Bite the Bullet Page 7

  “I couldn’t resist,” he said, laughing harder and dropping his head back. “The need for new clothes and boots, about a hundred-fifty bucks—the look on your face, priceless.”

  Woods and Fisher were on the porch with fresh towels and clothes in their arms seeming bewildered for a second, and then they slowly began to laugh.

  “I owe you,” she said, resisting the urge to laugh with them. “And when I come for you, it’s gonna be really, really bad, Hunter.”

  She shoved out of the tub using Hunter’s chest for leverage and causing him to release an uhmph sound with the forced expelled air.

  “Can’t wait. Tag, you’re it,” he called behind her as she stormed away.

  Fisher cast his bundle of towels and clothes on top of the pile Woods held and grabbed a huge bucket off the porch, laughing as he headed toward the pump to get more clean water. “Dude, let me warn you that Trudeau has a real bad temper and a very long memory.”

  “Seen her in battle,” Hunter said, unfazed, and stood. “Know that to be true.” He jumped out of the tub, using one hand on the edge of it to propel him over the side and then hit the muddy ground with both feet in a gymnast’s landing.

  “You’re still dirty and soapy!” Sasha called over her shoulder, stomping toward the water pump.

  “Lucky you didn’t get shot, man,” Woods said, still laughing, and then heaved his load into the porch rocking chair before grabbing a few logs to put on the fire in order to make more hot water.

  Sasha refused to even look at Hunter. There was no way she could, anyway. It was bad enough that she was soaked to the drawers and as angry as a wet hen. Now he’d add insult to injury by letting her men see her facial expression change when she saw his sculpted perfection all soap-slicked and wet? Was he crazy? Oh, and just because he’d used her dousing to break the ice with her men wasn’t gonna save his mangy hide, even though judging by the expressions on Woods’s and Fisher’s faces, all was forgiven. Her men were having a field day.

  Fisher held the bucket while she pumped water. It was cold but not freezing like it had been at higher elevations. She blocked out all the sidebar commentary and listened for the huge splashing sound of the tin tub emptying . . . she could hear Hunter fidgeting about behind her, yucking it up with Woods. Okaaay.

  She grabbed the half-filled bucket before Fisher could take a breath, spun into a shadow and came out with an icy splash that sent Hunter’s voice booming. She flung the bucket at him and ran.

  “You had mud on your chest and soap in your hair!” she shrieked laughing, dodging him. “Tag, you’re it . . . and oh, yeah, by the way—payback is a bitch!”

  As long as he was eating and drinking and the sun hadn’t set yet, Hunter seemed fine. Even his coloring that had gone slightly ashen during the initial healing, was back to its warm, smooth brown with reddish undertones of vitality. On the surface, all was well. Crow Shadow and Bear Shadow seemed oblivious to any anomalies within Hunter. The other Shadow Wolves were still a short ways off, wisely following the dictates of pack life since the beginning of time—namely, replenishing themselves and getting well rested before a hunting full moon. Even her guys seemed relaxed as they bombarded Hunter and his men with questions that she was too distracted to absorb.

  Anxiety threaded through her like a C4 trip wire. Her entire system was hotwired and booby-trapped, waiting for the smallest thing to trigger outright panic. She had to get Hunter out of there before true nightfall, but how? Any ruse she came up with would raise suspicion. Then again, what if things had gone too far and she really did need the entire clan force of multiple regional packs to battle a ridiculously strong demon-infected Werewolf on the loose? The fact that she was even hedging her bets was the root source of the distraction.

  Everything military within her told her to put down a known threat without blinking. Yet everything else within her told her to give the man—one of the most honorable ones she’d ever known—a fighting chance. It was impossible to make this anything but personal, and by the same token, if an innocent person got killed because she’d failed to act, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Isn’t that right, Trudeau?”

  She looked at Woods with a completely blank stare.

  “Earth to Lieutenant, do you read me?” Woods said with a half smile.

  “Sorry, guys,” Sasha said, her mind still trying to synthesize a hundred different options at once.

  “He was explaining how each one of us got different symptoms,” Fisher said, dropping his voice low. “Like how I could always hear and smell real sharp, that was the extent of it—like Woodsey, maybe run faster than the average guy, but nothing too out of the norm.”

  “Other than getting horny as hell during a full moon,” Woods said, laughing hard and turning his beer up.

  “Hey, no offense, Lieutenant, but goes without saying,” Fisher said with a shrug and a huge grin, and flung a bottle cap at Woods as Crow and Bear knocked bottles and laughed.

  Although Hunter didn’t comment, his smile was impossible to hide as it wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle when he turned it up.

  “But seriously, Trudeau,” Woods said, his smile fading a little. “When did you know . . . like, how did you finally find out they’d been screwing with genes in a Petri dish? Or find out that they’d lied to us all, and that whole thing about us being bitten when we were kids, and having that as a fucked-up memory, was all staged bull—sorta leaves a real bad taste in your mouth, pardon the pun.” His gaze was intense but within the depths of his eyes there was a haunting sadness. “All this time I thought my people were from West Virginia . . . only to find out the donors, I guess, were.”

  “Plus coyote or frickin’ timber wolf—no offense, guys,” Fisher said in a mildly bitter tone before polishing off his brew. “Puts a whole new spin on the word ‘kin,’ ya know.”

  “I found out the night Butler died,” Sasha said in a quiet voice.

  “What, the brass told you what happened in Afghanistan?” Woods looked at her hard and Fisher stopped rocking on the back two legs of his chair to give her his full attention.

  All eyes were on Sasha as she glanced at Hunter, his expression unreadable.

  “I always knew I could do stuff, was athletic,” she said, holding Woods’s and Fisher’s gazes. “Thought that’s what made me a natural for what we did. Also knew I had to take meds because I was given the same story about the Werewolf virus. Like everybody else, I didn’t know that I was a part of Special Ops Project Sirius, code name Operation Dog Star.” She turned her beer up and then set it down hard on the table, now studying the condensation it made on the wood.

  “Butler, rest his soul in peace, went down in the desert . . . then our own choppers fired on us,” Fisher said, leaning in, his eyes glancing at each intense pair that met him around the table. “These guys had our backs, thank you much—but I’m not following all the politics.”

  “Yeah,” Woods said in a low, nervous tone. “Like, we only got a chance to talk to Doc in fits and starts—you could tell he was worried about surveillance. Crow and Bear had us laying low; Doc said we had to disappear . . .”

  “How about you open up that bottle of Wild Turkey, brother,” Bear Shadow said calmly, looking at Hunter.

  Hunter nodded and reached for the bottle on the sideboard behind him, along with a fistful of shot glasses.

  “Butler didn’t die in Afghanistan,” Sasha said flatly and then accepted the filled shot glass Hunter slid across the table.

  “Well, where the fuck did he die?” Woods said, accepting a shot glass from Crow. “I saw us open half a clip—”

  “He died in his townhouse,” Sasha muttered, cutting him off and throwing back a shot.

  “Whoa . . . How’d—”

  “When I went over there to try to find my team, was looking for leads,” she said. “He changed on me, transformed—and let’s just say he wasn’t himself.”

  Fisher and Woods were out of their chairs, backs again
st the doors, looking at Sasha wide-eyed. Fisher still had his chair, brandishing it as Woods’s line of vision recklessly hunted for a weapon.

  “He was strong as an ox, Trudeau. When he turned into that thing there’s no way you could have gotten out without getting bitten!” Woods’s eyes had become frantic.

  “One silver slug in the chest, clean at point-blank range,” she said, holding their stares and using a low, modulated tone to ease them off the wall. “I had the one-second hesitation advantage that you guys unfortunately didn’t.” She belted down another shot and slid refreshed glasses across the table. “Transformed, he wanted me as his lover.”

  Fisher slowly lowered the chair and both men returned to the table. Fisher turned the chair around backwards and sat down hard.

  “Damn,” Woods said quietly. “Yeah . . . I can see that.”

  “That’s when I found out that my reflexes were faster than the normal human’s, that I could . . . that I could respond better in a firefight against that kind of a target—and believe me, I hate that particular demon more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Tell them the rest,” Hunter said quietly, his voice firm but not harsh.

  “When they mixed up your test tubes, you were just given a little wolf strain.” She chuckled sadly and sipped her shot, then set it down with a wince. “Me, they mixed in the real McCoy—Shadow Wolf. Rod . . . from the beginning, he never stood a chance. He was mixed with demon-infected Werewolf, straight with no chaser.”

  “Get the hell out . . .” Fisher said, raking his fingers through his hair.

  “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “I can transform. But I don’t turn into what Rod did.”

  “Oh, shit,” Woods whispered, rubbing his palms down his face.

  “I think you can imagine what that was like, finding out under duress and not quite sure of the differences in species . . . ready to put your own weapon in your mouth to save yourself from becoming a cannibalistic beast.” She closed her eyes for a moment and pushed back from the table. “If it wasn’t for Hunter, Doc . . . Silver Hawk—I don’t know what I would have believed.”

  “This is why we told you as much as we could about our kind,” Bear Shadow said, glancing at Hunter and then at Fisher and Woods. “But there were things that were only right for your she-Shadow to disclose. That was not within our right.”

  Sasha offered Bear Shadow a nod of respect and then returned her attention to her men. “Bottom line is this, gentlemen. Our brass set up this project twenty-five years ago. Rod was the first, and the crazy bastards used bad Werewolf virus trying to create a better soldier, one that could go against whatever slithered out of the supernatural realms. These black holes they were finding within the local atmosphere, and even on the planet’s surface, were not solely from erosion due to the effects of global warming, nuclear blasts, or anything else. The portals between worlds have always been here. Our instrumentation just got adept enough to actually see demon doors. Our technology has also made the seals weaker—by how much, we don’t know.”

  “But what gave them the right . . .” Tears stood in Fisher’s eyes.

  “Nothing,” Sasha said flatly. “But don’t lay this at Doc’s feet. He was a pawn, too, and did what he could—that’s why the three of us didn’t wind up like Rod.”

  “What did he do, Trudeau?” Woods said, his gaze going out the window with disgust.

  “Doc knew this genetic dabbling was insane,” she said without apology in her tone. “So rather than infect a whole team of embryos, creating time bombs waiting to detonate—he did the only humane thing possible within all this madness while the brass was breathing down his neck and swapped out the bad Werewolf toxin for whatever wolf DNA he could get his hands on. Mine happened to come from this pack . . . which is a very long story, one I can tell you guys on the way to New Orleans this afternoon.”

  “New Orleans? Today, and not tomorrow night?” Crow Shadow looked at Hunter for a moment, and then he glimpsed Bear Shadow.

  Bear Shadow stared at his hands as he spoke to Hunter. “Pack leaders from the entire North American clan are expecting an inter-pack summit tonight, and as overall clan alpha . . . It could be viewed as a significant snub, or worse, a weakness, if you do not open the strategy session under this full moon.”

  Sasha watched Hunter’s expression cloud over as Bear’s eyes pleaded for him to reconsider. But she also knew that Hunter couldn’t lie without tipping off his pack brothers to the fact that something was seriously wrong. Ransacking her brain for her best diplomatic skills, she dusted them off and put a truth-laced bluff on the table.

  “He’s gotta go before the trail goes cold . . . has to find out more about this thing that we wrestled with last night, but got away.”

  Hunter’s gaze bored into hers and she couldn’t tell whether or not he was pissed off or going along with her.

  “That would be the only circumstance that would make sense,” Crow Shadow said, glancing between Hunter and Bear Shadow.

  “Look, we already know that traitor, Dexter, got away,” Sasha said emphatically, holding everyone’s line of vision hostage. “Sure, we got Fox Shadow and Guilliaume, and most of their crew of Shadow traitors who stole Werewolf toxin to sell on the black market,” she added, pressing on when they didn’t cut her off. “But we didn’t get all of the vials, that’s one issue. That definitely doesn’t need to be auctioned down in the Big Easy.”

  Hunter nodded and let out a weary breath and then rubbed his palms down his face. “The other issue is, if there’s still any beta Shadows out there who are crazy enough to shoot up with the stuff, and we know from what we saw it do to some pack members that this crap is more addictive than crack.”

  “What the hell . . .” Woods held his shot glass mid-air as he stared at Sasha and then Hunter.

  Fisher shook his head. “Just when you think you’ve heard it all.”

  “Oh, here’s the best part,” Sasha said with a hard gaze on her men and then sent it toward Crow and Bear. “An authentic Shadow Wolf blood transfusion is the only thing that can bring a hyped-up Shadow back down once they’ve shot up—or they can’t control their shape-shifts and begin to lean more and more toward being an infected Werewolf the longer it stays in their system. This isn’t like getting bitten by a normal Werewolf. No. When you see this beast, you know something’s beyond supernatural about it—it’s completely demon.” Sasha pushed back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. “Pure Shadow blood works like Valium once those rogue wolves who shoot up with it to come down from the toxin.”

  “Then any Shadow Wolf out there is at risk of being abducted for their blood.” Bear Shadow pushed back from the table both incredulous and enraged.

  Sasha nodded. “You see, gentlemen, what they stole, and what caused General Wilkerson to get his face ripped off, was virus gene spliced and encoded into human DNA spirals—which is what makes it so potent for the Shadow Wolves. It merges with their human side, and their immune systems can’t seem to reject the Werewolf virus that’s been so thoroughly encapsulated into the human DNA string.”

  “That’s fucking insane,” Woods said, shaking his head. “And betas are shooting up with this shit?”

  “You’d be surprised what lesser-ranked beta males would do for a shot at the title,” Bear Shadow said with a snarl. “Punk bitches.”

  “Correct,” Sasha said, obliquely monitoring Hunter’s poker exterior. “Buyers of this crap don’t want the ugly side effects, just the Shadow Wolf-on-steroids instant high and strength. Not to mention that if the sellers decide they can’t make enough cash on the remnants of the virus they have left, they could always just sell it to a superpower that wants to replicate the experiments our brass did to create soldiers. Every human military lab around the world wants a little of this stuff that’s so hard to get ahold of—simply because the donors aren’t exactly cooperative.”

  “So you think this thing that you fought last night fled to New Orleans?” Crow Shadow’s
gaze bored into Hunter’s.

  “I think it might go there,” Hunter said coolly, sipping his shot of Wild Turkey.

  “If you wanted to unload bad product in a hurry on the supernatural black market, as well as catch Shadow Wolf diplomats unaware and having a good time, heading to the conference site makes sense.” What Sasha didn’t say was that her team had done some divinations and also had strong leads pointing toward the Big Easy.

  “True,” Bear Shadow argued, “but my concern is still with the view the clan will have. Many of the brothers from our pack were unfortunately involved. Those misguided assumptions and winds carrying bad rumors must be quelled.”

  “All the more reason for our pack within the clan to suffer the heaviest casualties and to walk point on the seek-and-destroy mission.” Hunter folded his arms over his chest and stared at Bear Shadow until he looked away.

  “What about a compromise?” Sasha said, knowing that making Hunter’s men suspicious in any way would not be to their advantage. She waited until all eyes were on her. “What if Hunter rallied the alphas, now, before sunset—told them of the New Orleans plan . . . they could fan out, watch for activities in potential pop-up zones where Dexter might function, as well as be on the ready to send in reinforcements in case we got in trouble . . . my guys would go with me to link up with the rest of the paranormal unit already setting up a base of operations down there to recover the stolen vials. Bear Shadow and Crow Shadow could temporarily merge with the packs on patrol to watch the backs of our remaining pack members—but by them helping the regional effort, it shows solidarity . . . and the pre-moon briefing would show that there was no intent to bristle anyone with a diplomacy snub.”

  For the first time since the sun had come up on this day, she saw Hunter’s shoulders completely relax.

  Chapter 6

  Eighteen million acres of pure wilderness separated him from his grandson’s exact location. Yellowstone National Park covered thirty-four hundred square miles in Northwest Wyoming alone, but cut through the neighboring states of South Dakota, Montana, Utah, Nebraska, and Idaho, and then folded into the uncharted wilderness of the Canadian border. Individual packs had tracked the remaining rogue members to this region, and then lost the trail here. Therefore, the packs would convene the clan. A hunting party was gathering.