Chapter 12

TWELVE

Asha

It’s another three hours’ drive until we finally approach our destination. The terrain breaks, and mountains rise from the desert waste, their slopes robed in green pines. The road slithers up the grade. The sleepy miles of empty, tan expanse give way to vigilance. Yet everyone watches the trees, expecting something to leap out from behind them.

“What’s the plan exactly here?” I ask, breaking the silence.

All eyes focus on Max.

He stays staring straight ahead when he answers. “We go in as Enforcers under the cover of just checking things out. We find your pack members. We make it clear that they’re coming with us and that if there’s a problem, all hell will break loose with the Enforcers. They won’t want that, and we’ll remove your pack members. Then, with the victims as proof, the Enforcers will come in and handle the Raven Pack.”

“Or?” Braxton asks, lifting a brow.

“Or?” Max repeats with an edge of irritation.

I look between them, intrigued. I’m still trying to figure out their whole relationship. Braxton seems to respect Max as his brother and his commander, but he also seems to want to handle things in a completely different way than Max.

Braxton huffs after a few seconds of silence. “What if it isn’t that easy? Are we prepared to go nuclear?”

Nuclear. That sounds a hell of a lot better than Max’s limp-dicked Enforcer plan.

“Same question,” I say, trying to ignore the surge of bloodlust that awakens inside of me at the thought of just letting these bastards get away with everything they’ve done.

Max checks his mirrors, but I suspect he’s buying himself time. “We can’t take on a whole pack…”

“Maybe I can,” I say.

Max glances at me. “Is that really what you want to do? Become…”

I realize he’s picturing my brother. What he became in that town in order to cause that much death and pain. No, I don’t want to become that. Every time I use that kind of magic, I change. I feel the call of the darkness more.

Sweat beads my forehead, and I swear I see dark wisps at the edge of my vision. Fuck. I hate thinking about it. Thinking about it breathes life into the monster that haunts me.

“Asha?” Max asks.

I snap back to the conversation. “Maybe we try to be careful. If we can.”

“It’s always smart not to strike when the odds are against us unless given no other option,” Orson says from beside Braxton.

Braxton rolls his eyes. “Super helpful.”

I give him a look.

He gives me a dark look back, and I get the sense he doesn’t like me defending Orson. Even with a look. In response, I stick my tongue out, then turn back around. There. It wasn’t mature, but it’s a reminder that he can’t tell me what to do, even silently.

Clouds darken the sky overhead and a shiver rolls through me. My moment of happiness passes, and I start to wonder again about what we’ll see soon. My pack members. But who? Who survived that I wasn’t aware of?

A hundred faces move through my mind. Men, women, and children. The instant I think of some of them, I picture their dead bodies in the street. The next face I remember is in the Blood Mage’s prisons, being tortured alongside me. Somehow, I can’t think of anyone that would have survived, and the mystery is its own unique kind of torture.

Then, there’s beyond that. How the fuck are we going to save my people? Max seems so confident that his Enforcer status will be enough, but I remember this pack. Wolves that turned on other shifters. Who killed women and children in the streets.

Being an Enforcer seems like unlikely protection.

Max turns off the main road and ascends a single-lane dirt path. The SUV pitches side to side with every bump and rock it rolls over. It distracts me from my nerves, which is an unbelievable blessing.

At last, we lurch to a stop and I look over at Max in confusion.

“Hoof it from here,” he says, then gives my knee a quick squeeze, as if he senses my apprehension.

I point at the dirt path that continues up the mountain. “There’s more road but no village in sight.”

“We lose the element of surprise if we drive in.” He pops the door, a cue for the rest of us to join him.

The four of us gather around the hood of the truck. I follow Max’s gaze along a trail that zags away from the dirt trail. He seems to be deeply in thought. As confident as he seems, I wonder if deep down he’s as worried as the rest of us.

I’m no leader, but that seems like the kind of thing he would do. Part of me still finds it strange that I slept with this man when I still don’t know what goes on underneath his surface. I feel like I understand who he is as a person, but do I?

“This isn’t time for revenge,” he reminds me, drawing my focus back on the one thing I didn’t want to think about. “We’re here to do a job. Everything by the book, got it? We’re expected, but if we go off-script, we lose the Enforcers’ cover.”

I stare in shock. “We’re expected? What’s the point of ‘the element of surprise’ then?” And what the hell will keep them from just hiding my pack members if they know we’re coming?

“They don’t know when or from which direction. They also think we're just Enforcers stopping by for a check, only we know better. Which means if they want to try something, they’ll have a harder time trying it.”

“Are we expecting them to try something?” asks Orson in a matter-of-fact voice.

“You always expect the enemy to try something. Hope for the best, expect the worst, and prepare for every eventuality,” Braxton answers, his eyes scanning the vicinity. I watch as he hunts for disturbances in the greenery, but it’s his nostrils that detect something askew given the way they flare.

I take a deep breath, and it hits me. It hits all of us. Our wolves pick up on the unmistakable scent of smoke that hints that something’s burning deep in the woods. We all inspect the surrounding woods, trying to see any sign of it. Max discovers it first, pointing out dark, huge spectral columns drifting into the sky several miles from our position.

“That’s too big to be a campfire,” I say, feeling uneasy.

“It could be a controlled burn,” Orson suggests, studying the woods around us. “These woods seem thick enough that one might be necessary.”

Braxton snorts. “Yeah, a controlled burn is happening on the day we’re checking out a brutal pack of criminals.” He huffs. “I’m not a man given to believing in coincidences.”

I agree with Braxton. Something about this smells wrong, and it isn’t just the fire and the smoke that’s far too large and dark to be from a small fire. An uneasy feeling grows inside of me. Would just a call from the Enforcers about a visit snowball into something worse?

Braxton moves closer to me, into my personal bubble, and his blue eyes gentle as he fixes them on me. “Asha, we can get back in the truck and just head to a hotel right now and let the other Enforcers handle this. We can see your pack members after they’ve been rescued.”

Uh, what? I’m still processing whether he’s serious or not when Max starts talking.

“Or,” Max says in a strange way, “we can leave Asha in town and come back–”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap at both of them, taking a step back from them. “My people are in there. If I have any chance of rescuing them, I’m going to. Got it?”

Max sighs. “Asha, the likelihood of things being dangerous in there has obviously increased, so–”

“That’s the nature of the job, though, right?” Orson asks with a shrug. His incredible mismatched eyes meet mine for half a second before pulling away, and I get the sense he has my back in this.

Even if he’s trying not to piss anyone off.

The brothers just exchange a glance, so I answer. “Right.” Then I give them a look that challenges them to argue with me further.

Max gives a curt nod, even the ghost of softer emotions hidden away. “Okay then.” He returns to the truck and opens the gun safe in the trunk. “Even though we technically have the protection of the Enforcers, we’re not going in unarmed.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” says Braxton with a hand pump and a grin.

Eight years in the military and apparently he gets a hard-on at the prospect of being locked and loaded. In any other situation, I’d find it funny. He’s first in line for a weapon and Max passes him a cannon of an assault rifle, something probably as heavy as I am.

“I’ll take something a little more size appropriate, thank you,” I say, stepping up to Max.

He outfits me with a more manageable rifle, takes one look at the way I hold it, then replaces it with a pistol. “You’re behind me at all times, anyway,” he says, as if giving me a normal-sized weapon makes him uneasy.

Orson hovers closer, eyebrows raised at Max. The muscle in Max’s jaw wriggles while he mulls over whether to arm Orson. He glances at me and I respond by lowering my chin and raising my eyes in a reproachful glare that suggests he knows better. Reluctantly, he passes the rifle he initially gave to me to Orson and for himself retrieves a tactical AR.

“Remember,” Max emphasizes, his gaze clinging to mine. “We want to get out of here alive, so we think first, act second, like diplomats. Unless it becomes a true military situation.”

I nod, since he’s watching me. I get it. For some crazy reason he wants me to stay alive. As much as I just want to do this on my own, I’m also glad for his concern. This world was a darker place before he was watching out for me, so I’ll have to fight my instinct to kill every last one of these assholes.

“Okay,” I say, when he doesn’t look away.

Relief flashes over his face, and he turns away.

It’s weird, this agreement. It’s like I’m starting to value something other than my pack members, and I don’t know if I like that. Yet, I don’t have time to dwell on that now.

Max runs point, followed by Orson, then me, and Braxton in the rear. There’s a palpable sense of terror pervading the forest, all its creatures set on edge. The distinctive effluvium of fear wafts across the path. They detect something malevolent here and I fear its source is familiar to me. Close to me. A member of my Blood Pack. But I can’t be sure why I think that.

Rustling to my left yanks my attention to the side. I tense. My wolf’s hackles raise. Twenty feet or so off the path, something barrels towards us.

Ten feet.

Five.

I only just recognize it as a shifter in its wolf form before it lunges. Mangled lupine features loom in my vision for a split second before a powerful shove heaves me out of its path. Orson collapses beside me, having pushed me out of danger’s way, and we turn back just as a gunshot blows a chunk off the shifter’s shoulder.

It drops dead to the ground beside Orson and me. Over the sound of my blaring panic, I hear Braxton’s voice, calm and even, saying, “You hit his shoulder. He shouldn’t be dead.”

And yet, as my eyes inspect the wolf beside me, there’s no mistaking him as living. Orson rolls onto his side and peers over me at the corpse, our bodies close enough that his scent overwhelms me. It momentarily distracts me from the grim situation. His eyes fall to mine and my cheeks flush. I don’t know why, and I will them to blanch instead, but the heat is intractable.

He smiles, which doesn’t help matters. “You know you have a lovely scent, Asha? I smelled the wildflowers before, but now I notice underneath their redolence lurks a subtle hint of a coming storm. Rarely do you experience a shifter’s scent that evokes Proustian emotions.”

I’m not sure I understand a single word, lulled by his deep voice and entranced by the effect of his heterochromatic gaze. “Yeah?” is the only response I can muster.

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

“Crispy critter,” says Braxton, hunching to inspect the corpse.

I turn away from Orson to see Braxton’s correct, albeit in a rather glib way. The wolf’s coat is mottled with burned patches, its fur matted with blood. How he managed to leap towards me, I don’t know, because he looks like he’s died three times already. I sniff him and frown. The scent of death conceals any chance of identifying what pack he’s from.

Raven Pack. He has to be one of them.

Orson stands and then turns back to assist me to my feet. His hand is warm in mine, sending a strange tingling through my body. We drop hands quickly and separate, avoiding eye contact, like he felt the weird tingling too.

Or maybe I’m imagining it all.

Our group gathers around the body, staring down at its pitiful state. “He probably didn’t even know what he was jumping at,” says Braxton.

“Likely frenzied with pain,” Max posits.

“What a terrible fate,” says Orson, crouching to run his hand over the wolf’s fur. “Now forever locked in this shape.”

“Well,” I say, “not forever , if we’re being biologically honest.” Everyone looks at me. “Decomposition.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking my final breath through my snout,” says Braxton.

Orson looks over at him. “Spoken like a true warrior.”

Braxton’s eyes narrow, taking a moment to figure out whether Orson’s being facetious. But he’s spent enough time now in the ex-con’s presence to know of his earnestness. He accepts the compliment with a nod.

Aw, we’re making progress .

A noxious smell pierces the aroma of pines and dirt. It arrives suddenly, accompanied by a twinge at the nape of my neck. Magic . It’s powerful, dark, and frightens me.

“What is it?” asks Max.

My gaze moves to him, suprised that Max knew how I was feeling. “Magic,” I warn. “But I can’t identify its origins or nature. I can just tell it's potent and dangerous.”

There’s a moment when I think Orson is going to ask how I know that, but his mouth opens and then closes without it ever leaving his mouth. All eyes are on me all the same.

“Magic is going to need magic, if it’s anything like before,” Braxton says, glancing in my direction.

Before . When I had to fight my brother. When everyone in that town would have died without my strange magic. The one that didn’t feel like any magic I’d used before.

The magic the Blood Mages infused me with makes me feel dirty. Like every time I use it, I’m losing a part of my soul. But that silver magic… it felt so natural, like breathing. Is that what I’d have to use today? Or the other stuff?

A shiver rolls down my spine. I’ll have to think about that, but not right now. Not when everyone is staring at me, and the scent of dark magic fills the air. Not when one of my pack members is probably somewhere close by.

Or one of the fucking Blood Mages, I don’t know which just yet.

Max looks at his brother, then back at me. “Do you think you should feed?”

Feed. Right. Because that’s what I do now. Blood is the fuel for my strange, unwanted powers, whether I like it or not. Just another gift from those bastard mages.

Man, I don’t want to feed. I don’t want to have to feed.

Briefly, I consider the alternative, meeting whatever’s radiating this from the forest, totally unprepared. We could all die. If I charge up first , so to speak, at least we’ll have a fighting chance.

I sigh. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.”

“Feed?” questions Orson, apparently no longer smart enough to keep the question to himself.

"Feed," I repeat, not quite embarrassed, but not wanting to say more. Because he’ll see enough to figure it out.

At least this little show should kill the attraction between Orson and me, because there's nothing wolves hate more than vampires. If he doesn't downright hate me after this, he should be freaked out… between the vampire thing and half-breed thing.

“I got it this time,” Braxton says in an off-handed way.

Max looks pissed for the briefest moment, then nods.

Braxton starts to walk further into the woods, but I stop him when we’re just a short distance away, pushing him up against a nearby tree. It’s far enough to give a sense of privacy and close enough that Orson will see what I really am. Braxton gives me a questioning look, glancing toward Orson.

I shake my head. "It’s okay. You ready?"

He licks his lips even though I'm the one hungry at the thought of his blood. "Ready."

Standing up on my tiptoes, I hesitate for a moment as I focus on his pulse. Memories of his sweet blood slip through my mind, and I feel my body heating up. This feeding thing, it’s not just about fueling my body. It turns me on, and for some reason, that makes me feel a little ashamed.

“Asha?” He whispers my name, arousal making his voice husky.

Reaching up, I stroke his throat, and he turns to allow me better access. I turn him further and lick his throat, feeling the shudder that rolls through his body in response. Unable to stop myself, I pounce on Braxton, wrapping my legs around his waist while he places his hands underneath my ass to hold me up. Sinking my teeth into the side of his neck, I draw the warm life-force from his body, savoring the metallic flavor and the essence that is uniquely Braxton.

The head rush blooms. On its heels, the vibration follows, awakening every cell in my body. Braxton groans and sighs, his hands gripping my ass, his cock stiffening in his pants, grinding himself against my hot core. But after a moment, I sense him weakening as he leans further against a tree.

His brother is there in an instant, offering me his neck. I’m passed from one brother to the other, and I wrap myself around Max’s brawn as he holds me against him. My teeth easily sink into his throat, and my head spins with the rush of his blood and his unique flavor coating my tongue. As the power filters down through my body, I feel it writhing of its own volition, and I grind against Max, feeling powerful and needy. He growls, pushing his hard erection against me in response while I feast.

In my periphery, I notice Orson watching. Far from the disgust I’d expected to see, he appears fascinated, maybe even aroused by the display. A strange desire to taste him too rolls through me, even though some part of me knows that’s greedy. Two men should be more than enough.

“Got enough?” Braxton asks me, reminding me to slow down. To not take too much.

But, god, it’s hard not to want every drop of these men.

I retract my teeth from Max’s neck, and he slowly lowers me to the ground. My body slides down the front of his. Our eyes lock for the briefest moment, and I get the sense that if Orson wasn’t here, we’d be fucking. Damn it. Wiping my mouth off on my sleeve, I turn to look at Braxton, seeing the same heated look on his face.

“Do you need to feed on me?” asks Orson.

In unison, the brothers respond emphatically, “No.”

Of course not. As strange as our relationship has become, Braxton and Max seem like the possessive type. Just a short time ago, I didn’t even think they could handle sharing me between the two of them. I think they’d let us all die before letting me feed on Orson.

“You sure?” Orson asks again, and his gaze runs over me.

“We’re sure,” Braxton says, his voice low and threatening.

I chuckle and proceed along the trail. “Come on, boys.” I ought not to enjoy their archaic, masculine possessiveness, but admittedly it does a little something for me. Jealousy’s a bit of a turn on. What can I say?

But that happy feeling slips away as quickly as it came with the sharp scent of dark magic combined with smoke. Trouble is what it is, and not of the four legged variety.

The closer we draw to the Raven Pack’s town, the noisier the dark magic’s signal becomes. Like I’m approaching a nuclear reactor with a Geiger counter. And it starts to develop a unique signature, too. This isn’t some random member from my Blood Pack. Simon . I can’t be sure, but my instinct tells me it’s him. I both want that to be true and not at the same time. It’s like my emotions are pitting my will to resolve this conflict against the dread that it’ll only conclude when one of us dies.

The path emerges into a clearing. A backyard. The house it belongs to burns, voracious flame consuming its timber. Just outside its backdoor lies a body, mutilated, strewn across the lawn.

Like with my own pack. I fight the flashes of memories that threaten to drag me down as we continue on.

Braxton is suddenly at my side. “Slow, deep breaths.”

And even though I want to be annoyed that he senses my struggles, I do as he suggests, and some of the panic eases. This is not my home. These are not my people. These are my enemies.

I hope.

As we round the house and enter the street, it’s more of the same. Bodies and fires everywhere, a town decimated by an unknown force. Is it unknown? I fight against the presumption my brother’s responsible for this.

Would he be guilty if he was responsible? These people slaughtered our kind. They were our enemies. And yet, as we traverse the bloody aftermath, I can’t help picturing the fear in their last moments, like an echo from that terrible night. Even if they were monsters.

And then there was the more important piece of this puzzle. Did my people, their prisoners, survive this? Or were they casualties of whatever happened here?