Sin Undone d-5

by Larissa Ione

“You think Guardians will protect werewolves? It’s one thing to not kill them, but another to actively protect them.”

  Kynan looked troubled. “Yeah. There’s been an incident that is going to make my argument a little harder.” He shifted his feet off the desk, spread his legs, and braced his forearms on his thighs as he leaned forward, his gaze even sharper now, his military conditioning coming to bear. “A Guardian was recently outted as a werewolf. Remember when I asked you if you knew of any wargs that shifted during the new moon? Well, whatever she is, her cell put out the word and chased her into Canada. They lost her, but one Guardian is dead. On top of everything else that’s been going on in The Aegis…”

  Eidolon swore. Kynan didn’t need to finish the sentence. A lot of what was going on was Tayla’s fault. Undercurrents of dissent had been filtering through The Aegis’s ranks over the fact that Tayla, a half-demon, was not only a Guardian, but also a Regent in charge of a large cell. Kynan’s marriage to Gem, Tay’s sister, had stirred the pot even more. And then, a couple of months ago, Tay had put a vampire on the payroll—a Guardian named Kaden, who had been turned into a vampire after being captured during an Aegis raid on a nest.

  Now Guardians were quitting, while others were calling for change. This werewolf news could cause the already simmering pot to boil over.

  “Tayla sure has a way of stirring things up,” Kynan said, as if reading Eidolon’s mind.

  “Tayla wouldn’t be Tayla if she wasn’t always in the middle of a shitstorm.” And Eidolon wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “You saved her life, E.” Kynan’s gravelly voice was quiet. “She was headed down a bad road, and you took her off it.”

  A sobering, pleasant warmth filled Eidolon’s chest cavity. “She saved me, too.”

  “You’re a big sap,” Kynan said, as he shoved to his feet, and Eidolon nearly laughed. Tayla had accused him more than once of the same thing. “If you need any help with Sin, let me know.”

  “I might take you up on that. Good luck with the Sigil and your rogue werewolf.” Kynan left, brushing by Bastien on his way out.

  Eidolon’s doorway was getting a hell of a workout today. “Bastien. Thanks for stopping by.”

  The warg nodded, making his mop of curly brown hair bounce into his eyes. “What do you need, sir?”

  “I just learned that civil war is breaking out between the pricolici and varcolac. Do you know anything about it?”

  Bastien’s fingers tightened on the handle of the toolbox he seemed to always have in his hand, but other than that, he showed no reaction. “No, sir. I have no contact with my pack anymore.”

  “I just want to make sure you’re safe. And that this won’t affect your job.”

  “You mean, will I try to harm the turned wargs who come to the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  For a long moment, the werewolf looked down at the floor, and when he finally raised his gaze, his normally soft brown eyes had turned fierce. “My loyalty is to this hospital, Doctor. I won’t let you down.”

  Man, Eidolon loved this place. Managing a hospital staffed by dozens of different species, many of whom were natural enemies, could get hairy, but ultimately, they were here because they wanted to help others, and Eidolon took a lot of pride in that. And people like Bastien, who some liked to say was “only” a janitor, were the heart of the facility, and every bit as important as the most talented surgeon.

  “Thanks, Bastien. Glad you’re back.”

  After the warg limped away, his club foot knocking harder on the floor than his other, Eidolon dialed the phone. Arik, Runa’s brother and a top member of the R-XR, answered on the second ring.

  “What do you want, demon?”

  Arik wasn’t the friendliest guy ever. “I want to know if you’re aware that born wargs are out to commit genocide on the turneds.”

  Arik swore. “I was just going to call you about that. We’ve had scattered reports of wargs attacking wargs, but no confirmation yet on whether or not it’s born-on-turned violence.”

  “Wraith confirmed it, and he doesn’t get shit like this wrong.”

  “We’ll look into it,” Arik said. “Got anything new on SF?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t want to share anything until I hear from my sister.”

  There was a brittle silence. These guys didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially if the one keeping them there was a demon. And even though Arik’s sister, Runa, was mated to Shade, the guy still hadn’t come around all that much.

  Finally, Arik blew out a breath. “I think I should bring Runa to D.C.”

  “You want to take her to R-XR headquarters?” Eidolon laughed. “Good luck with that. You’ll need an entire armored division to get her away from Shade.”

  “I’ll get one if I have to.”

  Eidolon dumped the cup of paper clips onto his desk and started tossing them back in, one by one. “You know they can’t be separated.”

  “Shade and the kids can come, too. I can’t leave her unprotected.”

  “Trust me. The only place safer than the cave is the hospital, and if it weren’t for the fact that I’m getting diseased wargs in by the dozen, they’d be here. You’ve got the same problem there. You might be able to protect her from born wargs, but you’re working with the virus. Can you guarantee that it won’t somehow find its way to her?” Silence was E’s answer. “Exactly.”

  “Eidolon… I’m not sure I really have a choice in this.”

  A chill went up Eidolon’s spine. “You’ve been ordered to bring her in.”

  “It wasn’t an order. More of a strongly worded suggestion.”

  “Why?”

  “For her own protection,” Arik said, and just as Eidolon was about to call him on that bullshit, Arik added, “and because her ability to shift at will might provide her some resistance to SF or help us find a cure.”

  She could shift at will because of the R-XR. They’d used her as a test subject for an experimental cure for lycanthropy, which hadn’t worked but had given her the ability to change into a werewolf any time she wanted to. Eidolon had already considered her altered DNA into the SF equation, had performed tests using her blood and the virus, but hadn’t seen any encouraging results.

  “I’ll have Shade send you blood samples. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I have. But don’t you dare try to take her in,” he warned.

  Arik cursed. “I’ll stall as long as I can. Update me on the rest as soon as possible.”

  “You do the same.” Eidolon paused, remembering Ky’s question about the new breed of warg. Could be a lead on a new direction of testing. “Arik… do you know anything about werewolves that shift during the new moon instead of the full?”

  “Nope.”

  “That’s what I thought. Keep me in the loop about the other shit.”

  Arik hung up just as Eidolon’s beeper went off. Three more diseased wargs were incoming. Five more were being brought in… dead. But not because of the disease. Trauma.

  Looked like the civil war was in full swing.

  Eleven

  Everything hurt. Kar groaned. Heat surrounded her, though an icy draft cut through the warmth every once in a while. She opened her eyes. Blinked. Blinked again, hoping that she was seeing things.

  Nope. She appeared to be in some sort of… basement? Dungeon? The fire set into one wall allowed her to see the hard-packed dirt floor, covered in places by straw. The walls were log and stone, and attached to one rough slab of rock were huge rings from which thick chains hung. A meat hook dangled from the ceiling.

  This was a werewolf containment lair. She knew because she had one.

  Her memory came back in a series of slaps against her brain. She’d been running from The Aegis. Looking for Luc. She’d been caught. Shot. And then Luc was there. They’d actually held a conversation, though the details were a little hazy.

  She sniffed the air, got a lungful of burning hardwood mingled with the musky scent of warg, and the very male
scent of Luc.

  Something thumped above her, followed by the creak of a door opening. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, clenching her teeth at the wash of pain through her right side. Luc, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt, clomped down the stairs with a steaming bowl of what smelled like rich, meaty soup in his hands.

  “You’re awake.” His words came out as a grunt.

  “Yeah,” she said hoarsely.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, God, she’d told him. Her memories churned, and so did her stomach. He’d asked if she was going to kill the baby if it was born human, and his voice had been as cold as the draft blowing across her face. Thing was, the baby probably would be born human—not because the father was turned, but because she was. He believed she was varcolac because he’d seen the mark she’d had tattooed on by a warlock who specialized in mystical markings. Thankfully, during their sex-fest in Egypt, Luc hadn’t questioned how a warg could infiltrate The Aegis, but then, he hadn’t asked anything about her. Not even her name.

  Luc shoved his shaggy black hair back from his face and kneeled next to her. “I brought you some stew.”

  The savory aroma of rabbit filled her nostrils, and though her mouth watered, she didn’t feel like eating. She wanted to go back to sleep, even though pain wracked her and her skin was so sensitive it hurt to lay on the lumpy pallet where she could feel every individual piece of straw. “I’m not very hungry.”

  He doubled up the pillow behind her to elevate her head and he put a spoon of stew to her lips. “You need to eat so I can give you some medicine. Don’t worry,” he said, when she opened her mouth to protest, “it won’t hurt the baby.” He took advantage of her open mouth to shove the food inside.

  Even though she wasn’t hungry, she moaned at the taste. “That’s good.”

  “Isn’t hard to put some meat, water, and potatoes in a pot.” He dipped the spoon in the bowl and caught a large chunk of rabbit. “You’ll eat this entire thing.”

  His command rankled, and though she scarcely had the energy, she squirmed into a sit. “I appreciate your saving my life, but you didn’t have to kill the Guardian, and—”

  “I haven’t saved it yet.”

  A chill washed through her, countering the fever and making her sweat ice. “What are you not telling me?”

  “You could still die. Probably will.”

  “Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

  His expression was devoid of emotion, reminding her of how coldly efficient he’d been while blackmailing her into sex with him. But that icy demeanor had turned into something hot and passionate once the demon war ended and lust had taken him. “I never do.”

  She took the bite he offered, more to give herself a chance to think than anything. “What are my options?” Though she tried to keep her voice level, there was a humiliating tremor hanging on to the end of her question.

  “We need to get you to Underworld General.”

  The demon hospital? The very idea frightened her more than death did. “I don’t know…”

  “There’s no choice. I’ve already rigged a sled to the back of my snowmobile. We’ll leave after midnight when it’s fully dark, and hope there are no Guardians waiting to ambush us.” The spoon clanked in the bowl as he fished for another bite. “If we were closer to the full moon, you could shift. Heal your wounds.”

  A curious warmth settled on her skin, and she knew that if she could actually shift during a full moon, they’d either tear each other apart or they’d tear up the night with passion. She’d bet on the latter.

  The warmth turned into a tingle, and she gasped. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten? “Luc? What day is it?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because—” She broke off with another gasp. The pain, the tenderness she’d felt… it wasn’t from the wound. Her skin stretched, and her muscles cramped up hard. “Oh, damn.”

  Luc’s eyes shot wide. “Kar…” His voice was a low, deadly growl, tainted with just a touch of anxiety. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

  “I wish I could,” she whispered.

  Snarling, he leaped to his feet and reeled backward. “No.” He shook his head, teeth bared. “You’re not—”

  “I am.” Joints began to pop, and muscles ripped off the bone, and she clenched her teeth against the searing agony. “I’m a… Feast warg.”

  * * *

  A Feast warg.

  Cursing violently, Luc grabbed one of the wall chains and hooked the manacle around Kar’s ankle as she bucked and writhed. The sounds of her bones snapping, her skin splitting, and her fur erupting filled the small space, and he cursed even louder so she could hear every fucking syllable.

  A Feast fucking warg!

  Jesus. He took the stairs three at a time and jogged to his bedroom, where he jerked open his bureau drawer and palmed his Beretta. At the back of the sock drawer was a small, hand-carved wooden box, and inside were six silver bullets.

  He’d need only one.

  Nasty snarls echoed up from below, as well as the sound of claws on the stone. The chains were made to hold him, but she was a different creature. She was stronger, meaner, rabid. Worst of all, a Feast warg’s bite was venomous to other wargs. Just a scrape of their teeth would kill a normal werewolf in seconds.

  Feast wargs were the monsters in garden-variety werewolves’ closets.

  Because of that, both varcolac and pricolici trained special teams of operators to search out Feast wargs during the nights of the new moon, after they’d turned, because they were impossible to detect while in human form. As a result of the merciless execution teams, they’d been hunted nearly to extinction, their bodies just as vulnerable to a silver bullet as any other werewolf. They were so rare, in fact, that Luc had never come across one—that he knew of.

  Until now.

  Oh, he’d sensed the werewolf in her, but she’d hidden her “special” secret well.

  Dammit! Luc’s steps were heavy as he exited his bedroom. Outside, snow roared out of the darkness to slap the window, and the wind howled as though trying to get his attention. Beneath the floorboards, Kar’s howls got what the wind didn’t, and he tightened his grip on the pistol.

  She’s pregnant.

  Fuck. Didn’t matter. She was a killer.

  So are you.

  Ignoring his internal voice—what some might call a conscience, but his had taken leave a long time ago—he lifted the hatch. Kar’s snarls grew louder and more violent. He moved carefully down the stairs, weapon at his thigh, finger poised over the trigger guard.

  She was in the corner, her red fur gleaming in the light from the fire. She was huge, the largest female he’d ever seen, and as she went up on two sturdy legs, she towered over him. Rarely did he get to see a fully transitioned warg through human eyes, and even when he did, he had little time to admire it since he was always caught up in his own transition.

  But now… now he could appreciate Kar’s powerful form, her muscular build and sleek fur. Her massive head hung low, her sharp, intelligent gaze tracking him as he eased to the side, seeking the best angle to get a clean shot. He might be a brutal asshole, but he didn’t want her to suffer.

  Without warning, she lunged.

  In a single, smooth motion, he swung the pistol up and targeted her broad chest. She drew short in a clank of chains and went down on all fours with a snort. He swore confusion swirled in her blue eyes, turning them murky. Why? She should be furious, trying to rip him limb from limb.

  A low, keening whimper came from deep in her chest. As a paramedic, he was used to pained noises from his patients. For the most part, he’d hardened himself, had erected a force field that bounced suffering right off it and kept him suitably neutral. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Hard to tell anymore.

  But the sadness in Kar’s mewling cry somehow penetrated his numbness, and as she backed up, he frowned. Then let out a curse on a long exhale.
>
  She’s pregnant. Shit. He had no idea if pregnancy made females more docile, and somehow he doubted it, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t trying to antagonize him. What was her game? Had she come to Canada to kill him but missed her chance when he chained her before she could?

  Not wanting to put her down until he got the truth, he lowered the weapon. “You,” he muttered, “are really fucking lucky that I’m in a good mood.”

  Twelve

  By the time Con and Sin made it to the safe house, it was fully dark, and nothing was chasing them too closely, though they’d seen a pair of raptor horrors flying overhead, their twelve-foot, leathery wings skimming the treetops as they searched for Sin. Con hated the fucked-up creatures that had given rise to the Mothman legend; they were hard to kill and always reeked of rotting flesh. Probably because they liked to wear the skins of their victims.

  Sin was still engaged in iceman assassin mode, but every once in a while, her gaze would grow haunted, and her “don’t fuck with me” mask would slip. The slaughter of a dozen innocent wargs had shaken her, and Con wondered how often that happened.

  He tried not to think about it as he studied the two-story log cabin that nestled into the banks of a mountain lake. “Doesn’t look like Rivesta is home.” Then again, the half-breed Nightlash sorceress rarely was. She had a dozen homes, spread out all over the world and Sheoul, and she preferred the warmer climates. For June, it was strangely cold.

  “How do you know her?”

  “Family friend,” he replied.

  Sin raised a black eyebrow. “Intimate family friend?”

  “Once.” Rivesta wasn’t your average Nightlash. She’d inherited their streak of cruelty, but her human side tempered it and made her fragile enough to know who she should and shouldn’t fuck with.

  Which meant that sleeping with her wasn’t nearly as dangerous as bedding a purebred Nightlash.

  He found one of Rivesta’s charms hanging from the bough of a fir tree. He gestured to Sin. “Give me your hand.”

  Sin did so, without argument, which told him more about her mental state than anything, and his gut knotted. Not long ago, he’d have been glad for her silence and her cooperation. Now he wanted the feisty little demon back.