Love To the Rescue
Page 15
Marissa swallowed hard a couple times before realizing she wasn’t going to be able to speak past the frog in her throat. She nodded once instead and listened as her guys quickly shuffled out the door, loaded for mammoth. Crap, this letting your kids grow up stuff sucked.
Chapter Forty-five:
Bring on the Battle! Ziva on deck
By Serena Shay
“Nicolas McMahon, this is not fair!” Ziva growled through the walkie talkie, stomping around the squeaky planks of wood that made up hers and Nick’s wrap around deck. “All I have is a pair of binoculars.”
“We need a scout, Zâ�¦”
“From the safety of my own home? How am I supposed to provide scouting services from hereâ�¦”
“It’s a mammoth, so you should have a pretty good view of it from there.”
“Yeah, a view. Phfft.” She waved her hand in a frustrated fit before pleading her case. “I should be there, Nick. Not here, safely ensconced away from the battle.”
“Ziva, you’reâ�¦”
“You have my sister, mother and for Lupa’s sake, my flaky, lovey dovey aunt on the front lines, while the alpha, me, scouts from a distance?!”
“You have a much more important job, love,”
“Right, and what’s more important than kicking mammoth ass and protecting our town, grrr?”
“Protecting our child.”
Ziva nearly dropped the walkie in her hand at Nick’s softly spoken words. She looked down at her baby pooched tummy and hunched her shoulders, taking on a worlds worth of guilt. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten she was preggers, that there was a little life growing inside her that needed protecting, not stress from some hunt and battleâ�¦
“You didn’t forget being pregnant, Ziva.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” She asked, startled that he could know her thoughts so completely.
“I know you, sweetheart. You would never forget. You are, however, still an alpha and are feeling so much more like yourself this trimester that it would be impossible for you not to want to take part in the action.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Now take heart, because Dante let me know that Ewan and his team have this under control and we probably won’t even be needed in the long run. We’re back-up or the cheerleading squad, whichever is needed most.”
Ziva sat in her favorite chaise lounge, the spunk suddenly gone from her, in the aftermath of Nick’s words. She felt a huge cry coming on, thanks to her surge of hormones, but didn’t want to worry her mate anymore, so she did what she usually did and teased him. “Hmmm, Nick as a cheerleader, you know, I could make that work.”
“Don’t even think about it, Ziva.”
“Oh, I’m thinkingâ�¦”
Chapter Forty-six:
Ready! Aim! Never Underestimate the Call for Reinforcements!
By Solara Gordon
“Ladies, keep your eye on the horizon. You want to hit the target with each and every shot you can.” Tyburn looked up and down the line noting that women in every shape and size stood ready to do battle against the enemy.
Even Rachel stood amongst them taking instruction. This was a side of her he hadn�t seen before. Her camaraderie with the women baffled him at first. The more the group bonded and worked together the more he understood. They cared about each other and for each other. If any of them shifted their animal halves were natural enemies in many instances. Yet, they came together, merged into the two lines standing before him. Talbot�s Peak still confused him. Regardless, this much he knew coming together for a mutual cause made sense. Defending his turf was a fundamental core value. One that he didn�t back down on. The Peak, as most of the citizens used, was his turf until the powers-that-be decided he and Rachel were done with each other.
Back behind them stood the large wood and metal catapults they would arm and use when and if the behemoth ancient creature breached the front lines. No one except the few men who sat in the cabs of the extended bed pickup trucks knew how maneuverable and agile the systems were. Fast and furious they�d constructed the giant weapons. Even the old fashioned sling-shots many of them carried would deliver the blows they needed to gain the momentum needed for the assault. The ammo sat waiting a few test launches that he knew they couldn�t risk. Every Phoenix ambrosia soaked pumpkin, its interior filled with peanuts in all forms they could find, waited for the attack and demise of the mad man and his animal spirit. Alcohol poisoning combined with the effects allergic reactions happening simultaneously awaited their enemy.
Tyburn watched as Miss Elly stepped forward her sling-shot loaded and pulled back ready to launch. Another joined her on the line as did several others. Rocks, balls, and other retrievable items filled their pockets and hands. He swallowed, inhaled, and called out. “Aim! Fire!” More dents and dust left the large dirt filled sacks tied to the trees a hundred yards out. Dust flew up further out as more rocks and balls hit the targets double the distance of the first row.
“Duck,” a voice called out. Tyburn turned, unsure his ears didnâ��t play tricks on him. He jumped back as the one person he never expected to see in this life span shimmered into focus in front of him. She stuffed two objects into the tube she held. She drew the tube to her lips, puckered and blew. Moments later the thunks of darts hitting near and far targets sound. The golden haired female walked over to him and grabbed him.
“Never under estimate the call for reinforcements, brother.” Tyburn tried to reply. He couldnâ��t thanks to the bear hug his twin sister had him in.
Chapter Forty-seven:
The Battle of Schitt Creek
By Pat Cunningham
“Here he comes,” Turkle said calmly. “I got this.”
He could afford to be calm, Cochrane thought enviously. Turkle had the grenade launcher. It had been agreed he’d take the first shot at the monster mammoth. If the grenades didn’t bring it down, he and Cochrane would attack with their elephant guns. This, Dante had theorized, would buy time for other, stronger Peakies to arrive, with some of those spacey weapons they were said to possess. He and Turkle were expected to provide no more than a delaying action.
Cochrane sneered. Dante was just a werewolf. He didn’t know squat about what a real hunter could do.
Turkle walked placidly down the road toward the charging Hellephant. He knelt and settled the grenade launcher on his shoulder. “Welcome to the Peak,” Cochrane heard him say, just before he fired.
They all heard the boom and the whistle, then the second boom when the missile hit the monster on its hairy shoulder. Smoke and a bit of fire bloomed in its fur. The mammoth reared back with a screech of obvious surprise that its would-be victims could hurt it.
“And now that we got the range,” Turkle went on, “we finish the job. Sorry you got pulled out of bed for this,” he called back to Dante. “Lunch is on me.” He loaded another grenade and took careful aim at the mammoth’s skull.
The former Atcheson stood firm and waited, glaring at them from his scarily human eyes. Turkle fired his killing round.
Atcheson eyed the approaching grenade like a batter at the plate. An apt analogy, Cochrane realized seconds later when the mammoth-thing raised his trunk and swatted the grenade aside. It exploded harmlessly far out over the open meadow. The mammoth trumpeted what sounded like triumphant laughter.
“Scat,” Turkle said. “Wasn’t expecting that.”
Nor was anyone expecting the beast to lunge forward in a high-speed charge. Turkle dove for the safety of the high weeds at the side of the road, too late. Atcheson caught him up in his trunk. He sniffed at his captive, then thrust Turkle into his mouth.
“No!” Cochrane screamed. The old bird was a shapeshifter, inhuman, the kind of thing Cochrane had come here to kill in the first place, but over the last couple of days they’d found enough common ground to become fast friends. Nobody was going to make a turkey dinner of him while Cochrane had air in his l
ungs and a gun in his hand.
He raced toward Mammoth Atcheson, heedless of his own safety. When he figured he was in range, he started firing. It took only seconds for Cochrane to realize an elephant gun wasn’t going to do squat on a creature three times the size of an elephant and protected by a thick mat of hair. Not unless he got right up close and personal.
He was hastily reloading when he heard a series of muffled pops. The mammoth stopped and shook his head violently. The pops paused, then picked up again.
Cochrane grinned fiercely. The wily old bird. He must’ve had a pistol on him, and was now shooting directly inside the monster’s mouth. “Chew on that,” Cochrane snarled.
Instead of chewing, the mammoth spit. Turkle tumbled out of his mouth. Before he could hit the ground he shifted. The wild turkey streaked for safety, trailing ripped ribbons of camo. Atcheson snaked his trunk hungrily after him. Cochrane raised his gun.
The roar of Dante’s motorcycle warned him just barely in time to jump out of the way. The alpha wolf sped toward the monster, his pockets stuffed with grenades. Rafe, the golden eagle shifter, also soared mammothward, a grenade clutched in each taloned foot for an aerial assault.
Cochrane nodded. It might just work. They’d proven the grenades could hurt it. If they could knock out its legs, that would give Cochrane his chance. He hung back and let the shifters take their best shot.
For a while it looked like they had him. Dante lobbed his grenades at Atcheson’s legs, aiming for the vulnerable knees. When the mammoth went for Dante, the eagle tore a pin loose with his beak and dropped a pineapple as close to the monster’s skull as he could aim. The explosions probably caused the mutant beast’s wolf-sensitive ears more pain than the actual grenade. He certainly had a lot of roars and head shakes going on, and vigorous trunk-swipes at the circling eagle, but nothing seemed to be doing him any real damage.
Unfortunately, Rafe could only tote two grenades at a time. The eagle swept back toward Turkle’s pickup truck to reload. Free of that distraction, Atcheson turned on Dante. Cochrane had to admit Wolf Boy could work some serious maneuvers on that hog of his, but sooner or later either his skill or his luck was going to run dry, and thenâ��
And then the Hellephant’s trunk dealt a glancing blow to the rear of the bike. Dante went skidding onto the berm and was thrown into the grass. The mammoth lifted one enormous foot and scanned the ground for his victim.
“Hey!” Cochrane shouted. He ran out into the center of the road and waved his gun over his head. “Atcheson! Yeah, I’m talking to you, you psycho shit! You remember me? You want a piece of me? Well, come and get me, motherfucker! You’re no hunter and you never were! You’re just one more friggin’ monster.”
The mammoth turned. His little eyes squinted at Cochrane. It took a full minute for recognition to set in. The monster loosed a roar full of hatred and charged him.
Cochrane got off two shots before the trunk wrapped around him like a huge hairy python and lifted him into the air. The hunter’s arms, along with the gun, were pinned to his sides. No matter. Cochrane was counting on all that insane hatred in the mammoth’s blue eyes and the rumble in his empty mutant tummy. “Go ahead, fuzzball. Do it,” he taunted. After the monster swallowed him, he figured he’d have just enough time to do some serious internal damage with the elephant gun before he suffocated. Maybe he’d even be lucky enough to hit a vital organ or two. It was how all hunters dreamed of cashing it inâ��in action, guns blazing. Who the hell wanted to die in bed like a pansy boy anyway?
“Come on!” Cochrane shouted as well as he was able with the trunk squeezing all the air out of him. “What are you waiting for?”
Atcheson glared at him, long and hard. Then he swung his trunk and hurled Cochrane up and away, at a high and no doubt fatal terminal velocity. The hunter didn’t even have a chance to get off a shot.
Cochrane had time to reflect that when he landed he was probably going to make the biggest, messiest splat Talbot’s Peak had ever seen.
Chapter Forty-eight:
“Hack Yer Way Through!”
By Savanna Kougar
Scottish dog shapeshifter, Duff McDuff, swung his enormous broadsword high, signaling his band of four warriors�Donnie Bonnie Lad, a Scottish Deerhound shifter; Dristan, a Collie Dog shifter; Mad Cow Agnus, a black Angus shifter; and Night Runner, a black superwolf.
Behind them, and hovering above on delicate wings, was Duff’s light and love, Kyrbella, a fae fox shifter. His woman had promised him on her oath that she’d stay well out of harm’s way, merely using her eyes to advise them.
With Talbot’s Peak under attack by some mad-scientist concocted beast, Duff had hastily gathered those he knew would not cower like beaten dogsâ��but would fight with heart, to their last mortal breath. If the god’s saw it as necessary.
Bellowing a battle cry, Duff charged, broadsword held high. The familiar feel of his kilt against his pumping legs as he raced down the embankment served to fuel and fire his ages-old fighting blood.
He roared a mighty growl, and heard the sound echoed by Donnie, Dristan, Agnus, and Night Runner. “We’re comin’ for ya… ya beastie from the pits of infernal hell!” he thundered from the depths of his huge lungs, from his warrior’s heart.
For Duff McDuff had fought in an uncountable number of battles since the Ancient Ways. No one’s bloody fool, though, he’d sized up the combat situation from high ground. First.
He and his kilted, blade-ready band watched as Mr. Turkle bombasted the malformed monstrous beastie with a grenade to its shoulder. Then, the old hand at defense, took careful aim at the creature’s giant skullâ��surely as the gods laughed, a target not to be missed by whoever could hit the broadside of a barn…as the saying went.
“Batter up,” Donnie quipped beside Duff.
“And he swings,” Dristan crooned like a sports announcer.
“Home run,” Agnus finished.
“Hell,” Night Runner growled. “Looks like Turkle is about to be a turkey dinner. Without the trimmings.”
With the superwolf’s words ringing in his ears, Duff raced the relatively short distance toward the mammoth’s uglier-than-sin hindquarters. Reaching their point of attack, he halted close to the beastie’s oak-trunk sized back leg.
Duff spun several times, gathering his force. “Batter up,” he bellowed. “ya unnatural pachyderm from a warlock’s nightmare.”
With his full strength, Duff aimed for the hellephant’s tendon slicing his mighty blade across its lower back leg. Thick fur flew and a bit o’ flesh. A warrior’s madness took possession of him, and Duff roared.
“Hack yer way through!” he shouted, already hearing the others swing their blades against hide as tough as steel.
Taking turns with Agnus, Duff repeatedly slashed hunks of bloody flesh off the mammoth’s leg. At the same time, he heard Cochrane’s elephant gun blasting shot after shot.
“What the freakin’ scat is this lab-conjured monster made out of?” Night Runner growled above their chopping blades. He, Donnie, and Dristan attacked the beastie’s other back leg.
Mr. Turkle shot himself free! Kyrbella yelled inside Duff’s mind.
“Faster, lads,” Duff barked. “Cripple this out-of-Frankenstein’s-grave creature.”
“Bad news,” Dristan panting-barked. “It’s self-repairing.”
“Call on the Great Force, me lads,” Duff encouraged. He continued hacking like a moonstruck fiend, with Agnus matching his strikes. “Whoever delivers the crippling blow gets to yell ‘timber’.”
Watch out! Kyrbella telapathed. Grenades. Dante is attacking. Aerial attack too.
Sudden explosions around the leviathan beastie’s front legs, then it’s furiously shaking head, caused Duff and his warriors to jump back. Escaping the hellephant’s backward but unaimed kicks, they rallied, only to see Dante whip and weave on his Hawg.
Miraculously to Duff’s mind, Dante avoided the serpent strikes of the unholy creature’s t
runk. Not long enough, though. With one savage slap on the rear of the motorcycle, the alpha werewolf skidded, hit the hump of ground and went sailing through air. With the saints’ own luck, Dante landed on a soft spot of grass.
Seeing Cochrane rush into the middle of the road, and take aim, Duff barked, “Now’s the time, lads. Let’s cut this monster down.”
As Cochrane played target, taunting the beast he called Atcheson, the five of them frantically swung their blades. Pieces of mammoth meat quick-as-spit covered the road. Until…
A trumpeting roar shivered the air. The very sound shook the asphalt beneath their feet. When the Atcheson beast charged, quaking the ground, the five of them were hurled backward.
Unable to land on his feet, Duff’s derriere smacked the highway, his blade clattering on the hard surface. He wasn’t alone, thank the fine gods. His four brave comrades had fallen on their backsides as well.
Cochrane, the beastie’s got him trapped like a hungry python, Kyrbella blasted inside Duff’s mind.
As one, Duff and his warriors leaped to their feet. Blades at the ready, they charged toward the mountain-of-fish stench that was the Atcheson behemoth. All of them stopped dead in their tracks, seeing Cochrane flung from the mammoth’s impossibly long trunk.
The monster hunter skyrocketed into the wild blue yonder. No one spoke as Cochrane disappeared.
Chapter Forty-nine:
The Bigger They Are �
By Pat Cunningham
With the earth still far too far below, Cochrane felt gravity reassert itself. This was it. Even if the trees broke his fall, the ground was still going to break the rest of him. No way was he getting out of this, unless the Great Hunter in the Sky sent him a miracle.
And then the Great Hunter spoke: “Holy shit!”