Weak sunlight from a cloud-filled sky casts an odd half-light to the outdoors. Approaching these bastards like men, face-to-face, is the only way to subdue them without injury. Pat bitched the entire way here about wanting to put a cap in their asses, too. Shouting he’d like to see how they liked it. His complaining was more for our amusement than anything else.
I don’t doubt his integrity. He’ll stay the course. Besides, we aren’t carrying guns. Despite the possible danger, I feel light-hearted and unafraid. We’re on our land—frozen tundra that it may be—and we’re going to take it back from the demented bastards aiming to kill us.
As we approach the first location Candy showed us on the map, I signal for the other two to fan out. Adrenaline washes through my system, bringing my wolf senses and instincts closer to the forefront. The yearning to rip and kill runs just below the surface, like a caged beast eager for the slightest provocation to lunge.
Our steps through the brush are slow, measured, and quiet to not reveal our location. Ahead, behind a tall bush, I see the darker shadow of a man. He’s covered on all sides by branches, and if I hadn’t approached from the right angle, thanks to Candy’s direction, I could have easily missed him.
I reach the edge of the scrub and whistle softly. The camouflaged man whips around at the noise, his rifle caught in the branches, a surprised look on his face. My fist snaps forward and cold clocks him once, hard. He goes down like a bag of rocks, as Eric and Pat rush forward, no pretense at stealth needed anymore.
We manhandle the guy out of the bush and roll him over, zipping together his wrists then ankles. Pat takes great glee in biting off a length of duct tape and slapping it over the man’s slack mouth.
“That’s one bitch down and two more to go. Boo-yah!” His fist pumps through the air.
We search his pockets and disarm him of all weapons, taking clips and knives with us. Eric smashes the hunter’s radio and leaves it next to the man’s former hiding spot.
“Hustle his body back to the cabin and put him face down on the floor,” I say to Eric. “Pat and I will go to the next location, okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Meet you soon.” He hefts the unconscious man over his shoulder and runs back the way we came.
“How ‘bout letting me take point on this one?” Pat asks, the eager light of the chase in his eyes.
I open my mouth to agree, but something holds me back. The first catch may have been easy, but if anything happens with the next two, I don’t want either pup in the direct line of fire. I shake my head. “Not this time. Let’s stick to the plan for now.”
“Yeah, fine. You’re a fucking glory hound is all. Admit it.” The crooked-nose bastard smiles and ducks into the woods before I can reply.
I laugh softly and move to catch up. We walk side-by-side, loping deep into the tundra to search for the next hunter. According to Candy, this one is hanging out in a deep fissure where the land pushed up on a frost upheaval.
Forty-five minutes pass before we work our way up behind the guy. The crack in the frozen ground he’s hiding appears long and narrow. I step too close to the brittle edge and slip, sending a rock cascading down the interior.
The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough to alert the man to our presence. He leaves his rifle on its secure mount and grabs his radio while turning to investigate. He’s a mirror image of the first camouflaged guy, slightly bigger with a scraggily, brown beard. He spots me as I try to halt my slide.
One gloved finger punches the radio button and he screams, “Greg, they found me!” He drops the radio and fumbles for his sidearm.
I dive to the bottom of the shallow ravine, watching him take aim. Scrambling to stay moving, I launch myself to the opposite slopping dirt wall, right as the hunter squeezes off the first shot. The bullet misses by several feet and the steaming muzzle takes aim again.
Pat drops onto the hunter from above. The young Were shoves his tazer into the back of the man’s neck, zapping him before another shot flies.
The big guy jerks and drops, proving no matter the size, a tazer makes a great equalizer. Eric runs up while we’re securing the man’s spasming limbs. The sharp, astringent scent of urine fills the air, and a dark, wet spot grows on the front of the unconscious man’s pants.
I smile up at Pat. “You used the tazer, you haul the wet one.”
He shrugs, unperturbed by the thought, still smiling from taking the man down.
“But it’ll have to wait,” I say. “You heard the guy. He’s already informed the third man we’re out here. The advantage is we know where he is and he doesn’t know it. Let’s get there—and be on the lookout for him heading this way.”
The high from successfully stopping the first two hunters feels tight with tension. My slip on the stones almost earned me a slug. While I’d easily heal from a regular bullet that didn’t hit my heart or head, I have no desire to test the werewolf ability against silver rounds.
As Jerry illustrated last fall when shooting Ivan, the silver bullets aren’t accurate over long distance. If one of the Army’s best snipers lands a shoulder wound at a hundred yards, instead of the headshot he was aiming for, you know the accuracy is lacking.
The young Weres run beside me across the tundra. Last night’s freezing temperatures still hold, making the cold air burn our lungs with each breath. In a blur of brown and green, Pat breaks to the right and Eric to the left. I take the lead as we close in, under a mile from the last hunter’s location.
The uneven terrain shifts day to day, often surprising those of us familiar with its quirks. I slow my pace when I spot the recent frost upheavals, unwilling to fall into one holding a steel trap like Naomi did. The dead grasses reach chest high in some patches, making it hard to discern the swift moving Weres flanking me.
A grunt off to the left pulls my attention, the soft noise dying away almost as quick as it sounded. This close to the third hunter, I don’t want to risk calling out Eric’s name, so I angle in the direction I last saw him, jogging silently over the terrain.
After about fifty yards, I find him. He lies on the ground, cradling his ankle in both hands. He looks up and motions to a deep hole near his feet. “Broke my ankle. Snapped like a dry twig.”
“Stay down and stay quiet,” I say, eyeing the bone sticking through his sock. Compound fractures hurt like a bitch, but the young man holds the pain in without complaint.
Eric nods, assuring me to go, and starts to collect twigs and grasses. “I’ll brace it the best I can until the doc can get to it.”
“We’ll loop back and get you after we take down the last one.” I get twenty feet when the familiar sound of a round being chambered in a rifle whips my head up.
The last lone hunter stands less than fifty feet away. Dressed like the other two in camouflage and cold weather hunting gear, he’s holding a long-range rifle to his shoulder. His sites are set square on my chest. At this distance he could make a big hole in me.
I raise my hands to show I’m unarmed. “Hey man,” I call out. “Do you know you’re hunting on private property?” I casually walk to my left, away from Eric, drawing the man’s aim with me.
“I know what you are,” the hunter says.
I shrug, trying to stall as long as I can, hoping Pat hears our voices and flanks behind him. “I’m just a man out here walking.”
“No, you’re not. You’re an abomination.” He lowers his cheek to the stock preparing to squeeze the trigger.
I lunge to the side as the crack of the large caliber ricochets across the tundra. Fire blooms in my shoulder, the force of the bullet spinning me around. The burning pain associated with silver courses through my veins, ripping an involuntary scream from my lungs. As I fall to the ground, I hear scuffles from the direction the hunter stood. Blackness creeps in, obscuring my vision as the sucking agony steals my consciousness.
Chapter Thirty-one
Paul
I huddle in a corner, crying softly. Afraid if I close my eyes to the darkness I
’ll never wake again. Remembering all I’ll lose if I pass out works as a good motivator, but as the sun creeps higher in the sky, I’m not so sure how much longer I’ll last.
Hugging my legs to my chest, I begin to rock, replaying the past few days in my mind. The horrors of the week came at us fast and furious. I think over every choice, wondering what went wrong, when did this trip slip so far out of control.
Was it our impulsive decision to rent a plane and fly here? Would staying on an island with humans mind-altered by Vivian’s enemies be any better? The rhythm of the small back and forth motion offers a lull to my scattered thoughts, steering my mind to a time I rocked my son in my arms, soothing him when he woke with a fever one night.
Will I see him again? Will I hold either child again, or will I die in this stinky hellhole underground? I dry my eyes with the back of one hand, disgusted by my emotional breakdown, but still unable to shake the feelings of despair.
Steps sound in the hall outside, pausing when they reach my door. “I hear him crying behind this one,” Drew’s hushed tone comes through the dark.
“I’m in here!” I scramble to my feet and follow the wall to the door, avoiding the broken furniture.
The door crashes against the opposite wall and Rafe’s scent spills in with the light. “Come on, Paul. Let’s go.”
I trip as I cross the threshold, my tiredness making me clumsy. Drew catches me and draws me to his side, away from the hard visage of our master’s husband. I nod my thanks while staring at Rafe. His rugged, good looks have transformed into a face that sparks pure terror into my soul.
His blue eyes glint like chips of ice, his clenched jaw makes the muscles of his neck stand out, and a hollowness in his cheeks lends an air of madness to him. I’ve never experienced the self-assured and relaxed man do more than raise his voice, and yet, right now he appears like a person comfortable with murder.
I pull back, shocked at what I see. I glance at Drew, and he looks away, discouraging any questions on my part. Without a word, Rafe kicks in the next door.
“She’s here somewhere.” He flicks on the light and looks around before marching to the next door. “I’m not stopping until I find her.”
He carries on like this along the entire hallway. At the last door, he rushes in and hope blooms within me. Drew and I race to the doorway. He gets there first and holds up an arm to keep me back. Rafe straddles the sleeping form of a black haired vampire, the greasy strands sticking against the golden skin of the man’s forehead. Rafe raises a dagger and plunges it straight into the unresisting vampire.
Drew shoves me into the hall, whispering, “You don’t want to see this, Paul.”
I land against the far wall, staring back at Drew, my mouth hanging open. “What the hell is going on?”
The sickening sounds of hacking flesh and the scent of vampire blood billow from the room. A wave of nausea hits me, forcing me to double over and wrap my arms around my middle.
“Dear God,” I choke out. “Has he gone mad?”
All of a sudden I wonder if I’m dreaming. There’s no way Rafe is on the other side of that wall butchering a vampire while the creature sleeps, is there? Aside from the moment in the hangar when I attacked Emiko, I’ve never fought anyone, even in self-defense. I haven’t been dead long enough that the thought of butchering someone in cold blood appeals to me, either.
Drew steps away from the door and slides down the wall—the shock of fighting exhaustion and the call to sleep clearly plague the other man, too. “He’s a demon possessed, searching for Vivian.”
“Is there a chance she’s still alive?” I ask.
Rafe looms in the doorway, staring down the hall, not looking at us. “Of course she’s alive. I would know if she wasn’t.” He strides through the corridor, heading for the stairs. “Keep up or I’ll leave you behind.”
Drew and I lurch to our feet, the weight of the sun and our recent healing from the fall through the trap door taking its toll. Our staggering steps give Rafe pause and a flash of the man I knew flicks across his face and disappears. “You two move like zombies,” he says, a trace of humor in his voice.
“Good,” Drew quips back, his exhaustion making him reckless. “Glad we fucking amuse you, you ruthless bastard.”
Rafe gets in Drew’s face. “Do you have a problem with how I’m handling the situation?” There’s no fear on the larger man’s expression as he stands toe to toe with the smaller, hundred and fifty year old vampire.
“If by a problem you mean watching you hack out the hearts of vampires like you’re carving a Sunday ham?” Drew asks. “Then yeah, I may have a problem.”
A stillness comes over Rafe, making his earlier quip about zombies seem like it didn’t happen. “What do you think they’re doing to my wife? Calmly questioning her to reveal what she knows about manipulators?” His eyes cut to me, and I gasp. “Do you think she’d give up Paul no matter what they did to her?” He steps closer and Drew retreats. “Or do you think they’re torturing her beyond all she can handle, to the point when her own sanity may break?”
The stiffness in Drew’s spine deflates, and he slumps against the wall. “I’m sorry, Rafe. You’re right. I’m stretched beyond all I can handle.” He runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know what good we are. And frankly, you’re scaring the crap out of me.”
Rafe punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Buck up. Let’s get you two closer to the surface and hide you someplace while I continue on.”
“If you waited ‘til after we slept,” I say. “We’d be able to help.”
He snorts and climbs the stairs two at a time. “Yeah, and everyone would be awake, too. Think, man—the best time to strike is when they are very weak or sleeping. Anything else is suicide.”
The logic of what he says sinks in, but I’m no help, dragging one foot after another, hoping like hell I can stay upright long enough to do as he bids.
We climb two flights of stairs, not encountering anyone in the elaborate underground warren. No surprise, since the time is well past noon and any smart vampires are tucked in their beds.
This floor looks different from the others. The ceilings are higher, and the lighting is better. The man Drew accused of being a wizard steps into the hall, stopping Rafe with his sudden appearance. “It’ll be easier if I tell you where she is,” he says and looks away, perhaps not liking what he sees on Rafe’s face.
“Why would you help us?” Rafe asks, clenching his fists, looking like he’s going to leap on the man and beat the information out of him if the wizard changes his mind.
The young man meets his gaze. “Because I was hired to place security wards on the Tribunal property. Elaborate work, acting like an early warning system. I was apprehensive when Cora approached me to cast a binding spell. If I had known where it was going to lead, I would have refused the extra money.” He squares his shoulders and raises his head. “I’ve no desire to get in the middle of a vampire feud.”
“Well, bully for you, Justin.” Rafe steps closer and draws his knife. “You’re in the middle of it, now.”
Justin shrugs. “Yeah, well, maybe telling you where she is will matter for something when the shit hits the fan.” He smiles a crooked grin, slow and sure of himself, with a measure of respect showing in his eyes toward Rafe. “And trust me, I’d bet my bottom dollar when the head honchos wake up tonight there’s going to be hell to pay.”
Rafe nods, accepting his explanation of self-preservation. “Lead on.”
The two move down the hall, and I fall to the floor, my exhaustion finally getting the better of me. Drew trips on my foot and crashes on top of me.
“Crap,” Rafe says. “This is as far as they go. Help me drag them into a closet and then let’s get going.”
I hear their steps toward us… and then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-two
Asa
Over an hour ago, Pat raced down to the basement with Jon’s bloody form draped over his shoulders. Dr. Cook was a
lready on the premises and began working on his wound immediately. Candy paced the halls, unwilling to be too far from her new lover’s side.
The delectable scent of werewolf blood filled the lower level, prompting Cy to leave, getting out of temptation’s way by locking himself in Paul’s room. I would have thought being married to a werewolf meant he’d have his fill of their potent brew, but maybe the opposite has occurred and he’s been too long from his wife.
Romeo and Elsa left with a few of their pack to help Pat retrieve the captured hunters and Eric. The hunter who shot Jon, the one called Greg, turned out to be the man who organized the expedition. We had to hold his questioning until Jon could attend. While everyone wants to know what’s going on, it’s been agreed only Romeo, Jon and I will interview the man.
I sit in the conference room, sipping my bloodcoffee and glance at the clock. It’s almost ten a.m. and I’ll not be much good at mesmerizing the dude if Jon doesn’t hurry. The pale Were staggers into the conference room, swathed in bandages and rolling an IV drip alongside.
Candy helps him with the IV pole then leaves, respecting the privacy we’ve requested.
“I’m here,” Jon says. “Let’s get this over with.”
Before the door closes, we hear Eric bellow as the doctor sets his broken ankle. I wince at the sound, pity for my brother welling up.
“Wipe that sad sap look off your face, man,” Jon directs my way. “I’m the one who got shot.”
I smile at the bloody alpha. He didn’t even shower off the dried blood before coming in. The bastard is tough, I’ll give him that. “Yeah, whatever, Jon. I’m not related to you.”
Romeo drags in the hunter, throwing his cuffed form in a chair and placing his hands on his shoulders to keep him in place.
“You freakin’ animals!” Greg screams, spittle flying in his rage. “I’m gonna—”
I place my hands on the table and lean forward, pressing my will to voice while saying, “You’re gonna be quiet.” The man’s jaw snaps shut and a glassy look overtakes over his eyes. “Now, you’re going to truthfully answer every question we ask.”
Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Page 25
