Never Cry Werewolf Page 5

  Other paranormal leaders murmured their assent with the moans of Phantoms, and chaos erupted again while Elder Vlad chuckled.

  “According to the law, those accused and scheduled to be stripped of their standing must be present!” Sir Rodney shouted, turning to face his weakening allies.

  “Or voted off, if deemed too dangerous to attend the proceedings . . . and then a messenger is sent.”

  Sir Rodney glared at the crafty Vampire and then whirled on his allies. “Would any of you be the messenger to the wolves to bear such news?”

  Silence echoed loudly. Sir Rodney spun back to meet Elder Vlad’s gaze. “In the absence of anyone willing to take the news to the wolves—”

  “We’ll take the news,” Elder Vlad said flatly. “Now vote.”

  Again, silence strangled the attendees for a moment.

  “You are the ones gaining from the challenge . . . therefore you cannot be the messengers,” Sir Rodney said as calmly as possible. “The opposing side has a fortnight to prepare a rebuttal to the request.” He sent a blue streak toward the hovering tome before Elder Vlad could answer. “Let it be written that we accept Elder Vlad’s request for a possible restoration of his former office and the possible removal of the wolf Federations from the voting leadership bench of the United Council of Entities pending the customary fortnight recess and rebuttal.”

  The book blazed and then snapped shut while Elder Vlad and his guards hissed their bitter disapproval.

  “Time will buy you nothing!” Elder Vlad shouted, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. “A fortnight is but a blink of an eye in time to Vampires!”

  “Then it is all settled,” Sir Rodney said, his mouth forming a wry smile, but his eyes burning with pure hatred. “We will reconvene in a fortnight . . . and as we say in the Fae world, ‘May perpetual daylight shine upon you and your family.’ ”

  CHAPTER 4

  Too much time had passed since she’d crossed the threshold of Ronnie’s Road Hog Tavern, affectionately known to her and all the locals as simply the Hawg. Sasha hopped down out of her jeep and took a deep breath, shaking the tension out of her limbs as her boots hit the parking lot gravel. Summer in Denver was particularly sweet. This little oasis well off the main highway was surrounded by a fragrant pine bluff. She smiled to herself as she walked, remembering how she’d first met Hunter here—and how she’d almost shot the man.

  The absurdity of it all nearly made her laugh out loud. Bitter irony that the wolf was her friend, while the fighting force she’d always been associated with had turned on her, kept the sound from exiting her throat. Right now, though, she just had to forget it. There was a bigger problem than the acute sense of betrayal wafting through her soul; there was a loose cannon headed down to New Orleans about to get himself killed or—worse—get his men butchered and possibly innocent people mauled. And . . . with the firepower she knew Madison had access to, wolves could die, too—not to mention friendly Fae.

  But there was no choice at the moment other than to wait for word from Hunter. She hated feeling boxed in. Sasha flat-palmed the front door of the tavern and welcomed the cool air-conditioned temperatures and convivial spirit that instantly enveloped her just like the loud country music. The scent of sawdust and the crush of it underfoot made her release a quiet sigh.

  Admittedly, it felt good to get out of her uniform and into jeans and a T-shirt, even if she’d had to change in the dark in her closet to avoid whatever surveillance she was sure had been reinstalled while she was gone. Didn’t they know by now that she could tell when someone had been in her apartment? Wolves always knew. There was the vibe, the energy tracer, and last but not least the human scent, for crying out loud. Not only was she gonna have to change careers, but she was definitely going to have to move to Shadow Wolf country just to take a shower in peace.

  Too much knowledge was sometimes a dangerous thing. She could feel herself getting more and more wound up again about the invasion of her personal space as she walked deeper into the tavern. All of her territory had been violated, truth be told. However, the moment she spotted her guys, her shoulders relaxed.

  They’d commandeered several tables and had pulled them together. Cheese fries, hot wings, and nachos littered the tops of them, creating a messy, high-calorie defeat feast. Shots were lined up, as promised, and two empty pitchers were on the tables with a smiling waitress hustling in their direction holding a sudsy refill in each hand.

  “You’re shit-faced already, soldier,” Sasha said, coming up to Woods’s flank, laughing. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” Woods said, pounding her fist and then slinging a Jack Daniel’s shot at her across a table-top.

  “Got burgers on the way, but figured we’d start with tradition. Plenty of alcohol,” Fisher said, knocking back his shot as the one Woods sent to Sasha whizzed down the table.

  Sasha caught the shot and knocked it back, then set the shot glass down with an exaggerated wince. “Line ’em up, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Hunter took it that well, huh?” Clarissa said, filling a beer mug as the waitress set down a pitcher.

  “I knew the big guy would be pissed off,” Winters said, shaking salt on his wet fist. “Tell him plenty of tequila will bite the snake that bit him.”

  “Our alpha is baring fangs, no doubt,” Bradley said calmly and tossed Winters a fresh lime wedge.

  “Ooohhh, yeah,” Sasha said, accepting another slingshot from Fisher. “Where do I even begin?”

  “So someone is playing a very deadly game of cat and mouse,” Cerridwen said, looking into the icy mist. She drew away from the glacier table in her war room and placed a delicate finger against her lips. “And they are so eager for Rodney and I to war . . . hmmm . . .”

  “Milady,” her advisor said quietly, lowering his head. “Sir Rodney will take an act of attempted possession as a clear act of war. Perhaps we should prepare for a potential Seelie onslaught.”

  She nodded and narrowed her gaze. “Yes, that is wise. But in the meanwhile, let us also hedge our bets.”

  Hunter heard his grandfather’s howl echoing in the shadow lands long before he’d exited into the lush Uncompahgre wilderness. The etched amber amulet that had been passed through his family for generations burned white-hot against his T-shirt, and the silver chain that it hung from was now uncomfortably warm around his neck.

  Instinct led him through the underbrush. Every sense was keened as he neared his grandfather’s cabin and sniffed the air. The full pack leadership had gathered. Something was terribly wrong.

  Mounting the front steps in one bound, he landed on his grandfather’s cabin porch without a sound, but the door opened. His grandfather greeted him with expectation in his eyes and then clasped his forearm in the time-honored tradition.

  “We’ve received important news,” Silver Hawk said, ushering Hunter into the emergency meeting. “Sir Rodney sent a Fae missive. The Vampires are on the move and are calling for our ousting. We have one fortnight to gather evidence to show we had cause for the actions we took against Baron Montague and his enterprises and must clearly demonstrate that they were complicit in the chain of events.”

  “We have that evidence!” Hunter shouted, looking at his grandfather and then his pack lieutenants. “When we brought in the Unseelie Fae traitor, all of that was discussed!”

  “True . . . but the Vampires are claiming that we did not follow protocol as established by the United Council of Entities.” Silver Hawk released a weary breath. “This time I do not know if we will be able to beat their charges, unless we can show a valid reason that we breached due process. We did act prematurely, Hunter. We did attack his manor house when he was merely a suspect. The correct process was not a preemptive strike, but rather to bring charges against him at the UCE.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Hunter said, his voice exploding with rage. “We all know what happened. We all know how the baron sat on the sidelines egging Kiagehul on, helping to twist his
already bent mind!”

  For a moment Silver Hawk only stared at Hunter. “I know, son . . . but you as the alpha leader also know that just because something is legal doesn’t make it ethical—or if it is ethical, that doesn’t make it legal. We are caught in such a dilemma, the cobweb of such contradiction as can only be spun by the Vampires. Sir Rodney said the other parliaments are beginning to waffle, becoming shaky in their commitment to hold the voting bloc together. This could be a very bad moon for the wolves.”

  “Does my brother know yet?” Hunter dragged his fingers through his hair, further loosening the leather thong that held his ponytail in place.

  “I sent word to Shogun the moment I learned. I carried the missive myself through the shadow lands and gave it to his top lieutenant.”

  Hunter held his grandfather by both arms and stared into his ancient eyes. “Grandfather . . . to travel that way without the family amulet to protect you against the demon doors, during these uncertain times, could have been suicide. I would have gone.”

  “There wasn’t time,” Silver Hawk said calmly, staring at Hunter with ageless wisdom.

  “You need to rest,” Hunter said in a quiet tone, now thoroughly inspecting the elderly man before him. “What do we need to do to make this right?”

  “I will go on a vision quest,” his grandfather replied, gently slipping from Hunter’s hold. He landed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “This time we must allow cool heads to prevail. We must go back to the scene of the treachery and collect witnesses, evidence, anything we can to show that we were under attack in principle and had a right to defend ourselves.”

  “Consider it done,” Hunter said. He turned to Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow.

  “We stand at the ready,” Bear Shadow said.

  “We’ve got your back,” Crow Shadow said, but then cocked his head to the side. “Where’s my sister? Been thinking about her all day—worried, you know, man?” He smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck. “Doesn’t feel right. For something as serious as this going down, Sasha should be here, too.”

  Hunter nodded as renewed fury threaded its way through his system. “The human military has relieved her of her duty, temporarily. Her general was dressed down for the civilian human casualties and the media circus.” He turned to his grandfather and let out a breath of defeat. “Doc, the entire team, have all been cut off from the Paranormal Containment Unit. They cannot leave Denver until further notice. A new colonel is sending a team . . .”

  “A wolf hunt?” Silver Hawk asked in a low tone that made every set of eyes in the room begin to glow gold. It wasn’t a question; it was more of a statement.

  Hunter nodded. “This is what it could turn into the moment that new military force hits New Orleans, if the Vampires have their way. So I want you to stay to the shadows and lay low. I need to talk to Shogun and his men about staying out of harm’s way until we know what we’re dealing with—but we cannot have any human casualties attributed to us. None.”

  “Agreed,” Silver Hawk said, his gaze narrowed with repressed anger. “But collecting evidence under such circumstances will be hard.”

  “Just like old times,” Hunter said, determination blazing in his eyes. “But I am prepared to show them all the way of the wolf.”

  “What were you going to tell me?” Bradley said, holding Clarissa’s hand. He leaned in closely and sent the private comment into her ear.

  “Later,” she murmured back, and then took a sip of beer.

  He frowned. “If it’s important, we should just step outside. All right?”

  She looked up at him blankly. “No . . . because I can’t remember what I was going to say.”

  The group gave Clarissa and Bradley a smile.

  “You guys are whispering like a couple of teenagers,” Fisher said laughing, pouring more beer for Bradley. “Geez, get a room.”

  Bradley shoved him playfully as Clarissa shook her head and downed her beer, holding her mug out for a refill. “Can’t anybody have a private conversation without your minds going directly into the gutter?”

  “Not while we’re drinking,” Woods said, laughing.

  Winters knocked his glass against Woods’s. “Right!”

  A slurry of nachos, cheese fries, and Jack Daniel’s competed at the bottom of Sasha’s stomach, but the warm buzz and camaraderie were beginning to make her problems temporarily fade. Woods was setting up another round of shots to sling across the tables when the hair stood up on her arms and the back of her neck.

  “Look alive, soldier,” she said, slowing him down. “Twelve o’clock.” Sasha held up her hand and then nodded toward the bar door.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Woods said, elbowing Fisher.

  “That just ain’t right,” Fisher said, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his forearm. “This is our bar.”

  “Aw, man, this sucks—big time,” Winters complained and downed his shot anyway.

  Clarissa leaned in, weaving from the effects of the multiple kamikaze shots she’d just consumed with a beer chaser, and spoke to the group in a hissing whisper. “You guys are off post, right? This is a civilian establishment.”

  “It may be a nonduty location, ’Rissa,” Bradley warned, clearing away alcohol from in front of everyone and bringing food baskets closer, “but anybody in uniform is still subject to military code . . . and just from a political standpoint, it wouldn’t do to give the colonel any additional ammunition against us—asshole though he may be.”

  “Yeah, especially since he and his men are wearing sidearms off-post. That tells me the SOB is just looking for trouble,” Woods muttered.

  “He’s headed our way. Be prepared to get on your feet,” Sasha said to Woods and Fisher. “Maybe he won’t be a dickhead and will just grab a beer and a burger and go about his business.”

  “There’s a hopeful thought,” Fisher said, eyeing Colonel Madison and the four soldiers who came in with him.

  Sasha studied the men striding into the bar with Madison. The man standing closest to him on the left was a burly black guy who seemed as though he had Madison by a few years; on his flank was an extremely tall, corn-fed white guy who had MIDWEST stamped across his forehead. Bringing up the rear was a Latino kid with zero percent body fat and hungry eyes, who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Beside him was a laid-back–looking Asian guy whose age was hard to judge, but his eyes told her he was deadly. All of them, including the colonel, were wearing sidearms.

  So this was who was replacing her squad, a bunch of cowboys? Sasha’s eyes met Madison’s immediately and she got to her feet, even though he was across the room. Behind her she could hear Fisher and Woods slowly getting to their feet, followed by the disgruntled sounds of the rest of the team following suit. But she didn’t have to wait to know that Madison was going to be a real prick about making his authority known, even in the Hawg. It was all over his face as he parted the bar crowd and strode toward her, head held high, shoulders back, his squad walking as though they were MPs on the way to make an arrest.

  “Good evening, sir,” Sasha said, trying to force some cordiality into her tone. She stepped away from the tables and moved toward him, hoping to draw his attention to her solely and to spare her team any unnecessary interaction with the colonel. He wasn’t taking the bait.

  Madison looked right past her to Woods and Fisher. “Lock it up, soldier.”

  From her peripheral vision she saw Woods and Fisher straighten up to stand at full attention, rather than the customary at-ease stance that was generally acceptable under social conditions. That was so unnecessary. In a nonduty civilian location it was enough that they’d gotten to their feet and had addressed him with courtesy. This was pushing it. Adding insult to the injury, Madison hadn’t even introduced the men with him to her and her guys. It was a total slap in her face that said they weren’t a team, weren’t welcomed. She hated only being able to identify the colonel’s men by their ethnicities.

 
Sasha counted to ten, her judgment doing hand-to-hand combat with her wolf and the liberal dose of Jack Daniel’s that was coating her nervous system.

  Madison returned his attention to Sasha, looking her up and down for a moment. “Is this how you led your squad, Captain—allowing them to take liberties in your presence and to lose discipline and focus? Then it is no wonder you got the results that you did. You are property of the U.S. government at all times while you wear our uniform, whether you’re physically in it at the moment or not, so is this any way to dignify that privilege?”

  A reply caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question designed to simply humiliate her or if the prick actually wanted an answer. But the three seconds it took her to assess all of that sent him into a rage.

  “I asked you a question, Captain!”

  “Sir, yes, sir,” was the fastest response that came to her mind. It was the one that every soldier learned how to say faster than his own name.

  Now all eyes were on them. Onlookers craned their necks as Madison’s men smirked. That’s when she knew she was being set up. If this guy could push her buttons and could get her to react with blatant insubordination, he could get her court-martialed—apparently forcing her out of the unit was not enough.

  “Yes, sir?” Madison said, circling Sasha. His tone carried both disbelief and disdain. “This was how you managed your team?”

  “No, sir,” she said flatly, keeping her gaze past him and on the tavern’s door.

  “Which is it, Captain? Yes or no? Soldiers don’t equivocate!”

  “Yes . . . sir,” she said, now through her teeth. Jack Daniel’s was winning; then again, maybe it was her wolf.

  “Your tone is out of order, Captain.”

  “Step away from the lady,” a low, threatening voice rumbled.