Why, Cameron again thought, didn’t Abby Stark show the slightest bit of fear or distaste over his current wolfed-up state? Sure, she might be a werewolf internally, yet she continued to exhibit no outward signs of shifting. How did she control that? If it was a matter of willpower, hers had to be second to none.
They dived for cover from a passing car, beneath an overhanging roof beam, where they’d get a better idea of whom and what followed them. Seconds ticked by in silence before the assailants appeared. Two of them, as Abby had predicted, all muscled up and begging for trouble.
Abby’s knife was in her hand, though that hand now trembled. Cameron felt the presence of her silver blade as strongly as if she had used it on him. The narrow piece of polished metal seemed to draw on the remaining slivers of silver in his system, so that his skin rippled and pulsed, and a wave of light-headedness struck. He made a sound that caused Abby to move the knife, and even that minor change made it easier for him to get air into his lungs.
When he breathed deeply, he caught a whiff of something foul. The potent odor of unwashed wolf. Bad guys, then, he confirmed, growling his displeasure over facing two hyped-up werewolves so near to the street.
Abby’s hand wasn’t the only part of her trembling now. Tremors rocked her stance. He heard her teeth snap shut, probably to keep them from chattering. But she didn’t back down. Without a voice, appeasing her wasn’t an option. They were backed into a corner and would have to make a stand.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Swear to God, he loved Abby Stark for that vote of confidence.
Chapter 24
Abby had been around some fairly rough-and-tumble people in Sam’s bar, and had often defended herself from unwanted advances, but none of those people had tried to kill her. Only Sam had been willing to pull a trigger.
And now this.
Being angry and upset, though, tended to give her a boost. Adrenaline pumped through her so hard her nerves sang. Brandishing the knife took both hands.
Her companion had bested bad wolves before, but he’d been injured too recently to predict a good outcome here. Another cop had died trying to keep the peace the night before when facing these bad wolves, and cops were trained to take down criminals. But cops weren’t ready for mentally malnourished werewolves with a wicked agenda. Only Cameron, Sam and the rest of the hunters realized what this kind of trouble meant.
“They smell,” she said as Cameron took one more step forward. Abby recognized the odor and the feel of their evil intent without waiting for them to prove it. These rogues had the watery black eyes of rabid dogs, and stank of smoke and grimy pavement.
They materialized in a tiny patch of moonlight and kept purposefully inside that light. Their everyday human shapes wouldn’t rival the scary picture they presented, and for them, image was probably everything.
These werewolves were nothing like Cameron—weren’t creatures of beauty and natural animal grace in their furred-up incarnations. Both of them were varying shades of brown, with short, shaggy fur that lacked sheen. She’d seen drunks with that kind of dullness to their skin, leached of color and energy due to too many years of nights on the town.
Their muzzles were grotesquely elongated, showing off mouthfuls of big yellow teeth. They panted with the effort of holding back their desire for a kill. One of them growled. Undeterred, Cameron growled back. When the larger wolf raised its paws menacingly, Abby raised the knife so that the silver caught the light.
Their eyes moved to her, and what she held.
Cameron stood a good head taller than the biggest wolf, and in Cameron’s spectacular stance of defiance, he seemed to Abby like the prince of menace. His muscles rippled as if they were alive and capable of moving on their own. His hair hung in his eyes, giving him an air of untamed wildness. This tense demeanor spoke volumes. Come and get it, if you dare.
She’d have hit the road if she’d been his opposition. These two idiots had other ideas—one of those probably being that two jacked-up werewolves against one wounded animal and his small mate were damn good odds.
In unison, the werewolves sniffed the air, their attention shifting back and forth from Cameron to her, their eyes intent on the blade. Abby thought she saw confusion cross their misshapen features. What wolves were doing with a silver weapon had to be the question they were asking themselves before getting on with their attack.
The shudder of anticipation that ran through Cameron also ran through her, contagious and cold. Able now to hold the knife in one hand, Abby placed her other palm on Cameron’s back, allowing his radical electrical charge to surge through her.
Her body responded immediately to that influx of power. Claws sprang from all ten of her fingers simultaneously with the tearing of sensitive skin and a single crack of pain. That first jolt caused another one, and like a game of dominoes, where one domino leaned into another and everything tipped over in a predisposed pattern, the dark thing she carried inside her that she’d ignored all these years rose to the surface with the all-consuming intensity of an impending sexual climax.
This new thing hurled itself upward and outward so fast that Abby didn’t have time to acknowledge what might happen. Knocking internal organs out of its way, coating everything inside, in seconds the darkness spread through her, causing upheaval and pain so violent she wouldn’t have imagined it possible to withstand the surge.
She dropped the knife and uttered a curse that tapered into a howl. She spoke to herself. Do not close your eyes. You cannot afford to lose ground, or lose this battle.
But she had to shut her eyes. The pain flooding her body was too great to withstand. It seemed too great to survive.
And in that instant, when the world went dark, the rogue werewolves sprang.
* * *
A sense of urgency beat at the air as Cameron heard Abby whisper his name. He could not turn his head, had to leave thoughts about her behind for now, if they were to stay alive.
That was the name of the game. Live, or die.
His opponents were large, but clumsy, and for that, Cameron was grateful. The smaller of the two snapped its jaws repeatedly as it came on with misplaced self-confidence. Its needle-sharp teeth caught Cameron in the hand as he reached for its neck, and the blood spurting from the wound hit the oncoming werewolf in the face. But not before Cameron began to squeeze the breath from his attacker.
The big wolf was on him in a flash, its mouth and claws seeming to come from all directions. This hulk had a powerful punch. Taking a blow to his shoulder, inches from his previous wound, forced Cameron to spin full circle. He dragged the smaller assailant with him in the turn with his hands still on the wolf’s thick, matted neck. The two attackers’ bodies collided with each other, knocking the bigger bastard off its feet.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cameron saw Abby move. She picked up the knife. He caught the glint of her bright eyes as she jumped on top of the downed werewolf and struck at it with her blade. But this wasn’t Abby, wasn’t exactly the woman who had been behind him the moment before. She hadn’t fully shifted, but some kind of change had taken place.
I can’t help.
Abby, hang on.
Pain sharp enough to make him nauseous stabbed at Cameron’s chest as he forced the wolf he had hold of to its haunches. The furry bastard flailed, growled and spat. Its fur was soaked in Cameron’s blood, and the scent made the wolf ready to do anything to eliminate the hand cutting off its air supply.
With a push of its heavy thighs, this rogue tried to propel itself upward. But Cameron had been ready, and had been trained to fight. Tightening his grip, gaining better access to the wolf’s windpipe as the wolf struggled upward, Cameron squeezed. The wolf’s eyes widened with surprise. It thrashed around before it finally gasped, shuddered and lost the fight. Cameron held on until the breathless bag of bones fell to the ground.
Satisfied to be rid of one fanged idiot, Cameron whirled to find Abby and the other rogue on the pavement. It took h
im more precious time to figure out what had happened.
Blood spewed from a small round hole in the werewolf’s right shoulder, but that wouldn’t have taken it down unless Abby had delivered a well-placed silver blow.
She glanced up at him from her crouched position with the light of success in her beautiful eyes...and a red-feathered dart protruding from her neck.
Abby! No!
Dropping down to support her with his bloody hands, Cameron’s senses warned that the fight wasn’t over yet. There was more scent on the wind, which meant more intruders.
Not wolves.
He should have foreseen this, in hindsight. Should have predicted it. They’d taken too much time here, time they didn’t have.
Sam Stark strode into the moonlight, dressed in black and looking like the grim reaper. Two silent, fully armed hunters flanked him on either side.
“I suppose I should thank you for the assistance,” Stark snarled soberly. “But I don’t speak monster.”
Cameron figured that he was supposed to believe that a very untimely ending had come, and almost bought into it. But if cops believed there was no way out of messes on a regular basis, no one would wear a uniform and a badge. Add werewolf into the mix, and...well...the unexpected was always around the corner.
The big plus here was that Sam Stark didn’t know the first thing about him, or his identity. According to what Abby had said, Sam didn’t stop long enough to care about his targets.
It might not have made any difference if Stark recognized a cop when he saw one, or not. Monster was the word Sam had used, and that kind of name-calling said it all.
“Get up,” Stark ordered.
Cameron stayed put, on his knees, holding Abby, whose eyes had fluttered shut. She’d been drugged. He pulled the dart from her neck and tossed it aside.
“Don’t you hurt her,” Stark snapped.
That’s going to be your privilege? I’ll bet you’re hard just thinking about it.
“I have another dart loaded and aimed,” one of the nameless hunters said.
Sam Stark gestured for the man to wait and said to Cameron, “Leave her, wolf, and get up.”
And if I don’t?
Dealing with werewolves was so much simpler, he thought. With one growl, Weres knew when danger was at hand. With humans, things were never so easy. Some people looked okay, but hid a rotten core that produced child-abusers and other types of hardened criminals. It sometimes took the escalation of a problem to see the truth. Sam Stark smelled of anger, and had taken on physical aspects reminiscent of the dark angel of death. The man appeared sane, yet was barking mad. Why? He had been willing to kill Abby not long ago. Did he hope to reserve the pleasure of seeing that through now?
Stark’s ultracalm demeanor and iron scent suggested to Cameron that Abby had been right about Sam. For Sam, hunting wasn’t merely a sport. It was much more than that, and the culmination of something he had been waiting for. Something bigger than bagging a werewolf or two for a bankroll.
As a cop, Cameron had seen this kind of attitude in cases where a personal vendetta ruled a man’s actions. Payback for an affront or an offense.
The man Abby had presumed to be her father was seriously messed up inside, and seeing Abby’s claws clinched whatever issues Sam had going on.
He had to get Abby out of here. Out of Stark’s reach.
He had to try.
Cameron got to his feet slowly, pulling Abby’s limp, glistening body up with him. With a swiftness that made the hunters jump back, he swept her into his arms.
“Shoot it,” Stark directed. “In the back if you have to.”
Cameron heard the swishing sound of the hunter’s black vest moving. He looked down a rifle barrel and growled.
The sound of hell breaking loose came soon after.
Chapter 25
Sirens, heading their way with great speed, rent the night with the eerie wail of distant gods keening. The suddenness of the sound made the hunter’s finger hesitate on the trigger, and in those few seconds lay the difference between this life and the next.
Cameron took full advantage of the pause.
Turning on his heels with Abby in his arms for the third time since they had met, Cameron utilized the speed and dexterity of a wolf in full bloom, under what was left of a full moon, and heard the metallic ping of the dart strike the wall beside where he had been standing.
He took off, gripping Abby tightly enough to crush her bones, and without stopping to catch his breath or look behind. Cops were on their way, heading into the area fast. He heard Stark’s hunters scramble for cover. They would be hard-pressed to explain the guns and the darts, the blood spatter on the ground and the whole idea behind the “hunter” scenario to the Miami PD.
Cameron wanted to kiss the officers answering this call. Maybe he would, if he and Abby got out of this in one piece.
Darkness swallowed him up when he reached the next street. There were no homes here, just rows of factory after factory, most of them either closed for the night or abandoned altogether. At the moment, and while making a getaway, Cameron couldn’t have asked for anything better.
Abby didn’t move or speak. She lay huddled against him as lifelessly as if her bones had melted. Her claws had disappeared as soon as she closed her eyes, yet as he carried her and felt the heat of her bare skin on his, Cameron sensed her life’s spark. She was out of it, but alive, and a series of ongoing changes were taking place inside her.
Her body began to exude a new scent. Her skin had a different feel. He remembered the extraordinary flash of her eyes when she’d faced down the rogue, and recalled hearing her whisper when Sam appeared out of the blue, “I’m sorry.”
Hell, Abby, I’m the one who is sorry.
One block. Two. Three blocks, and he’d covered all the miles between his residence and the side of the park he needed to find the hard way. Sirens in the distance had stopped, which meant cops had arrived at the scene he’d left behind. Chances were good that Stark and his cronies also had a head start on a getaway. They’d be flirting with disappointment and fuming over having lost some of tonight’s booty.
Possibly, if the rogue Weres Sam chased every month had changed back to their human shapes after they fell, old Stark would have given his hunters their money back—if they had paid for their hunting privileges and weren’t satisfied with the way events had unfolded.
How much had Stark promised? At the very least, those guys got to see a werewolf or two up close. Bad thing was, they had also seen the woman they knew as Stark’s daughter, and had to be wondering what that was all about.
Pondering things brought up too many ways things could go. Any way he looked at it, Abby’s situation marked a change for everyone.
He couldn’t take her to her home, or back to his. His comfy little nest had been discovered by bad guys because it had been saturated with wolf scent. Between himself, Abby, Dylan, Delmonico and Wilson, it wouldn’t be a safe haven again for quite a while. Only one place met the criteria now.
The corner of the park near the boulevard lay just ahead, slightly ominous now that so much had happened in and around the boundaries. Stark had to have run the opposite way with his specialized weapons of wolf destruction. No reek of guns or human sweat tainted the night.
Personally, he didn’t give a flying fuck for Stark, a sentiment that was probably mutual. Stark had lost this round, but there were thirty days between this night’s full moon and the next one—plenty of time for Sam to widen his search for Abby.
Cameron paused long enough to place a tender kiss on Abby’s damp forehead before continuing on.
He circled around the farthest tip of the park, relieved to see the colored stucco and brick walls of the Miami mansions he’d been seeking. The night was dead quiet here and lacking signs of disturbance, but as soon as he approached the wall he needed to scale, an unfamiliar voice above it halted him.
“Glad you made it,” a half-furred-up, red-haired female sai
d, gesturing with her claws for him to wait while she went for help.
So, how many Weres did Landau have in this pack? Who was the red-haired she-wolf?
Two big males landed beside him and attempted to take Abby from his quivering arms. No, you don’t, he silently sent to them. This treasure is all mine.
* * *
“Knocked out, but she will come around,” a hazy voice stated.
“When?” The familiarity of this second voice made Abby’s heart kick.
“Give her some time for the healing you refused. She’s safe here, so there’s no need to rush.”
This speaker, an older woman by the sound of her tone, radiated the confidence of a healer. Was she in a hospital for freaks? Had she died and gone to werewolf heaven?
“She moved.”
“I think she hears us. Abby?”
She didn’t want to answer. Wasn’t ready to wake up.
“Abby.” Cameron’s voice was a welcoming lifeline dropped into utter darkness. “Abby, it’s all right. We got out of there and are with friends.”
She shook her head slowly on something silky and feather-soft. A pillow? Depleted energy left her with only the breath for one word. “Sam.”
“Gone,” Cameron said. “At least for now.”
She managed to stammer, “G-got away?”
“We did. I think you were my good luck charm.”
It was okay to relax and give in to the need for sleep. Cameron was there to watch over her. He wouldn’t let anything happen.
Warm fingers rested on her forehead. “Sleep, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Should she thank him, kiss him or beat at him with her fists for making her understand why she had previously wallowed in darkness? Abby contemplated all of those things.
“Abby, can you hear me?”
She was too weak to reply, and kept her eyes closed.
“You know. You do know what you are,” he whispered. “You can heal quickly if you want to.”
“Like her...” Abby replied as the color behind her eyes lightened and she was cast adrift on the tide of fatigue. “Like my mother.”
Wolf Hunter Page 19
