Bad Seed: An Imp World Novel (Northern Wolves Book 4)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Bad Seed
Northern Wolves Book 4
Debra Dunbar
Copyright © 2017 by Debra Dunbar
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Also by Debra Dunbar
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Prologue
It was surprisingly peaceful in Jake’s meeting room despite the fact that three Alphas, three seconds, one human mate, a bear shifter, and two angels were squeezed into the space along with a werewolf pilot and a sidhe. But then, a threat that endangered every shifter in the state served as a catalyst to bring them all together.
“We have these, courtesy of a mage in Hel.” Brent, the Juneau Pack Alpha deposited a multi-sectioned box on the conference table. He pulled a glass vial from one section and held it up, the red liquid inside shining like rubies in the room’s fluorescent lighting. “Potions. They won’t heal the damage, but they’ll halt the progress of the rot and allow our bodies to heal the wounds. It will still take us about as long as a human to recover from being shot, but at least we won’t be dead. And we won’t go rogue.”
Jake didn’t want to think about how much that must have cost the pack. When it came to the lives of his people, no price was too high. “I’d like to purchase enough for each member of my pack to have one, plus as many spare vials as we can get.”
“I only have fifty right now, and I want to have some available for any bear shifters that need them. Ten for the bear shifters and ten for both mine and Moira’s pack, and I’ll let you have twenty since you have the biggest pack in Alaska.”
Twenty. For sixty werewolves. Jake winced. “How soon can we get more? If I make sure Dustin and those working for the outfitter companies have them, that only leaves five for the rest of the pack.”
“Ten isn’t enough for us either,” Moira, the Denali Pack Alpha said. “My wolves are practically on lockdown. They’re ready to shoot first and ask questions later when it comes to humans.”
“We’re trying to get more as fast as we can,” Brent told them. “There’s only one mage in Hel who is producing these. Now that he knows the formula, the process should be faster. It still might be a few weeks until I get more, and probably a couple of months until we have enough for every shifter in Alaska.”
“Then we need to think about the shifters outside of the state,” Sabrina, the Juneau Pack second said. “If supplies of these magically enhanced bullets reaches the lower forty-eight, they’re at risk as well.”
Brent nodded. “I’ll coordinate with the other pack Alphas, but my priority is Alaska right now.”
Jake tapped his pen on the table. “Until then, I’ll hold back as many as I can, and make carrying one mandatory each time one of us is in a situation where we’ll be interacting with humans—or where the possibility of being shot is at all a risk. Just like the flak jackets.”
“I’m getting push back on those,” Moira, the Denali Pack Alpha spoke up. “We don’t live in a compound, and my wolves don’t want to put on a bulky protective vest every time they take out the garbage or run to the grocery store.”
“Mine either,” Brent added.
“The potion might stop the spread of magical infection, but it does nothing to repair the wound itself,” Brent’s mate, Kennedy chimed in. She was human, but a trauma surgeon and had proven herself more than once to be the equal to any shifter at this table. “A werewolf that can’t run because he’s full of gunshot wounds that will take weeks to heal is going to be slaughtered, potion or no. And if those bullets destroy a shifter’s vital organs, they won’t have the luxury of weeks to heal. A shot to the heart that can’t be immediately healed is going to be fatal even with a potion on hand. Those protective vests are just as important, if not more so, in saving shifter lives.”
Moira sighed. “Mandatory flak jackets. I’ll just have to get snarly about it. The potions will save lives, though. Our thanks to the Juneau Pack for taking the lead on this and making it happen.”
Brent nodded in acknowledgement.
“Other good news is that our media campaign is taking hold,” Sabrina added. “My shooting, painful as it was, did a lot to put shifters in a good light and bring public attention to the situation with the hunters. That, along with some key human testimony has brought law enforcement to our side. They’re discrediting the videos showing shifter attacks saying that they’re unsubstantiated and possibly fabricated, and warning the public that any attacks upon us will be treated the same as at attack on humans—assault and attempted murder charges will be brought against any human who shoots a shifter. The onus will be on the human to prove self-defense.”
That was a huge positive turn of events. With law enforcement on their side, it would be difficult for the hunters to just hold up a wolf carcass and claim they had been attacked. There were now witnesses to the effect of these bullets, and proof that, at the very least, Sabrina’s shooting had been completely unjustified.
“Talligie may be dead, but there’re still many bullets that he managed to spell, plus the risk that another elf or a human mage may be motivated enough to continue the project,” the sidhe, Gwylla, added. “And of course, the blades and bullets that were enhanced to use against the angels are going to be an issue.” The last was said with an apologetic grimace toward the two angels in the room.
“I’ve brought it to the attention of the Ruling Council,” the archangel, Raphael, assured her.
“And taking out the current supply of ammunition along with either the arrest or timely death of the humans organizing and profiting from all this will go a long way toward making us all feel safer, even if there’s a possibility that someone else might attempt to create more,” the other angel, Ahia, commented.
“Which leaves me.” Jake stood. “We’ll need to find out where in the Anchorage area they’re
keeping their supply, and destroy it as well as bring those humans to justice. I’ll take charge of the project, since it seems to be in my own back yard.”
Nobody disagreed, and nobody questioned what sort of justice Jake was proposing. Like Ahia, most of those in the room wouldn’t be terribly disturbed if the humans who had been hunting and killing their own were found dead. And he’d prefer it. Jake knew there was quite a lot a human criminal could continue to accomplish from behind bars, and he was determined that the businesses these three humans had begun would never operate again.
“I’m okay with that,” Brent said.
“Whatever you need us to do, Jake, we’ll do it,” Moira vowed.
They’d taken care of the hunters who’d been murdering in her territory, or rather Dustin and Gwylla had taken care of them, but there had been two bears that vanished up near Fairbanks and another one of her pack was missing and presumed dead. That was more than enough to light a fire under the normally standoffish Alpha and her widely dispersed pack.
“Gwylla has offered to do a divination.” Jake nodded at the sidhe. “She has to wait for the right astrological alignment, but that should give us a bead on where the spelled items are being held, and possibly where we’ll find the other two partners.”
It had been huge for the reclusive fae to remain here away from her sanctuary, but Dustin had convinced her of the importance of finding the humans selling the magic that the hunters were using to coat their bullets. And it had become quite clear that what was important to Dustin was going to be important to Gwylla. Jake glanced over at their entwined hands and felt a stab of envy. His pack pilot had found his mate. He should be happy for him, and not wishing that he had the same.
He was ninety years old. He’d most likely live for four or five centuries, if not more. Someday there would be a werewolf for him. Someday. He just needed to be patient. And to keep lying to himself that he’d ever meet a werewolf, or any shifter, who’d be his match, his mate.
“Conditions should be right in the next two to three days,” the sidhe spoke up. “I’m confident that I can trace the supply of bullets through the magic used to coat them.”
Jake smiled at her in thanks. “In the meantime, Moira will continue to police hunters in her territory, with the cooperation of human law enforcement. Brent, let me know if things heat up your way, and if you need any assistance.” Not that the Alpha would be likely to call upon Jake for help with two angels in his pack.
Brent nodded. “Will do. And I’ll send three of my best wolves up to Anchorage and Kenai to assist in policing hunters here. Sabrina is in charge of coordinating with you on that, as well as assisting you in scouting out the location of the ammunition storage once you’ve determined where it is.”
They would just need to wait for Gwylla to do her thing and to make sure the hunters felt the squeeze…and to make sure that no more shifters died in the meantime.
Everyone made to stand, but Jake halted them with an upraised hand. “Hang on. Before you guys leave I need you to know about something. A courtesy FYI, so to speak.”
There was one more reason Jake had asked the two other Alphas to meet him here. And even though he wasn’t thrilled about a half a dozen others overhearing this, it was best that they knew as well.
He pulled a folder from a desk drawer, opened it, and slid it over toward Brent and Moira. Both Alphas sucked in a breath.
“Jake, you’re not seriously thinking of taking her in, are you?” Moira asked, her voice sharp as she passed the folder down the table toward the others.
“I already have. She arrives tomorrow. I’m just giving you a courtesy heads-up in case the worst happens and she gets out of hand.”
Jake waited until the folder made the rounds, noting the looks of confusion and alarm on the other faces before handing the folder back to Moira and Brent. They looked at it once more, shaking their head as they read the details in the contents.
“You’re insane.” Brent spun the folder around and pushed it back toward Jake. “Tell L.A. to put her down. It should have been done decades ago.”
“Can they even put her down?” Moira asked. “I mean, isn’t she immortal? We’d need to call in an angel or something.”
Everyone turned to look at the two angels in the room.
“I’m not killing her,” Ahia said firmly. “You guys need to deal with her, or bump it up the ladder if you need her dead.”
Raphael raised his hands. “Werewolves and Nephilim aren’t under my sphere of influence, honorary pack member or not. If she needs killing, and you guys can’t manage to make her stay dead, then you’ll have to ask the Iblis to do it.”
Everyone sucked in a collective breath. Nobody wanted the Queen of Hel, the most chaotic being in the universe, to turn her attention to their little corner of the world.
Jake shook his head and looked down at the picture paper-clipped to the folder. It looked like a mug shot. A woman with purple spikey hair, tattoos, and piercings stared out at him. Her eyes were cold, dead. Others saw a shifter that had been a ticking time bomb in every pack she’d belonged to. Others saw a notorious wolf who had been shuffled from pack to pack because eventually she challenged her Alpha—and won. But she couldn’t lead. No one would follow her. She had an aggressive dominance, but no leadership skills whatsoever, no ability to hold a pack together, encourage them, make the sum greater than the parts. Others saw a genetic experiment gone wrong, a shifter who was more demon than angel.
Jake saw desperation. He saw a woman who had preemptively sabotaged everything she wanted in life. He saw someone who was at the end of the line and had given up on herself. He saw someone who needed a chance—a real chance, not some half-hearted pack membership with an Alpha who didn’t have a clue what was boiling inside this woman.
“She arrives tomorrow. I’m it. I’m the only Alpha alive who is willing to take her on. If I fail, I’ll put her down myself. And yes, if I kill her, she’ll stay dead.”
None of them liked involving angels in their business, present company excluded. For hundreds of years, the Alaska packs had been off the angelic radar. There might be two of them in the Juneau Pack territory right now, not including the gate guardian, but that didn’t mean any of them wanted more. And there was no way Jake would ever have asked Ahia to do something like this. No, if this bad seed was beyond his ability to save, then he’d do the job himself. He owed it to her. And he owed it to himself.
“The timing is terrible, what with everything else going on,” Moira warned.
He nodded. “I agree, but she can’t stay in L.A. until this is resolved. She needs a pack now, and I’m it.”
Brent shook his head. “Jake, you’ve got a tightly run pack here. I might not agree with your management style, but you get results, and your wolves are satisfied with their lives; they’re happy. She’s going to ruin everything. She’ll upset the harmony you’ve achieved here.”
She would, but he needed to do this, both for her and for him. And if he was such a lousy Alpha that his pack couldn’t withstand a tsunami in their midst, then so be it.
“What are you going to do with her?” Moira asked. “I mean, does she have skills that your pack will find useful, or are you just going to chain her to a pole twenty-four-seven?”
The Juneau Pack members had pack duties, as well as jobs in the civilian world. They tithed to a central account for pack benefit. Brent was the only full-time pack member as their Alpha. The Denali pack took Brent’s loose structure one step further. They were more a gathering of solitaries than a real pack. They also tithed, but Moira had a job and duties outside of her Alpha ones.
There had been those who had accused the Swift River Pack of being a cult, or a para-military group. They all lived on a compound—every single one of them with no exception. Everything was pack-owned except for the clothing on each wolf’s back and their personal items. Mated couples, and a few select others whose jobs were more of an on-call nature, were granted a small family h
ouse. Everyone else lived in a dormitory-style arrangement. All the businesses were pack businesses. Jake decided who did what. The cooks submitted the weekly meal plans to his second for approval. The tour, flight, and other businesses submitted their weekly financials and status reports to his second. But Jake reviewed everything. No one sneezed in his pack without his permission. This tight level of control eased his mind, and it seemed to suit those who called Swift River their pack. Wolves were free to transfer elsewhere. He’d never hold a wolf here against his or her will. But it was gratifying that so few left. Of the three Alaska packs his was the most profitable, the largest in terms of members, the most stable.
And he was about to dump a grenade right in the middle of all that. Brent was right. He was crazy. But it was too late to back out now, even if he’d wanted to.
Jake leafed through the file, thinking of Moira’s question. What was he going to do with this rabid wolf? In the last fifty years she’d been a mechanic, an equipment operator, a lumberjack. She’d plowed fields, dug ditches, hammered nails. Outside of the operator job in the seventies, she’d always been assigned manual labor, no doubt in an attempt to physically exhaust her and blunt her aggression. Obviously that tactic had been unsuccessful. Maybe she needed to be forced to be around humans and other shifters. Maybe isolating her in physically demanding jobs had only been gasoline on the fire of her isolation and disrespect, reinforced her lack of empathy. Maybe she needed to mentor, to be forced to lead, to bond. Although woe to those who she was mentoring.
He’d throw her off balance. He’d keep her so unstable that she didn’t have a chance to set her feet and attack. He’d throw so much at her so fast that all those layers of anger and defiance were stripped away, exposing the raw, terrified, insanely powerful being that lay within.