“These seats are so uncomfortable,” Jenny whined for the third time in less than an hour. Yeah, because that was the important issue here, not the fact that someone had sabotaged their helicopter.
Why weren’t the civilians more shocked at the idea?
“Who’s after you, Branson?” she asked. To hell with Alan. Her brother could have been killed. Werewolves were lethal and vicious, but she had a hard time believing Marianne would bomb her own helicopter. Not that Izzy thought the arrogant bitch gave a shit about the human passengers or even her almost-son-in-law. Helicopters, however, were crazy expensive.
Branson’s eyes bugged. “What?” He huffed an unconvincing laugh. “No one. Why would someone want to hurt me?”
“I dunno. You tell me. Money? Business deal gone wrong? Jealous lover?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jenny said. “Everyone loves Alan.”
Izzy rolled her eyes. “Right.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Branson said. “I’m sure this was just an accident.”
“An accident.” Was the guy delusional, or did he think they were that gullible?
“Right,” Freddie said.
The wind whistled through the helo, stirring up the scents of metal, fried circuits, and fear-ripened sweat. And blood. Pinpricks swept over her body, starting at the top of her spine and tingling outward. Something more horrible than nausea roiled through her stomach.
Oh God. They smell...delicious.
“Are you all right?” Branson asked. “You’ve gone pale as paste.” Though she was less than a foot away from him, his voice sounded tinny and distant.
“Izzy? Is it your head?” Freddie asked.
“Low blood sugar’s all,” she mumbled. Where was her backpack? There! She lurched across the cabin to her bag. Unzipping the front pocket with trembling hands was tough. She pulled out a protein bar and ripped it open with her teeth. Hell, at this point she’d eat the wrapper.
She felt the weight of the others’ gazes on her. They looked at her with bemused or—hello, Jenny—disgusted expressions. Yeah, she had bad table manners, but so what? Better she tear hunks of chocolate and peanuts apart than them.
A cramp gripped her stomach and she slid to the floor, hugging a knee to her chest. How long would it take Search and Rescue to get here?
“I need to use a tree,” Branson said. He wrestled open the damaged side door, and fresh, cold air surged into the cabin. Izzy drank it in. Even the flares’ chemical stink was better than ripe human. She closed her eyes, letting it wash over her.
A gust of wind rocked the helo. She caught a scent, and every muscle in her body locked up tight. She burst up from the floor and pressed her face to the window. In the shadows of the woods, something lurked underneath one of the towering trees.
“Fred, in the trees. Two o’clock. What do you see?”
Jenny squeaked. “What? What is it?”
“Not one of ours,” he said with a surety Izzy didn’t understand, but believed.
“Call Branson back.” Izzy grabbed her backpack and groped for her Beretta M9.
“Alan!” Jenny screamed. “Alan, come back! Hurry!”
Branson emerged from the woods, trudging into the ring of red light cast by the flares. Flickering shadows stretched from his body like wraiths.
Something close to the ground moved in a sinuous slide.
Freddie pounded on the window. “Branson, run!”
Branson’s head snapped up.
About thirty feet away, a pair of eyes gleamed in the dark, reflecting the flare’s red light. An enormous cougar looked directly at Izzy and snarled. Then it leapt toward Branson.
Izzy’s hands flew up, flipped off the Beretta’s safety.
Branson screamed, and Izzy fired twice.
The scent of cordite burned her nose and her ears rang from the explosive sound.
The cracked cockpit glass posed no barrier to the 9mm rounds. Still, she knew she’d missed even before Branson turned to run.
Izzy exploded into motion, slamming her shoulder into the damaged side door—once, twice, three times—before it popped open enough for her to squeeze through. Wind and snow pelted her face. A shrill, wet shriek rent the night, chilling her right to her marrow.
Hobbled by her wounded leg, and the deep drifts, she stumbled toward the front of the helicopter. She found Branson lying facedown in the snow, his hands twitching feebly.
Out here, the beast’s smell was stronger, leaving no doubt.
Shifter.
The filthy were savaged Branson’s back, trying to get past his coat collar to his vulnerable neck. She chanced a shot at its flank, and hit it high up near the left hip. It turned and snarled.
“Get off of him!” She fired again, a running shot that missed as the cougar leapt toward her.
Another shot, blind, the gun angled upward, while she dove toward Branson.
Pain raced like fire over her waist as the cat’s claws raked her. She landed on her side, a few feet from Branson, air whooshing out of her lungs. The giant predator prowled toward them, gold eyes burning in its tawny face. She fired again and blood burst in a small plume from the were’s shoulder.
Keeping her gun on the growling shifter, she grabbed Branson’s shoulder and shook him. “Come on, Alan, you’ve got to get up. Now!” Though how they’d get past the cougar crouching between them and the helo, she didn’t know.
The shifter didn’t seem the least bit impressed with her gun. Izzy had shot it twice and barely injured it. In fact, as she stared, the wound in its shoulder closed before her eyes.
Goddammit. Who the hell thought to bring silver bullets to a wedding?
“These rounds may not be silver, but I bet they’ll hurt like a mofo if I getcha in the eye, you stinkin’ hairball,” she said, aiming for the beast’s head.
The were curled its lip, baring finger-length fangs. It jumped toward her in a breathtaking burst of speed.
Dead. This was how she was going to die. Just like her grandmother had always said.
While it was still in midair, something rammed the cougar from the side, sending it flying like an all-star lineman taking down a slow-footed quarterback.
Their savior planted itself between her and the cougar, threw its head back, and howled. A short, high-pitched, vibrating call that resonated through Izzy’s bones and straight into her soul.
“Rally cry,” she whispered, stirred by vague memories of other wolves in another forest.
Any other time, that sound would have driven fear into her heart. Now, all she could think was, Reinforcements. Hoo-ah!
Freddie shouted from the helo. It was drowned out by Jenny’s screams, but as the blond wolf turned its glowing gaze on Izzy, she knew without a doubt what her brother had said: Rissa.
The cougar rose from the snow, and Rissa shook, fluffing out her pale fur as if straightening her hemline. The two shifters prowled in opposing arcs. Each step the cougar took, Rissa countered, staying between it and Izzy. The growl rumbling from Rissa’s throat would send a squad of Special Ops guys running for extraction.
Time to go. Izzy turned Branson over and grabbed him under the arms. She froze. “Oh God.” His eyes stared blindly up at her. A horrible gash had ripped open his belly, and grayish-pink intestines glistened in the flare light.
The grotesque sight made her skin crawl like she’d been stung by hornets. She wanted to scratch it, rip it from her body. Anything to stop the tight, rippling pain.
The cougar screamed, jerking Izzy’s attention from Branson’s fatal injuries. The were launched itself at Rissa. She reared up and met the killer in the air. They rolled over and over in the snow, sending up puffs of powder, while Izzy scrambled out of the way. The flickering flare light combined with their incredible speed created an eerie strobe-like effect of claws, fangs, and snarling muzzles.
They sprang apart, the wolf still standing as a barrier between Izzy and the cougar. It shrieked, blood dripping from a nasty gash on his face. Rissa hadn’t escaped unscathed either. But despite the dark patches marring the fur on her belly and foreleg, she stood tall and ready.
Rissa barked several times at the cougar in an unmistakable get-the-hell-outta-here way. A smug, grin-like expression crossed the cat’s face, sending a chill up Izzy’s spine. She didn’t question the instinct. She checked her gun’s magazine to see how many bullets were left. Rissa’s head whipped to the left, and another cougar exploded out of the trees.
“No!” Freddie screamed as both cats tackled Rissa. His terror-filled voice speared Izzy’s heart and she scrabbled through the snow toward the snarling animals. She fired at the first cougar that rolled within range, but wasn’t even sure she hit it. Then what felt like a sledgehammer rammed her gun hand, knocking the Beretta from her numb grasp.
Get up. Get up!
Slipping in the snow, Izzy kicked out at a cougar as it slashed at her. It snarled in her face, its hot breath spattering her with spittle. She put up her hands in a useless gesture to ward off the huge beast and suddenly it was gone, bowled over by Rissa.
Never in a million years would Izzy have pegged a werewolf as her ally, but she knew Rissa was doing everything in her power to protect them from the cougars. Izzy’d be damned before she let her brother’s fiancée become a cat toy.
Where the hell is my gun? With no time to search the trampled snow, she grabbed one of the many broken branches littering the ground, and raced to Rissa’s side. One cougar clung to her back, while the other snapped at her neck. Streaks of dried blood trailed down that one’s fur. Branson’s killer.
Here, kitty, kitty.
Izzy hefted the stout branch like a baseball bat and swung for a homer. Splinters pierced her palms, but the solid hit to the bastard’s jaw lifted him off his paws and sent him tumbling.
The killer didn’t even have the grace to appear dazed before it rolled to its feet and shook the snow from its tawny coat. Asshole. Its snarl promised pain.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered.
It leapt at her. There was no way to outrun it or hide. She pulled her last weapon just as the were’s enormous paws hit her chest with the force of a Mack truck. Snow offered little cushion as she slammed into the ground, the cougar’s weight driving the last of the air from her lungs.
Hot liquid rushed over her hand and the cougar roared in her face. It seemed as surprised as Izzy when she pulled the silver knife from between their bodies. Blood ran down the beautiful etched blade Bess had given her as a gift for flight school graduation.
The monster shrieked and snapped at the hand holding the knife. She jerked it out of the way and just managed to get her left arm up to protect her face. Then she screamed in agony as fangs sank into her forearm to the bone. She stabbed the were in the throat. Again. And again. Blood sprayed and the cougar fell into the snow.
The giant cat lay there, unmoving, blood oozing from its neck. Izzy stared at it, waiting for it to jump up and attack. Was it dead? She shuddered. Would it change back into a man now?
A throaty rumble like a Harley engine jolted her into action. She jumped to her feet and choked back a scream from the pain in her punctured left arm. The other cougar stood over Rissa, growling, a huge paw pinning her muzzle. Izzy threw a stick at it.
“Hey!” The stick bounced off the were’s flank, hurting it about as much as a fly would. She grabbed another. “Hey! You! Garfield. Yeah, you. Over here.”
When the cougar turned to look at her charging toward him, it saw its partner bleeding in the snow. Its cry of rage knocked her off her feet.
“Oh, shit.”
The cougar covered the distance between them in two bounds. Izzy threw herself back and it sailed over her head, missing her by a hairsbreadth. Moving on pure instinct, she hustled toward Rissa, snapping up a sturdy stick as she went.
Glowing gold eyes narrowed in menace, the cougar advanced on them. Rissa growled and Izzy swallowed the lump of fear wedged in her throat. For a fleeting moment, she worried about allowing a werewolf at her back, but she’d made her choice. They were in this together.
Izzy shifted to stand next to Rissa. “Get outta here, asshole,” she told the cougar.
She raised the knife in what she prayed was a confident way. Bravado was pretty much all she had left. An inferno raged in her arm, and her legs shook from more than just the frigid temperature. It took every ounce of strength she had to hold the branch high.
The werecougar glided toward them, not hesitating for even a second. Rissa’s huge head brushed against Izzy’s leg and she stifled a shudder. It was all she could do to remain standing over the wolf. Tried-and-true instincts railed at her to get the hell away, but she ground her boots into the snow, bracing herself for the cougar’s attack. Don’t watch, Freddie.
The cougar slid to the right, looking for an angle of attack. Rissa shifted, too, her muscles quivering, keeping the cat in her sights. Suddenly, three huge shadows flowed out of the woods behind the Bell and growled.
Werewolves.
The cougar spun and hissed at the newcomers as an electric sense of awareness pricked Izzy’s skin. Several more wolves emerged from the trees in front of the helicopter, led by an enormous black one with glowing green-gold eyes.
Her heart blasted into overdrive.
Luke.