Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

M oya got out of Zorion's Jeep and stared in horror across the parking lot toward the square.

What in the Mother's love happened while we were gone?

When she, Fell, and her brothers finally—finally!—reached the town limits in wolf form, they'd detoured to her brothers' house to clean up, get dressed, and tend Fell's leg. And she'd called Patrin. Several times.

No answer.

So they'd piled into Zorion's Jeep and driven here to the sledding hill. Down one alley, emergency vehicle lights strobed into the night sky. People were crying, others were shouting frantic commands.

Dread iced her spine as she turned in a circle, squinting through the thick smoke in the air.

Patrin, are you hurt? Where are you? Her hands clenched as panic rose inside her. She moved closer to Fell.

He protectively pulled her against his side. "Are those bodies?" He headed toward the sleds and snow tubes at the bottom of the sledding hill.

"What do you mean bodies?" Her mouth dropped open as she realized people lay on the ground, wrapped in blankets. Unmoving. Others were bending over them.

"What the fuck is wrong with them?" Ramón jogged toward the line of blanket-wrapped people.

Fear stabbed Moya's heart. Patrin had wanted to watch the sledding. Was he one of those lying so still? She ran after Ramón.

Orla, a cat carpenter, was turning a body onto its side. She looked up at Ramón. "Gods, I'm glad you're here, boss. The diner and B I'll back you up."

Fell nodded. As he eyed the burning buildings and considered the timing, a chill ran up his spine.

In the Scythe, every commanding officer had his favorite go-to tactics. The Colonel often employed double explosions to divert attention from an assassination. This held all the characteristics of one of the Colonel's operations. His gut said… the Colonel is alive.

Patrin and the others had been tranqed. The Scythe wouldn't have carried away the dead.

Moving away from the group, Fell tried to think.

First, find where Patrin and the rest were taken.

Then…get them back, which wouldn't be easy. The Colonel's operatives would be well armed and prepared for how deadly an animal shifter could be.

How could he organize a rescue without getting everyone killed? They'd need firearms of their own—and shifters who could shoot. He should pull in Fletcher and Kennard. They had experience and…

Wait. There was someone in town who'd actually run operations. And knew how to shoot. He pulled out his phone and swiped on the contact labeled "W."

"Wells."

"You in Ailill Ridge?" Fell held his breath.

"I am."

Fell exhaled in relief. The spymaster was still here. "The Scythe kidnapped Patrin and a group of Daonain. Carried them off in two black vans."

There was a moment of silence. "Lay it out for me, soldier."

In terse words, Fell explained, piece by piece. Finally, he summed it up. "The operation stinks of the Colonel."

Sitting at a kitchen table in the home of Leland's friend, Wells tightened his fingers on the phone. Fell's report had been clear and concise. He and Patrin were the best of the shifter-soldiers.

Explosions as a diversion, tranquilizers, kidnapping. "Yes, it stinks of the Colonel." Impatience lit up Wells' nerves like an artillery barrage.

The Colonel was alive. And he'd made his move. About fucking time.

But bombing a town square was extraordinarily public. Add in the unprecedented collateral damage? "A very desperate Colonel."

And desperate kidnappers often cut their losses when it came to captives.

There was silence for a moment. "Fuck." After a beat, Fell added, "Could use your help."

"I've got your back, soldier." As if Wells would say no to any of the men who worked for him.

Even more… The Colonel had taken the most vulnerable. Damn the bastard . Protecting women and children—that was what Wells had vowed to do, so many years before. "I can be at the Shamrock in a few minutes. I have my sniper rifle and other weaponry."

Tucking the phone into a pocket, he rose.

Across the table, the snoopy werecat had been openly listening. Thorson gave Wells an implacable stare. "I'm coming."

Leland was on his own phone. Shoving it in his pocket, he nodded. "My grandchildren are already there and will be fighting. I'm joining you."

Damn civilians.

Then again, he'd seen Thorson in action. In cougar form, the shifter was lethal. He eyed Leland. "I don't suppose you're a cat too?"

In the days they'd spent here, the old rancher had come to be a friend of sorts. As much as Wells ever allowed.

"You betcha." Leland's smile was smug. "Don't worry, human. I'll keep up."

"Stubborn werecats. Fuck me." Wells jerked his head toward the door. "Gear up and let's move."

Taking shallow breaths against the smoke, Moya half-listened to Fell speak on the phone while she tried to comprehend what had happened. Black vans, multiple attackers in black. The Scythe had obviously planned for this night operation.

The pack had grouped around her and Fell, waiting for instructions. Pride swept through her, seeing how those who could shoot had armed themselves with pistols and rifles. A couple carried first-aid kits. Everyone was in dark attire.

We're coming for you, Patrin. Cubs. Hold on.

Fell shoved his phone into his pocket and said to everyone, "The spymaster is coming in to help. He'll have more weapons for us."

"We don't know where the Scythe have taken our shifters. They're probably fleeing the area as fast as they can." Moya's spirits spiraled downward—and then she gripped Fell's arm. "Hey, André could locate Patrin and the others." Cosantirs could locate any shifter in their territory.

"He could if he was conscious." The Chief of Police joined Moya and Fell. "As he was pulling Gretchen out of the B however, since a wolf's neck was larger than a human's, trawsfurring would drive the spikes into his throat and carotid arteries. He'd die. Messily.

He still had nightmares from watching it happen when the Scythe first figured out how to restrain shifters. Chester and Graham's father, enraged at the loss of his mate, had lost control and shifted…and died, choking on his own blood.

Stay in control, wolf.

The ring with the keys to his cuffs and collar dangled from a hook near the front door. Frustratingly out of reach, considering his hands were secured behind his back.

The shifters captured at the sledding hill were restrained in the living room. He could hear them as they woke. In cages, cubs were whimpering, sobbing.

"Where are we? Why are you doing this?" The slurred voice was young Riona's, still drugged and confused.

"Shut the fuck up, mutant." The harsh sound of a slap and a pained cry left Patrin fighting against his instincts. The need to trawsfur and start killing was unbearable.

The Colonel strode into the foyer, a cell phone to his ear. "I don't give a fuck how slick the roads are, Baton. You get that car to town and give the abominations this address. We need those mutants here now—and in a frenzy. I don't want them to have time to get organized. Move it."

Turning, the Colonel yelled to his operatives, "Stand down for now."

Patrin frowned. The woman operative should have had plenty of time to reach town. Then again, the longer she took, the better.

Coming closer, the Colonel nudged a boot into his ribs. "Feeling frustrated, freak? Won't be long before I have all of you—and more—back under control." He kicked Patrin harder. "A year ago, I was set to show my colleagues what I'd accomplished using your mutant skills. And you destroyed the compound and all my plans."

Another kick. Tethered to the wall, Patrin couldn't even move out of the way.

"Once I demonstrate the uses of my abomination army, the Council will overlook the loss of the Seattle compound—because of the Director's incompetence, of course. I'll get my place at the top, running the world. Power and riches." He smiled slowly. "And you will, once again, be my masterpiece."

Patrin ground his teeth together to keep from responding. There was no point. And he needed to be conscious to help whatever rescue occurred because the Daonain wouldn't leave the cubs and females in the Scythe's grip.

"Always thinking, aren't you, Patrin." The Colonel rested his boot on Patrin's shoulder. "You're counting on your fellow abominations to come for you. So am I. I'm going to get the rest of them, then I can keep the ones who'll be useful and kill the rest."

"They won't walk into a trap," Patrin gritted out. The spikes dug in painfully against his throat.

"Of course they will. I know how you animals react when one of your mutant children gets cut to pieces."

Patrin felt as if he'd been sucker punched. Because, even knowing it was a trap, a Daonain would attack if a cub was being hurt.

What can I do? How can I prevent this? Patrin pulled in a breath and tried to think. If he shouted—used his command voice to keep them in place?—

"Shut this one up," the Colonel said to the human next to him.

The operative slapped duct tape over Patrin's mouth and rubbed it firmly over his beard and mustache.

A growl rolled out of Patrin. He'd be unable to warn his clan. The Scythe would capture his new friends, his pack. His brother. Moya.

God of the Hunt, just give me one chance to kill them all. Just a chance.

By Herne's hide and hooves, where is the fucking door ?

In wolf form, Fell searched the steep, forested slope behind the target house, growing increasingly frustrated.

Movement at the back of the house caught his attention. A cougar silently leaped from the mountainside into one of the roof-high shade trees. Niall and Bron had arrived.

Off to his right was the Cosantir's littermate. A damn big bear, Madoc nosed around, also trying to pick up the scent of the portal.

Spotting a thick clump of underbrush, Fell squirmed through the huckleberries, wincing as the branches dragged against the bullet gouge in his rear leg. In the center of the space was a wooden trapdoor. Yes! He gave a barely audible woof.

Madoc had more trouble in the undergrowth, as the oversize shifter-pack strapped to his neck and belly caught on the bushes.

Shifting to human, Fell removed Madoc's pack, which was full of his own gear. Once dressed, he clipped his pistol to the cloth belt and shoved Bron's gifts into his cargo pants pockets.

Silently, he lifted the trapdoor, pleased when tiny LED motion-detector lights lit the way.

Staying in bear form, Madoc padded down into the tunnel. Fell followed and closed the door behind him. The cool, damp air smelled of clean dirt and rock.

A human-sized door blocked the end of the tunnel. Fell pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Opening it a crack, he listened.

Distant voices. Nothing close.

Opening the door farther, he scanned the area and then sniffed. Only the scents of metal, gasoline, rubber. No one was in the garage. He stepped out with Madoc behind him.

A pegboard used to hang tools concealed the portal. Nice. He closed the door, leaving it unlocked. Just in case.

"Here goes," he said under his breath, and Madoc huffed in agreement.

As they crossed the garage to the kitchen door, urgency hummed in Fell's bones. Theirs was the most critical part of the plan—and they were out of time.

Baton hadn't called again. The Colonel tapped his fingers on the pistol holstered on his belt. It'd been too long.

Possibly she'd had a car accident. But he hadn't heard sirens—and he would have. After the explosions, he'd been able to hear the fire engine screaming toward downtown.

Next possibility: she might not have been able to find any of the abominations she'd identified. Also unlikely. She'd had a fair-sized list. What with the disaster downtown, some of them would be there.

Finally, the most unpalatable possibility. She'd been forced to call him with false information, then removed from action.

Had she sounded different when she phoned?

His mouth compressed…because she had. She was always tense when talking to him, and her speech was usually fast and staccato. This time, her words had been slow, almost halting.

Dammit. How much time had he lost waiting for her call?

His men, upstairs and downstairs, were sprawled out comfortably on floors and chairs.

Damn the mutants. He lifted his voice. "Set up for action. Now ."

Phone gripped tightly in one hand, Moya held the neck of the tunic closed against the cold wind. Shivering, she stared out across the stretch of white snow.

When her pack had arrived—thankfully, bringing her the quilted tunic and soft boots—she'd moved closer to the house, staying just inside the forest. As soon as Fell and Madoc called to say they were inside to defend the captives, the attack could start.

What is taking you so long, Fell?

Everyone else was ready.

The pack and other shifters were in the surrounding forest. Some in human form with weapons, some in animal form. Mostly male, but with a fair number of females. Many were mothers of the captives.

Bron and Niall were in a tree behind the house.

Wells had texted to say he was ready—and sent a man's photo labeled: The Colonel, don't let him escape.

The Colonel's skin was drawn tight over sharp features. His head was shaved, his lips thin. He looked terrifyingly cold and cruel.

Fell and Patrin had told her about this human monster. Their nightmares had told her more.

If she had the chance, he would die.

Suddenly, floodlights blazed across the wide lawn.

As if her thoughts had brought him forth, the monster walked out of the house, leaving the door open behind him. He had Sky and Mateo, both tied up.

Oh no.

He'd shielded his face and chest by holding Sky high against him with an arm around the cub's waist. With his free hand, he dragged Mateo by one ankle across the porch.

Fear paralyzed Moya. The younglings were shirtless, their skin pale in the harsh porch light.

Dropping Mateo's ankle, the Colonel set a foot on his back—and pulled a knife. With Sky still held high in front of him, he yelled, "Shifters, I know you're out there."

Her heart sank.

"Walk forward and kneel on the lawn. Right now—or I'll slaughter these boys."

The desperate compulsion to attack surged through her. She'd kill this monster who would hurt cubs. Bury her fangs in his throat.

No, no. I can't. There were other younglings inside. Why weren't Fell and Madoc inside by now? They needed to kill the Scythe guarding the hostages before any attack out here could happen.

Hurry, Fell.

Feeling the instinctive movement from the shifters all through the forest, she growled loudly in an order to hold. As the sound rolled through the quiet night air, the movement stopped.

"No?" The Colonel laughed, harsh and cold. "You want to see this boy die?"

Do something, someone. But what could anyone do? All options were…wrong. They needed more time for Fell and Madoc.

I'm the alpha female. And Mateo is pack. From what Patrin and Fell had said, this human wouldn't see a female as a threat.

She stepped forward, out into the open, and raised her voice. "Are you the Colonel who I've heard so much about?" Stall, wolf. Stall for all you're worth. "No one has heard from you for a while. We thought you were dead."

With Sky in front of him, only a small part of the Colonel's face could be seen—and it darkened. "You fucking abomination. You have no idea of the damage you beasts have done. Not that you care."

His eyes narrowed. "You're stalling." He sliced his knife down Sky's chest.

As blood spilled down his front, Sky clamped his mouth shut. Only the tiniest of whimpers escaped him.

And fired rage in her soul. She took a step forward, feeling the shifters all around start to move, even as she knew it was a trap.

Stop! Her pack bonds burned with the alpha's harsh order. Her feet froze.

Patrin—it was Patrin, and he was alive.

But the other shifters were still moving. With her sensitivity, she'd received and responded to the coercive order far stronger than anyone else.

This time, rather than fighting Patrin's command, she amplified it. Yelling as loud as she could, " Hold ," she put the full force of her own alpha authority behind it.

No one moved, not even the cats or bears.

The Colonel raised the knife again, and she shook with the dread of what he'd do. She ran farther out onto the lawn. "Colonel, I'll?—

A furious growl came from inside the house—and the screech of something metallic. Hands behind his back, Patrin charged through the doorway. Head down, he barreled into the Colonel and knocked him away from Sky.

"Fucking mutant!" On his back, the Colonel twisted and kicked Patrin's legs out from under him—then booted him in the head.

From the forest, a man's voice boomed into the night. "Shoot now!"

Like a fireworks finale, the dark woods lit with a myriad of lights. From muzzle blasts.

The world exploded in gunfire, shattering glass, screams, and shouts.

Oh Gods.

Ripping off her tunic, Moya shifted and leaped forward.