Callie's Guardian: White Tigers of Brigantia (Book 1) by Lisa Daniels (76)

Chapter Four

They came, tightly packed within the darkness.  Bron focused, making his breathing calm, even though his blood simmered for vengeance to tear apart each of these so-called conquerors from limb to limb.  He had a new family to protect, a new world that might just accept him into their ranks.  And then there was Ordri.

Sweet, beautiful Ordri, with that sheen of fire which resurrected itself in his presence.

Ordri, who was his.  Now all that needed to happen was to make sure he or she didn’t die.

Gunshots blasted the tunnel.  The sound of books thumping the floor above told Bron that they were dismantling the whole study room, widening the entrance.  Bron stood vigil as the first line of defense, the first to die – but there were many cracks and bends in the corridor, and he crouched at a sharp bend, with only room for one person to fit through at a time. Two more bends forked off before his, and those were where Kostya and Yanus waited, flanked by Elinor and Sebastian in adjacent spots.

“We're going to need to be careful, they might have escaped into the woods,” one voice was saying.  “I can smell their odors, they all came down here...” the speaker turned around the bend, and Bron lunged. 

He did it like a striking snake, mercilessly tearing at the enemy's throat before he even had time to gurgle his surprise.  Then, his companion, holding a gun, exclaimed – but not before Bron muscled past the corpse and shredded the next opponent in a burst of blood.  He spat out dripping flesh from his muzzle and snarled triumphantly.  He grabbed the weapon and ducked out in time for the hail of bullets to miss him. 

Death skimmed him by centimeters.  The unforgiving narrow space preserved him, but it fast became obvious to the Russians that Bron was doing his job too well, holding the chokepoint, claiming another two lives, and spraying his newly obtained gun blindly around the bend, hoping to mow down more werewolves.  He was eventually forced forward when they had chosen instead to invade the other corridors.

Confusion and fear mingled with the invaders, and Bron lapped up the scent.  What should have been an easy rout turned into a desperate, guerrilla scrabble in the tunnels.

The Russians knew they couldn't wait – not without drawing reinforcements.  So, they simply peppered the tunnels with bullets, forcing all the defenders to retreat.

Bron heard a screech of fury from Elinor Spirova, and fled down towards the source of the noise, having to clamber over bodies that packed the ground.  He slashed into the backs of still-living Russians, mouth tearing indiscriminately, struggling through this cluster of bodies to protect, to rip and tear and kill.

Blood rained the walls, stank up the corridor with the tang of rust and copper.  The coppery, furry taste and texture coated his teeth.  There were just too many... a bullet skimmed past his ribcage, and he hissed from the sting, and he heard the enemy shouting above for a way to block them.  Then, he heard a deep, booming voice scream, “We will lose too many lives!  Their reinforcements will be here soon.  We must retreat.  Our surprise has failed.  They will be like rats, picking us off one by one...”

Bron gnawed his way through another struggling body, before using his awesome strength to smash through into the treasury, and take out the three who had made it past Sebastian and Kostya.  He saw Kostya lying in the dirt, groaning feebly, and Sebastian bleeding from his neck and leg.

One, two – lightning claw swipes – a moment of resistance, and then nothing more but corpses lay in Bron’s way. 

Ordri stared at Bron in horror and amazement as he whirled, coat fully drenched in blood, and took on the wolf Filip contended with.  The old man still had some fight left in him, focusing on wily dodges, maneuvering the opponent into easy access for Ordri and Bron.  Ordri struck before him, shrieking like a banshee.  Filip sustained two slashes across his chest, but succeeded in the killing blow as Ordri raked and tore at the foe's backside.

“It's not looking good, boy,” Filip panted.  Kostya made it to his feet, swaying as he stood in front of his uncle.  “Find Elinor.  Please.  She is the one that cannot afford to die the most.”

Bron snarled, and, still eyed by Ordri, he scampered off into the single tunnel, colliding with another gun-wielding invader.  The enemy, in complete disarray, kept screeching above.

“We've wounded some of them!  We should keep trying!”

“No.  It's not worth... it's not worth this...”

A scuffle reverberated from above, as the screamers sounded as if they had tackled one another for their differing opinions.

Bron couldn't find any sign of Elinor anywhere – and he needed to scramble over a heap of dead bodies that littered the entrance ahead of the tunnels, before pausing as he detected the faintest movement in it.

Gunfire spat out of the corpses, mowing down two more Russians who had made it past.  He laughed as he realized what was happening.  Elinor Spirova, it seemed, was just fine – and so was Yanus Armanev.

“Got a gun?” a voice asked from the pile of bodies.  “You can join me if you want.”

“Fucking...” someone spat, just before a bullet lodged itself in his throat.  The invasion into the tunnel miraculously stopped.  Bron balanced himself on the body heap and stared at the gaping entrance torn through where the bookcase previously concealed it.  No one dared loiter in sight.

“Run out of bullets,” Yanus muttered, out of earshot from the Russians.  “How's it going for you, Elinor?”

“Not great,” she replied, before calling out, “Our allies will be here in minutes!  Nice try, assholes!  I can do this all day.”

Screeches of rage answered her, along with a thunder of bullets, which punched the corpse shield Elinor and Yanus hid in.

One more body fell, before Elinor's gun clicked.  Out of bullets.

“Fuck,” Yanus hissed.  “Bron, be a devil and get ready to protect us as we escape?”

“Retreat!  Retreat!”

Footsteps vibrated above them.  Somehow, it had escaped the Russians' notice that Elinor had run out of ammunition. 

The noises faded into the distance.

“Fuck me,” Elinor said.  “That was close.”

Yanus exhaled relief.  “Just as well they didn't discover the back entrance.  Was real worried for the old man.”

“The old man has some chew in him yet,” Bron said, and Elinor let out a dry laugh.

“Thanks, Bron.  Is anyone...?”

“They were all alive, last time I checked.”

“Good.”  She waited a moment later, until shaking herself free from the bodies.  “Gross.  But they all were just lying around at this point, so...”

“Yeah.  We made a meat shield.”  Yanus scowled at the dead, nose wrinkling in disgust.  “Just gonna say, I feel like I'm never gonna be clean again.” 

Bron sighed then, and slumped against the side of the wall, his limbs burning with lethargy.  Honestly, if the invaders had been better organized, instead of keeping their mentality with the pack wars of the past, they might have stood a better chance.

Maybe.

Thankfully, they also had eight plucky defenders, who did not crumble in the face of danger.  So that was that.