by J. D. Tyler
After a few nerve-racking moments the boss turned and climbed aboard his waiting Huey. Rowan hurried to scramble into the other one. No way was she taking a chance on some psychic dude ferreting her out before she was ready.
The men got settled. Spotting an empty jump seat at the back, she sat down and tried to calm her fears. Not for herself, but for what she might find when she saw her brother.
A hum sounded overhead—the roof hatch opening. The Hueys geared up for takeoff, shuddered, and lifted, the noise deafening.
She was in this op for the long haul now.
No turning back.
Four
H elp me. God, please.
Or just let me die.
Aric curled into the fetal position on the grimy concrete floor of his cage and tried to breathe through the agony. But the pain wrapped around his ribs, squeezed his lungs, so that drawing in air was nearly impossible. Every inch of his body throbbed, and his balls burned and ached where Bowman had taken what didn’t belong to him. But all his equipment down there was still accounted for, not that it would matter soon.
Never had he wished for death. That was before he’d been treated worse than an animal, before he’d experienced the worst of humanity and had it driven home that if his team didn’t find him, and soon, this was the end of his life.
I want to go out on my own terms. Not bound and stripped for parts until there’s nothing left and they stick a needle in my arm.
He opened his bleary eyes, squinted, and then winced as even the dim light coming from the adjoining lab pierced his brain like a laser. Twisting his head, he saw nothing but bars all around and above him, a miniature prison not even tall enough to stand in. It’s a damned dog kennel. If he’d been capable of laughing, he would’ve. Reaching out, he skimmed a shaking hand along the floor, cursing that he was too weak to raise his fucking arm. If he could barely move, he sure as hell wouldn’t have the strength to do himself in.
Goddamn, he couldn’t believe he was being forced to consider that kind of shit. Pissed, he used every ounce of strength to push himself to a sitting position. It took several minutes and when it was finally accomplished, he leaned his bare back against the bars—an act that probably took off several strips of skin.
“Fuck!” Pitching forward, he tumbled away from the bars, panting.
Silver. The bastards had used motherfucking silver bars to line the cage. Why the metal had burned him, however, was baffling; simply coming into contact with silver wasn’t supposed to hurt in his human form. Being stabbed or shot with it? Sure. So this went down as one more torment to face, the fact that even if he regained the power to shift or use his other gifts, he couldn’t bust out.
He couldn’t take this much longer. He and his wolf were already going out of their collective minds at being held against their will. Hunched over, he concentrated on calming himself. Taking in air, exhaling. As he did, awful smells began to invade his battered senses.
Urine. Feces. Unwashed bodies and the stale, untouched crap that doubled as food. The stench turned his stomach and he concentrated on not being sick. That would only make things worse and—
Another smell seeped into his consciousness and Aric slowly raised his head. I know that scent. Oh, my God.
“Micah,” he whispered. Then louder. “Micah?”
No answer. For the first time, Aric took stock of the area outside his own prison. His cage was one of many in a row against the wall, and several other figures lay crumpled in theirs much as he’d been when he’d awakened, naked and hopeless. Closing his eyes, he inhaled through his nose, desperately shutting out all but the one scent he wanted to discern, following the trail to the end.
Behind him. Somewhere close. Scooting around to face the opposite direction took forever and left him panting, aching as though he’d been beaten with hammers. But he had to learn the answer to the question that had haunted the Pack since they’d discovered their brother might be alive—where was Micah?
And the answer was right in the next cage. His old friend lay on the dirty floor, curled into himself as though that would keep the monsters at bay. Micah’s brown hair, once a rich sable color worn to his collar, was now filthy and matted, so long it pooled on the concrete around his head. Strands hung over his angular face and his eyes were closed. The man’s breathing was ragged, the horrible rattle in his lungs attesting to his lack of medical care. That fact plus a plate of uneaten dry dog food by the barred door—fuck those assholes for giving his friend that shit—and Micah’s pronounced ribs, hip bones, and concave stomach, told the story of just how critical his situation had become.
His friend was on the brink of death, and Aric could only sit and do nothing.
The urge to reach through the bars, offer comfort, was overwhelming. It hit him that this was likely part of the reason the metal was made of silver, to keep the “test subjects” from having any sort of positive contact, to kill all hope, and it made his blood boil with rage.
“Micah? We’re gonna get the fuck out of here, soon as the Pack comes,” he whispered. “And they will come. You hear me?”
His friend didn’t stir.
Aric lowered his head. And for the first time he could recall, tears dripped off his chin to mix with the filth on the floor.
Talk was scarce on the helicopter, given the noise. Rowan would’ve felt a little better with a few more details about where they were going and the plan of action on arrival, but that would have to wait. For now, she sat and eyed her group, still amazed that they were oblivious to her presence.
Guess there’s something to be said for magic after all.
Which brought to mind the gift Sariel said she possessed. Days ago, she’d have dismissed the idea as insane. Now? She’d seen so much in the short time since she’d arrived at the compound, it was mind-blowing. She wasn’t crazy, so that left only one other option.
And she was beginning to believe.
Micah was a Dreamwalker, Nick had claimed. She and her brother had shared dreams since their childhood. Were they able to do that because they shared the same gift? How could she find out?
A headache began to form, so she stopped thinking about anything but getting to her brother. Nothing else was as important.
The Huey began its descent and she checked her watch. Almost two hours they’d been in the air, and it seemed like eons. In minutes the copter touched down and the men prepared to disembark, some checking weapons. All of them, she suspected, qualified as a weapon themselves.
Rowan filed out behind the men, standing off to the side to avoid bumping into anyone as they gathered. Checking out their surroundings, she noted they’d landed in a field bordered by woods on all sides and majestic mountains in the distance, all of it against the vast, beautiful backdrop of a full moon and a zillion stars.
“This is a change,” Jaxon commented. “Chappell usually prefers to set up his clandestine operations in or near major cities.”
Nick agreed. “Don’t know why he thought moving one of his sites to Bumfuck, Colorado, would draw less attention from the locals. Took a while for our government contacts to sniff this one out, but his tactic eventually backfired.”
“Still think we should’ve gone in hot,” Ryon said anxiously. “I don’t like giving the goons time to find out we’re here. Those Hueys can be heard for miles.”
His comment earned him a smack in the back of the head from the bald guy, Hammer. “Idiot. You forgetting last time we went in guns blazing? They were waiting for us, which is how things went to hell and they snatched Aric.”
The blond’s expression was suddenly haunted. “They’ll be ready for us, anyway. The ghosts around us, some of their victims, I think, are urging us to be careful.”
Rowan stared at him. Ryon’s “gift” is communicating with the dead? The others get to do all sorts of cool stuff and this poor guy gets stuck with being followed around by a bunch of stiffs? Jesus, that sucks.
“This time we go in quiet,” Nick reite
rated. “Remember, watch for traps or any signs of an ambush. Detain any personnel who are on duty and liberate all prisoners. Grant has ground transportation waiting close to the target to assist with the victims who need urgent care. Let’s go—and be careful. We can’t afford another screwup.”
As they moved out, she jogged behind the group, thinking not only of Micah but also of the other man, Aric. The Pack was devastated over the loss of all their men in the past few years, but Aric’s capture was recent, salt poured into a reopened wound. The guys spoke of him with equal parts aggravation and reverence, and she wondered what he’d be like. For some reason beyond the obvious one that he was their friend who was in danger, she hoped she would have the chance to know him.
She was so engrossed in her musings, she failed to see a fallen log the others had cleared easily. Cursing, she jumped at the last second and almost did a face plant in the undergrowth. Then she nearly ran right into Zan’s back when Nick, in the lead, brought the group to an abrupt halt.
“Wait!” Nick cocked his head. “I could’ve sworn I heard a woman’s voice.”
“I heard it, too,” Zan said, looking around. “Sounded like she said ‘shit.’”
Rowan repeated the word, in her head. Damn it, Sariel’s spell must be wearing off. But if it just would last until they reached their destination, Nick might not send her back to the helicopter.
“Maybe it was one of Ryon’s spirits?” Jax suggested.
“I’m not sure, but I guess anything’s possible,” Ryon speculated. “They can sometimes gather enough energy to make themselves heard.”
After a few tense moments, Nick led them on. Though she was a police officer and in great physical shape, it was a miracle that she kept up, since their night vision and endurance far surpassed hers. By the time the boss slowed and signaled his men to crouch, she was drenched in sweat. The others weren’t even winded.
Squatting at the end of the line beside Zan, she caught her breath and peered through the trees at the building illuminated by moonlight. Not just any building, she realized, but an old abandoned church, as evidenced by crumbling walls, sagging roof, and the weeds dotting what once must’ve been a pretty lawn, the tallest of them sprouting almost to the bottom edge of the broken stained-glass windows.
“What a fuckin’ disgrace,” Hammer hissed. “Using a house of God for the sick shit they’re doing.”
The others muttered their wholehearted agreement.
“Where are they hiding their cars?” Jax mused. “The lot is empty.”
“Who cares? Let’s kick some ass.”
“Damned straight.”
Spirits ran high. She felt the adrenaline, the excitement among the Pack, not so different from when she and her fellow officers worked a dangerous call. But in that moment, she sensed a tangible bond among these men that ran deeper than what she had with her peers. These men truly were brothers in all but birth, their bond forged by blood, tears, and struggle.
Moving soundlessly, they left cover, splitting into two groups. Nick led Hammer and Kalen directly to the front, while Jax headed around to the back, followed by Zan and Ryon. For no particular reason other than a gut feeling, because subjects who fled a scene typically hauled ass out the back way, Rowan opted to go with Jax’s team. What she expected was runners, maybe armed, perhaps a round or two popped off.
What she wasn’t expecting was a full-out war.
The back of the church erupted in a collective roar, black shadows detaching themselves from the doorway and several open windows. As prepared as the team believed themselves to be, it was immediately clear they were outnumbered—and facing something horribly familiar.
“Not those fucking bastards,” Zan hissed, bringing up his hand cannon.
“And this time they’ve got help.” With that, Jax shifted into a big gray wolf and ran to meet the enemy, leaving his clothes and human weapons in a pile on the ground.
Rowan didn’t have a spare second to marvel at seeing a man shift into his animal for the first time. Fear for her new comrades propelled her forward and she dove for Jax’s discarded gun as Zan opened fire on a creature hell itself must’ve birthed.
Like its buddies, the thing had leathery black wings, a stout, hairy body, and a greenish wrinkled and cracked face not even a mother could love. Saliva dripped from razor-sharp teeth in its gaping mouth, and it rushed Zan, obviously intent on tearing the man to shreds.
Zan’s shots barely slowed the beast, and it closed the gap, fast. In one fluid motion, Rowan raised her gun, sighted its head, and fired. The beast’s skull exploded, and it dropped in midstride, sliding to a halt at Zan’s boots.
“Shit!” His face reflected the terror of his close call. Then he seemed to realize it wasn’t his shot that had brought the thing down, and he glanced around in confusion before rejoining the battle and assisting his friends.
A surge of adrenaline flooded her veins. This invisibility stuff came in handy; too bad she couldn’t use it on the force. She took advantage now, though, picking off the ghouls left and right, doing her best to keep the ones closest to the men from reaching them. The Pack was too busy to investigate the source and the beasts were too stupid.
But her luck was bound to run out. When one of the ugly bastards swung his head in her direction, yellow eyes meeting hers and blazing with hatred, she knew Sariel’s spell had finally worn off. In mute horror, she raised her gun, got off a shot as it charged. And missed.
The beast closed the distance with dizzying speed. Just before it reached her, however, a silver ball of fur came from the left and launched itself at the creature. A wolf collided with the ghoul and they both went to the ground, the canine snarling, going for his enemy’s throat. He missed and the ghoul raked his side with knifelike claws, ripping through his coat. The wolf cried out, twisted, and resumed his attack. On they battled, and Rowan couldn’t get a good shot at the beast without risking the wolf.
Glancing anxiously at the rest of the fight, she saw Zan and the big gray wolf she knew to be Jax still engaged in the fight across the yard. That meant the wolf who’d saved her ass was Ryon—and he was losing.
Just as he managed to sink his teeth into the ghoul’s throat, the thing tore him free and threw him aside. He sailed through the air, hit a tree hard, and slid to the ground, unmoving. The creep returned its attention to Rowan and she could’ve sworn it smiled.
She aimed, but before she could fire, Nick ran around the side of the building, Kalen and Hammer hot on his heels. The Sorcerer took in the situation and slid to a stop. A big staff appeared out of thin air and he gripped it in his right hand as he knelt, arms straight out from his sides, head back.
Closing his eyes, he began a chant in a language Rowan thought might be Latin. Instantly, everyone froze in place, even Rowan. She could move only her eyes, and she noted that the battle stopped in the middle of some macabre, deadly dance. That weirded her out, but not nearly as much as what came next.
The beasts began to… enlarge. Just inflate, like they were oversized tires that someone was airing up. Their yellow eyes rounded in fear and one managed a whimper—
And then they exploded in a shower of greenish black matter. God, it stunk. If Rowan had been able, she would’ve gagged.
Head back, Kalen closed his left fist tightly, shook it. His comrades were freed, including Rowan, and she dropped to her knees. The Sorcerer slumped forward, supporting himself with the staff, breathing hard. Nick hurried to his Pack mate, steadying him.
“My panther couldn’t have fought those things,” Kalen said hoarsely. “Too many of them. I did the first thing that came to mind.”
“You did good, kid,” Nick praised, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
He nodded. “I’m fine, just need a sec.”
Jax shifted back to human form and began pulling on his clothes. “No wonder. Must take a helluva load of power to blow up one of those bastards, much less a whole army of them all at once.”
; “You could say that.” Kalen tried to make it a joke, but nobody was laughing.
“Oh, God,” Zan whispered. “Ryon!”
Following Zan’s gaze, the others saw where their friend lay crumpled on the ground several yards away. Zan reached him first, dropping to his knees. Once again in human form, Ryon was sprawled on his side. White-blond hair feathered around his handsome face and his eyes were closed. Four ragged gashes, bleeding heavily, marred his left side, and he was peppered with cuts and bruises.
Zan took his shoulders and spoke to Jax. “Help me roll him onto his back.”
Once this was accomplished, someone tossed Ryon’s shirt over his package for her sake, Rowan figured. Cursing herself, she watched as Zan placed both hands over the wounds on his friend’s side.
“If it wasn’t for me, he’d be okay,” she said softly.
“No,” Jax said sharply, glancing up at her. “If you hadn’t been here, those bastards would’ve torn all three of us apart before Kalen got to us. Because they couldn’t see you at first, you took out a lot of them and saved our bacon.”
Nick’s gaze was like twin blue lasers as he looked at her. “Is that true?”
She just shrugged. No way was she gonna take credit when Ryon had ended up hurt, or worse. “I missed my last shot and that fucker got him. That’s all I know.”
“Who cloaked you?”
She saw no benefit in trying to hide the answer from a psychic. “Sariel. But he had his reasons and his heart was in the right place, so if there’s any punishment to be dealt, it’s mine.”
Something like respect flashed across Nick’s face and was quickly replaced by a neutral expression. He nodded, turning back to his fallen man. Zan’s hands were now enveloped by a greenish glow that spread outward and appeared to sink into the gashes. Gradually, as Rowan stared in astonishment, the torn flesh began to knit together until the wounds vanished.
