Venators, page 22
“You don’t like it? I thought a child would be less intimidating.” He winked. “No worries, sweetheart, I can be whatever age you need me to be.” At that, his face began to morph, aging him at least ten years.
“What are you?”
“A shape-shifter. You know—rat, bird, butterfly . . .” He put one hand to the side of his mouth as if whispering only to Grey. “She’s not very bright, is she?”
Grey rolled his eyes. Beltran was that guy. The one he usually wanted to punch in the face.
“Enough, Beltran,” Tate said. “We need to get most of the wolves out of camp.”
“I know—I heard you.” The shape-shifter pushed between Rune and Grey and peered through the bushes. “That’s a large pack, and we both know what they’re capable of. You sure you want to come with me? These little Venators might need some help.” He looked over at Rune. “I mean, she looks nice enough, but does she know where to put a dagger?”
Rune snatched the knife from her boot and brought it up under his chin. She raised an eyebrow. “Would right there do it?”
Beltran chuckled, pushing down the knife. “A little high, but you’ve got spunk. I like it.”
“It’s unfortunate the sentiment isn’t reciprocated.”
Grey peered back through the leaves. “We need to decide what we’re doing . . . now.”
“Relax. I’ve got it covered.” Beltran morphed into a bird and flapped away.
Rune stared at the spot he had just been, mouth hanging open. “Did you . . . ? Did you . . . ?”
“Yes, we saw it.” Tate moved back into position to watch the camp, this time resting on the balls of his feet with a dagger in his hand. “Don’t trust Beltran,” he said. “Ever.”
“What? We’re trusting him now!”
“Not really. We’re simply trusting him to have a good time, and he can always be counted on for that.”
Grey stepped away and gently nocked a bolt on the crossbow. It clicked into place. He looked up, hoping the sound hadn’t carried. When nothing responded, he slid down next to Rune. She was shaking. He reached out and placed a hand over hers. “Hey, relax. You weren’t scared to take on Beltran.”
“He pissed me off.”
Grey grinned and jerked his head toward the pack. “These guys are pissing me off. How about you?”
She almost smiled and nodded.
“Think you can handle it?”
It took a moment, but the shaking stopped, and her grip relaxed. “I don’t know why, but, yeah, I think I can.”
There was a commotion to the east of camp, and the conversations below quieted as the pack turned their attention.
“Here he goes,” Tate said. “Sit tight until I give the word.”
They all inched closer to the edge, watching.
Silen stepped out from the tree line.
Rune gasped and then clamped her hand over her mouth.
As much as Grey disliked the shifter, his skills were impressive. Not only was he an exact replica of the real Silen, but his posture was identical, the chin cocked up with the same superiority.
His appearance had the desired effect—numerous members of the pack slipped into their wolf forms. The change in the wolves happened faster than Grey had thought possible. Instead of the bone-cracking transformation he’d always imagined, this was more like watching Beltran change forms.
“The council has decided your pack is no longer welcome here,” Beltran announced with Silen’s voice. “You will move tonight, or the price will be steep.”
Beorn stepped casually to the front of the pack with an arrogance that could be read from any distance. “You think you can just march into camp and tell us to move, Silen?” Beorn laughed. “I hope you brought help.”
Silen’s likeness just stared at him, emotionless. “You have until morning. It’s a generous time frame.”
Beorn threw back his head and laughed harder. He turned with his arms out. “You hear that, my brothers? We have until the morning.” The pack broke into a strange chorus of howls and giggles, the snapping of jaws and the stamping of feet. “Maybe we should grovel in thanks for their generous offer.” Beorn turned back to Silen, and the smile dropped from his face. “I think we’ll send our answer back to the council in the morning . . . in the form of your head.” He raised his hand and crooked two fingers. “Now.”
At least fifteen wolves leapt forward, snarling.
Beltran shifted into wolf form—just as Silen would’ve done—and disappeared into the trees, a small hunting pack on his heels.
“That’s not enough!” Rune hissed, scanning the nearly full camp. “There are still too many of them.”
“He’s not done yet.” Tate pointed to the black crow flying low around the tree line.
“Black bird.” Rune grasped at the necklace beneath her shirt. “That’s why Verida laughed. It wasn’t a bird. It was Beltran . . . He’s the crow.”
Tate shot her a side glance. “That took you entirely too long to put together.”
Rune glared back. “Oh, I’m sorry. In my world, I don’t usually wonder if everything I meet is a shape-shifter in disguise. Forgive me if it wasn’t my first thought.”
Tate almost smiled at her sarcasm. Grey did.
Beltran dove into the trees on the west side. A moment later, Dimitri’s likeness slid from the branches, silent as death. The faux Dimitri grabbed a werewolf from behind and pressed a silver knife against the man’s neck.
Shouts of warning went up around the camp, but the sounds quickly changed from human voices to barks and snarls as the remaining pack members morphed to wolves.
Across the clearing, Cashel remained in his human form. He postured, facing down Beltran. “Vampire.”
Beorn stepped next to his father, baring his still-human teeth at the enemy. Around them, the rest of the pack moved into a defensive formation, flanking the alpha with hackles raised.
“The council has grown weary of your threats,” Dimitri said, raising his voice over the noise. “And now we’ve spoken. You’re no longer welcome in this territory.”
“You think we abide by your laws?” Cashel’s lip curled. “Not anymore. You claim you speak for all of us, and then you bring Venators through the gate.” When there was no response, he threw back his head in a full-bodied laugh. “Not even a denial.”
The wolves snarled and snapped their teeth. Their paws punched up and down, antsy to attack the vampire in their midst. The hostage tried to twist away, but Beltran yanked him back against his body, pressing the knife harder into his neck.
“Bringing those demons here was foolish, Dimitri. The other packs have been too fearful of retribution to join me. But with that move . . .” Cashel swept his arms wide, grinning. “You’ve handed me all the power I needed.”
“The packs will have to find someone new to follow,” Beltran said in Dimitri’s cool, dismissive tone. “You and your pack have been banned to the other side of the Blues.”
“How dare—”
“Father, let me handle this.” Beorn cracked his neck from one side to the other, staring Dimitri down with a look of gleeful anticipation. “I’ve been waiting years to rip out a vamp heart.” His arms transformed—claws jutted out in place of fingernails, and thick fur sprouted along the backs of his hands.
Beltran tilted his head in a perfect imitation of Dimitri’s cool and haughty demeanor, looking down at Beorn’s show of power as if it were the vilest and most base demonstration he’d ever seen. “You’d send your son after a head vampire? Cashel.” He clicked his tongue. “As I recall, you barely survived our last encounter.”
Beorn lunged forward, his lips pulled into a snarl, but Cashel flung his arm across his son’s chest, barring the way.
“I’m ready, Father. Let me go. Let me prove my loyalty to you and this pack.”
An unspoken conversation passed from father to son. Cashel’s brows furrowed. Beorn stared back, wide eyed and insistent.
“Very well.” Cashel lowered his arm. “Let the council know our opinion on their rules and their judgments.”
“Gladly.”
Grey saw something that looked like glee wind through Beorn. It lifted his posture and the corners of his lips.
Beorn stalked through the rest of the pack, pulling out time in a dramatic show of prowess. “We’ll have Silen torn to pieces by the end of the night,” he said, puffing out his chest and flexing his claw-tipped fingers. “You’ll soon follow.”
The expression on Dimitri’s face was simply . . . bored. “Doubtful.”
The breeze shifted, and the hostage stilled in Beltran’s arms. He twisted carefully, trying to look at his captor from the corner of his eye.
Oh no.
Grey didn’t know how the wolf suddenly figured out that Beltran wasn’t Dimitri . . . but it was written all over his face. Grey leaned forward, wrapping his fist around the grasses that lined the rim, willing Beltran to sense what had just happened.
The man tried to pull away, shouting, “Cashel, this isn’t—”
Beltran pushed the blade against his throat hard enough that a thin line of blood trickled down his neck, cutting off the warning.
“Wandering in here alone was very stupid . . .” Beorn trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “And very unlike you.” He raised his chin and sniffed the air.
Tate tensed. “Beltran’s upwind.”
The shifter finally realized his mistake. Before the alert could be sounded, he slid the knife across the hostage’s exposed throat. A wave of red gushed, painting his hand and bubbling down the dying man’s neck. Dimitri’s likeness grinned, shrugging with a silent oops.
Beorn lunged for him, but Beltran pushed the body at him and disappeared into the trees as gracefully as he’d appeared.
The camp exploded with movement. Beorn joined the others in wolf from and bolted after him.
Finally, only a few of the pack members remained—mostly women and children, with a handful of men around the perimeter acting as guards.
“All right, now he’s done. Don’t think—just act. I’ll give them one more thing to chase.” Tate wiggled away from the ledge and took off in the direction Beltran had headed.
Grey stood and leapt off the ledge without a second thought. Rune jumped because she couldn’t let him go down there alone. The second the decision had been made, panic clutched at her, screaming in her ear the entire way down: What are you doing?
The ground rushed up too quickly. Grey hit and rolled, coming gracefully to his feet. Rune tried to imitate the movement, but during the roll, one shoulder jammed into a rock, throwing everything off balance. She stumbled forward like a baby giraffe trying out its legs for the first time.
Grey went to steady her, but something caught his attention. He stepped smoothly to the side and wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, pulling until they stood back to back. She looked over Grey’s shoulder. A werewolf was running at them, shifting midstride. His face elongated into a warped mix of human and canine. His back arched higher, claws bursting from his fingertips. Before Rune could register what to do, Grey swung his crossbow and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew and caught the werewolf in the chest. It fell to the ground, dead.
Rune turned away a moment before a charging she-wolf was on top of her. Pulling up the dagger on instinct, she shoved it forward. That seemingly small action was followed by a series of gruesome firsts—the feel of the knife in her hand as it slid through flesh, the warmth of blood as it spilled over her fingers, the look in the woman’s eyes as her momentum slowed.
There was no scream. Rune expected it, but the woman’s mouth only gaped as her hand went to the knife, helplessly feeling the blade with jerky, disjointed fingers. A low whine escaped, and the wolf dropped to her knees, the bloody knife sliding free of her belly.
Rune vaguely heard yelling, but everything faded as she stared in horror at a single drop of red-black blood that had collected at the tip of her blade. It dangled there, reflecting the flicker of campfire light, then stretched and fell, rotating through the air and splashing onto the forehead of the woman who knelt at her feet.
Grey leapt in front of Rune, shoving the woman to the ground unceremoniously. Rune’s mind slowly twisted back to reality just as he flipped his crossbow around and used the back end as a club, slamming it into the side of another wolf’s head. She heard its skull crack—distinctly different from a thud, an actual cracking of bone—and it collapsed.
“Rune, I need help!” Grey loaded another bolt and pulled the trigger, taking out the last wolf that stood between him and his goal. He sprang away, heading toward the woman they’d come for.
Rune went to follow, but another wolf jumped in from the right, barring the path and cutting her off from Grey.
A fist came from the side, and Grey ducked, barely dodging it. The attacker was too close—he couldn’t fire. Swinging around fluidly, he brought the crossbow up and smashed it into the man’s stomach. The werewolf grunted in pain, his chest popping forward as his abdomen was forced in the opposite direction. Grey shifted his weight, ready to move on, but the wolf wrapped his partially formed paws around the bow and pulled down as he collapsed, disarming Grey. Before he could retrieve it, he heard the thud of feet and a low growl behind him.
Grey spun, pulling the silver-veined dagger from its sheath. Cashel stood between him and the unconscious woman. The man was a behemoth, over six feet tall with biceps that looked capable of crushing a man’s skull.
The alpha’s eyes flickered over the glowing tattoos on Grey’s forearms, and he spat. “The council sends its newest pets to remove me. How did I find myself so honored?”
“I’m not here for you. I’m here for the woman you kidnapped.”
Cashel looked confused for a second. “The council would never—” He broke off and grinned, cocking his head to the side. “You’re not here at the council’s bidding, are you?”
Grey realized he’d made a terrible mistake. Cashel was right, and everyone who was anyone would’ve known the second he revealed the true mission.
The alpha took a predatory step forward, and Grey moved back instinctively.
Cashel laughed. “You two are all on your own.” He waved off the guard that was coming up behind. “Two Venators coming to the rescue of a poor human lost in the woods. The council doesn’t even know you’re here. I wonder how long before someone discovers you’re out of bed.”
“No. The council is with us—you saw them yourself.”
He took another step forward, enjoying the game. “If the council were truly behind this, you’d have a little magical help from Ambrose. My guess is the council’s pet shifter was here.”
There were cries and shouts as Rune battled behind them. He’d left her without thinking through the ramifications of separating—his second mistake since jumping off the ledge. So much for acting on instinct . . . He’d most likely just signed their death warrants.
At his silence, Cashel laughed. “You’re a fool.” He pulled his chin up and stretched his mouth wide as massive canine teeth descended.
Lowering his stance, Grey brandished a dagger. But the alpha whirled away from him, took four steps, and grabbed the woman’s shoulder, sinking his teeth deep.
Her head snapped up with a scream, and her feet flailed beneath her.
Grey surged forward. “No!”
Cashel released the bite and pushed off the ground, rapidly closing the distance between them and slamming into Grey’s chest.
The wolves moved in an ever-tightening circle. Rune stepped and turned, twisting her neck, trying to watch for an attack from every angle. The pack stalked closer, each paw placed ever so carefully, muscles tense and ready to pounce. She’d meant to follow Grey, but that male had stepped between, separating them. Smart. And now she was surrounded.
Rune was an exceptional athlete, but she had no experience in any type of fighting or weaponry. She didn’t fully trust her Venator side, but depending on her human abilities was out of the question. Seeing no other option, she followed Tate’s advice, accessing the Venator within. It was easier now that she knew what to look for, and the warrior roared to life. It was darker here, alone with her inner beast.
One of the guards shifted into wolf form and started to howl. A call for help—Rune knew it instantly. The pack could not be allowed to return. Leaping forward, she slashed a blade across the guard’s throat, cutting off the warning.
Something landed on her back, and sharp claws pierced her skin. Rune screamed, swinging the dagger over her shoulder. The blade met flesh. Reaching up with her other arm, she grabbed a fistful of fur and yanked the wolf off.
Its body crashed limply to the ground, and she realized it was a pup. Nothing more than a baby. Rune recoiled, and her human side shoved back into play with all its culpability and sick regret.
A female wolf shrieked in a way only a mother could, with loss wrenched from a place so deep it actually colored the sound. She charged.
Instinct said to prepare for the attack. But Rune’s flight response said to run. She looked to the side, hoping for an escape . . . but there was none. And help wasn’t coming. Grey was pinned to the ground, Cashel on top of him.
That glance, that consideration of trusting her human side, was a mistake.
The enraged mother leapt over the bleeding pup and smashed into Rune. As they fell, the human face shifted into beast; fur erupted down her neck while her nose and mouth merged to become a snout. Rune wrapped her fingers around the wolf’s neck, barely managing to keep the snapping jaws at arm’s length. Hot breath washed over her face. The crossbow was still strapped to her back, and it dug painfully against vertebrae as she twisted, trying to protect her throat and keep the animal restrained at the same time.
Then the weight was gone.
Tate grabbed the she-wolf by the scruff of the neck and threw her against one of the trees.
