by L. A. Banks
Sasha went to Hunter. “No. You were the first etheric double they put down. You go in there, focus on killing mine, and call me—I will hear you in my soul. Then let me go in there and fight with you to kill the rest. Your arm, baby,” she said, gently touching the edge of the tape. “Trust me to be by your side . . . Call me in there with you and don’t you dare die on my watch.”
She didn’t care if she’d just made an open declaration, a clear choice with witnesses all around, and didn’t care if Shogun or Sir Rodney was offended. She didn’t want to hurt them, but it was what it was. Something was lifting, breaking up like the congestion of a bad cold . . . The haze was gone. Hunter stared at her for a moment, his inner vision clear for the first time in days—she could feel it inside her like she knew her name, and that private knowing anchored her.
Hunter nodded. “I will call you as soon as the shadows are yours again.”
“Hunter,” Woods said, tossing him a semiautomatic. “This might not work, but it’s worth a try. Silver bullets might kill demons, who knows? At least they could slow ’em down.”
“FYI, Winters and Bradley brought back iron bullets, handcuffs, a bunch of shit from the occult shop,” Fisher said, outright worry thick in his tone. “If you’re jumping shadows, thought you’d like to know.”
She watched Hunter take a running leap into the shadow of a huge weeping willow tree and enter it. She closed her eyes, suddenly realizing how precious a gift she’d had and how it had been robbed by a foul hob goblin of a creature.
Sasha walked over to Kiagehul and backhanded him. “If he dies, I’m going to make you eat rowan berries for lunch, I promise you!”
CHAPTER 22
Running, pure velocity, pain shooting through his arm, hair lifting off his shoulders, the hunt had Hunter in its jaws. He sailed over the rock-hewn cavern, his focus on the battle so the shadow lands would bring him directly to it. But it took a moment for his mind to sync up with what his eyes witnessed.
Sasha . . . his beautiful, silver-coated mate, was hideously transformed. Her face was mangled and half burned away; his men were huddled back-to-back and brandishing rowan and iron pikes to keep her away while she tried to rush them. His grandfather was a massive wolf, a maggot-ridden demon transfiguration of his former regal shadow self. Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow were even forced to fight themselves, as copies of their wolves were snarling, hideous beasts.
He lifted his weapon and fired. The demons turned on him. Silver had no effect. Without rowan or iron, he was an instant target. His men called out to him, shouting no. As the beasts lunged, Bear Shadow threw him an iron railroad stake, hurling rowan berries behind them like shrapnel.
Sasha’s chest sailed over him as he crouched down low, came up, and took her heart.
“Your arm!” Crow Shadow shouted. “Don’t let their contagion get into your wound!”
“Clarissa speaks from the other side. Silver Hawk sees here now, brother!” Bear Shadow shouted, dashing in with more supplies to take part in the battle.
With a quick pivot, Hunter spared his arm from his grandfather’s jaws, driving the stake into his temple. The beast howled as it exploded, sending embers and ash everywhere.
Seconds mattered, in the beat of a heart two more Shadow Wolves joined the fray. Hunter turned just long enough to see the regal Silver Shadow leap off the ground to collide with Bear Shadow’s demon wolf. Hunter was on the felled pair as they struggled on the ground, goring the demon in the throat as his grandfather sprang into action to chase Crow Shadow’s demon form. Crow Shadow didn’t hesitate. The moment his demon wolf lunged, he stabbed it in the chest. Both man and demon fell backward, leaving Crow Shadow beneath burning ash.
Silver Hawk pulled the younger man up with a hard yank, having shifted back into his human form. All men spun as screaming banshee-like demon forms of Doc, Winters, Woods, Fisher, Bradley, and Clarissa came running at them. The human beasts ran fast, moving in limb-distorted ways, with savage jaws, hollowed-out eyes, and hooked claws. The Shadow pack made a circle facing outward, stakes and rowan in hands. Then a voice made them glance over their shoulders for a second.
“Get down!”
Four men hit the ground; rapid machine-gun fire obliterated demon bodies. Green guck splattered everywhere, exploding into black slime. Then it became quiet, eerily so. The Shadow pack lifted their heads. Sasha stood wide-legged, breathing hard, holding an M-16 that had been loaded with iron shells.
“I got the call—not the cell phone variety,” she said, catching her breath. “I heard you in my soul, but thought I should make a pit stop to go get some of that ammo Winters and Bradley brought home from the occult shop.”
Hunter flipped himself up and pulled his grandfather up beside him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, beginning to weave.
“We need to get this man out of here. He’s lost a lot of blood, and with the demon doors opened around him . . .” Bear Shadow said.
Hunter looked at Bear Shadow. “I’m good.”
Crow Shadow and Silver Hawk caught him before he hit the ground.
Cartel Elderman Vlad opened his eyes, receiving Baron Montague’s telepathic transmission. His fangs lowered slowly as outrage caused his hands to tremble with fury.
“I don’t know who to be more vexed with!” he shouted into the darkness of his lair, also transmitting the message as a searing telepathic barb. “You would risk sending our nation to war during this precarious time of rebuilding in New Orleans—and for what, to toy with one of the wolves’ humans? Vengeance over a small taxation matter against your blood club? That is hardly worth the exposure to human authorities!”
“It was for much more than that, Elder Vlad,” Baron Montague shot back. “I had been monitoring the progression of Unseelie Fae dark magick, whereby, if they had been successful, we would have had a rare opportunity to break the Wolf Clan Federations that united against us, as well as break the back of the very fragile and newly united Seelie Fae Parliament, along with those third-world groups like the Mythics, The Order of the Dragon, and the others that sided with the wolves. My goal, sir, was to simply monitor the situation as the Unseelie magick weakened those allied forces, got them squabbling and at war amongst themselves, and thus . . . in time, we would have been in a position to be restored as a single voting bloc at the United Council of Entities. There was a larger objective than a mere blood club and a couple of casinos. However, we are not culpable for any of this, beyond the attack on the boy—to which I lost a lover . . . This illegal retribution was beyond the pale, and now they owe us for the offense.”
Deadly silence lay in wait between them. Baron Geoff Montague remained stone still. An infraction of this magnitude could cost him his life.
“Fix this,” Elder Vlad finally murmured. “You are a valuable member of our society and the Cartel . . . I would hate to have to witness your untimely demise. Make sure that it is clear, in court, that your hands were clean, so that none of this causes backlash on our Cartel.”
“It shall be addressed immediately upon sunset.” Baron Montague closed his eyes and released an inaudible breath of relief. “All that is necessary is the UCE trial and—”
“I don’t think so,” Elder Vlad said with a hiss in his tone.
“Sir? Pardon?”
“Several issues are at hand . . . Have you not been monitoring the human airwaves—their news reports—while in your lair?”
For a moment, Baron Montague couldn’t respond. “Uh, sir, I was battling for our lives using all available energy to keep my crypt concealed and to quell the inferno of the mansion and—”
“Well, let me give you a news update,” Elder Vlad said with a hiss. “The humans think there is Mexican drug cartel activity erupting in the area, since the establishment of Buchanan Broussard burned to the ground . . . and they found machine-gun casings, dead bodies, and drugs littering the property. Then, earlier this afternoon, smoke was seen billowing from Dugan’s Bed & Breakfast and Finnegan’s Wake, and
there was an actual police shoot-out followed by an unsuccessful attempt to apprehend what the humans believe to be a vanload of drug terrorists that firebombed Ethan’s Fair Lady. However, like at the other establishments, the fire was immediately brought under control with minimal damage.”
The baron said nothing as the ancient Vampire drew a wheezing breath and continued his energy-sapping rant from his hidden crypt three parishes away.
“All of that would have been fine, except that there was a fire at your estate that left human bodies, shell casings, rocket-propelled grenade blasts, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. That cannot be dark-glamoured away by your Unseelie friends. That cannot be removed from the collective consciousness of the entire American public. That is already in news archives!” the elderly Vampire shouted.
Elder Vlad didn’t allow Baron Montague to draw a breath to interject. His voice became punctuated by warning hisses as his rage spun out of control.
“That is a highly visible debacle that literally leads to your front door, which means it has led to our front door! It could possibly open us up to human investigation into all establishments, like our casinos, bars, restaurants, waste management contracts, oil companies, our military mercenary and security firms abroad, everything that is linked to you—which is way too much at risk. Do you realize that if the stupid humans believe that this is all a part of Mexican drug cartels moving into the southern region, crossing the border, with their economy in shambles and an aggressive new administration, they could nationalize a significant part of what we own? The war started at Buchanan Broussard’s wolf house—his lineage is from Texas—that’s been all over the news, including the mysterious disappearance of him and his daughter only months ago. The humans have made a leap in thinking—and it all circles back to us!”
“I will fix this, sir . . . You have my word.”
Elder Vlad drew a shaky breath. “You might want to ensure that you do before the trial.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.” Baron Montague sat up and then stood. “They must have clear evidence that we were involved, and they don’t.”
He bent and held his head as Elder Vlad sent a black lightning strike through his mind. Tears of black blood leaked out of his eyes as the ancient, stronger entity exploded in a fit of rage.
“You do not know how you could be implicated, simply by monitoring the situation, as you say. How many times do you have to see with your own eyes, Sasha Trudeau was human, and US-military trained! She wouldn’t allow the wolves to simply rip your liaison to shreds and to decapitate him to reverse his spells. They captured him in iron and rowan bondage! They are not so foolish as to go to war directly with Cerridwen!”
“Queen Cerridwen Blatand of Hecate is coming to trial here?”
“If this doesn’t go right,” Elder Vlad said very quietly, “I will rip your heart out myself with my own bare hands when I see you. As I said earlier, fix this.”
“What do you mean they went dark?” General Westford shouted into the cell phone. His short, blond hair was spiked with nervous sweat and his ruddy face had bloomed to near crimson as his voice exploded into the receiver. “I want to know what the hell is going on in New Orleans, Doctor. Has Sasha Trudeau flipped near her twenty-fifth birthday like the others did? Is the virus in her system under control or what? Is she stable? Do we need to send a Special Forces squad to put her down?”
“No, she’s fine and doing what she’s been trained to do in Delta Force, Special Ops Command. She’s in full control of all her faculties and is advancing the cause of the PCU.”
“But how can that be when there are bodies all over creation?” the general shouted. “This is supposed to be a covert operation. I’m getting calls from the Joint Chiefs; everybody needs answers and I haven’t got any to give them!”
“The entire reason PCU came back into this region after having left it not so long ago is that Captain Trudeau rightfully suspected a resurgence of evil-entity activity that could threaten the human population here.” Xavier Holland dragged his fingers through his gray hair, speaking in deferential tones while pacing away from the séance still in progress. “She went undercover with her known sources, and at present, I don’t know exactly where she and her team—”
“Find her! How dark could they be if a state trooper said what sounds like two of her men came through a roadblock carrying what our boys said were biohazards! Holland, this bullshit came right to my door! The Paranormal Containment Unit is supposed to do just that—contain the threat, not have it spill out into the city streets of New Orleans in broad daylight in car chases and gunfights! This isn’t the Wild Wild West.”
“Sir, I assure you that—”
“State police called for us to send in backup, if we could, because they think we’re about to go to war with the Mexican drug cartel on our borders. They’re about to contact the White House, do you read me?” General Westford let out a hard breath. “Local law enforcement said one of our USMC guys told them that he was under my authority to transport biohazardous weaponry through the region on some secret mission. After the roof of the bar in the French Quarter blew up and a plantation in the high-rent district burned, they remembered that and called me, Holland! They wanted to be sure no viral threat was released in the explosions and are asking if they need to evacuate the area!”
Xavier Holland cringed, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. “Sir, we will fix this.”
“You’d better, because NOPD lost six good men in a firefight in the bayou—and from the way it sounds from what was left of them, it could have only been Werewolves involved! Tell me it wasn’t Werewolves and we can end this call right now.”
“Sir, we will have more intel and a full report when Captain Trudeau returns, but I hesitate to speculate—”
“Stop yanking my chain, Holland! Was it Werewolves or not that savaged those poor boys in the bayou?”
“We’re pretty sure it was that phylum of supernatural that attacked those innocent officers, which is why Captain Trudeau went to extreme measures to apprehend the perpetrators of—”
“Jesus H. Christ in heaven, man, I’ve got local authorities with credible witnesses saying that they saw men jump off a fucking three-story building to land in the street like ninjas—and they were with a woman. A gray-eyed woman who sounded too suspiciously close to Captain Sasha Trudeau. Then they vanished. How is that going dark? That travesty happened in broad daylight, Holland! People on public transportation saw it, a news chopper got part of it! Later they recovered a military vehicle at the burned-out Montague mansion! Rocket-propelled grenades, military-issue C-4, M-16 rounds. I want answers!”
“The mansion was owned by a leading Vampire Cartel suspect, sir.”
Dead silence met Doc Holland’s response.
“What am I gonna tell the new president when he calls?” the general said, his voice now weary and subdued. Fear made his question sound like more of a plea than a direct demand for answers. It was clear that the man was struggling for comprehension as his world turned upside down. “The Vampires have a cartel? I thought it was just one or two . . . like . . . like Dracula or something. I thought that was who was working with a couple of infected Werewolves . . .”
“No, sir, there are covens of Vampires . . . nests all over the world, just like there are federations of Werewolf clans—some friendly, some hostile. That’s what our captain went in to root out.”
“But PCU is only a handful of soldiers and some special subject matter experts.” The general’s voice had lost all its bluster and sounded like that of a bewildered child.
“Yes, sir,” Doc said, looking back at Clarissa, concerned about her worsening condition. “This is why we’re hamstrung.”
“We need more resources,” the general said quietly. “This wasn’t a few isolated incidents. With our small staff, how long will we be able to keep this from the general population? I need a full line item in the budget, to hell with bank bailouts. This is a cabinet-level conversation .
. . We might need a new cabinet-level post, for all I know. I might really have to take this to our commander-in-chief after all, Xavier.”
“True, sir. But, our new president is progressive and forward thinking; he understands new technology . . . science . . . research . . . We might have to just tell him the truth and hope he’s willing to more than just diplomatically reach across the aisle, but to embrace the new supernatural reality, too.”
“When Trudeau returns, I want a meeting, stat.”
The call abruptly disconnected in Doc’s ear—that issue he’d have to deal with later. Hunter fell through a shadow with Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow holding him up. Sasha was right behind them with Silver Hawk bringing up the rear. The older man swept his clothes off the floor and began dressing as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Right now Silver Hawk seemed fully recovered, but Clarissa clearly wasn’t. And Hunter was semiconscious.
“That man needs blood,” Sasha said between bursts of breath, pointing to Hunter as they laid him on the table. “It’s a gunshot wound and overexertion—I can heal him, but Clarissa doesn’t look good. Bear and Crow are all right. Woods and Fisher took the POW in with Shogun and his men; Seelie prison until trial later tonight.”
“Let me work with her,” Silver Hawk said, going to Clarissa to stroke her hair. “The young one has been under psychic attack.”
“How are her vitals?” Doc asked Bradley.
Bradley shook his head. “Silver Hawk came out of the trance and went into the shadows whole; she didn’t come out at all. She’s still under deep and her breathing isn’t right.”
“Get her on a table,” Doc said, as he grabbed a blood pressure cuff off the desk and yanked a stethoscope out of the drawer.
Sasha was at Hunter’s side, but her focus was divided. “Can we get Dr. Williams in here to assist with a transfusion, maybe get a saline drip to get some more fluids back into Hunter’s body?”
