The Strip

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Down below, Malcolm Cole took a sharp left off of North Rainbow and onto Grand Teton drive without even slowing for the red light. Jessie couldn’t hear them, of course, but he could imagine that the drivers of the cars he now watched spin out of control and come to a stop on the median and shoulders were honking their brains out.

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered to himself as Cole then took another sharp turn, going from Grand Teton to Bird Rock street at a devil’s pace. Bird Rock was the entrance to the Silverstone Golf Club.

  Before Jessie could really wonder how Cole was going to locate the address he had without knowing the street lay out, Cole had wound his way to the right, cut another left at Passadera street… and then sliced through someone’s yard to head full-speed across the very expensive, very well-tended golf course beyond.

  “Oh, hell no,” Jessie muttered, his amber eyes wide with disbelief. This wasn’t going to go over well with the Overseer. And, for some inexplicable reason, that made Jessie smile.

  He shook his head as Cole’s motorcycle managed to wind around a sand pit, avoid a small pond, and narrowly miss running over several elderly, over-dressed men. The Harley Davidson finished expertly wedging out pieces of the green on the golf course and then veered right, carving through another manicured lawn.

  “Crazy son of a bitch,” Jessie grinned.

  Then his smile disappeared because Malcolm Cole hit asphalt once more and turned the bike directly toward a large adobe-style house on the corner of two perpendicular streets. He wasn’t slowing.

  “Oh, tell me he isn’t going to-”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. The breath was stolen from his lungs as he watched Cole’s bike hit the curb, take to the air, and crash head-long through the house’s front floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Chapter Thirteen, The Stakes

  Malcolm knew he wouldn’t be able to cross the boundary himself. It was Phelan’s house and therefore Phelan’s territory, and no other alpha would be able to cross into it. But the bike could. And the explosives in the bike’s saddle bags would make it in as well.

  He jumped the lawn and punched the throttle, leaning heavily to the right as the bike slid out from beneath him, continuing in its forward momentum. As he hit the lawn and rolled, he heard the sound of glass shattering and the sudden, loud crash of heavy machinery sliding to a violent halt across an empty living room.

  It took a minute for the stunned fuzziness to fade from Malcolm’s consciousness, but as it ebbed, he listened carefully, wondering how long it would take for the house’s inhabitants to realize that the Harley had been strapped with C4.

  Not long, apparently, because, just as Malcolm was making it back to his feet again, the garage door splintered open behind the roaring sound of a V8 engine and a lot of gasoline.

  Cole instinctively turned and covered his face as the wooden planks splintered and shredded and went flying in a million stake-like shards of shrapnel. None of them hit him, miraculously, and he lowered his arm to peer across the yard at the black Shelby Cobra that had squealed into the street and come to a full stop.

  The monster engine idled loudly. From over the top of the driver’s wheel, Gabriel Phelan glared at Malcolm. Green eyes met blue, electrifying the distance between them. Time slowed down.

  Charlie was in the back seat, held fast by a young man with black hair. The passenger seat was empty.

  Malcolm’s gaze skirted from Phelan to Charlie and held. His heart hammered hard in his chest. She peered at him steadily. There was fear there, in those ice-blue pools, but there was also relief. Rebelliousness. Rage.

  She gazed out at him and fairly dared him to do everything and anything he could to kill Gabriel Phelan – even if it meant that she be taken out as well.

  Gabriel shifted, taking the beast of a car into first gear, and Cole growled. He rushed forward, at once all instinct and hatred. But before he’d taken two strides toward the shining black vehicle, a silver-white wolf slammed into him from the side, taking him once more to the ground.

  As he hit and rolled, he flashed into wolf form, extending his claws to find purchase in something solid around him.

  Tires squealed and the Cobra roared by just before the two wolves went rolling out into the street.

  * * * * *

  “Keeping up the low profile.” Jessie shook his head as he gazed down at the spectacle of the two giant wolves locked in combat in the mansion’s front lawn, and the black Mustang that had just crashed through its own garage and was tearing away down the street.

  Cole and Phelan were creating one hell of a spectacle in Las Vegas, Nevada. Fuck it, he thought. “Follow the car!” he ordered into his headset. Then he turned around in the chopper’s small cabin. Along one wall, several firearms of different caliber had been racked. They were always loaded, as they were rather useless otherwise. Among the weapons was a .270 Winchester rifle. He yanked it off of its hooks and spun back around.

  Below, the Cobra was turning a sharp right, its wheels hugging the asphalt with incredible ease. The car seemed completely at home beneath the demand of its handling and speed and gripped the street with effortless efficiency.

  But Jessie could take care of that.

  He brought the weapon up, cradled it against his right shoulder, and peered down the scope’s sights. The weapon’s discharge cracked loudly, even over the sound of the helicopter’s blades, but the recoil was nothing against Jessie’s shoulder. And the bullet hit its mark.

  Below, the Shelby Cobra veered slightly off course, its front left tire blown to shreds and hanging by thin straps of rubber to its metal rim.

  * * * *

  “Son of a bitch!” Gabriel hissed as he felt the front tire go and adjusted his steering to keep them on course. “Take the chopper out!” He barked the order at the warlock, who was holding Charlie by her upper arms, his grip tighter than it strictly needed to be.

  The warlock grinned at that and released her, focusing his attention on the helicopter that hovered above them. He began to chant.

  Charlie rubbed her bruised arms for a moment, watching him with wide eyes. Then her gaze narrowed. In the next instant, she was leaning forward and bringing her left elbow back with sharp, hard focus, driving in with as much strength as she could maneuver in this position. Her elbow struck the warlock directly on the nose, shoving his head back into the black leather of the seat behind him.

  Seth instantly covered his face with his hands. His chanting ceased immediately and whatever spell he had been attempting was broken. From behind his palms, he glared at her, the indigo in his eyes shifting and lightening to become more purple, as if the blue was leaking out of them to be replaced by red.

  “Don’t even think about it, warlock.” Gabriel peered at him through the rearview mirror and then quickly returned his attention to the road as the helicopter above them seemed to switch positions, hanging back slightly.

  Gabriel cast a dark glance at Charlie over his shoulder. “You just cost Graves his life, sweetheart,” he told her, his tone a dark promise.

  Charlie stared at him and felt no fear. What could he do to her? Whatever he could dish out, she could take. Her gaze narrowed and she cocked her head to one side. “Oh,” she said, “Okay. Then, I guess since he’s dead already, I have nothing to lose by doing this.” With blurring speed, she brought her elbow forward and back once more, again hitting Seth in the nose, just as she had before.

  The warlock made a harsh sound of pain; a roar of anger and barely-checked wrath that bespoke plainly of the serious damage he wanted to inflict upon Charlie.

  She only smiled at him, a saccharine sweetness, and then leaned back in the leather seat to cross her arms over her chest.

  A muscle ticked in Gabriel’s jaw, but he had no time to deal with the situation as the sound of a gun’s report again split the sky and the car beneath them suddenly jerked to the right, nearly ripping the steering wheel out of his grip.

  Gabriel swore vehemently and grabbed the whe
el once more, downshifting as he hit the breaks and took the car over the curb, into a mail box, and across half of a green lawn. They must have hit the sprinkler system as they crossed the grass because the water came on, shooting up and then pouring over the black vehicle like an earth-bound rain storm.

  Gabriel turned in his seat and pinned the warlock with a warning glare. His blue eyes were glowing with sapphire menace.

  “Get the chopper down here, because it’s our ride now.”

  Seth glared back at Phelan and then lowered his hands. Blood smeared half of his handsome face.

  He sat back slowly in his seat and the dichotomy of his calm exterior and the fury she could feel boiling just beneath its surface sent chills through Charlie. She watched as his visage seemed to ripple like the surface of a lake. It was as if someone had taken a Polaroid photograph of him and was holding it behind a waterfall.

  When the rippling stopped, he was whole again and the blood was gone.

  He turned in the seat to pin her with his terrifying black-magic gaze. He was once more as handsome as ever. And his eyes were glowing red.

  * * * *

  Malcolm hissed behind his wolf fangs as the older wolf managed to sink his teeth into a space behind Cole’s shoulder. His bite was strong and deep and sent a shock of pain through Malcolm’s body.

  In answer, he snarled and whipped around, ripping the wolf’s teeth free. He ignored the sound of his own tearing flesh and focused instead on gaining the upper hand.

  The other wolf was older, but he was very strong. There was something familiar about the kind of power that rolled off of him. It was like Malcolm had sensed it before, and just recently. It was recognizable enough that it was nearly distracting and Malcolm had to force himself to concentrate on the logistics of fighting.

  He managed to pull completely out of the other wolf’s grip, though the effort cost both animals deep grooves in their sides, left there by the claws of their opponents.

  They stood facing each other, their muzzles a mere foot apart, their fangs bared, their glowing-eyed visages the very images that children saw in their nightmares.

  So, you think you’re good enough for my niece?

  Cole froze, his hackles up, when the deep voice resonated within his mind. It wasn’t his own voice. He had never heard it before. But it was somehow familiar none the less, and Malcolm knew without a doubt that it was coming from the silver-haired timber wolf in front of him.

  Because I don’t think you are, the voice continued. The older wolf’s amber eyes narrowed above his snarl, as if to punctuate his mental communication. You’ve done a hell of a job so far, Malcolm Cole. The voice seemed to spit out his name, as if it tasted mentally bad.

  Cole growled low in his throat and paced forward, his right paw gaining ground as he hunkered down, his emerald glowing eyes flashing challenge.

  You’re weak, Cole, no matter what my brother says. Only the strongest should mate, the voice continued. You had no business marking my niece. You can’t even protect her.

  Cole’s growl rose in volume and he took another step forward. The wolf across from him backed up a pace. The air was filled with the sound of helicopter blades. Somewhere to their left came the sound of a gun going off. Squealing tires came next, followed by the loud thunk of a collision and then an idling engine.

  Cole never took his eyes off of his opponent. And the silver wolf returned the favor.

  We’re a dying breed, Cole. The voice’s tone held a note of weariness then. We won’t survive unless the best of us reproduce.

  Cole waited, knowing what was coming next.

  And I’ve yet to see any evidence that you’re the best.

  With that, Cole snarled one last time and then, in a move that most likely thoroughly confused the other wolf, Malcolm turned around and darted off in the other direction toward the waiting, sprinkler-drenched Cobra at the other end of the block.

  He didn’t look over his shoulder to see if the older wolf was following. At the moment, he didn’t care. Something the wolf had said had really gotten under Cole’s skin.

  He hadn’t been able to protect Charlie.

  The silver wolf was right. Nothing was more important than Charlie. Nothing else mattered.

  * * * *

  “Um… boss, I gotta take her down.”

  Jessie glanced up at the pilot. He was looking nervously at his gauges and, now that he mentioned it, Jessie could feel a slight difference in the way the blades were spinning.

  They seemed sluggish. The helicopter was losing altitude.

  Jessie stood in the doorway of the chopper and re-hooked the .270. He nodded at the pilot. “Fine. On the green,” he said. He ripped off his headset and threw it to the side, readying himself for what he knew would be coming.

  The pilot managed to maneuver the helicopter past a few houses beneath him and land it on a smooth roll of grass just beyond the long, extended lawn attached to Gabriel Phelan’s house. As the helicopter touched down, bouncing once and then settling, Jessie leapt from the open doorway and flashed into wolf form.

  He managed twenty or thirty feet in the direction of the street on the other side of the houses, when Gabriel Phelan’s luxury home exploded.

  The sensation and sound were nothing like they were in the movies. On the big screen, a bomb went off with a bang and a flash of gorgeous, destructive orange and red flame and a mini-mushroom cloud of ash and debris.

  But in the real world, a bomb went off with a boom. It was deep and rumbling and shook the earth as if the solid ground were nothing more than water in a pond. The force rippled out in a super-sonic shock wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and all awareness from your mind, temporarily turning everything into a muffled, painful thump of mega-proportions.

  The blow ran over Jessie as if he were a squirrel in the street and a Mac truck had just decided to make road kill out of him. He was directly behind Phelan’s house when the blast ignited, and his body now took the brunt of the bearing. By the time he’d stopped rolling across the ground, his furry form was limp and he couldn’t feel his limbs.

  Absently, he wondered if they were still there.

  Not a lick of flame or rubble had come anywhere near him; it was only the force of the explosion itself that had driven him to the ground. His ears were ringing and he tasted blood in his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue.

  In the distance sirens wailed, but Jessie barely heard them. His world had become a fuzzy, humming unreality and he felt just numb enough that he could only lay there and accept it, almost grateful for the unknowing that came with it.

  Eventually, veracity seeped in around the edges of his consciousness and he remembered who he was. He remembered what he was. He remembered that he had to save Charlie.

  Slowly, almost languidly, he blinked a few times, attempting to clear the white, fractionated fog from his vision. Sensation returned to his feet and he moved them. They were human feet, at the ends of human legs. He had flashed back into human form when the bomb went off.

  He moved his hands and managed to push up off of the grass, raising his head. He breathed in, his lungs expanding painfully against the bruises his ribs had carved along his sides.

  One rib was broken. He could hear it clicking as he breathed.

  It shifted and re-attached, even as he lifted himself up off of the ground. By the time he was standing, the bone was healed and his vision was clear.

  His amber, glowing eyes scanned the landscape. There were no bodies strewn across the rolling green. He scented no blood. No one had been hurt in the explosion. The sound of sirens reached his ears. They were still far off, but he could tell that they were coming nearer.

  For the second time in the last five minutes, Jessie rushed forward and flashed into wolf form.

  * * * *

  Gabriel roughly pulled Charlie down beside him when the C4 in the saddlebags of Cole’s bike detonated and Phelan’s house belched thunder, its windows shattering and sliding to the ground
in cascades of razor-sharp crystal.

  The force of the explosion sent everything within an impressive circumference a few inches backward, including the Shelby Cobra, which skated a little across the wet lawn, forcing everyone who was hiding behind it to scramble along beside it, despite the fact that they were also somewhat stunned.

  Charlie’s ears were ringing and her muscles felt slack. Her heart felt strange and heavy in her chest, as if it had been fibrillated by the blast and was now as befuddled as her mind. But Phelan had a hard grip on her upper arm, his fingers cutting into the bruises already left there by the warlock, Seth.

  Seconds became minutes, and the rivulets of power radiating outward from the explosion began to die down.

  “Clear the way to the chopper,” Gabriel instructed.

  The warlock didn’t reply, but he again began to chant and anger coursed through Charlie. She hated the sound of his voice; of those horrible, ancient words he was muttering. She hated the fire-red glow in his eyes.

  “Shut up, you vile, obnoxious freak!” she hissed at him, straightening so that she could attack him full-on. She just wanted to punch him, to send her fist flying straight through his rib cage and out the other side.

  But Gabriel sensed her intentions and took action. In the space of a few short heartbeats, he had her in his arms and locked up against his chest. He didn’t bother saying anything to her, as any threat he could have offered at that point would have sounded empty. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.

  “Get to it, warlock,” he commanded, his tone menacingly low.

  Seth gazed steadily at Charlie. She’d managed to foul his spells twice in the space of less than ten minutes. There was little doubt in Charlie’s mind that if it weren’t for Phelan being with them there at that moment, the warlock would kill her. Slowly.

  But Phelan was there and, instead of attempting to harm her in any way, the warlock once more began to chant. His gaze skirted from her defiantly flashing ice-blue eyes to the street and row of houses beyond.