by Laura Taylor
And saw the gun in Sarah’s hand.
“You’ve joined the Noturatii.” Even as he said it, he didn’t really believe it.
“Well, bravo,” she said coldly. “Of course I joined the fucking Noturatii. After I found out what they’d done to you. What you’d become.” She looked him up and down, an expression of pure disgust on her face. “And the fact that you chose this? God, how could you do that? How can you not see what you are?”
“Not to break up the party or anything,” Baron suddenly snapped, still holding his gun steadily aimed at the guards, “but what the fuck is going on?”
“This is my sister,” Mark said, not bothering to disguise the truth as anything other than what it was. “The one I came here looking for when I found Dee.”
“That is your sister? One of the eggheads behind the Noturatii? Oh, good work.” He muttered something under his breath, and Mark decided he was better off not knowing what it was. To think, he’d come here to rescue her, and all the while she was…
“Why did you join?” It was a tiny detail in the big picture, an irrelevant side track to a life or death situation. But he had to know, and this was likely the only chance he would get to ask.
“I saw a photo of you. On the internet. When you were supposed to be dead.”
“How did you find it?”
“Why does it matter?” she asked impatiently, then cursed. “Oh, what the hell. It was attached to an article I was studying about leukaemia when I was in my final year at university. Only in the photo, you were in your mid-twenties, when you’d supposedly died when you were seventeen. So I did a little digging, and that led me here.”
Mark let out a sardonic laugh. “You ‘found’ a photograph? Believe me, Sarah, no one finds out about the shifters or the Noturatii without one side or the other telling them. You didn’t ‘find’ the Noturatii. They planted that photo for you to see. They assessed your reaction to the news, and then they recruited you. Nice to see where your morals led you. To kidnapping innocent people and torturing women-”
“Melissa!” one of the guards snapped suddenly, a tall, black man with a military air about him. And Mark realised that Tank was getting impatient with all the chit chat and had started casing the hallway for cover, had started taking covert glances at his captors to assess their weaknesses, and Military Guy had noticed the change in his mood. He was good. Still their enemy, but well trained and alert, and Mark almost regretted having to kill him. He’d be a worthy ally if he was on their side.
“No deal,” Sarah – no, Melissa snapped, no doubt reverting to a previous conversation with Baron and his team. “We’re not giving up the captive.”
Now what? Mark thought blackly. They could have a shootout, but more than one of them was going to end up dead, and having come so far to find Tank alive, only to lose him now…
Andre made a small, contemplative sound, and fitted another arrow into his crossbow. Without any warning, he fired it at the wall beside Melissa’s head.
The arrow embedded itself in the plaster, a small, flashing light on the head, as the guards snapped back to attention, guns trained on them, their own guns pointed at the guards. “Well, let’s think about this,” Andre said calmly. “I detonate that charge, and you’re all dead anyway. And don’t think I won’t take out one of our own to see you out of the picture. I would rather he walk the next world than spend his life as your sorry prisoner, and I’m fairly sure he’d agree with me.”
Tank met Andre’s eyes and gave a small nod. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, and Mark had to wonder what the hell they’d done to him in the past twenty-four hours to make him ready to pass into the Hall of Sirius without so much as a word of protest. Tank was a fighter… but Andre wasn’t done yet.
“So here’s the deal. You give us your captive, and we give you your scientist, who, I’m led to believe, is the brains of this operation.”
The scientist in front of Andre whimpered. But the look on Melissa’s face was far more interesting. She glanced at the other man and a look of near-glee crossed her face, quickly quashed and replaced with a neutral contemplation that didn’t fool Mark for a second. A little professional rivalry, then? She was willing to sacrifice a member of her own team, not for a strategic advantage, but for a personal one.
God, he really knew nothing about his sister at all.
“Deal,” Military Guy said before Melissa could reply, and she gaped at him, aghast that he would dare commit to such a horrendous offer.
“At least one of you has some sense,” Baron muttered to Mark’s right, but Melissa wasn’t done being difficult. Perhaps she thought herself heroic. Or maybe she was just too stubborn for her own good. He remembered that about her – even as a young girl, she’d had the backbone to stand up for what she wanted, the persistence to see her schemes through. And Mark felt a wave of longing for the girl she had been. And a swell of sorrow for the woman she had become.
“Same question I asked you before,” Melissa demanded, shooting a glare at the guard. “How do we know you won’t just shoot us once we release him?”
Andre fingered the detonator for the arrow. “Let me put it this way,” he said. “What choice have you got?”
Miller fought for calm as he watched Melissa argue with the shifters. She was a scientist, not a soldier, armed with a single small pistol against wolves, semi-automatics and explosives, and she wanted to play hardball? She was going to get them all killed if she wasn’t careful. Miller stole another glance at the arrow in the wall. He’d already seen the destruction one of those charges could wield, and he didn’t like their chances if Trench-Coat decided to press the button.
“Enough!” he snapped at the woman, then shoved her behind himself when she glared at him again. The chit could get as mad as she liked later, but for now, he was taking charge. “You bring Phil out to the front,” he instructed, stepping in to take their prisoner from the guard watching him. He pressed his gun to the back of the man’s neck and twisted his arm behind his back to keep a hold on him. If he tried anything funny, the other guards would take him out.
The leader of the shifters brought Phil forward, holding him in a similar manner, gun to his head, and they met in the middle of the hallway. “Both of us step back,” the leader instructed. Miller obediently took two steps back, keeping his gun up, half his attention on Warrior Woman down the hall, who was looking a little too trigger happy for his liking.
At the leader’s command, Phil stepped forward, skirting around the captive shifter, who watched him go past like a fox watching a hen. Then the captive stepped over to his leader, who never took his eyes off Miller.
These guys were good, Miller had to admit. Not prone to distractions, no weaknesses in their defence, advanced weapons. It reinforced his idea that there were two groups of shifters in England, and that they were dealing here with the more modern, more tech-savvy of the two. It was an odd feeling to respect his sworn enemy so much, but it was impossible not to feel a certain admiration for a small group that had managed to infiltrate this lab – and blow half of it up, if the earlier explosions had been anything to go by.
When Phil reached him, Miller retreated with the man back the way he’d come, while the shifters did the same.
“So now you walk away?” Miller asked, once they’d retreated to the corner. The explosive arrow was still flashing away in the wall, and he had to wonder just how good their word was going to be.
“Give me your gun,” the former captive said, and the leader did so without hesitation. Miller honestly had no idea what the man was going to do. Would he honour the deal struck by his comrades, or-?
Melissa screamed, an ear-piercing shriek as the captive raised the gun and shot Phil in the head. He hit the ground with a thud, blood spraying over the guards behind him, and Miller took up a defensive position in front of Melissa. If they wanted to take out their other scientist, they’d have to get through him.
“He had it coming,” the captive said. A
nd Miller remembered that cold threat uttered in the cell – the captive had promised that Phil was going to die, and he wondered for a moment just who else was on the man’s hit list.
The shifter locked eyes with Miller, and for just a moment, he felt his world tilt. Was he about to die? If so, he had a thousand sudden regrets… and the odd thought that he was grateful that his death should come at the hands of such a worthy foe.
“One day, you and I are going to settle our differences,” the captive said, eyes never wavering from Miller’s. “But it’s going to be in a fair fight. No guns. No wolves. No backup. Just you and me, and then we find out what you’re really made of. Let’s go,” he said, turning to the other shifters. They began a coordinated withdrawal, backing away, weapons drawn, until the last one had rounded the corner. And Melissa watched them go, her face stricken, as if someone had just kidnapped her only child.
CHAPTER FORTY
“Go,” Baron ordered sharply, as the last of the team rounded the corner away from the guards. “Up the stairs. Then blow whatever charges are left.” Including the one next to the prison cells. And if the guards hadn’t moved by then, too bad.
“NO!” A high-pitched shriek followed them around the corner, and the sounds of a scuffle, shoes squealing on the linoleum floor…
“Go!” Baron shouted. Andre and Caroline grabbed Tank and half-led, half-dragged him up the stairs. Caleb shifted back into human form and drew his gun, John remaining in wolf form as they both headed up the stairs, acting as rear guard for their newly recovered member. And then Melissa skidded around the corner, eyes wide and frantic, and for a split second Baron had the thought that she’d come after Mark. Seeing her brother again after so many years, however much she denied family ties, was bound to be unsettling, and perhaps she wanted to…
Shoot them. A bullet flew past Baron’s head, clipping his ear and making him duck and swear, while thanking the stars that she didn’t have better aim. Then a second gun shot from his left made his ears ring, another high-pitched scream piercing the air…
And holy fucking hell, Mark had just shot her. Melissa sat on the floor, hands pressed to an ugly wound in her leg, trying to stem the flow of blood. Mark stood beside Baron, gun raised, looking for all the world like he wanted to have another go at her.
The military guard skidded around the corner, throwing himself in front of the woman, gun drawn, a stricken look on his face. “Leave,” he pleaded, torn between helping the woman and keeping his gun trained on them. He stuck with the gun. “Please, just leave.”
“Let’s go,” Baron ordered Mark, then yanked him away when he remained frozen in place. Up the stairs, along the hallways, past dead guards and bloody puddles. He hoped everyone else was out, and knew he’d need a full accounting of the team before they left. No one was being left behind.
“Andre! Hit it,” he barked, as he and Mark caught up with him and Caroline, Tank staggering along robotically. Andre paused only a moment to hit the detonator in his pocket, and an explosion ripped through the lower levels, shaking the building.
“Up! Out!” Baron ordered, taking up the rear guard. But thankfully there was no more resistance, all the guards already dead or fatally wounded.
Up in the final hallway, Silas and Skip joined them. Silas was bleeding – Baron couldn’t tell if it was from his old wound or a new one, but it didn’t seem to slow him down as he raced along the hallway to freedom, keeping Skip safely tucked behind him.
Finally they reached the entrance, Kwan and Aaron still keeping guard, both to protect the drivers and to secure their exit route.
“You’re the last,” Kwan informed him as Baron dashed out the door. “Full head count; twenty shifters and one newbie. Dee said she’s a convert from the lab. Nate and Cohen were both shot, but they’re alive. It’s not fatal.”
Baron filed the information away for later. Questions about the new girl would have to wait until Tank had been taken care of and the rest of the Den was safe. He trusted Dee and Raniesha’s judgment enough to know they wouldn’t have brought her with them if it wasn’t in their best interests.
Out into the night, shifters scattered left, right and centre. Mark broke off from Baron and Andre as they helped Tank into a van, making a beeline for the one where Dee was waiting. Silas and Skip ran for another, Silas sparing a brief nod to Heron, who was hanging out of the driver’s seat of another vehicle. Heron nodded back, relief all over her face as she watched Skip leap into the back, before she swung back into the van and got herself strapped in.
“Caroline! This way!” Dee yelled from inside her own van, and Mark arrived at the doorway to see her and Raniesha pinning a wolf to the floor, a deep, bloody wound on Dee’s arm evidence of a vicious bite. Caroline switched direction and ran for the van, as the remaining shifters piled into the rest of them. The last door slammed shut, then burning rubber and squealing tyres signalled their exit from this killing ground.
Alistair was at the wheel, navigating midnight traffic with ease as he took corners at breakneck speeds, hightailing it out of London. The other vans broke off, each taking a different route back to the estate, making any pursuit more difficult, while Caroline turned her attention to the wolf writhing on the floor.
“New recruit,” Dee gasped, throwing all her slight weight onto the wolf’s neck. “Gone a bit mad in the chaos.”
Caroline didn’t waste any time, just pounced on the wolf and zapped her, the electricity shocking everyone in the van as the wolf was forced to turn human again. The girl convulsed once, opened her eyes, and let out a blood-curdling scream.
“Sedative!” Caroline ordered, and Mark dived for the emergency medical kit under the seat. He drew up a dose of sedative and tossed it to Caroline, who plunged the syringe into the girl’s leg, emptying it with one quick thrust.
Another scream left the girl as she struggled, arms flailing, legs thrashing, and Mark leapt onto her, helping Raniesha hold her down. The third scream was weaker, a keening wail that tailed off quickly, and then the girl fell limply against the floor.
But the emergency was by no means over. Mark grabbed a tube of antiseptic, gauze and a bandage from the med kit, and squeezed behind Caroline to get to Dee. He didn’t bother being delicate about it – the wound was bleeding profusely – and he simply squeezed a thick dollop of cream onto the gauze, pressed it to her wound and set about wrapping the bandage. “Keep pressure on it,” he told her when he’d finished. She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line as she hauled herself onto one of the seats.
Raniesha and Caroline were trying to hold the girl still, not because she was struggling anymore, but because of Alistair’s crazy driving. Mark grabbed a blanket from the rear of the van and set it under the girl’s head, then pinned a knee to her shoulder, relieving Caroline of the task, while gripping the side of a seat to steady himself. Caroline set about checking the girl over – she didn’t seem to be injured, thankfully, and as soon as they were out of the warehouse district and heading towards the motorway, Alistair calmed down a little. No point getting the attention of every traffic cop in London, after all. And if the Noturatii were following them? A slower pace would allow Alistair to pick out any suspicious tag-alongs in the rear-view mirror. Making the girl as comfortable as possible, Mark settled into a seat beside Dee.
“You okay?” It was a silly question – she was likely terrified, adrenaline pumping, and she had a nasty wolf bite on her arm, but like all things in this crazy life, it was all relative.
“Faeydir’s going nuts. Ranting about the girl, and revelling in having killed some of the bad guys, and it’s like having a two-year-old on a sugar high stuck in my head. Did we get Tank?” It was a tremulous question disguised with a lot of bravado, and Mark was grateful that he could give her an honest answer.
“We got him out. He’s alive, injured, but he should pull through.”
“Oh, thank God.” Raniesha looked relieved at the news, while Dee visibly sagged against the seat. “See, Faeydir?
We got Tank back- Oh shut the fuck up!” She lowered her head into her hands, and Mark automatically reached out and rubbed her back. He had no idea how she coped with having another living creature in her head all the time, and it was no surprise that Faeydir was feeling rather high strung at the moment. The strain of it, after everything else that had happened tonight, would be enough to send anyone over the edge.
“Hang in there,” he murmured to her, massaging her shoulders gently. “The worst of it’s over. We’re headed for home. Just hang in there.”
A few kilometres west of Mark, Baron was fighting not to curse. He, Andre and Tank had made it into the van without incident, with John in wolf form leaping inside just as the door swung closed. But it was clear that Tank was in a bad way. Aside from the drugs, he was bleeding from a dozen wounds, so Baron gently coaxed his shirt off, then gritted his teeth to hold back the string of curses he sorely longed to utter. He’d seen enough wounds in his life to know what torture looked like.
“John, get me the med kit.” The boy was still in wolf form, lurking near the back of the van to avoid injuring anyone with his armour.
The van swung around a corner, sending everyone inside crashing into the wall or the seats, and Baron did swear this time. “Heron! You drive like a ten-year-old in a go-kart, you mad bitch!”
“You want me to pull over so the car tailing us can catch up?”
“What the fuck?”
“We’re being tailed. Don’t worry. I’ll lose them.”
He swore to himself again, clinging onto the edge of the seat and rubbing his head where he’d cracked it against the door.
John was still lurking behind the seats, his armour having carved a nice new groove along the car’s interior, and he swore again at the boy’s stupidity. Surely he could see this wasn’t the time or place to be in wolf form?
