’RE SHOOTING ANYTHING THAT MOVES!”

  There was some serious rustling in the brush, and some of the dark forms that had been lurking beyond their site in the tall grasses disappeared from sight.

  Others started to advance on their position.

  Cory led with the first shot, and then Max saw one and then Teague. They fired carefully and precisely—all of them ignoring the enemy’s bullets as they bounced off her furious shielding. Suddenly Cory barked an order, “Teague, hold.” Phillip swooped in and disappeared into the weeds. When he swooped out, he had a wolf by the scruff of its neck, which he flew off with to leave by the other cars. Teague saw the gleam of a knife fall to the ground, and Cory said, “Teague, resume.”

  They continued like that, quiet, accurate, deadly, taking relatively few shots, but making sure that every shot was accompanied by a yelp and a silence. Cory called for one or the other of them to hold three or four more times, and then she called, “Stand down. We’re done. The live ones are by the other cars, the dead ones are in the grass. Jack, how you doing?”

  “I’m fine, Cory. Teague…”

  Teague couldn’t even look at him, even though his legs went rubbery with relief. “Later, Jacky,” he barked, still looking out into the gray shadows of the tall grass. Someone—Nicky maybe—dumped the rest of his clothes into his arms and handed him his waffle-stompers. He grunted thanks, but kept his back turned.

  “We’re done here,” Cory muttered. She couldn’t look at Bracken and Nicky either—Teague could see that. Her jaw was working, her eyes were trying to squeeze shut—but neither of them could look at their lovers. Not now. Not when they’d so blatantly put themselves in danger.

  “I’ve got to go talk to the vampires,” she said to no one in particular.

  “There’s a werewolf in our SUV,” Bracken told her practically, and she nodded.

  “Deal with him. You, Max, Jack—you guys take this car back. La Mark, Nicky, Lambent—take the spare SUVs back. Somebody besides Bracken drive, please.” She glanced upwards. “I’m gonna go let Mario beat the shit out of someone.”

  Bracken, brave soul that he was, risked putting his hand on her arm. “Beloved…”

  She turned a fierce gaze on him, and although he didn’t stagger back, he did blink slowly, as though h
e hadn’t been ready for the force of her undammed anger and relief. Wordlessly her hand came out and feathered the gentlest, shakiest touch on his shoulder, it was as though that terrible glare had never existed. But when she met his eyes and he managed to look sheepish, she shook her head in anger.

  “Yeah,” she snarled. “I thought so. Give me some fucking space, Bracken Brine. I don’t want to say anything we can chew on for a year, right?” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and Jack took that moment to say weakly, “Teague?”

  Teague still couldn’t look at him. If he caved and looked, saw that pretty face with the fair skin and the dreamy eyes looking all hurt, he’d lose it. He’d come apart here on the field and he was tired, so fucking tired of being naked for the whole goddamned world to see.

  “I’m going with her,” he muttered, and he knew it would hurt, knew it would be like a knife punch to Jack’s heart, but just like Cory, he couldn’t hold his beloved… just couldn’t hold him. Couldn’t check his fair skin to see that he was okay for real. He couldn’t. He had to hold it together, had to let that terrible blinding pressure in his chest squeeze all his emotions in and keep him from coming apart.

  As they stalked away through the path in the grass she’d apparently made when she arrived, he almost tripped on a young man’s body—it looked like it had been cleanly scythed in half by width. Behind him he heard Jack repeat his name, “Teague?” and Bracken (grunting a little with effort—probably giving a hand up) said, “They need to cool off, Jack—Jesus, can’t you tell they’re trying not to strangle us as it is?”

  Teague knew how the dead werewolf felt then, didn’t he?

  “We can do this,” she muttered. “We can hold it together until we get to the hill. It’ll be safe to cut loose when we get to the hill.”

  “Never safe,” Teague muttered back, and he was surprised when she stopped long enough to turn to him. They were both short enough that the tall grasses covered their heads, and for a moment, he felt like he was in a safe, quiet closet. The kind of place he used to hide from his father. Cory was safe to him—she would protect him from the violence whirling around in his anguished heart.