Bite the Bullet Page 25

  Using a quick, jabbing lunge to disturb the air near her Shadow in a threatening way, he sent her a message in the standard Shadow body language—back off. Instead of backing up, she drew like lightning and hardened her gaze.

  “Show yourself,” she said in a quiet, lethal voice.

  He circled her in the Shadows, letting her feel the air move around her, letting her know he was close enough to take her life if he wanted to. He watched her move as he moved, her timing impeccable, her instincts razor-sharp. But it disturbed him that it was taking her so long to scent him, to know his signature. Then he remembered; he was tainted. Nearly everything about him had changed and was unfamiliar.

  Hunter moved away, the combative aggression ebbing. After he’d fed, some of his old wolf had returned. His front paws and hind legs were again the long, muscular appendages of a natural wolf, not bent abominations and clawed hands. His coat had thankfully never gotten patched and natty to show human skin through it. Instead it had remained thick and shimmering and midnight blue-black. His canines, while pronounced, were no longer a prehistoric tangle of murderous fangs, and the disgusting faucet of demon-infected Werewolf drool had ceased.

  Still, he had the very unnatural combination of a human’s voice trapped within a wolf’s body—evidence of a half-shift, if ever there was one . . . and he could no longer shape-shift at will. Unacceptable under any circumstances. The thing that most concerned him as he watched Sasha try to find his Shadow to confront him was, what if one day the wolf mind eclipsed the human mind and he could no longer call his humanity the way he used to so easily call his wolf?

  Until this moment he didn’t realize just how vain he was in her presence. There were some things he never wanted her to see, and try as he might to shunt that to the back of his mind, he couldn’t. What she thought of him, even if she had to eventually shoot him, mattered. He took a long sniff against his ribs, trying to gauge whether or not he reeked of demon contagion.

  “Just stop this bullshit, Hunter,” Sasha finally said, rushing in and out of nearby shadows, but nowhere near him at all. “Do you know how worried we’ve all been? What possessed you to leave Silver Hawk? Okay, wrong metaphor, but you know what I mean. I don’t give a damn what you look like or that you can’t shift back at the moment—what’s important is that we gather our team in tight. The old man’s lying in the hospital in ICU, and we need everybody’s head on straight. Are you hearing me?”

  He could see frustration had a chokehold on her and well understood why. But he would do this his way. He’d go see the old man under the cover of darkness . . . would say his good-byes and make his peace the way it had been done in the clan, within the pack, and even within his human tribe for generations. This was something she knew nothing of.

  However, when he turned to leave, a threatening male force breached his shadow. The presence so startled him that he came out into the dappled sunlight snarling.

  “Yo, yo, yo!” Sasha yelled. “Chill!”

  “It’s still in the shadows,” he said in a low rumble, needing to communicate with her more than preserve his pride. “It’s male, in my shadow, but moves like a ghost . . . it’s—”

  “Silver Hawk, or a friend,” she said, blowing a wisp of damp hair up off her forehead as she lowered her weapon. “Shit.”

  “How can that be?” Hunter studied her and then trained his attention back on the shadow he’d been ousted from.

  “If you still had your amulet, you’d know,” Sasha said curtly. “He led me here in a Shadow vision . . . then a friend also came out of concern.”

  Hunter just stared at her.

  “Yeah. Remember that heroic deed that left us all standing in the safe house with our hearts ripped out?” She walked around in a tight circle. “Why . . . I oughta shoot your mangy ass just for that!”

  His gaze hardened, but he checked his coat and then lifted his chin. He was many things, but mangy wasn’t one of them.

  “Oh, for the love of God . . .” Sasha holstered her weapon. “First order of business, I need a blood and tissue sample.”

  “Why?” He began backing up, wary. “And who is this friend?”

  “Because we need more infected Werewolf toxin to make more antitoxin, for starters. Two, we’re trying to isolate what it is about your system that doesn’t make you go all the way demon-infected Werewolf and simply lose it so—”

  “We don’t know that yet,” he countered, hating every moment that she made him have to use his voice while in wolf form. “And who’s the goddamned friend?”

  “Someone smart who wants a pack alliance. We can talk about that later. For now, let’s deal with the primary problem—your state of contagion isn’t as bad as it could have been. You went for the barbecue ribs on the grill, Hunter—not the fat chef. I’m no longer worried, trust me.”

  He looked away. A family walked by and gathered their children near. Sasha stepped close to Hunter before he could dodge into the shadows and placed her hand on his shoulders.

  “Huge but harmless,” she said, watching the young couple with a stroller and a toddler blanch. “Well trained. Police canine,” she said, patting her Glock. She watched their bodies relax.

  “Nice to know you’re on our side, officer,” the guy she assumed to be the husband yelled. “Never saw one that big.”

  Sasha chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a real prize.” She gripped Hunter’s coat when he began a low rumbling growl. “Let these nice folks go on down the path with their sanity, would ya? And not a word,” she said in a hissing whisper. “Besides, there’s probably fifty or so odd Fae marksmen in the trees just waiting to drop a predator that would draw attention to the Conference—so would ya chill?”

  Hunter just looked at her for a moment, but when the passersby had gone, the next volley of questions was delivered with slow, quiet rage.

  “Look at me,” he said through his teeth. “I have lost complete control of my wolf! Yes, I was able to employ the ruse to get three sides to fight each other—that we can discuss later. But of what use am I to you or what is left of my pack or even the clan at the UCE Conference if my mind is eroding to the wolf mind . . . if the human is receding hour by hour, even in the daylight? Take your blood sample to help others if you must, but leave me until this purges from my system. And as far as any alliances go, forget it for now—the politics down here are vicious and I don’t even know who you’ve been talking to. I can’t commit to anything until I am in my human self.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk about the alliance proposal later, but I’m not leaving you to be jumped in the swamps and made alligator food—because that’s where the infected Shadows went. But I will take you up on your grudging offer to help us make more antitoxin, and maybe even a vaccine, from whatever elements we can extract from your DNA.”

  The fact that she had bluntly stated her point without any compassion in her voice for his dilemma grated him.

  “So, to save all this Shadow hopping and energy depletion, I guess you just expect to walk me on a leash to the local pharmacy and steal some hypodermics while you leave me tied to a pole? Is that the plan? Or, I guess you’ll walk me at your heel into Tulane University Hospital as a two-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound military guard dog?”

  Sasha shrugged. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

  Never in his life had he been so thoroughly disgusted or humiliated as he flanked Sasha with his head held high, but he did take slight satisfaction in watching people clear sidewalks and pathways as she flashed a badge and brought him into the hospital.

  The guard looked like he was about to say something, and it was admittedly a twisted pleasure to stare at the man with knowing eyes—eyes that were eerily both wolf and human, and dare him to bar them entry.

  “Uh, ma’am,” the security guard said as delicately as possible. “Uhmmm, I don’t think for health reasons, the doctors might not want a huge, uh—”

  “Sir, it’s all right. Military. He’s a drug sniffer. We’ve had an inc
ident, and the animal will be confined to that area rendering no health risk to patients.”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am,” the guard stuttered, and then released a long whistle as she and Hunter passed.

  It was reflex, he couldn’t help it. The sound bristled the hair on his back and drew a growl with a flash of canines. He watched the color drain from the offender’s face.

  “Sir, please don’t do that,” Sasha told the guard as she smoothed down bristled wolf coat. “These animals are highly sensitive.”

  Hunter refrained from grumbling and offering any comment. Her touch did feel good, and was oddly soothing the way she did what she did. Besides, what had been of greatest concern was getting into the hospital to see his grandfather by any means necessary. So be it if he had to hide in plain sight, a novel concept for a Shadow Wolf, but one that worked better than he’d expected. If they could also do the lab work here more efficiently, all the better.

  “We’ve gotta make one stop,” Sasha said with a wide smile as they exited the vacant stairwell.

  He looked at her hard and it was a challenge not to snarl.

  “That poor chef saw a Werewolf. I want to go to his room as a military cop and thank him for his trouble, and apologize for my bad dog that got on the loose.”

  “Oh, hell no!”

  “Oh, hell yes, because it will make it easier for Doc to send in a spin team if that chef sees what scared the shit out of him, as do several witnesses, and the man’s sanity can be vindicated. This way, Doc can give him a card with a number for him to call where he can get his greasy spoon all nice and remodeled and shiny, and can talk forever about the biggest damned dawg he ever saw. Are you following me here? Can you say damage control?”

  He knew by not answering her he’d conceded by omission. Public relations was not his thing in the least. This was why he and his pack shunned big cities—there was always the complexity of too many eyewitnesses for things that had to go down in the wild. True, some packs lived in the margins and functioned within the shadows of the city seams. But this was not his way at all. He cursed every footfall that landed in perfect sync with Sasha’s as she led him to what would probably turn into a hospital photo op.

  “Just wait here, okay?” she said, watching nurses, orderlies, visitors, and patients cling to the walls. “The man already had a near heart attack and has been mildly sedated, I’m told. So let me break it to him gently.”

  If there weren’t already people in the hallways that had seen him, he would have told her to kiss his natural Shadow ass and found a dark supply closet to hide in. Unfortunately he’d been seen and the fluorescent lights of a hospital ward didn’t cast many shadows to choose from. Heel, wait, sit, come—oh, he would never, ever let her live this down.

  “Mr. Roulade,” Sasha said with a cheerful voice. “I’m Lieutenant Trudeau. I’m told you had quite a scare this morning?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the chef slurred, fighting the medication. “They think I’m crazy, but I’m not . . . even though that one doctor tried to make me feel better. So did that pretty little pixie of a nurse, Ms. Margaret. I know they was just humoring me so they could get me to hold still long enough for them to dope me up. So, you said, officer—so you coming to lock me up for shooting?”

  “Well, no, sir, and that doctor and nurse truly believed you. I’m gonna ask a nurse or two and a coupla doctors on the ward to come on in here with my, uh, military guard dog, Hunter. I’m so sorry he ate your barbecue and went after the po’boys. The U.S. Military will compensate you for your trouble, ’cause I know that the last thing folks down here need to deal with is another insurance claim and all that mess. I got family from down here, hence my last name, Trudeau. My heart goes out for all you’ve already been through with Katrina.”

  “It’s been a lot, ma’am, more than folks know,” the chef said, lip quivering from repressed emotion. “I used to have a real nice place, but what your dog tore up was all I had left . . . that’s why I was shootin’ and probably lost my mind. Maybe it wasn’t a werewolf and was just a really big dog. . . . I honestly don’t know my own mind now, all drugged up. But I ain’t a violent man.”

  “We know, it’s gonna be all right. That’s why I came in here to show you what had gotten loose, okay?”

  The chef nodded as Sasha patted his arm, and she seemed to know to wait a bit to allow the distraught man a moment to collect himself. But the more Hunter had listened to her mollify the patient, the more he eased into going along with her crazy terms. People down here had definitely been through a lot, and if he could help it, they wouldn’t go through more by way of being snatched into dark Shadows and fed upon by the unholy. As he listened to Sasha’s calm, friendly approach, it was another side of her that he was learning.

  “Don’t worry,” she soothed. “We’re not gonna do you like FEMA. We can get your store fixed right up without you having to go through a lot of changes. And, uh, maybe somebody in the hall might have a camera cell phone so you can get the pic and hang it in your remodeled shop?” She smiled wide and clasped the man’s hand. “Sir, I’m so glad that you and nobody else were hurt. This could have been tragic.”

  The chef smiled up at her with tears in his eyes. “Little lady, either you’re an angel or they put some really good drugs in the IV drip.”

  They both laughed and she gave his hand another squeeze and held up one finger. “I’m warning you, he’s a monster.”

  Hunter cocked his head to the side and stared up at Sasha when she reentered the hallway. Even though she was a reasonably tall woman at five foot seven, his head was almost to the top of her shoulder. She gave him a look that begged him to be on his best behavior. He wanted to offer her a dashing smile but thought better of it. Maybe he’d embarrass her and nuzzle her crotch, since she wanted to role-play this to the bone.

  “Uhm, could a couple of staff members come in—and if anyone has a camera cell phone, would you be so kind? I want Mr. Roulade to not wake up in the morning thinking he dreamed this—you know how meds are.”

  Several staffers inched around their desks.

  “Jesus, lady, they really have those things on the bases?” a male nurse said, easing around her to slip into the room.

  “Some bases,” Sasha said brightly, entering the room with Hunter, while everyone else but the bold nurse elected to crane their necks to see from where they were.

  “Mr. Roulade, meet Hunter.”

  “Holy Christ!” Roulade drew himself up into the bed. “That’s him! Oh, dear merciful heaven,” he wheezed, crossing himself.

  “Hunter . . .” Sasha said, stooping down and then nuzzling her cheek against his fur. “Please let that nice nurse take a picture of you next to Mr. Roulade, since you destroyed his store, you bad boy.”

  He almost slipped and said okay, but instead paid her back for the affront of talking dog-owner-baby-talk to him by slurping her face with a giant lick. Sasha laughed and stood.

  “See, he’s really pretty harmless.” She looked at the nurse who’d made himself extra small in a corner of the room. “Sir, you can breathe now.”

  “He . . . he, uh, won’t jump at me or bite if he hears a click, will he?” the nurse whispered.

  Sasha eyed Hunter. “No, you won’t, will you?”

  Hunter nosed her crotch and she squeezed his neck fur. He struggled not to laugh.

  “C’mon, let these men take a picture—just one.”

  With great trepidation, he loped toward the bed and stared at the poor chef that had almost fainted dead away from seeing him hours earlier. The chef offered a tense grin and a cell phone camera clicked. Hunter loped away. He’d never been photographed in his life, but this woman had a way of making him do all sorts of crazy things.

  “Did you get it?” she asked the nurse.

  The nurse nodded and reached toward her. Instinct released a low growl in Hunter’s throat. Human instinct made the man draw back and cover his head and lift a knee to protect his groin.

  “I’m s
orry, I’m sorry, my bad,” the nurse said quickly.

  “No, that was my bad,” Sasha said with disgust, rolling her eyes at Hunter. “No sudden moves, they don’t like that, especially from males.”

  The chef’s head bobbed in nervous agreement. “I can see that, understand it. You gotta train ’em to go after criminals, right?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” she said, checking the picture that had most of Hunter’s huge head in the shot with what looked like a very small but rotund man. She stroked Hunter’s back. “All right, big fella. It’s back to work.”

  He watched how she handled the crowd, and had to admit to being quietly impressed. The woman owned diplomatic skills with humans that he’d never seen employed until now. She waved on the way out, telling the chef that someone would come by with a telephone number to change his life later today, and then waved at the impressive crowd that had gathered at a safe distance by the central floor desk to witness the huge beast that a female MP had strolled into Tulane.

  It actually wasn’t so bad walking at Sasha’s heel for a bit. She had a very sexy stride and smelled great.

  Chapter 20

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Dr. Williams flattened himself against the lab wall as Sasha came in with Hunter.

  Dr. Lutz dashed to the far side of the room, huffing on an inhaler. Dr. Sanders just stood behind her microscope, her hazel eyes wide with awe, terror, and wonder. Clarissa McGill held the slide she’d been studying between two fingers, not moving, not breathing as Winters tumbled over a chair and hit the floor and Bradley held on to a desk, his knuckles going white.

  “Me and Doc Holland tried to warn ’em, Trudeau,” Woods said calmly.