by Chanel Smith
Raya stared in shock at four old Israeli surface to air missiles. They were mobile weapons meant to be held on the shoulder and fired at planes... and they always worked. Especially with Itchiko’s nearly-manic insistence on caring for all of the pack weapons, keeping each in working order. Now his painstaking care would pay off, Raya hoped. Or an entire city would literally be blown off the map.
Chapter Twenty
One Werewolf, How Many Humans?
Three days later all was in place. Raya insisted on being with Itchiko: both Weres would handle a missile and shoot at the same time. Now they were just behind a rise roughly a mile from the private Cavello airport, watching as an odd-looking jet taxied down the runway.
“Still not happy,” Raya muttered.
“Arm your weapon,” Itchiko snapped. In full military command mode, he no longer recognized Raya’s authority as Alpha and wouldn’t until the situation was resolved.
Raya was fully aware of this “weakness” in Itchiko: any other Alpha would have shunned the other wolf on learning of this.
Raya had spent most of his life in one army or another. He well knew the laser focus needed to command an army. No commander would take an order ‘from above’ during an actual operation, and Itchiko was no different. Many times over the centuries Raya had willingly taken second place to the brilliant Japanese wolf. He’d yet to regret that most unusual decision.
There was one major issue with this current operation: he had to at least mention it.
“Itchiko. There are Weres aboard that plane, at least two of them. I don’t know. Were against Were..” his voice trailed off as the aged book of rules appeared in his mind.
Itchiko stated flatly, “Two of ours against what, three million plus humans? Arm your SAM, Raya, and do it now.”
Raya’s entire body quivered in disgust, yet he flicked the arming toggle on his SAM and shouldered the weapon.
A distant whine came to his ears as the plane taxied faster and faster down the runway. Soon it was airborne. Itchiko would give the signal when to shoot.
That signal seemed to take forever, Raya thought as he tracked the plane with his SAM. The plane rose straight into the sky and headed north toward the city.
Just as the plane left land to cross the enormous Lake Pontchartrain, Itchiko snapped, “Hit it!”
Raya pulled the trigger and staggered backward from the force of the recoil as the weapon fired. He set the launcher down and covered his eyes, trying to track the missile’s flight. As they were looking almost directly into the sun, neither Were could make out the missile.
They certainly couldn’t mistake the enormous explosion that occurred seconds later, though. Raya felt nausea rise in his belly at the thought of the wolves on board, but knew Itchiko was right. Too many other lives would have been lost. The ancient ways were often right, but there were times when adjustments had to be made.
And these particular wolves—if wolves had to be killed, the head of Cavello wasn’t a bad place to start. It had been on his command that the plane had taken to the air with its death-dealing cloud seeding device.
The pilot, though... Raya’s stomach rolled. That Were had not perhaps known of the plane’s payload, therefore his death was collateral. For a Were to die a collateral death? All Raya could do was shake his head.
Later he’d learn that far more than two Weres were aboard that plane as the entire upper echelon of Cavello’s board had insisted on going, as if it were an adventure outing to see the results of the seeding. To Raya, that was yet more sick-making than a collateral death. Those Weres deserved what they got and far, far more.
Cavello would need new board members, that was a certainty.
And the corporation would have a hard time finding worse members than those Raya had just disposed of: that also was a certainty.
He picked up his SAM, wrapped the old blanket around it again, and strode off down the hill behind Itchiko.
That was one exercise he hoped never to repeat.
Chapter Twenty-one
They Started It, We Will End It
Living like the dead can lead to living like the living.
—Unknown
Later that day, Petra, Charissa and Chizuko arrived at the Fiero & Sons Mortuary in Ripero. Dressed in deepest mourning black, the three women entered to discuss the upcoming funeral of Petra’s beloved sister. The three women were genuinely distraught, in tears and asked so many questions that the entire mortuary staff had to leap to attention to take care of these obviously-wealthy patrons.
Meanwhile, Itchiko surreptitiously picked the lock of the mortuary’s back door. He, Raya, a recovered Jean-Paul and Andre entered the place to find themselves in a large room where coffins were in various stages of construction.
Couldn’t be here, Raya knew as he looked for other doors. One directly across from where they’d entered had to lead to the main facility. No good. An older door to the right looked promising.
And well it should, Raya discovered as the pack members filed into a smaller storage room where the plain wood coffin liners were stacked. When Raya flicked on the light, only a naked bulb hanging down from the center of the room came to life. The pile of coffins were mostly dark.
What to do now? He looked at Itchiko and raised his shoulders. The Japanese Were returned his gaze with a deliberate wink as he pulled a familiar small object from his pocket.
Raya’s brows lowered in confusion. Itchiko was a superstitious old soldier, like so many were. He’d carried this one object through three centuries of warfare, he’d told Raya before. Evidently it had worked as Itchiko was still around to tell the tale.
It certainly looked innocuous enough to Raya: a short wooden tube with six holes, obviously hand-carved. But Itchiko swore by the thing, and his operations never failed.
Now the warrior wolf rotated the tube for a moment, smiling down at it. Then he brought it to his lips and blew lightly into one end.
A high, thin whistle sounded, then the melody to an ancient Moldavian folk song. After only one verse, the whistle disappeared back into Itchiko’s pocket.
It worked, Raya noted with astonishment as first one coffin lid swung open and then another. Three bedraggled heads peeked out, caught sight of Raya. All three Weres then exited their coffins and shifted until two large wolves and a smaller female faced Raya and Itchiko. All of the wolves bowed their heads and went to their bellies.
“Pack Iwabari begs mercy and succor of pack Lupeinescu,” the wolves simultaneously sent to Raya.
“Pack Lupeinescu is grateful for your request and grants it,” Raya said out loud. “Now, let’s get out of here before my Alpha bitch drives the entire staff mad.”
Heureuse was still locked down in war mode as Petra and the rescued Weres arrived. The new Weres were exhaustively searched before being permitted to enter the compound, and Petra found herself having to explain the meaning behind that and the military appearance of her beloved mansion.
She was puzzled when the leader of the small pack, Iwabari, demanded to see whoever was in charge of the military operation. She sent for Itchiko all the same.
A tall, thin Japanese with odd tattoos on his face, Iwabari had quite the reaction when Itchiko walked in: he shifted at once, fell to his belly and bowed his head. “Iwabari acknowledges the presence of a Samurai warrior 10th degree.”
Itchiko’s turn to be astounded: hardly anyone outside the tightly-closed ranks of the Samurai warriors themselves knew of the Samurai ranking system. How was this Were so knowledgeable of Samurai ways? And how was it possible he knew such things about Itchiko himself? Itchiko immediately posed that question, every muscle ready to leap, every heightened sense ready to use hidden weapons to repulse that Were.
The answer and brief conversation that followed surprised Itchiko to the extent that he dropped the last two weapons he’d just retrieved from hiding spots on his body as he approached the Were, staring into the man’s face. “What did Yutaka do every Friday evening?
” Itchiko demanded. Yutaka has been Itchiko’s last master before he’d left Japan, and Iwabari claimed that he’d been Samurai under Yutaka after Itchiko’s departure. What were the odds? Slim to none, but it wouldn’t be difficult for Itchiko to discover the truth.
The Were stifled a grin. “Played Piquet with a group of old friends.”
“Do you recognize the name Fujiko?” Itchiko whipped out instantly.
“Yutaka’s first wife, and a terrible bitch she was, too.”
“What did she do to Yutaka that he could never forgive?”
“Cut the nuts off his favorite French hunting dog and tied them onto a pig’s head he’d taken in France and had mounted in the living room. They looked like shriveled black earrings.” He shuddered, as did every male within hearing distance.
Itchiko relaxed. “I don’t know how such a thing could be, but I bid you welcome and offer you and Pack Iwabari the hospitality of Pack Lupeinescu,” he said, to Raya’s total shock now. He gave the Alpha a brief look, a briefer head shake so that Raya wouldn’t speak. It was of the utmost importance for them both to hear what Iwabari had to say.
It seemed they hadn’t just had a Were inside the enemy’s compound: they’d had a Samurai Were, one whose rank was even higher than Itchiko’s own. That made all the difference in the world, for Samurais at that level had powers that even Weres did not possess: physical powers that were never spoken of as well as finely-honed powers of observation, and the ability to put together seemingly-unrelated facts and draw a sound conclusion.
Chapter Twenty-two
Power of the Samurai
Pain shared is relief squared.
—Unknown
“Please introduce the other members of Pack Iwabari,” Itchiko asked courteously.
“Excuse my lateness in doing so,” Iwabari replied. “To my right is Tatsuo. He is as fierce and brave as the dragon for whom he is named.”
Tatsuo, a short man with shaggy dark hair and a nose that had obviously been broken as it hooked sharply to the left, nodded at Raya with a shy smile.
“My very round Alpha Choukichi is the Pack Iwabari luck, as her name proclaims.” He paused for a moment. “You do know that many Samurai change their own first names?”
Raya shook his head, surprised.
“They do so as a result of being honored by the shogun, changing religion—many adopted Buddhism or Christianity. And a Samurai always had one name he never knew.”
Fascinated, Raya asked, “How could that be?”
“The Samurai Death Name,” Iwabari announced with a smile. “It was given to him or her after death, and often was a spiritual name. More about Samurais than you wanted to know, no doubt.”
“Not at all,” Raya answered honestly. “Samurai have been known so long for honor, loyalty and superior warriors. How could I not be fascinated?”
“Can’t you see this poor woman is pregnant and needs to lie down?” Petra interrupted, taking Choukichi by the arm. “I’ll take her to the East Wing. No one’s staying there right now, so Pack Iwabari is welcome to it, if they agree?” she asked, looking directly at Iwabari himself.
“We are overjoyed with Pack Lupeinescu’s hospitality,” Iwabari said. “Chou, will you allow Petra to take care of you whilst we talk?”
“Of course, Bari. Come along to bed soon—it’s been a long day.” She sighed heavily. “A very, very long day.”
Petra led the tiny Alpha out of the room.
There was a not-uncomfortable silence for a time. Raya was overwhelmed by all that had happened in such a short time, and somewhat confused as well. How was it that they had offered their home to a completely-unknown pack, Samurai or not? His faith in Itchiko was absolute, but he knew there was more to this than the Japanese Were had mentioned. And he wouldn’t learn any more at this moment, either, as the new pack Alpha was at this moment sitting in one of Raya’s favorite chairs, smoking a favorite cigar. If this didn’t turn out well, Itchiko had a lot to answer for.
“Now that my Alpha bitch is out of hearing distance, there are matters we should discuss,” Iwabari said. “Her pregnancy makes her sensitive to certain matters.”
“Such as an upcoming war where we’re outnumbered four to one,” Itchiko pointed out mildly.
“I don’t get this,” Raya stated with no little anger. “Why would this pack of criminals come after Pack Lupeinescu at all? We’re not in their way: we never have been. As far as I know, our members have nothing to do with theirs, yet they attack us and declare war?” He shook his head, bewildered.
Itchiko and Iwabari exchanged a long look. Finally, Itchiko spoke. “Cavello Corporation is run by Italians. You are aware of that.”
“Yes, you told me that,” Raya said.
“Very powerful Italians whose main belief is in utter secrecy, total privacy—for obvious reasons. If it ever gets out who Cavello really is, their stock would drop like a stone...probably ruin them,” Itchiko said, watching Raya from eyes slitted with concentration.
“Makes sense,” Raya had to admit. “They sure wouldn’t want anyone snooping around, especially the paparazzi.”
“Exactly,” Itchiko agreed. “Now imagine that they made a major mistake in one of their largest industries, also something they made a major gamble on and invested far more funds than prudent—in the hopes of an enormous payoff. Now imagine that someone outed them to a newspaper: details of the fuck-up and all. Nothing is hidden anymore, so all they can do is damage control. Desperately clean up as best they can before they lose literally everything. Now think they might be a little pissed with whoever blew this particular whistle?”
“Of course they would, but they’ll never find out. First off, no one knows I know anyone in the media world. My guy has known me for years, but we’ve never even been seen together. And when we communicate, we do so with maximum security. Nobody could possibly be aware of our connection. And as far as any other notion goes, my guy would sooner chew his arm off than open his mouth because he knows it will come straight back to us and he’s rather fond of us,” Raya said with a smile. He pictured Pete kicked back in that enormous leather chair of his, sucking on a fat cigar. It really was time Pete paid the pack a visit. How long had it—
“Raya,” Itchiko said softly. “Something you need to see.” He slid a newspaper page across the table. “Read it, then we talk.”
There was no need to read as the lead photo said it all, Raya realized with a mixture of terrible grief, burning fury, and overwhelming guilt. The photo showed Pete’s office in the back of the Herald’s offices, and his tiny apartment above those offices. Raya had spent hours, days and weeks in enjoyable debate about everything from politics to racism. The entire building was now a burnt-out shell, smoke still rising from spots.
“Jesus H Christ,” Raya said. “It’s like I fed him right to those assholes.” He paused, thought. “When?”
“Three days ago,” Itchiko responded. “You truly had enough on your plate. If I’d have shown you this...”
“I’d have gone mad and blown the entire thing.”
“Then again, maybe not. But why disturb you when you needed a laser focus?” Itchiko asked.
“God, all these good people who worked for the Herald... including the crazy old lady that supposedly cleaned, but only did the same spot over and over again. Those Herald people weren’t your basic reporters, tell you that much. They kept that old lady until she died—just quietly hired a real custodian who wound up allowing Irina to sleep at his place. I can’t take this in, I really can’t.” He stood and began to pace.
“People like those Italians are exactly what their main business is: trash,” Itchiko said flatly.
Raya didn’t respond as he never heard the thought. His own were far away, as he began making plans at light speed.
Itchiko, whose eyes were still glued to his pack leader, finally relaxed for the first time in days. A brief cough brought his attention to his fellow Samurai, who had a very slight smile on his burnt li
ps.
Itchiko stared into Iwabari’s eyes until he was certain he had the Samurai’s full attention. Then he deliberately glanced at Raya and back again with a lifted brow. Iwabari maintained his smile and gave one sharp single nod.
That easily, a pact was made between two of the finest warriors, Samurai who’d been practicing and perfecting their very special art of war for centuries. Add that experience to the innate talent and power of werewolves, and suddenly the almost hopeless odds of several against hundreds become less hopeless. In fact, for once, those odds actually swung away from the Italians—something that had rarely if ever happened.
Then again, neither had a partnership like that which had just been forged in blood, pain, and brotherhood.
Raya was well aware that this war had only just begun, and that the opposition had much going for them including sheer numbers, tenacity, and the ability to hurt and maim with a complete lack of regret.
The Italians were formidable foes, beyond a doubt. And the next time they came for Pack Lupeinescu, they’d be better informed as to what they were up against: they never made the same mistakes twice.
How they would come was a mystery, but their arrival was inevitable, Raya saw that now. And they threatened everything that meant anything to him: his pack members, his home, his very way of life. If they succeeded on even a basic level, Pack Lupeinescu would be forced to live off the grid and move often just to remain alive. The members who survived that next attack, that was.
Raya was up and pacing without realizing he was doing so. The two Samurai sat and watched with their habitual patience, neither making a sound, both trusting that their Trans Alpha would come up with an appropriate response to what was really a military question.
Which was far more positive than Raya himself was, at the moment. Visions of that burned-out office, that odd plane as it rose into the air—death itself on wings, and the three frightened faces popping out of coffins. All played over and over in his minds-eye video.
