Chapter Forty–Three

CHAPTER FORTY–THREE

W ith grim purpose, and a full complement of weapons, Tohr dematerialized to a historic Adirondack great camp that was bigger than the one Rehvenge had, and not on a lake. V had figured out which estate had been featured on the security feeds by doing image matching searches on the rooms during the day.

While the entire Brotherhood had watched Apex get tortured for information.

And what do you know, Whestmorel had bought the estate and all its acreage two years before.

As Tohr waited for his brothers to join him for the infiltration, he surveyed the house. The place was rambling and sided with a forest’s worth of cedar shingles, and lights streamed from out of countless diamond-paned windows. Parked up close to the front porch, there was a gray BMW and a black Suburban—

Tohr was the first to see the wolf off to the left; it was coming in low and fast over the snow—but the predator wasn’t focused on them. It was gunning for the house in a purposeful way that was not like a wild animal’s at all.

A wolven? Like Lucan?

Something’s going down , Tohr thought as another appeared. And another. And—

That first wolf threw itself at one of the front windows like it didn’t know glass was a thing. And just as the crash sounded out, the shooting started—

“Are we too late,” V said as he became corporeal, still staring at his phone screen. “Are—”

“We gotta get in there!” Tohr barked. “Now—”

As other brothers arrived, the two of them were already crossing the distance, while wolf after wolf threw themselves at the windows on the first floor. It was a Pella-nightmare, and he took advantage of the attack, jumping through one of the lupine-created apertures.

He landed with his forties up, and he picked off the male in the hoodie who was about to shoot Apex in the face, putting a bullet right through the side of the male’s skull. While all that gray matter vaporized out of the exit wound, V aimed at another male, who was about to shoot the first wolf. The brother’s weapon just discharged into thin air, though, because a second wolf got there before he did, the predator tackling the hooded assailant to the floor.

Two more left. Tohr pulled a quick pivot, squared his sight at the one taking cover behind half a bear that had been mounted like it was coming out of the wall. The first shot hit the grizzly.

The second entered the shooter’s shoulder. As the male brought his gun around and aimed at Tohr, they had a moment of their eyes meeting. Then Tohr pulled his trigger a nanosecond before his foe did—

His gun jammed, the malfunction freezing the mechanism inside his autoloader, causing the next bullet in his chamber to stay right where it fucking was. Which meant a clean shot, from out of that muzzle pointed at his own high thoracic region, was taken.

Pop!

Tohr jerked and put his hands to his throat by reflex, bracing for the pain, knowing his bulletproof vest was too low to save him—

The shooter was the one who went down to his knees.

Behind the guy, Mayhem jumped out of a hidden compartment in the wall on the far side of the bear, a female right on his heels. They both had guns—and given the way the male looked over his shoulder in complete shock, it was clear she had been the one with the dead right aim.

After that, there was only silence, except for the heaving breathing and the dripping of blood.

And the chewing.

Like all skirmishes, it was over before it began, and there was a split second where Tohr and his brothers swept their gun muzzles around, in case there were more attackers coming. And the fact that he was able to recover his senses so fast from an almost-mortal event was the only benefit you got from having been shot at so many times: His brain was used to close calls.

But he knew he wasn’t going to sleep right for a couple of days.

Meanwhile, across the way, Mayhem and the female lowered their weapons to the floor and put their hands up—

“You’re fine,” Tohr barked. “At ease.”

Justlikethat, the wolves retreated, the predators ghosting out of the broken windows, disappearing into the wintery night. Except for one. The white predator who had made a meal out of Remis was still inside, standing over his prey.

“Clear the rest of the house,” Tohr ordered Rhage as he took out his phone and headed grimly for Apex. Hitting send on a number he called all too often, the ring was answered immediately. “Jane, we need you—”

V bent over and picked up a suit of white snow clothes. Then he reached into a duffle and brought out something that gleamed gold in the light.

Apex, the male who by all rights should be dead, said, “I did it. I killed Broadius . . .”

“We know,” V said as he unsheathed a black dagger and started cutting all kinds of zip ties. “I heard it all, on the feed you sent me.”

And then Apex seemed to pass out—or maybe that was his death confession.

Meanwhile, that white wolf wheeled around and leaped over two dead bodies to get to the male.

The great predator whimpered and nudged at Apex’s arm. Then he lay down, and a set of ice-blue eyes looked over at Tohr, begging for help.

“It’s on the way,” he told the animal. “We’re going to take care of him.”

If he lives , Tohr tacked on to himself.