Chapter Twenty-Four
‡
The night was moonless, thankfully, which meant Ryder couldn’t see Darcy trembling like a leaf.
Tynan’s address had been the right one. This was the stone prìosan that had held her captive for over ten years. She stood outside the stone wall on the west beside Ben’s littermate, waiting for Alec.
When they’d arrived, Alec had wanted to get an idea of what they were facing. To look through the huge wrought-iron gates. So, after dropping him off a block away, she and Ryder had driven around the corner, parked up the hill from the property, and found themselves a dark shadow in which to wait.
“There he is.” Ryder’s voice was a whisper in the light breeze.
Earlier, as she and Wells were climbing into Alec’s car, Ryder had slid into the back seat and said simply, “My bro, Ben, said you needed another cat.”
Another person to help. She’d wanted to hug him so hard.
Looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, Alec sauntered around the corner and up the hill. He eased into the gloom of the overhanging tree. “I caught Vicki’s scent.” His quiet voice couldn’t conceal his anger. “Close to the front. She must have made a run for the gate, fell deliberately, and left her scent behind.
Darcy shook her head. Vicki had probably panicked and… No, Vicki was a Marine. A spy. There was no panic in that female. “She’s probably planning her escape even now.”
“Let’s save her the trouble,” Ryder murmured.
Darcy pulled in a breath. Vicki wasn’t the one who was panicking, Darcy was. Her heart was hammering violently enough to hurt, and even her bones were shaking.
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat and whispered, “See the walnut?” She pointed to the tall tree on the other side of the wall.
The males nodded.
“That’s the tree closest to the wall. I’ll wait for you in the branches.” If she made it.
As if he could hear her doubts, Alec squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart.” Pulling out his cell phone, he sent a text to Wells and Tynan. Going in now.
Darcy stripped and stuffed her black tank top and sweatpants into a tiny bag.
The males disposed of their clothes in a black garbage bag and left it under the tree. Tynan said it would look as if the garbage collector had missed a bag.
“Ready?” Ryder stood beside her. His skin was dark enough to blend in with the shadows, and he’d tied his shoulder-length black hair back. “I’ll be right behind you.”
The knowledge helped, even as she wished it were Owen and Gawain with her. But no. Stay away, my males. Be safe. She thought of them being hurt, being shot, falling. Dying. A shudder ran through her.
No, don’t think about dying. She forced her lips into a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. “Try to keep up, cat.”
“The Mother be with you,” Ryder whispered.
“The Hunter guide your paws,” came from Alec.
She trawsfurred…and hesitated. What if she missed the top? Overshot and fell to the ground?
Then her memory gave her Gawain’s calm voice. “Sink into the wild, catling. Let go.” Just pick a target, and let her animal get her there. I can do this.
With the bag of clothes in her mouth, she sprang into a full-out run. At top speed, she leaped to the top of the wall and into the walnut.
A second later, Ryder landed on an adjacent branch. His jaws were clamped around a cotton bag.
As she shifted to human, Alec came over the wall and settled onto another branch.
Instead of birds, the walnut was overflowing with cougars. She suppressed her laughter—because it would turn to hysterics—and looked around.
The interior compound hadn’t changed at all, had it? The front lawn was flooded with light as were the sidewalks in back. The wide tangle of blackberries around the inner perimeter lay in darkness…because no one could walk through the head-high thorny mass.
Touching Alec’s furry neck, she motioned toward the grounds and the closest three-story manor house. “That one has the human hostages.” The lighted windows of the second manor house—Zoo Hall—seemed a long way away. She pointed to it. “I forgot to tell you, the stairwell on the far end probably has less traffic. The west side stairs are what the staff uses.”
Alec nodded. He already knew which hall was which, since they’d planned everything with Wells on the drive to Seattle. After she’d drawn maps of the grounds, Ryder had used his phone to snap pictures and send copies to the others, including Tynan. Everyone had memorized the plan.
So why was she still sitting here, clinging to a branch, like…like a cub too terrified to move?
Alec rubbed his muzzle against her and purred. Comfortingly. She knew he was half-crazy with worry for Vicki—but he’d still spotted Darcy’s fears and tried to help.
His courage bolstered hers. “Thanks,” she whispered and shifted to cat.
Here goes. Carefully, she leaped to the next branch, taking the same path she’d used for her escape. Her claws closed on the bark, and the tree shook. She froze. No. Stop thinking and worrying. Stay in the wild. She whipped her tail back and forth, rode the slight sway of the branch, and leaped again.
Over the sea of blackberries, she jumped from tree to tree. Followed by the males, she worked her way around the corner and beside the back wall. There—that was the tree that had grown up near the inside edge of the brambles, almost reaching the lawn. She jumped to it and sprang off the branch, over the thorn tangle, and landed on the grass.
One soft thump sounded. Another. The two cougars were beside her.
Alec butted his furry head against her shoulder as if in thanks, then loped beside the thicket toward the far end of the property.
Ryder nodded his head at her and trotted toward the three underground machine gun nests in the front lawn. Wells had given him grenades to toss into each gun barrel slit, because there was no other access to a concrete box. When entering, each set of two guards would deadbolt the rear door behind themselves.
Her chest squeezed with fear for the brave shifter…because it was a horrible plan. After the first explosion, the rest of the guards would know what had happened. They’d know his targets and would shoot him before he could sabotage the next pillbox.
But she couldn’t help. She had her own task.
She trotted toward the east, moving silently in the lush grass. Halfway down the back wall, she reached the toolshed—and the industrial generator on a concrete pad next to it. When the power went out, the generator would kick on and restore power—as well as the floodlights.
After shifting to human, she dressed, then slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out Gawain’s gift—the multi-tool. It sat in her palm, familiar and heart-warming, and she used it to jimmy open the generator’s circuit box.
Like that fancy spy, James Bond, in one of Gawain’s movie choices, she had a special device from Wells. Smiling evilly, she set the spymaster’s box inside.
And pressed the button.
*
The magic gifted by the Mother tingled in Gawain’s veins—and not in a pleasant way. Rubbing his arms, he walked beside Owen outside the Scythe’s stone wall. Every few feet, he bent and sniffed. The scent from panther paws—Darcy, Alec, and Ryder—was very fresh. They couldn’t be more than a few minutes ahead.
Darcy had volunteered to return to the prison that terrified her…no, Shay said she’d insisted. “By the God and Goddess, she’s got courage,” Gawain whispered.
“Aye,” Owen muttered.
Damn the evil humans that had started this. His anger was a low roar, hotter than the flames in his forge. They’d get her out—get them all out.
Darcy’s scent trail ended.
“Here.” He looked up. On the other side of the wall, a tree rose high into the night sky. “That has to be the walnut tree.”
After leaving their clothing in the black garbage bag with Alec and Ryder’s, they jumped the wall and landed in the walnut.
Pleased the fruit trees grew close together, Gawain checked the scents. The three cougars’ trail through the long orchard was clear. With Owen following, he leaped to the next tree. And the next. Around the corner. Along the back.
Midway, he stopped, confused for a second at the abrupt change in direction. Ah, a tree had been planted close to the lawn—and was obviously the exit to the bramble patch. He jumped to it and down onto the grass.
When his brother thumped onto the lawn, Gawain turned, and they exchanged head rubs.
Be safe, brawd.
Staying in the shadows, Owen loped toward the far manor house. His job was to help Alec get Vicki out and then assist Darcy with the villagers. Gawain saw Owen pause at a small building near the back wall. Was that the generator?
Gawain took a step in that direction, wanting to find their mate.
But Owen picked up speed and disappeared into the night. Darcy must have already moved on.
With a huff, Gawain crept toward the front, skirting the floodlit sidewalks, and freezing whenever a guard appeared. He needed to find Ryder before the cat pitched a grenade in a machine gun pillbox and set all hell loose.
There was a better way, if it worked. If he was in time. His muscles were tense, expecting the first explosion.
Then he saw a cougar, belly to the ground, creeping beside a hillock. Thank the Goddess, Gawain had made it in time—assuming the male would stop.
Gawain gave a slight hiss, hoping it would be enough. It took a second hiss, but the cougar froze and turned its head.
Gawain moved enough Ryder could make out his shape.
The male turned and retraced his steps.
Gawain motioned for him to follow and led the way to the dark recessed stairwell at the back of the embrasure. At the bottom of the stairs, he shifted and whispered, “When I yank the door open, you eliminate whoever is inside. Quietly.”
No noise. No warning. Much better plan.
The cougar stared at Gawain’s empty hands, and if a cat could look skeptical, this was one.
Ah, well. The magic Gawain had requested of the Mother still burned in his veins. If he was lucky, there would be enough for all three sites. Setting his palm against the cold metal plate, he reached out to the deadbolt and sang the song of steel.
Obedient to his will, the metal slowly softened into jelly.
At his feet, the cougar waited, tail twitching with doubt and impatience.
With a grim smile, Gawain yanked the door open.
*
Her first task completed, Darcy had stayed in human form and sneaked across the grounds to Z Hall, evading the patrols. Her fear increased with every step she took toward the source of her nightmares—Z Hall. Now, crouched behind the waist-high privet hedge, she’d frozen completely. I can’t do this.
Alec had gone after Vicki. Darcy’s job was to get her female villagers down to the back door.
She forced herself to look up at the tangle of ivy covering the wall. Little Alice was up there. And Margery. This was their chance. She couldn’t leave them.
Pulling in a breath, Darcy set her jaw. On the third floor, every window was locked shut to ensure no hostage would jump to her death. On the second floor, some of the staff’s windows were cracked open to let in fresh air.
Darcy wiped her clammy palms on her thighs, picked the nearest window, and started climbing the vines.
Reaching the second floor, she slid through the window, walked across the dark room, and jerked back. Oh Goddess.
In a pool of blood, a human lay staring up in death. His throat had been ripped out.
Swallowing down nausea, Darcy took a step forward and stopped. Over the stench of blood, she could smell a shifter. Not Alec. That was Owen’s scent.
Her heart did a fast flip of joy before fear enveloped her. Owen. Here. Where Owen went, Gawain would go. No. Please no. The Scythe would shoot them, lock them up, kill them. Her Gawain and Owen would die.
Her body shook as terror consumed her—memories of slaughtered bodies, staring eyes, the stench of death, screaming and moans and…far worse…silence.
She fought for control. Stop. A shudder ran through her. If Gawain and Owen were here, they had their tasks.
So did she, something no one else could do. Her villagers needed her—she was the only one they’d trust. The only one they’d follow without panicking. Must go.
Wiping sweat from her face, she edged around the body, through the door, and hurried down the hallway.
Opening the door to the stairs, she came face-to-face with a guard.
For years, she’d watched the weapons practice in the yard. Had tried to duplicate their moves. Now her body responded instinctively. Strike to the throat, silencing him. Kick to the balls to bend him over. Hammer-fists on the back of the neck.
At the crunch of bone, she gasped. She’d hit too hard. Wells had said, kill anyone you see, but she’d never, never planned to.
He lay on the floor. Heart slamming into her ribcage, she stared at him, bitterness and sorrow filling her.
Keep going, tinker. You have work to do.
As she dragged the human into the janitor’s supply room, her mouth was so dry she gagged when she tried to swallow. She’d had no choice. He’d have yelled for help. The village females would be killed. But…this wasn’t her. She fixed things; she didn’t break them—didn’t break people. She swallowed again.
No time to stop. Her people needed her. Beside the body was a mop in a bucket. Grabbing it, she stomped on the handle and broke it in half. There, she had a weapon.
Running now, she fled to the stairs and upward. On the third floor, she eased open the door.
Feet up on the desk, a guard watched a movie on his tablet.
She sprang across the five-foot gap, swung the mop handle, and cracked him right across the head. The chair tipped backward, spilling him out.
Don’t look. Don’t think about the feeling of something breaking or the sound. Trembling, she snatched the keys from the desk and pushed the green button to open the door to the hostage hallway. Trotting through, she unlocked the first door and whispered urgently, “Into the hall. We’re getting out of here.”
Trained all too well to stay silent, the village females, from fourteen to twenty-four years old, peeked into the hall, saw her, and suddenly she was surrounded.
“Thought you were dead.”
“They said they caught you.”
“Said you screamed.”
“You died.”
Hugs and whispers and more hugs and tears.
Keeping her voice low, she said, “I escaped and found other shifters. We’re breaking you and our brothers out at the same time. You need to do what I say. Is everyone here?”
“There’s a new female in the basement,” someone said.
“No, two females,” a tiny female corrected. “An older one and the pregnant one.”
In the basement. They meant Vicki and someone else. Alec planned to check all the cells down there. “A friend is freeing everyone down there.”
She looked at the group surrounding her. “Listen. We’ll go to the ground floor, out the back door, and hide behind the building.” It would be better if she could take them through the trees and off the grounds, but they were weak with captivity and lack of food. Despite her practice climbing ivy and doing exercises, she’d almost fallen that day she’d escaped.
Alice tugged on her arm and whispered, “What about the alarms? The floodlights? The guards? We’ll—”
“The lights will be gone, trust me. I’ll handle the guards.” I hope. She firmed her grip on the mop handle, carefully ignoring the dark stain on one end.
Spotting Margery, she said, “Can you bring up the rear and make sure everyone stays together?”
Margery’s face still carried scars from the beating she’d gotten because of Darcy’s mistake. She still limped. But her answer was calm and sure. “I can.”
Idelle, also older than Darcy, stepped out. “Can I help?”
Oh, she did adore these females. “Stay in front with me. If we run into a guard, I’ll attack. You get everyone out.”
Lips pressed together with determination, Idelle nodded. “I will.”
Darcy led them down the stairs.
*
Not bothering to shift to human, Owen padded down the stairs in the zoo. The air drifting from the third floor held the fear-filled scents of females, and the concrete beneath his paws carried the stench of pain. With every inhalation, more rage filled his heart.
He didn’t smell Alec, though. Had the cahir taken the stairs at the other end of the building?
The first-floor door handle rattled.
Above on the steps, Owen went immobile, only the tip of his tail lashing.
Two guards entered the stairwell, chatting about the capture of a freak who had cried, screamed, and babbled information. They laughed.
Were they talking about the Cosantir’s mate? About Vicki?
With a snarl, Owen sprang. A slash through one’s trachea silenced him, so Owen could bite through the other’s spine. Turning back, he finished the first.
As he looked at the mess, his ears flattened against his skull. Not good. The next human on the stairs would run into the gore and dead bodies. The lights better go out soon.
He turned and trotted down the stairs.
The basement had a guard station, but the guards obviously didn’t expect trouble. He killed them both.
After shifting to human, he grabbed a key ring and tried to open the metal door behind the desk. There was no keyhole. What the fuck was the key ring for, then?
Wait. Before dropping him and Gawain off, Shay had run through the information Darcy’d provided about the compound. He’d mentioned a button on the desk.
There was a green button beside the monitors. He punched it, and the door lock snicked. When he pushed the door open, he flinched at the stink of loosened bowels and terror and blood.
The basement was where the Scythe did their experiments, Darcy had said.
A snarl lifted his upper lip.
He took a step and scowled at the door. The lock. What happened when the power went out—or if someone entered? He tossed a body into the doorway to hold the door open and then punched the red desk button. When the door lock extended out, Owen slammed a metal chair down on the deadbolt. Metal rang on metal—far too loudly—but the newly bent deadbolt would never fit into the strike plate box again.
No one was going to lock him in this fucking place.
A sniff of the corridor air told him that Vicki was nearby. He stiffened when he caught another familiar scent—one that belonged to someone who couldn’t possibly be here.
Stretching before him, the long corridor was studded with doorways and intersecting halls. The first door stood open. Empty. The next three were the same.
Finding a closed door, he unlocked it and stepped inside. No guard. No Vicki. Only an aging blonde female lying on a blood-soaked bed that was bolted to the floor.
Burn marks, fingernails gone, blood—everywhere. If not for the scent, he wasn’t sure he’d have known her. Her hands held her stomach, holding in her intestines. She’d been cut open—and the smell of death was in the room.
Her blackened eyes were swollen to mere slits, and she looked at him without recognition. “Don’ hurt meeee.”
As he crossed the room, pity swamped his lingering bitterness. He went down on a knee beside the bed. “Mother.”
“O-Owen?” Her pale skin took on a blue cast as her spirit prepared to return to the Goddess. “They hur’ me.” She tried to focus. “I tol’ them…”
“Told them what?” But he knew. “About Calum and his mate?”
Her infinitesimal nod held agreement. And guilt. “Shouldn’t have…”
They’d tortured her for the information. “I think the Mother will find forgiveness for you.” Odd how he could now find his own forgiveness.
She reached out blindly, and he took her hand. “Didn’ tell them.”
“Tell them what?”
“About my cubs. ’Bout you or Gaw—” Her breath wafted out, and her spirit went with it.
For a long, long moment, he couldn’t move. Mother. His mother.
“Peace to you on your journey back to the Mother,” he whispered finally. As he rose, sorrow was a heavy stone in his chest. In her final moments, she’d stood strong for her children.
The thought of leaving her body in this foul hole frayed his control.
He had to. He let anger bury the grief and turned toward the door. The Cosantir had entrusted him with this hunt—he would not fail.
Where was Vicki?
He tracked her scent to the far end of the hallway. Another locked cell. When he opened the door, he saw a bed lacking sheet or blanket. The room was empty except for the overwhelming stench of fresh blood.
No. By the God, he couldn’t have come too late. Despair ripped at him, and he groaned.
Dark hair hanging over her face, someone sat up from behind the bed. “Get lost, asshole. If you come near me, I’ll rip out your eyes and stuff them up your nose.” Her voice was tight.
Vicki. Pride in his Cosantir’s mate choked him until his voice came out hoarse. “Bloodthirsty female, I think I’m feeling sorry for Calum.”
She pushed the hair out of her face, and her eyes widened. A bruise darkened one swollen cheek, and blood had dribbled down her chin from a split lip—but her smile was beautiful. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
“Right back at you.” He stalked over to help her up and froze at the sight of blood smearing the floor. Beside her, blood and tissue soaked a ripped-up sheet. She wore only a white button-up shirt. Also bloodstained. “How badly are you hurt?”
Her laugh held no humor. “I’m fine. This shit is supposed to be normal, although I think whoever said that was a sick fuck.” Rather than giving him her hand, she slid a blanket out from under the bed and handed him…a baby.
“Hunter’s hairy balls.” He froze, holding the tiny mite, wrinkled and red and covered in white stuff. “You gave b-birth?”
“Dude, I hate to tell you, but the storks don’t really deliver babies.”
“Storks?” What did birds have to do with birthing? Was she hallucinating? He frowned at her in concern.
“Give me your hand. I need help to stand up.”
Without thinking, he did as she said—and realized she had another baby tucked into a sling made from the rest of the sheet. A third was cradled in her free arm.
“Three?”
“A litter.” She actually growled at him. “My men actually gave me a litter. Multiple babies. Jesus, I didn’t think the labor bullshit would ever stop.”
When she released his hand, she stood for all of a second before her legs gave out. He grabbed her and held her up with an arm around her waist.
She snarled. “Yeah, I’m going to kill Alec. And Calum. More than once.”
Who knew that a person could find a smile in such a Gods-benighted hell? Owen grinned.
Resettling the cubs, she looked down at them. “You timed it well. I just managed to feed them all—talk about a clusterfuck. I thought they were supposed to just latch on, you know? But they might sleep for a while. Maybe.” Her expression turned grim. “Have you got a plan to get out of here?”
“Aye. Darcy led shifters in to handle the machine guns. When your spymaster shuts down the power to the neighborhood, more shifters will attack.”
“Places like this have generators.”
“Darcy will kill it.”
Her expression filled with concern. “Owen, she was a captive here. Coming back might be more than she can take.”
He smiled at the certainty filling him. “That little female will get the job done or die trying.”
“I guess you would know.” A smiled tilted a corner of her mouth. “You’ve changed, cahir.”
Ignoring her comment, he frowned. “We’ve got to get you to the rear of the building and then to the garage.” Only how? Her legs wouldn’t hold her. He couldn’t carry the female and the cubs. “If you shift, you’ll have four legs—and animal strength.”
That left the cubs. “Maybe we can rig up a harness for you to—”
“You carry my babies. I’ll fight in animal form.”
He started to shake his head.
“I can.” Her expression turned deadly. “Nothing and no one will hurt my babies. Cahir, you get them out, no matter what happens to me.”
Owen stared at her, and his eyes stung. This was the mother love of which bards would sing. “All right.”
*
The metal melted, and Gawain pulled open the door to the third and last machine gun enclosure.
Still in panther form, Ryder streaked past him into the room. A scream was cut off abruptly.
The scent of death wafted out.
Wearily, Gawain leaned against the concrete wall in the dark stairwell as the remnants of the used-up magic stuttered through his body. Using his powers here, far from forests and the Mother, was like pushing water upstream.
“You okay?” Ryder had shifted to human and stood in the doorway.
“Tired.” Gawain motioned to the room. “Did you disable all the guns? We don’t want—”
“It’s done, my friend.” A white flash was Ryder’s smile. “That spymaster guy told me what to do.”
“Good enough.” Despite his exhaustion, Gawain felt impatience flooding through him. His job was complete. Now he needed to find his brother and Darcy. Find them and guard them, the two people he loved most in the world.
He started up the stairs.
Ryder’s hand clamped on his shoulder. “Gawain, I know what you’re feeling. Nonetheless, we wait for Ben’s signal.”
Ryder and his brother ran a building company, Gawain knew. With Wells’ help, the big grizzly cahir and his shifter crew were stealing heavy equipment from a nearby construction site to dozer down the nearest utility poles. If successful, the same dozer would bash through the front gate, providing a way in for Shay and the other volunteers.
Another minute ticked by.
Boom!
The sound was somewhere between a gunshot and an explosion. The floodlights flickered. Off. On. Off. Darkness filled the area.
“By the God, that was a transformer blowing. They did it.” Ryder slapped his arm. “Let’s go, mage.”
Gawain trawsfurred and leaped out of the stairwell. Almost to new moon, the skies were dark. Although the humans would be blind, the ambient light from the surrounding city gave ample light to a shifter.
Hunting time.
*
Outside the shifter-soldiers’ forest camp, Tynan had spent a fair amount of time up in a tree.
Thanks to Owen’s warning, he’d studied the motion detectors that monitored a ten-foot area inside the fence wall, calculated the probable blind spots, then cautiously slow-motioned his way in. Pissed him off, too. Maybe werecats enjoyed creeping an inch at a time, but he was a fecking wolf.
Once past the motion detectors, he ghosted to the barracks building, killed off a poor excuse for a guard, and stepped up to the door. The interior was dark; evidently, shifters had a lights-out time.
The door was locked. Wasn’t it nice he’d learned to pick locks in his early days as a cop?
A minute later, he slid into the room.
The sound of the door—and his scent—alerted the males inside. Thuds sounded as they jumped from their bunks in the dark.
“Dogwood villagers,” Tynan said in a voice only another shifter would hear. “Darcy sent me to get you out. We’re freeing your females in Seattle—right now. We need your help to finish at the prison.”
“Darcy is out?” One male moved forward.
The next voice was harsh. “Bullshit. It’s a trap, Patrin.”
“We can’t—” A third voice held frustration and anguish. “They’ll kill our females if we escape. How can we trust what you’re saying?”
Aye and Darcy’d figured they’d have this reaction. “Now that Darcy is out of the city and off the pills, she’s the shifter she was meant to be.” He pulled a shirt from the tiny pack he’d carried around his neck. “Smell.”
The one named Patrin snatched it. Inhaled. “By Herne, she’s shifted. She’s a cat, Fell.”
In the shadows, a male joined Patrin and sniffed the shirt. “Darcy. She’s healthy. Healthy.” The male choked on the last word.
Another asked, “The females are being rescued?”
“The Seattle attack has been launched. We need you to destroy this camp—and then we go to help free the females.”
Patrin said quietly, “You don’t get it, wolf. We all have trackers in our arms. They’ll know if anyone leaves this area.”
“I do get it. And by the way, you each have two trackers, not one.”
The male’s curse was low and foul.
Tynan continued, “Once the guards are down, we’ll cut the trackers out and leave them in this building to keep the Scythe content. You’ll get patched up on the way.”
In the dim light, Patrin held up his hand, stopping the others. “The staff holes up in their own house. Locked and bolted. You have a plan?”
“I’ve got more shifters to create a diversion at the north edge.” Tynan smiled slightly. “Darcy assured us that if we got the guards to open their doors, you’d deal with them.”
Fell’s laugh was low and deadly. “Our sister is correct.”
*
As Owen carried his armload of tiny cubs out of the cell, the power went out—and the corridor turned pitch black. Well, fuck. Even a feline couldn’t see where there was no light at all.
Vicki didn’t slow, just kept going, following the scent trail Owen had left on the way in. Owen followed her.
Lights appeared at the end of the corridor as several humans with flashlights dashed into the guard station. The lights paused at the desk area. “Jesus Christ, the bastards got Jones and Morris.”
“The door’s o-open.” That human sounded ready to flee.
“Yeah, and if they’re still in there, I’m gonna fill them with lead.” A pistol trigger clicked.
The lights moved toward the corridor.
Vicki broke into a run toward them.
She couldn’t take them on alone. He’d have to leave the cubs in a room. Owen shoved open a door—and a huge tawny shape shot past him.
Alec had arrived.
As Vicki reached the men, a man yelled in pain. A flashlight danced wildly before falling.
Cubs in his arms, Owen hastily stepped into a side cell as gunfire and shouting filled the air.
The cub in his right arm squirmed, not liking the noise. “I don’t like the noise either, youngling,” Owen murmured. By the God, he wanted to fight, not stand here, helpless.
A feline mrow reverberated down the corridor. All clear.
Owen jogged toward the sound. At the guard station, the floor under his bare feet was wet and slick. Ignoring it, he ran up the stairs, following the scent of Alec and Vicki.
*
In the back of Z Hall, Darcy had gotten the females hidden behind the privet bushes before the lights went out. Once everyone was safe, she’d stripped and returned to cat form—hearing the gasps, then delighted murmurs of the females.
The grounds were dark, and angry shouts came from the front. “Someone fucked with the machine guns, killed the guards.”
“Get those lights on!”
With heavy footsteps, two guards pounded between the two manor houses toward the generator. Thank you, Wells. The spymaster’s “gift” was designed to fry every circuit in the board.
Tonight…darkness would reign.
Crouching low, Darcy crept out of the bushes far enough to monitor all approaches. Her tail twitched nervously as she scented the cool night air.
From the front came the sound of a roaring vehicle, then a horrendous crash. Metal whined and clanked. The engine stopped abruptly.
As planned, Ben and his construction crew had rammed the front gates with a bulldozer.
Shots rang out. Individual shots—not the rat-tat-tat of machine guns. But still…bullets. Oh, Mother of All, keep our shifters safe.
The back door of Z Hall opened.
Darcy dug her claws into the earth, bracing to spring.
A cougar female ran out the door. Vicki? Alec, also a cougar, was right behind her. Both were drenched in blood. Ignoring her mate, Vicki looked right and left. On guard.
Alec shifted to human and bent to stroke his mate, rubbing his face against hers. “By the God, are you all right?” he whispered.
Her purr was a soft sound under the yelling and shooting coming from in front.
In human form, Owen appeared in the door, moving funny, as if walking on eggshells. His arms were filled with…babies.
Darcy stared.
All his attention on his mate, Alec frowned. “You’re…thin, cariad. What—”
“Hey, Alec. I think these cubs belong to you.” Spotting the females in the bushes, Owen motioned them over and handed off the cubs to Margery and Idelle.
Staring, Alec straightened. “Mother’s blessing, Vixen. We have cubs?”
The wonder in his choked voice sent a surging joy through Darcy.
When Alec moved toward the steps, Owen blocked him. “Cubs come later, cahir. We need to get everybody to the garage.” After using the Scythe’s vans to transport the hostages, they’d abandon the vehicles somewhere in the city.
Alec sucked in a pained breath. “Aye, let’s get them out of here. I’ll take the lead. Vixen, stay by the cubs. Owen, left flank. Darcy, you bring up the rear. Let’s go.”
As Alec started away from the manor, the female villagers remained crouching under the hedge. Darcy understood all too well. Gunfire, guards everywhere. They’d been prisoners too long—and wouldn’t follow a strange male.
Darcy shifted to human. “Come on. It’s time to move to somewhere safe.” She waved for the females to come out of the bushes. “Hurry.”
Step by step, Margery ventured out, and Darcy felt her heart swell with pride. No one on the planet was as brave as Margery. She was followed by Idelle, then the rest.
Darcy turned. “Alec, I’d better lead.”
“Aye. I’ll take rearguard.”
Staying human so the females wouldn’t panic, Darcy led them along the back wall of the manor, scouting for danger. Soon they’d have to cross a long wide patch of lawn to get to the garage in the back east corner. Between intervals of gunfire, shouting, and screams from the front lawn, she could hear the soft footsteps of her villagers behind her.
As she moved out and away from the far side of the manor, one of the babies started to cry, a thin, high wailing. Someone shushed it.
“What the fuck!” a man shouted. “What was that?”
The sound came from her left. Heart pounding wildly, Darcy cringed as several guards appeared along the manor’s east wall.
A flashlight caught her full in its beam. “That’s the one that escaped!” It was Huber—the guard who’d raped Fenella.
Hatred flamed in her heart—and was swamped by fear. If the guards reached the back of the manor, they’d see the line of females behind her.
She saw the dark glint of pistols. They’d kill her friends.
Never.
Darcy sprang forward and sprinted directly away from the villagers. Come on, chase me.
Like a poorly led wolf pack, the guards mindlessly tore after her, their flashlights flickering on her and past her. Pistols barked, their shots going wild.
It was her nightmare in the park again. A tinny taste filled her mouth. Her bare skin was too visible. Hide, must hide. The need to trawsfur into a dark panther and disappear into the shadows wracked her.
Visible was the point. Run, tinker. Lead the guards away from the children and babies. Her muscles flinched with each gunshot blast.
Not far ahead of her, two more guards appeared. “Get her!” Muzzle blasts sparked in the darkness as they shot at her.
She felt a tugging on her arm. A bullet slammed into her thigh, and her leg buckled. She went down, rolling over and over.
Terror filled her. Not again. She tried to push to her feet.
A man landed on her, flattening her to the ground. His stench increased her fear. Huber. He ground her face in the dirt.
“You fucking abortion.” His breath was foul, his weight horrible. As she struggled frantically, he ran his hand over her bare shoulder and made her shudder with revulsion. “You brought them freaks here.”
A flashlight beam danced over Huber and her. “You got her. Good—” The human’s high shriek ended abruptly.
A startled, choking grunt came from someone else. Heels thumped on the ground convulsively.
Another guard skidded to a stop. “One of ’em got Conklin.” He turned in a circle. “Jones? Parker? Huber, the fucking beasts are all around us!”
“Christ Jesus.” Huber’s breath panted on her cheek. Gripping her hair, he yanked her head up in the air and pressed his knife to her throat.
Terror engulfed her. There—the door to the wild, to the trawsfur. With all her control, she fought the change. If Huber realized she was shifting, he’d cut her throat immediately.
In the shadows to her right, tawny fur flickered past.
From the front, another cougar bounded directly toward them. Gawain. Snarling madly. All his attention was on Huber.
The guard beside Huber whimpered in terror, raised his pistol. Aimed.
“No!” Darcy struggled. The knife cut deeper into her neck.
The redhead hesitated, looking at her.
“Shoot!” Huber yelled.
From the right, a cougar leaped over Huber and landed on the other guard. The pistol blasted—and then Owen bit out the guard’s throat.
“Jesus!” Huber screamed. “You freaks, get back or she’s dead! I’ll—” His knife pressed viciously against her throat. Burning pain seared her skin.
Still a cougar, Owen let out a chilling scream-snarl.
And Darcy saw Gawain shift to human, pull his sheathed blade—and throw.
Huber shrieked and dropped his knife. Releasing her hair, he yanked Gawain’s blade from his forearm.
Free. Desperately, she shoved up and scrambled out from under him.
As she tried—managed—to stand, Huber disappeared beneath two enraged male cougars. His scream was cut off.
Dead. Darcy swallowed. He was dead…and he’d never rape or hurt another female again.
Shaking, nauseated, hurting, she took a step toward Gawain and Owen. In the middle of her worst nightmare, they had come for her. Saved her.
As her strength failed and she collapsed, she heard the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter making a landing.
*
Naked in human form, Tynan loosely tied the bag with his clothing around his neck. The helicopter touched down, and he jumped out, ducking his head against the wind from the blades. The grounds within the stone walls were dark. The little female had done her job. Tynan’s gut sucked in at the ugly noise of battle. Gunshots and yelling, screams of pain, shouted orders…but there was no rat-tat-tat of automatic weapons.
In wolf form, Fell and Patrin leaped to the ground, and then the rest stormed out and onto the grounds. As they spread out, littermates ran together, targeting the sounds of gunfire and the flashlights. The healing time had been too short, and some limped as they ran. A few remained in human form and carried cans of gasoline since Calum had ordered them to burn the manor where the Daonain had been held. Wells had requested the other building burn as well.
Tynan checked the helicopter. The last male out was his littermate, the damn fool. Healers were too valuable to risk in a war zone, but Donal had the stubbornness of a donkey. He insisted a battle was exactly where a healer was needed.
Tynan scowled at him. “We’ll head for the garage where the hostages and wounded will be. Follow me—and remember to duck.”
His damn littermate simply chuckled. Carrying a backpack of medical supplies, he joined Tynan.
Needing the greater mobility, Tynan shifted to wolf and trotted across the wide lawn, cursing the lack of fecking cover. Bodies scattered the lawn, and the stench of bowels and blood hung thick in the air.
A massive grizzly swatted a guard, flinging him into a building.
Two wolves in a well-coordinated attack took down another guard.
A lean old panther chased after another guard. Was that the old werecat who owned BOOKS?
A shot rang out from the vine-covered building—and the panther snarled. His forelimb darkened with blood.
Tynan turned.
Rifle barrel resting on the sill, a sniper knelt in a first floor window. Growling, Tynan leaped through, hit the guard’s shoulders, and knocked him onto his back.
Then the cop part of Tynan watched as his wolf instincts took over and tore the human to pieces. As the guard under his paws died, Tynan thought of the others who would also die today—without recourse to any laws. He found no pity or remorse in his heart.
It appeared his time as a law enforcement officer was at an end.
*
The little cat had gone down. Fear was a cold ball in Owen’s gut. As Gawain prowled in a circle around them, Owen shifted and dropped to his knees beside Darcy. A hand on her ribs let him know she still breathed. “She’s alive,” he whispered, knowing Gawain would hear. Alive, alive, alive.
In cougar form, Alec loped over.
Having seen him and Vicki wipe out two guards coming from the rear, Owen gave him a grateful nod.
Alec looked at Darcy, and his ears tipped forward in a query.
“She’ll be all right.” She had to be. Owen pointed in the direction of the garage. “Get the group moving. We’ll catch up.”
The cougar nodded and gathered his charges. Now out in the open with nowhere to hide, the females seemed willing to follow with the cougars.
Owen turned his attention back to Darcy. Where was she hurt? In the dark night and against her olive skin, blood seemed to be smeared everywhere. He made a sound of frustration…and her eyes opened.
Thank the Mother. His heart had almost failed when he saw her struck by bullets, saw her go down.
“Owen,” she whispered.
He couldn’t keep from snatching her into his arms and breathing in her morning-after-a-rain-shower fragrance. “I thought you were dead.” His arms tightened until she squeaked.
A second later, Gawain trawsfurred and wrapped his arms around both of them. “By the Hunter and the Mother, you two almost gave me heart failure. Don’t do that again.”
The tiny chuckle from the half-smothered female was the sweetest sound in the universe. “Nice knife-work, blademage,” she whispered.
Damned if it hadn’t been. Owen smacked his brother on the arm. “Damn right.”
“I’m going to have nightmares about missing that throw for months,” Gawain muttered.
Owen pulled in a breath. Fuck, what was he doing, letting down his guard? “Gawain, tend her wounds while I keep watch.”
“On it,” Gawain said in a rough voice. “Where are you hurt, catling? Darcy?” After a second, he said, “She’s out cold.”
Owen’s gut clenched. He forced himself to stay on guard in human form in case he needed to speak.
“Three wounds. Neck’s just a thin slice. Thigh and arm. Nothing life-threatening, brawd,” Gawain whispered.
Owen closed his eyes for a second…and kept circling.
He recognized Zeb and Shay’s scents a second before the two wolves trotted by. They paused, ears up.
“We’re good. Keep going,” Owen said softly.
As they disappeared, Owen spotted the first flames shooting up in the house where the shifters had been captive. Wells should be moving the human hostages out of the other house. Very soon, the grounds would hold only burning buildings and the dead.
At a hint of a sound, he spun.
A wolf stalking the shadows was about to jump Gawain.
Snarling, Owen sprang first, shifted to cougar midair, and landed in front of the damn dog.
The wolf froze.
Trawsfurring back, Owen planted his feet, badger-furious. “For fuck’s sake, you sprite-brained fool, we’ve got shifters in human form. Sniff before you leap.” Had battle fever taken the idiot?
He spotted another wolf, deeper in the shadows.
Owen scowled at that one and folded his arms over his chest.
The first wolf shifted and walked forward cautiously. Sniffed. And relaxed. “Sorry, you were downwind.”
Not in a mood to be forgiving, Owen glared. “That is my littermate you were about to attack.”
“Ah.” The male moved to one side to be able to watch Darcy and Gawain. “Apologies. But that’s my sister.” His sentence ended in a growl.
Owen blinked. Well. He kept his voice low. “Are you Patrin or Fell?”
“Fell. You know Darcy?”
Not the time, not the place. “Talk, later, wolf. She’s hurt, unconscious, and I need to get her to the transport before cleanup starts.”
The male’s face turned dangerous. “We’ll take her. She’s—”
A voice came from the shadows, probably Patrin’s. “That scar on his face means you’re a cahir, right?”
Owen nodded.
Fell took a step back. “Guard her well, then, cahir.”
The other male’s voice was low. “We’ll be nearby, clearing your trail.”
As the two shifted and darted away, Owen frowned. They’d been adolescent shifters indoctrinated into senseless human savagery. Would they be able to adjust to Daonain ways?
A small groan sounded, high and sweet, and Owen turned.
Darcy’s eyelids fluttered, and she looked around. Yes.
Unable to keep from smiling, Owen asked, “Gawain, if you’re done, can you carry her?”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more.”
The tiny snort of laughter was Darcy’s.
By the God, he loved her.