Bite the Bullet Page 8

  His grandson was at extreme risk, if any irregularities occurred. This was simply the way of the Shadow Wolf.

  It had been a long time since the pack, or even the clan, had called him by his warrior name, Silver Shadow. He double-checked the prefilled hypodermic needles tucked within the inside breast pocket of his bear-skin coat and kept walking.

  Melancholy filled him. The sharp wind and his memories made his eyes water. There was a time when his howl alone would make the birds go still for miles. However, for many years of retirement now as a clan elder shaman, the other pack leaders referred to him as Silver Hawk. His human name. If they ever pushed him, though, he would prove to them all that he was still to be respected as a formidable alpha. He would stand by his grandson, Max Hunter—pack-named Wolf Shadow—until the very last . . . if Max was not beyond reclamation.

  It didn’t matter that he was not at the gathering site by his own design. He’d needed the time to collect the medicines and to investigate things for himself without watchful pack eyes. But word still came to him through the murmurs of the trees and carried on the wind and stole into his visions. Once a seasoned warrior, a champion of the hunt, always he would be that.

  Silver Hawk squatted by the thick tracks in the snow, mentally sizing up the massive paw prints, and then inhaled the frigid air. The way the bramble was broken and trees scarred, something had ripped through the forest with impunity.

  He stopped at a ravaged tree trunk to pinch hair fibers between his thumb and index fingers, judging from their coloring, scent, and coarseness what creature had once owned them. His nose led him the rest of the way, so did the bloodied tracks in the snow that led out of a snow-covered mound.

  Warily, he approached the site, his instincts keen, bowie knife drawn as he peered into the dark opening. Squinting with disbelief, he reached in and extracted a severed head.

  A thousand-pound male grizzly had been slaughtered within its own hibernation den up at Hoodoo Creek? At least it wasn’t human remains. But then, the Great Spirit made no distinction. A life was a life. For this noble animal to be slaughtered for no reason was against the laws of nature. The bear coat he wore was not mere vanity. It had been won and claimed during his early initiation rites, and all of the animal had been both used and revered. The carnage he held in his grip now, however, was pure sacrilege.

  Slowly inspecting the gruesome discovery, he saw that the bear’s hide had been ripped off at the neck and then pulled inside out over its skull like an eerie hood. The brains and back of the skull were gone.

  Crouching low, Silver Hawk reached in and grabbed a huge paw in an attempt to try to drag the heavy carcass out of the den, only to have the paw and the forelimb come away from the shredded body in his hands.

  The animal’s four-inch claws were broken off, as though the poor creature had done everything it could to back up and defend itself within the small space. The bear never stood a chance.

  He didn’t need to see more to know what had happened. Something much more powerful than the almighty grizzly had entered the den head first, surprised the hibernating animal in a frontal attack, tore its head off its muscular shoulders, and dismembered the forelimbs that struck out in self-defense. There was only one thing he knew of that was strong enough or insane enough to do that.

  The question was why? Was this a territorial marker, for sport, for the rich, fatty protein stored in hibernating bear meat, or all of the above?

  And it wasn’t the first such attack. A huge black bear had not only been killed but eaten within the Greater Yellowstone Northern Rockies, and natural timber wolf packs had been savaged in Hidden Valley. Silver Hawk more carefully studied the severed limb by his feet and dug into the den with both hands, lugging out what should have been, judging by the paws and skull size, a thousand-pound animal.

  Scant viscera and practically no meat left on the bones answered his questions. Something was bulking up on thickly fatted meat supplies that human flesh was too problematic to immediately provide . . . if one were in hiding, a single grizzly already fattened for the winter offered as much meat as four healthy men.

  This predator was smart. This predator was in hiding and preparing. There could be more than one, and in all likelihood there was.

  The elderly warrior turned his face toward the blustery wind and looked out at the limitless mountain range. It was still technically winter, and the bears wouldn’t be on the move for almost a month, awaiting the true spring thaw, so it couldn’t have been one of them gone mad. It had to be something unnatural and strong enough to ambush an eight-foot half-ton king grizzly in its prime. There was only one predator that fit the bill.

  He just prayed to the Great Spirit that it wasn’t Max.

  Sasha pulled Woods and Fisher aside before they all reached the clearing. It was important for them to understand what she was just now beginning to fathom.

  Huge, aggressive, battle-hungry alphas had come to represent the North American clan, hailing from the Rockies, the Yosemite range, the Sierra Nevada, the Great Lakes region to the Catskills, Poconos, and Appalachians, all the way to the Grand Canyon, and down to the Texas panhandle, as well as the swamplands of the Gulf and back out to the Everglades, with a significant contingent from the Yukon to the Torngat Mountains by the Labrador Sea. Every fierce warrior would be in attendance. There could be no screwups in diplomacy. Even the packs as far north as those from Alaska’s Brooks, Alaska, and Aleutian ranges would also be there.

  Once Hunter had given her that much to go on, her mind filled in the blanks. Most of these leaders were mated males. That meant she had to be seriously on point to hold the respect of the other strong she-Shadows and not have her rank challenged. The prospect was positively medieval to her mind, but instinctively she knew that to argue was foolish. It was what it was, a culture unto itself. Like it or leave it, she had to put on a good diplomatic show.

  The North American clan was massive, as it had been for centuries, richly populated with strategically located and very strong packs hidden among the United States’ and Canada’s wealth of natural mountain ranges and forests. If the threat spread, it also wouldn’t be long before packs from across the Mexican border would enter the fray from the Sierra Madre Occidental.

  That couldn’t happen—not just because the contagion didn’t need to spread, but also because it would bring in the clan leader from another hemisphere, where an alpha challenge could go down between the territories. Hunter’s condition was dicey enough without that added complication. Problem was, this was all impromptu. She had about as much of a clue as to what might go on as her bewildered squad. There just hadn’t been enough time.

  “Okay, guys,” she said in a tense whisper, holding Woods’s and Fisher’s complete attention. “I’m making this up as I go along, never did this in my life. I don’t know if Hunter has ever done this full clan thing. But I do know this: Keep your eyes lowered, and only speak when you are spoken to. If you blink wrong at one of these big SOB’s, you could lose your throat and there won’t be jack shit I can do about it.”

  She held their gazes, constantly monitoring the extreme tension within them. “The alphas move like lightning and will not hesitate to make an example of what they perceive as a threat to their rank. Think five-star general on PCP and steroids—keep your distance and give them nonchallenging vibrations at all times. If you trust me, stay cool, don’t even flinch like you’re going for a weapon, I think I can get you out of here alive.”

  “You think?” Woods whispered, his gaze on the tree line.

  Sasha could literally see the hair standing up on the nape of his and Fisher’s necks as Hunter moved forward with Crow and Bear. “Give me your weapons, then,” she said, looking at Fisher. “One false move and you could upset the balance of power.”

  “We should cover you and Hunter,” Fisher argued.

  Sasha leveled her gaze at him and then at Woods. “No. You shouldn’t. That’s Crow and Bear’s job. You’re only on communicatio
n today. When you get to New Orleans, you’re the squad’s early-warning system and muscle while me and Hunter aren’t around . . . and I’ve still gotta figure out how to bring you in to them while explaining that you aren’t dead or infected.” She pointed to the center of Woods’s chest. “But right now, you are stone. A statue,” she said in a low warning tone. “Now give me the damn gun.”

  Grudgingly, Woods and Fisher disarmed, and Sasha shoved a nine millimeter into the front of her waistband, and another in the back. She gave them a look that told them to stay by the big, black F-150 truck, and she walked forward into the clearing to stand six o’clock scout to Hunter with Crow and Bear flanking them both, sensing multiple shadow presences that she couldn’t yet see.

  The moment she was in position, Hunter glimpsed her. His eyes suddenly changed and became all wolf. He threw his head back and released a rallying howl that caused the hair on her arms and neck to rise. The tone was so forceful that it felt like it had wrapped around every cell within her to suddenly expand her lungs, climb up her throat, and make her wail join in with his, setting off Crow Shadow and Bear Shadow in a chain reaction.

  Chills of anticipation ran through her as another long howl from Hunter jolted her system. Soon the call was answered by a range of vocals echoing through the clearing, calling the meeting to order, calling forth the most primal instincts within her being.

  They were magnificent as they stepped out from the shadow line of trees, warriors from every ethnicity and hue, their eyes all wolf, flanked and backed by their most trusted soldiers and their mates.

  Hunter stepped forward, yet his rigid carriage told her and his men not to move. Slowly a large, tanned, blond male came forward, a rim of amber surrounding his crystal-blue irises. He and Hunter appraised each other, and then Hunter extended a warrior’s forearm handshake. They parted with a smile, crossing their right forearms over their chests.

  “Yosemite treats you well, my friend,” Hunter said, his smile widening.

  The handsome blond wolf chuckled and then inclined his head toward Sasha with a curious grin, as he tipped his cowboy hat. “And the Rockies have been very good to you, I see.”

  “Jason, you are living proof that they can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “Oh, I get it. In front of your woman I’m just Jason, not Lion Shadow. Just disrespect me, why don’t you.”

  “Stop drooling and I’ll properly introduce you, then.”

  Hunter laughed, and the moment he did, fifteen alphas walked forward and a rowdy reunion was on.

  Still, Sasha didn’t move. It was like watching a fraternity come together to whoop it up at a tailgate party after a March Madness football game . . . but she also knew that the males could go from laughing to a death match in the blink of an eye, depending on how much alcohol and testosterone was in their systems. And although that “your woman” crap thoroughly grated on her, she’d have to address it later—much later. For the sake of diplomacy, now was not the time.

  So she waited and watched. She kept a mental catalog of who approached Hunter and in what order, which ones smiled falsely, which ones’ voices laughed but where the laugh didn’t come from the gut or the heart and only from a political mind. Right off the bat she didn’t like the burly brunet from Florida—his good ol’ boy tone and shifty eyes made her hackles immediately go up. Fuck Bob. She’d watch him like a hawk.

  The brothers from the Aleutian territory, however, put her at ease. They were shorter, stockier, and their low-key approach seemed genuine. Three redwood-sized Canadians just made her gape. They were taller than Hunter by a full head and, like him, seemed to share mixed parentage that was hard to define. But she could tell that they were way more easygoing in manner than Hunter could ever be. Her best guess was that was why Hunter probably seemed more alpha than Jorge, Micah, and Peter in the eyes of the clan.

  However, the Shadows from the eastern ranges completely fascinated her with their sophisticated aloofness. She could imagine them walking along the streets of Manhattan or Philadelphia, unnoticed, not a soul aware of what they truly were, slipping between Wall Street and fashion mavens, entering and exiting bars like thieves in the night or disappearing between the tall shadows of towering buildings as easily as disappearing into God’s country.

  Yeah . . . while she liked Tomas and Anwar’s cool style, a style that would fit in well in New Orleans if they needed backup, their politics worried her. Although the alpha from the Appalachian Range seemed like a lean, country tangle of gangly arms and legs, his eyes were honest. She’d seen that kind of soldier before; in fact, Fisher was like that. Misleading, might even say something politically incorrect, but once you were in his bosom, you were family for life. Could probably shoot the eye out of a needle and outrun a NASCAR racer. Okay. Jimmy Ray passed her internal radar inspection.

  She collected impressions, layering them to scents, voices, eyes, body types, trying to see their wolf without a transformation taking place. Soon she could envision each magnificent coat—snow white, amber, chocolate brown, mixed timber, gleaming honey, husky markings . . . yes, she would know them in an instant, would know them in a full-out hunt. Would know their familiars, their flanks-men . . . and their mates.

  A low growl made the group go still. A tall, voluptuous brunette stepped beside the Everglades contingent, her eyes a narrowed, challenging glare.

  “My sister was badly injured at your hands, and that was never fully addressed.”

  For a moment, Sasha stared at her, an irrational spike sending more adrenaline through her than was probably necessary. “If your sister is who I think she is, I wouldn’t admit that in public. She challenged my rank and then was found to be involved in the betrayal that brings us all to this clearing—so get out of my face.”

  Sasha had delivered the warning on a low growl as the group parted. The challenger glanced at her husband just enough to quickly draw Sasha’s line of vision behind her. Armed familiars were quietly circling. In an instant Sasha had a weapon in both hands outstretched in either direction.

  “If you value their lives you’ll call them back, or I’ll drop ’em the most efficient way without breaking a sweat by calling my wolf.” Sasha could feel movement on the periphery cease.

  “After the threat to our region is over, we’ll finish this.”

  “No,” Sasha said. “We’ll finish this shit right here and right now! Either we have a cohesive clan or we do not. If not, then anybody with a problem needs to be rooted out from the core as we speak. That’s how it stole in and festered among the Shadow packs before; we’re only as strong as our weakest link.”

  “What would you know about the ways of—”

  Sasha had advanced on the female so quickly and had backhanded her so solidly, while still holding a nine millimeter, that it felt like she’d dislocated her shoulder. “I know you didn’t see that coming, bitch—that’s what I know. Anybody else got a problem?”

  A few half smiles greeted Sasha as she took a wide-legged stance and waited for the downed challenger to decide how far things would go. She tossed her weapons to Hunter, whose expression hadn’t changed as he easily caught them in each hand and stashed them in his waistband. The female on the ground glared at Sasha but didn’t immediately get up as she wiped blood from her mouth and the gash that had opened her cheek.

  “Fine,” Sasha said as the embarrassed she-Shadow slowly stood and went to her mate’s side, still glaring yet humbled, for now. “Then let Hunter do what he’s gotta do.”

  She thought she saw pride burning in Hunter’s hard-to-read eyes, but she was still so furious that she’d been disrespected that she couldn’t be sure what she actually saw. There were still flecks of light dancing in her peripheral vision like aimless, lit floaters brought on from the sudden burst of rage.

  Regardless, there was no mistaking the slightly amused tone of Hunter’s voice before the clan got back down to hard business. The only thing that began to de-escalate her from a flat-out field battl
e was that the other she-Shadows seemed extremely pleased that she’d knocked the snot out of the one named Barbara. In fact, she was oddly looking forward to getting to know those female warriors.

  Each she-Shadow had battle-honed expressions and warrior’s bodies to match, and there was something very honorable in the depths of their eyes. For once to no longer be the only one of her kind, the lone female in the group, felt really good. Maybe for the first time in her life she wouldn’t be an outcast. A band of brothers had been great, but a band of sisters was something she’d always wished for.

  Finally calming with that thought, Sasha stepped back and relaxed her shoulders, which seemed to make the rest of the clan reduce their state of readiness for a brawl.

  “Well, now that you two have met—Barbara meet Sasha, and vice versa,” Hunter said, beginning to walk around the middle of the circle with his hands clasped behind his back. “Glad we got that out of the way, because, as you are all aware, we have a serious threat to address. We have intelligence that the hot trail we lost in the Rockies picks back up in New Orleans—and we need to address the issue before the UCE Conference tomorrow night.”

  Concerned stares met Hunter’s before Jason spoke up.

  “What about the recent bear mutilations, dude?” Jason glanced at the Canadian shadows and several members from the Rocky Mountain Range. “As recently as last night what’s on the move fed here.”

  Pure tension coiled itself around Sasha’s vertebrae one disk at a time. The Aleutians nodded and the elder of them spoke slowly, his icy gray, huskylike eyes a strange contrast within his native face.