Rogue: An Imp World Novella (Northern Wolves Book 2)

by Debra Dunbar

  “Basically negate what the bullets are doing,” Raphael said.

  “Yes. It’s not just a matter of hunters targeting us anymore. We’ve got a public relations nightmare looming. And we need to get human law enforcement what evidence they need to be on our side. If we can prove that they’re shooting us when we’re in human form, then it’s a matter of assault with a deadly weapon, or attempted murder. Until then, there’s a whole gray area of self-defense for them to consider.”

  Brent growled and slammed his fist into the countertop, denting the surface. “Why is it our responsibility to come up with an antidote? We’ve coexisted peacefully with the humans for generations and they don’t believe us on this one? Humans go crazy taking ice or LSD and they’re victims. We’re not even voluntarily taking this, and we’re blamed.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m with you, boss, but we’re on our own with this. We need to play by the human rules and get out the warning so our pack members and other shifters don’t get shot with these tainted bullets. Let’s work this side of the situation, cooperate, communicate, and find an antidote as quickly as we can. Then behind the scenes we’ll take it to them. I’m not saying sit on our hands and let the police do all the work. We can track them down, destroy their supplies, and possibly deliver our own justice toward those responsible.”

  I couldn’t believe I was proposing this. But the alternative was bleak. There was no way I wanted to stand aside and bide our time while shifters went rogue, and others were killed and mounted on walls as trophies. No way.

  Brent ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “So we have this SharpShooter guy posting on forums and riling people up. Then we have this Hit-The-Mark place that supposedly sells a solution to the rampaging werewolf problem.”

  “Now that I’m somewhere with decent internet, I’m going to try to see if I can arrange a purchase from Hit-The-Mark and see if they’re truly supplying the tainted bullets. That will get us one step closer to whoever is making these things. That’s the guy we need to take out. We’ll never get ahead of this tracking down hunters, or humans who bought these bullets out of fear.”

  Brent shot me a narrowed glance. “You’re a werewolf, Sabrina. I don’t like the idea of you going in this Hit-The-Mark place. If they’re selling bullets coated in magic, they might have a way to detect what you are, and then you’ll be trapped.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. My whole life I’d walked among humans, and unless I confided in them, they’d never known I was any different than they were.

  “You need a human to make the buy for you,” Ahia chimed in. “Isn’t Kennedy coming back from Anchorage today? Maybe she can help with the detective work.”

  Brent froze, tension in every muscle. I grimaced, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. Kennedy was completely capable. She was an ex-Army medic, a trauma surgeon, an amazing woman who was deadly with a rifle, who mountain climbed and hiked not in the least bit hindered by the fact that she was an above-the-knee amputee. But in spite of all that, she was human, and she was Brent’s mate. His every impulse was to keep her safe. And that warred with his realization that she’d kick his ass and walk away if he tried to swaddle her and keep her safe. When Kennedy had mated with Brent she’d become a part of our pack, and she’d embraced every responsibility that entailed, even if she was human.

  “She’ll want to help,” I told him. “And I’d be right outside, with my werewolf hearing, ready to intervene if necessary. Not that I think it will be necessary. I’ve seen her fight. You’ve seen her fight. She’s saved both you and Leon. She’s just as capable as any wolf in this pack.”

  Ahia shrugged. “Besides, would these guys harm a human? It sounds like their whole business is built around the idea that shifters are monsters and humans need to be able to protect themselves.”

  I eyed Brent, knowing that I was about to add to his fears. “If it was just the hunters up in Kenai, I might think that, but from the videos, it looks like they’re causing shifters to go rogue and siccing them on humans to prove their point. Five people died down in Ketchikan.” Although I got the idea that those five weren’t supposed to die. Maybe the bullets worked better with werewolves than grizzly shifters, and the manufacturers didn’t know that.

  “You’re right,” Ahia nodded. “Besides, if they knew she was part of a pack and was there doing reconnaissance, they might not care that she’s human.”

  Brent scowled. “I’ll ask her to help, but she just makes the buy, then she’s out. Once it’s confirmed where they’re manufacturing these things, I’ll want to work with the Swift River Pack to go in and take them out. We need a united front on this and I promised Jake I’d keep him in the loop. One of his wolves was shot too, and the hunting that happened up in Kenai was in his territory.”

  “Let’s not jump the gun then. If we take out their supply, it might just drive them underground,” I warned. “Maybe we should wait until we know who’s spelling the bullets and go for them. Otherwise I worry that these guys will go stealth on us and we won’t be able to dig out whoever is behind this whole thing.”

  Brent thought for a second. “I don’t like the idea of leaving supply on the market for people to buy. If we take out their stock, we can slow them down.”

  “Or not,” I countered. “Hit-The-Mark might just be a storefront. If we take out that store, they’ll just set up shop somewhere else the next day, or do internet sales. Selling bullets isn’t illegal. Let’s take out their supply if we can do it without them tracing it back to us. Otherwise I think we need to wait.”

  Brent leaned forward, resting his hands on the kitchen island. “Okay. I’ll defer to your judgement on this one, Sabrina. It’s your project, and I’ll trust you to make the call. As soon as we’re done here, I’ll phone Jake and let him know what’s going on. Then I’ll call Kennedy. In the meantime, we figure out what exactly the magic is on these bullets, and see if we can find an antidote.”

  Which was my cue to pull the bullets out of my pocket.

  “You need us to look at these, Sabrina?” Ahia turned her wide smile to me, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

  “Why, yes I do. I could really use your angel mojo on this one. This,” I shoved the one bullet in front of her, “is a bullet that that feels tainted.”

  Ahia caught her breath and exchanged a concerned look with Raphael.

  “The wound didn’t heal and the rogue didn’t smell right,” I added. “Karl said he smelled infected. Rotted tissue. And his blood was cloyingly sweet. Karl said that he’d fought enough bears in his life, killed enough rogues, that he knew this guy wasn’t right.”

  Raphael reached out and took the bullet before Ahia could, shooting her a worried look. I wasn’t sure if angels could be affected by whatever coated the bullets. Werewolves were descended from angels, but I’d assumed our relatively weak supernatural powers made us susceptible. I could understand Raphael’s concern, though. Ahia was only five thousand years old—very young by angelic standards. He wouldn’t want to take the chance.

  “I can tell right now that this isn’t exactly the same as what was on the bullets Kennedy dug out of Leon and Brent. It’s similar, but there’s a slight difference.” Raphael placed the bullet at the edge of the counter so only the front half protruded over the edge. A white light bloomed from his fingers, surrounding the bullet. After a few seconds, the light vanished and the angel slid the bullet back. “There’s definitely a spell there, but there’s also a natural, botanical component to it.”

  “So a mage, then?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “An elf. This isn’t just herbals used in a spell, the plant matter is actually a part of the spell. That’s one of the differences between elven magic and what the human mages and sorcerers do.”

  An elf? I’d been assuming the person behind this was a human killer, perhaps a mage. I’d never considered an elf. I’d never seen an elf in my entire life, wasn’t aware that there were any in Alaska. Was this guy, or g
al, working elsewhere, shipping the bullets up here? The prospect of hunting all over the world, among seven billion humans, for one elf seemed an impossible task.

  “What about the biologic?” I asked.

  Ahia ignored Raphael’s scowl and pulled the bullet over toward her, examining it. “Foxglove. Lilac. White pine. Thornapple. And larkspur, but that’s only on the edges.”

  I didn’t know if that was the sort of thing that combined together would affect shifters. We’d been around for thousands of years, and although there were some herbs and chemicals that made us sick, none of them had the same dramatic effects that they had on humans. We didn’t get ill, we didn’t need antibiotics. We didn’t get cancer. And if we took cyanide, we’d be down for several days, but not dead.

  “But those plant essences are the catalysts for the elven spell,” Raphael added. “Slap them on a bullet by themselves and they do nothing. Add in elven magic and that’s what makes it deadly.”

  “Who can we ask about countering the magic on the bullets? Do either of you know an elf?”

  “Not any who would cooperate at this time. They’re not all that pleased with the angels at the moment, and the few who are on our side don’t have the skills to do this kind of magic,” Raphael said. “There is a mage who is elven trained, and might recognize the spell, though. He’s a friend of a friend of a friend, and he’s in Hel, so it might take a while.”

  “Think this friend of a friend of a friend might also be able to come up with an antidote?” I asked.

  “It depends. There might be a counter spell he could put together if what’s on the bullets is within his area of expertise.”

  “Maybe ask him to work on a counter spell or antidote, or something like a protective amulet? Something that would block the magic, neutralize it before it took effect. That way we’d only need to deal with the bullet wound, and not the other effects.”

  A plain bullet we could cope with. It was the magic tainting them that was the problem.

  “Or perhaps something that blocked the bullet entirely.” Brent stopped pacing. “I feel like an idiot for not thinking of this before. We can’t provide protective vests for every shifter, and it’s not practical to wear them twenty-four-seven, but that might be a starting place.”

  I picked up the bullet and examined it once more. Outside of the magical coating, it was a regular bullet. I was touching it and not affected beyond the ick factor. If we could keep the bullet itself from physically penetrating our skin, then we wouldn’t have to deal with the magic aspect of it.

  “I agree,” I told the Alpha.

  “Good. Then let’s get a dozen vests in different sizes for pack use and I’ll authorize payment to this mage for any information he can provide as well as any magical item to counter the effect of the bullets.” Brent turned to Raphael. “How much do you think he’ll charge?”

  “I’ve got no idea. From what I’ve been told, there is a currency they use in Hel, but they also operate on a barter system—mostly favors.”

  Brent frowned. “I don’t know what favor a werewolf pack can provide to a group of humans in Hel, but I’m open to suggestion. Maybe we can trade them gems or plants or something.”

  In the meantime, there was one more open thread we needed to follow. “Did you manage to get anything on Joseph Floyd’?”

  “Not much.” Brent pulled out his phone and scrolled through his texts. “His e-mail address is linked to a username on a wilderness hiking forum. He’d expressed concern about the possibility of a bear attack on his upcoming trip to Alaska. Another forum member posted a link on his thread to the first video of the shifter attack, and told him ‘this is what you should be worried about.’ There was a whole exchange of ‘is that fake’ and ‘that can’t be real’ then the other guy sent him a link to Hit-The-Mark and told him he needed to be prepared.”

  I looked over Brent’s shoulder at the screen shots. The conversation was a week before Joseph’s trip. No doubt he’d bought the bullets and had them rush-shipped, probably thinking he was a fool buying snake oil the whole time.

  And that snake oil got him killed.

  “Can you forward that to Sheriff Murray down in Ketchikan?” I asked. Buying bullets wasn’t illegal, but if we could push this from a different angle—that there was a company selling defective products that contributed to the killings—then maybe we could get the law to work on our side.

  Brent pushed away from the counter. “Okay. Sabrina and Kennedy will check out Hit-The-Mark. Raphael is going to work with this mage in Hel to see about further identifying the spell, and possibly getting an antidote or something to shield against it. I’m ordering a bunch of protective vests and communicating with the other two packs on the situation. I’ll put out that all shifters should be looking for an elf—which shouldn’t be too hard to spot in Alaska—or someone who has access to an elf and has the know-how to run this kind of business operation. Our bad guy will understand how guided hunting tours work. He’ll be savvy about guns and have connections or possibly work in the outfitter industry. Anything else?”

  Ahia, Raphael, and I looked at each other, then shook our heads.

  “Good.” Brent thumped a fist on the counter. “Sabrina, be ready to head over to this outfitter with Kennedy in the morning. Let’s go get these guys. And let’s do it without anyone of us dying.”

  11

  Ahia and I walked out together while Raphael stayed behind to nail a few things down with Brent.

  “So,” she elbowed me in the ribs. “You and Karl…?”

  How had she known? I’d been careful to shower and clean up after our barbeque liaison. And had done the same when I got back from Ketchikan. I could see Brent picking up a trace of scent on me, but Ahia’s nose wasn’t all that good compared to us werewolves.

  And yes, I was well aware that Dustin had known what I’d been up to the night before from more than ten feet away, but he’d politely not said a word, and wasn’t the sort of wolf who’d gossip.

  Ahia laughed. “Oh, the expression on your face! Girl, I saw the way he was eyeing you last summer, like he wanted to drag you off into the bushes and rip your panties off. Plus, there’s a kind of mellow satisfaction about a girl who’s been up all night fucking. Add to that the fact that he asked about you the few times I ran into him in the spring, and that Brent mentioned Karl was accompanying you on this rogue-hunting trip, and it wasn’t hard to make the connection. Karl? Hunting a rogue? He’s more likely to tell Brent to fuck off before going back to chopping wood. Sudden cooperation like this was only because he wanted to see you and get you into his bed. Or den. Or whatever bears call their sleeping spot.”

  “Den.” My face felt like it was on fire.

  “So? Is he as good in the sack as I’ve been imagining in all my lurid fantasies over the years?”

  We came to a stop and I leaned against my car. “Let’s just say I’m a bit obsessed. Sex with Karl is probably as close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had. But we’re so different. I can’t see this working out beyond the physical.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t discount Karl. He’s got his reasons for isolating himself like some hermit. I don’t know what they are because the guy barely says more than two words, but I’m sure he’s got them.”

  “Yeah, that. And his go-to response to any question is a grunt.” I folded my arms across my chest. “How well do you know him? You said you run into him from time to time?”

  Ahia had been a member of our pack for centuries, before that living with the indigenous humans in the area. She was quirky, warm, sweet, and funny, and had been alive for over five thousand years. She had wings, as in angel-wings, and when she put on the speed she was like a streak of light flying by overhead. It wasn’t unusual for her to travel hundreds of miles away from Juneau for a quick afternoon jaunt.

  “He’s brooding, which is sexy as all hell. He’s smart, but he doesn’t talk a lot so some shifters just assume he’s a dumb bear. He’s observant. He n
otices shit that goes right over my head, stores it away in that mind of his, then remembers it later and puts a whole bunch of random puzzle pieces together. That’s the kind of smart he is.

  “And there’s more,” she continued. He replaced my truck tires with bicycle ones, welded my fry pans together. He gave me a squeaky toy hamburger between two buns at last year’s barbeque. Oh, and one time, he put a pissed off wolverine in my bathtub.”

  My eyes widened. Did he really do that? “And what did you do to deserve all those things?”

  I might not know Karl that well, but I’d known Ahia all my life. Mischief was her middle name. The angel loved nothing better than a good prank, although she was usually on the giving end.

  “Nothing,” Ahia lied. “Absolutely nothing. But he’s got a sense of humor, and in spite of the dark-brooding-Heathcliff aura, he can be pretty lighthearted and fun. It comes out of nowhere, totally surprises you, but it’s there.”

  So they did prank each other. Something sour and ugly unfurled in my stomach. Were they…? Did they…? There seemed to be such an easy familiarity between the two, an affection that made me want to sprout claws and go nuts on the angel in front of me.

  Ahia reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “We’re just sort-of friends, Sabrina. He’s never wanted even a quick fuck with me. I think he views me as an annoying younger sister. Which is kind of funny given that I’m five thousand years old and he’s probably in his late thirties.”

  I knew Karl had that dry sense of humor, but I’d never thought him the type of guy who would put a squeaky toy in between a hamburger bun and give it to someone. Zeph, yes. Karl, no. Then I thought about all those books stacked up in his den. “He said he’s self-educated, that his parents taught him basic math, but he never went to school and had to learn to read on his own.”

  Ahia grimaced. “Yeah. From what I’ve been able to glean, he didn’t have the best childhood. I think it was probably one of those where his parents were neglectful, or crackheads, or serial killers or something.”