When Alec moved toward the steps, Owen blocked him. “Cubs come later, cahir. We need to get everybody to the garage.” After using the Scythe’s vans to transport the hostages, they’d abandon the vehicles somewhere in the city.
Alec sucked in a pained breath. “Aye, let’s get them out of here. I’ll take the lead. Vixen, stay by the cubs. Owen, left flank. Darcy, you bring up the rear. Let’s go.”
As Alec started away from the manor, the female villagers remained crouching under the hedge. Darcy understood all too well. Gunfire, guards everywhere. They’d been prisoners too long—and wouldn’t follow a strange male.
Darcy shifted to human. “Come on. It’s time to move to somewhere safe.” She waved for the females to come out of the bushes. “Hurry.”
Step by step, Margery ventured out, and Darcy felt her heart swell with pride. No one on the planet was as brave as Margery. She was followed by Idelle, then the rest.
Darcy turned. “Alec, I’d better lead.”
“Aye. I’ll take rearguard.”
Staying human so the females wouldn’t panic, Darcy led them along the back wall of the manor, scouting for danger. Soon they’d have to cross a long wide patch of lawn to get to the garage in the back east corner. Between intervals of gunfire, shouting, and screams from the front lawn, she could hear the soft footsteps of her villagers behind her.
As she moved out and away from the far side of the manor, one of the babies started to cry, a thin, high wailing. Someone shushed it.
“What the fuck!” a man shouted. “What was that?”
The sound came from her left. Heart pounding wildly, Darcy cringed as several guards appeared along the manor’s east wall.
A flashlight caught her full in its beam. “That’s the one that escaped!” It was Huber—the guard who’d raped Fenella.
Hatred flamed in her heart—and was swamped by fear. If the guards reached the back of the manor, they’d see the line of females behind her.
She saw the dark glint of pistols. They’d kill her friends.
Never.
Darcy sprang forward and sprinted directly away from the villagers. Come on, chase me.
Like a poorly led wolf pack, the guards mindlessly tore after her, their flashlights flickering on her and past her. Pistols barked, their shots going wild.
It was her nightmare in the park again. A tinny taste filled her mouth. Her bare skin was too visible. Hide, must hide. The need to trawsfur into a dark panther and disappear into the shadows wracked her.
Visible was the point. Run, tinker. Lead the guards away from the children and babies. Her muscles flinched with each gunshot blast.
Not far ahead of her, two more guards appeared. “Get her!” Muzzle blasts sparked in the darkness as they shot at her.
She felt a tugging on her arm. A bullet slammed into her thigh, and her leg buckled. She went down, rolling over and over.
Terror filled her. Not again. She tried to push to her feet.
A man landed on her, flattening her to the ground. His stench increased her fear. Huber. He ground her face in the dirt.
“You fucking abortion.” His breath was foul, his weight horrible. As she struggled frantically, he ran his hand over her bare shoulder and made her shudder with revulsion. “You brought them freaks here.”
A flashlight beam danced over Huber and her. “You got her. Good—” The human’s high shriek ended abruptly.
A startled, choking grunt came from someone else. Heels thumped on the ground convulsively.
Another guard skidded to a stop. “One of ’em got Conklin.” He turned in a circle. “Jones? Parker? Huber, the fucking beasts are all around us!”
“Christ Jesus.” Huber’s breath panted on her cheek. Gripping her hair, he yanked her head up in the air and pressed his knife to her throat.
Terror engulfed her. There—the door to the wild, to the trawsfur. With all her control, she fought the change. If Huber realized she was shifting, he’d cut her throat immediately.
In the shadows to her right, tawny fur flickered past.
From the front, another cougar bounded directly toward them. Gawain. Snarling madly. All his attention was on Huber.
The guard beside Huber whimpered in terror, raised his pistol. Aimed.
“No!” Darcy struggled. The knife cut deeper into her neck.
The redhead hesitated, looking at her.
“Shoot!” Huber yelled.
From the right, a cougar leaped over Huber and landed on the other guard. The pistol blasted—and then Owen bit out the guard’s throat.
“Jesus!” Huber screamed. “You freaks, get back or she’s dead! I’ll—” His knife pressed viciously against her throat. Burning pain seared her skin.
Still a cougar, Owen let out a chilling scream-snarl.
And Darcy saw Gawain shift to human, pull his sheathed blade—and throw.
Huber shrieked and dropped his knife. Releasing her hair, he yanked Gawain’s blade from his forearm.
Free. Desperately, she shoved up and scrambled out from under him.
As she tried—managed—to stand, Huber disappeared beneath two enraged male cougars. His scream was cut off.
Dead. Darcy swallowed. He was dead…and he’d never rape or hurt another female again.
Shaking, nauseated, hurting, she took a step toward Gawain and Owen. In the middle of her worst nightmare, they had come for her. Saved her.
As her strength failed and she collapsed, she heard the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter making a landing.
*
Naked in human form, Tynan loosely tied the bag with his clothing around his neck. The helicopter touched down, and he jumped out, ducking his head against the wind from the blades. The grounds within the stone walls were dark. The little female had done her job. Tynan’s gut sucked in at the ugly noise of battle. Gunshots and yelling, screams of pain, shouted orders…but there was no rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons.
In wolf form, Fell and Patrin leaped to the ground, and then the rest stormed out and onto the grounds. As they spread out, littermates ran together, targeting the sounds of gunfire and the flashlights. The healing time had been too short, and some limped as they ran. A few remained in human form and carried cans of gasoline since Calum had ordered them to burn the manor where the Daonain had been held. Wells had requested the other building burn as well.
Tynan checked the helicopter. The last male out was his littermate, the damn fool. Healers were too valuable to risk in a war zone, but Donal had the stubbornness of a donkey. He insisted a battle was exactly where a healer was needed.
Tynan scowled at him. “We’ll head for the garage where the hostages and wounded will be. Follow me—and remember to duck.”
His damn littermate simply chuckled. Carrying a backpack of medical supplies, he joined Tynan.
Needing the greater mobility, Tynan shifted to wolf and trotted across the wide lawn, cursing the lack of fecking cover. Bodies scattered the lawn, and the stench of bowels and blood hung thick in the air.
A massive grizzly swatted a guard, flinging him into a building.
Two wolves in a well-coordinated attack took down another guard.
A lean old panther chased after another guard. Was that the old werecat who owned BOOKS?
A shot rang out from the vine-covered building—and the panther snarled. His forelimb darkened with blood.
Tynan turned.
Rifle barrel resting on the sill, a sniper knelt in a first floor window. Growling, Tynan leaped through, hit the guard’s shoulders, and knocked him onto his back.
Then the cop part of Tynan watched as his wolf instincts took over and tore the human to pieces. As the guard under his paws died, Tynan thought of the others who would also die today—without recourse to any laws. He found no pity or remorse in his heart.
It appeared his time as a law enforcement officer was at an end.
*
The little cat had gone down. Fear was a cold ball in Owen’s gut. A
s Gawain prowled in a circle around them, Owen shifted and dropped to his knees beside Darcy. A hand on her ribs let him know she still breathed. “She’s alive,” he whispered, knowing Gawain would hear. Alive, alive, alive.
In cougar form, Alec loped over.
Having seen him and Vicki wipe out two guards coming from the rear, Owen gave him a grateful nod.
Alec looked at Darcy, and his ears tipped forward in a query.
“She’ll be all right.” She had to be. Owen pointed in the direction of the garage. “Get the group moving. We’ll catch up.”
The cougar nodded and gathered his charges. Now out in the open with nowhere to hide, the females seemed willing to follow with the cougars.
Owen turned his attention back to Darcy. Where was she hurt? In the dark night and against her olive skin, blood seemed to be smeared everywhere. He made a sound of frustration…and her eyes opened.
Thank the Mother. His heart had almost failed when he saw her struck by bullets, saw her go down.
“Owen,” she whispered.
He couldn’t keep from snatching her into his arms and breathing in her morning-after-a-rain-shower fragrance. “I thought you were dead.” His arms tightened until she squeaked.
A second later, Gawain trawsfurred and wrapped his arms around both of them. “By the Hunter and the Mother, you two almost gave me heart failure. Don’t do that again.”
The tiny chuckle from the half-smothered female was the sweetest sound in the universe. “Nice knife-work, blademage,” she whispered.
Damned if it hadn’t been. Owen smacked his brother on the arm. “Damn right.”
“I’m going to have nightmares about missing that throw for months,” Gawain muttered.
Owen pulled in a breath. Fuck, what was he doing, letting down his guard? “Gawain, tend her wounds while I keep watch.”
“On it,” Gawain said in a rough voice. “Where are you hurt, catling? Darcy?” After a second, he said, “She’s out cold.”
Owen’s gut clenched. He forced himself to stay on guard in human form in case he needed to speak.
“Three wounds. Neck’s just a thin slice. Thigh and arm. Nothing life-threatening, brawd,” Gawain whispered.
Owen closed his eyes for a second…and kept circling.
He recognized Zeb and Shay’s scents a second before the two wolves trotted by. They paused, ears up.
“We’re good. Keep going,” Owen said softly.
As they disappeared, Owen spotted the first flames shooting up in the house where the shifters had been captive. Wells should be moving the human hostages out of the other house. Very soon, the grounds would hold only burning buildings and the dead.
At a hint of a sound, he spun.
A wolf stalking the shadows was about to jump Gawain.
Snarling, Owen sprang first, shifted to cougar midair, and landed in front of the damn dog.
The wolf froze.
Trawsfurring back, Owen planted his feet, badger-furious. “For fuck’s sake, you sprite-brained fool, we’ve got shifters in human form. Sniff before you leap.” Had battle fever taken the idiot?
He spotted another wolf, deeper in the shadows.
Owen scowled at that one and folded his arms over his chest.
The first wolf shifted and walked forward cautiously. Sniffed. And relaxed. “Sorry, you were downwind.”
Not in a mood to be forgiving, Owen glared. “That is my littermate you were about to attack.”
“Ah.” The male moved to one side to be able to watch Darcy and Gawain. “Apologies. But that’s my sister.” His sentence ended in a growl.
Owen blinked. Well. He kept his voice low. “Are you Patrin or Fell?”
“Fell. You know Darcy?”
Not the time, not the place. “Talk, later, wolf. She’s hurt, unconscious, and I need to get her to the transport before cleanup starts.”
The male’s face turned dangerous. “We’ll take her. She’s—”
A voice came from the shadows, probably Patrin’s. “That scar on his face means you’re a cahir, right?”
Owen nodded.
Fell took a step back. “Guard her well, then, cahir.”
The other male’s voice was low. “We’ll be nearby, clearing your trail.”
As the two shifted and darted away, Owen frowned. They’d been adolescent shifters indoctrinated into senseless human savagery. Would they be able to adjust to Daonain ways?
A small groan sounded, high and sweet, and Owen turned.
Darcy’s eyelids fluttered, and she looked around. Yes.
Unable to keep from smiling, Owen asked, “Gawain, if you’re done, can you carry her?”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more.”
The tiny snort of laughter was Darcy’s.
By the God, he loved her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‡
Someone’s voice had wakened her. Darcy blinked, trying to remember where she was and why she was wrapped in a blanket and lying on the floor. Other females were sitting or lying nearby. Her villagers.
The room held brown and green upholstered couch and armchairs, long drapes, and a television. This was what Wells called a “safe house”.
Now, she remembered. Owen and Gawain had tucked her into a black van packed with hostages. All the vans, loaded with females and the wounded, had driven to the front gate. Far down the street on both sides, emergency vehicles were flashing lights. The downed utility poles and power lines had blocked traffic.
One female asked, “Then how will we get out?”
“Watch.” Grinning, Shay’d stomped on the gas, driven straight across the street, over the curb, across a front lawn, scraped between two houses and into a backyard. The van convoy had torn through residential properties, flattening fences and landscaping, to finally emerge onto a quiet street blocks away.
Such a getaway.
“There she is.” Owen’s voice.
Relief poured through her, and she struggled to sit up.
“Lie still, catling.” With his littermate beside him, Gawain knelt and pressed her back onto the blanket.
She breathed in their scents, feeling the hard knot in her belly unwind. “Are you all right?” Darcy touched the blood-drenched rag around Gawain’s arm.
“Nothing serious.” Gawain checked the rough bandage he’d put around her leg.
Owen tilted her chin up to look at the one on her neck. He scowled. “You got the worst of it.” The snarls beneath his words showed how he felt about her getting hurt.
She tapped his nose as she would a puppy. “I’ll be fine.”
“Donal was supposed to heal everything.” Owen glared around as if he’d drag the healer over himself.
“He was—”
“He’s tapped out.” Tynan walked over, set down a box, and crouched beside her. “In a city, this far from the Mother, he’s weak. He knew he would be, but insisted on coming anyway. Even exhausted, he was able to locate and remove the females’ trackers.”
Gawain grunted. “I’d forgotten the hostages here had trackers. I’m glad someone remembered.”
“He couldn’t heal the females—and that pissed him off. I sent him back to Cold Creek with the worst of the injured. Once he recovers some energy, he’ll be able to heal them—at least enough to keep them alive.”
Darcy shook her head. “Poor Donal. I bet he hated not being able to fix everyone.”
“The idiot ran himself so dry he passed out,” Tynan said.
“Fuck.” Owen blinked. “Healers have died doing that.”
“Aye.” Scowling, Tynan pushed the box toward Gawain. “He left us the supplies he brought. Clean your group’s wounds, wrap them up, and hand off the bag to the next person.”
“What’s the plan for the Dogwood villagers?” Gawain opened the box.
“After the shifter-soldiers arrive and get a bit of time with sisters, the females will go to Rainier Territory for a couple of weeks. The Cosantirs in Washington and
Oregon are working out who goes where. Some of the people have family elsewhere, some don’t; some will have preferences.” After smiling at Darcy, Tynan headed into the crowd.
“If the soldiers are here, have you seen my broth—” Burning pain jolted her, and she hissed at Gawain who’d pulled the gauze off her arm. “Ouch. Donal was nicer.”
His lips twitched. “No, he wasn’t. He dug a bullet out of you, remember?”
Well, okay, but still…
Gawain kissed her lightly. “I am sorry I hurt you.” His blue eyes showed his worry.
Guilt washed through her. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Owen snorted. “I kind of enjoy seeing you in a temper…but I can gag her if you prefer, brawd.”
“What?” She glared…and then she saw the strain in the cahir’s face.
Seeing her in pain was upsetting him. Jaw locked, he moved his grip from her hand to her forearm, keeping her arm immobile.
“You’re such a mean cahir,” she said to try get a smile.
It didn’t work, but he rubbed his knuckles lightly over her cheek.
Trying not to show how much Gawain’s efforts hurt, she gritted her teeth and suffered. As her newly dressed arm throbbed and burned, she wanted to whimper when he started on her thigh. She gave him a beseeching look. “We could just skip my leg.”
Owen was the one to kiss her this time. “Puppy-dog eyes. Very nice. Nevertheless, we’re still going to clean it up.”
He waited a second—and kissed the pout off her lips as well.
If she’d had the heart, she’d have smacked him on the nose. Yet the merciless jerk hugged her when—as she’d thought—the dressing really, really did hurt.
As Gawain finished the wrapping job, Owen pulled her against him and said in a rough voice, “It didn’t look too bad.”
She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “Honestly, I think it hurt you worse than it did me.” And now that her eyes weren’t blinded by tears, she noticed Gawain’s face was just as grim.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” Gawain said. “We know how you felt about that place, and you went in without us.”
“Then you got hurt with me right there.” Owen’s voice was like a badly tuned motor—rough and ragged. “Should have been me.”
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