Weremones (28 page)

“Run!”

Her scream was a garbled croak. The emotional, psychic, scream she slammed at her daughter made Karen stumble back.

Grady Dobbs bucked and fought the seatbelt. He stabbed backward, over his shoulder, with the knife, missing Diana by scant fractions. The spiked studs on his wristband scraped her cheek.

Diana held on as tight as she could, twisting it around her wrist until the circulation stopped. The seatbelt became a noose.

She grabbed the man’s greasy ponytail. She wrapped that into her trembling fist.

The seat rocked, slamming against her. The knife flailed blindly, knocking against the car ceiling.

She was dying anyway. Karen said she knew these woods. Her daughter could still get away.

Karen screamed. Loud and long.

Run, Karen, run. Run. Run. Run.
Diana chanted the words in her head, a mantra to pace herself by as the darkness crowded back in.

An explosion burst the glass inward, showering both their attacker and Diana. She jerked forward, and then slumped down, into Hell, where the tormented screamed for mercy and received none. The screaming followed her into the darkness.

Brandon blinked awake and froze, attuned to the nuances of his surroundings. He turned an ear toward the mouth of his cave and listened for the sound that disturbed him.

He was a coward and a sorry excuse for a wolf. The fact that he was hiding from not just the coyotes, but also his own pack, proved the point.

He didn’t want to find out Adam’s price for peace and he wouldn’t let himself be sold to the coyotes as fresh meat again. The coyote pack was bigger than the wolven and a lot inbred. Their females were mean bitches, especially in their first heat.

Brandon knew that personally. He definitely didn’t want a repeat with two of Benj’s females coming in season. The idea of breeding with the coyote females made him sick at his stomach.

God. What if he got one of them pregnant? He shuddered, glad he hadn’t eaten or he might throw up. Would he be forced to stay with the coyotes for a moon? Or longer this time?

No. It wasn’t happening. They’d have to find him first, and he’d leave before they found him. He might be a coward and an omega, but he wasn’t going to be coyote meat.

The shine of headlights and scent of exhaust fumes shook him from the memory.

Brandon crept forward and peered out the bushes concealing his cave above the waterfall.

He’d come here because it was safe. He had safe holes all over the territory, but only Bradley and Karen knew about the waterfall cave. The comforting scents of his brother and friend lingered here.

He considered taking off for one of the other safe holes when the engine shut off and the door opened. The scents of fresh blood and familiarity rose on the wind followed by the stink of an unwashed stranger.

“Run!”

Brandon’s supernatural hearing picked up the choked out word.

If there was anything Brandon Starr was familiar with, it was the combined scents of blood, fear, and madness. He froze. Nightmares of Garrick’s basement and the blood moon of a coyote hunt swam before his eyes. His bowls quivered in reaction.

Karen’s scream shattered the nightmare. Brandon spurred into action. He didn’t think about the danger, or being afraid. The monster buried inside of him rattled the bars of its cage.

The girl screamed again. The monster lifted its nose, scented the air for blood and found a bleeding hunter near his lair. The creature inside roared, shattering the cage.

Brandon changed for battle, shifting into the half man-half wolf movie monster and rushed out of the cave. The twenty-foot drop was nothing for an enraged wolven defending its territory. He leapt, landing light on his feet.

Karen screamed again. Brandon howled. He bounded four times, landing to run around the front of the car.

Inside, the knife stabbed downward toward Diana Ridley. The female held particular memories that flashed through the monster. Baking cookies. A hand on the boy’s forehead while her face creased with worry over his temperature.

The scent of her blood pounded in his veins. Fury overrode all other thoughts.

With one more snarl, Brandon smashed his claws through the window’s flimsy barrier. He ignored the crumbled glass and went for the insane hunter inside, snagging him in a claw. He pulled the screaming man free of the restraint.

“Watch out!”

Brandon caught a glimpse of the knife as it arced down, toward him. The bite of the knife sliced into the meat of his shoulder sharply. Instinct took over.

He went for the kill, burying his fangs wide around the creature’s neck. His powerful wolven jaws closed, crushing the fragile human throat. Fresh blood, warm salty, life giving, flowed over his tongue. He swallowed then pressed the carcass of the kill down to feed.

A sound intruded before he could begin his feast. He turned and snarled at the female. Not his mate. He wouldn’t share. The predator, finally unleashed from its cage, did not want to give up the prize.

“Brandon?”

The angel’s tears penetrated the red haze. He licked his lips, considering what the angel meant.

“Karen.”

The wolf’s jaw wasn’t meant for human words, but he managed. The angel’s name brought understanding. His angel knew everything and still cared.

“Karen.”

She threw her arms around the breadth of his bloody, furry torso. Brandon bent to wipe his tongue over her cheek. He tasted salt, female sweat, and friend.

“Oh, Brandon! Thank God. You saved us!”

She pushed away from him. He watched, a little confused, as she rushed to the car and climbed over the broken glass in the seat.

“Mom?” Karen sniffed.

Brandon followed, drawn by the scent of blood, vanilla, and citrus. He heard her sob quietly while she crawled into the backseat.

“Oh, God. Brandon. Help me. I think she’s dead.”

Brandon went around to the other side, the urge to kill and eat gone. The driver’s seat folded down and he climbed in. He studied the crumpled form Karen was trying to extricate from the tangle of the seatbelt and move from the floorboard into the back seat.

Something he was pretty sure she shouldn’t be doing.

“No.” He said around his wolfy muzzle. “Not dead. Not yet.”

But death was near. He heard the faint struggle of her heart, the choked gurgle as she slowly drowned on her own blood. He’d heard the sound before. Brandon pulled Diana Ridley into his own lap.

“Are you going to …?”

He shook his head. He forced himself to look into Karen’s eyes.

“Might not work.”

“Try anyway. Try sharing blood in both the wound and making her drink.”

“She’s already drowning on her blood.”

It didn’t matter. Brandon tore at his wrist with his teeth. It hurt badly, but he’d had worse. The magic that lived in his wolven blood was stronger in this form, maybe that would be enough for Diana Ridley to live.

“Brandon, are you sure this won’t hurt her more? I mean, she’s already had blood once from those strays. Would too much hurt her?”

He concentrated on his task, carefully tending to the gaping chest wound first, then trying to get Diana Ridley to swallow the rivulets he dribbled into her mouth.

He spoke slowly around his muzzle so that Karen understood everything.

“You are my friend. I would die rather than hurt you.”

He reopened the wound on his wrist and switched from feeding to the wound. He hoped that his blood directly in her bloodstream would speed the process of healing.

Or it might throw her body into some kind toxic shock and kill her.

“She dies, Karen. The hospital is forty-five minutes away. Maybe my blood will heal her enough to stay alive.”

“Will it change her?”

He shook his head a tiny bit. “No more than already done by werewolf bite.”

Brandon remembered the night the strays brought Ms. Ridley home. Bradley had been furious. The females were under their protection, ever since they met Karen. She was special, so was her mom.

They’d kept Garrick away from the psychics for years, only to have Diana leave with a human date and come back werewolf bit and smelling of the blood of strays.

Bradley had nearly been insane over it. Adam, too.

He started to feel the effects of his own blood loss and stopped. She’d had enough to replace what was lost, and more.

“I think it’s beginning to work.”

Karen’s worried gaze met his.

“She feels warmer.”

Karen’s hands fluttered over her mother’s face. She checked the chest wound before tearing off her blouse for a compress. This would work, she told herself. She’d seen it done before wolven injuries. She’d heard of one human, near dead, stabilized with wolven blood.

It would work.

“Now what?”

Bradley wadded the stray’s coat up into a pillow and situated Ms. Ridley so that she wouldn’t choke any more than necessary when she started coughing out the blood in her lung.

Mack had had a hell of a time with the coughing, but the man’s lungs had only received minimal damage, Brandon remembered. Garrick’s claws had ripped open Mack’s abdomen, then he had nearly chewed his arm off at the shoulder.

The man’s total recovery was due to Adam sharing his blood as soon as he saw the man lived. Then Adam continued treatment over the next couple of days because he couldn’t afford to give the psychic too much of his blood in case any of Garrick’s followers had escaped to regroup.

“I’ve got to deal with …
him
.” With his muzzle, Brandon indicated the dead man outside the car. “Won’t take long. Then we go.”

Adam allowed Gates the dignity to regain his feet and walk back to his coyotes.

Another wolven would have finished the coyote leader and been done with it. He wanted to resolve this without his boys witnessing any more violence than necessary.

Gates retreated behind his coyotes. He turned and smiled. Sharp predatory teeth gleamed in the night. Then he lifted his head and howled.

The coyotes leapt up and rushed
en masse
at Adam. Gates hung back, howling while the coyotes attacked.

Two gunshots rang out. Yelps of pain proved Mack’s marksmanship.

Two coyotes, in animal form, darted in low at the human’s legs.

Tank spun around backward, putting his back to the psychic’s. The huge wolven kicked out, knocking one of the coyotes back.

The second coyote, deprived of his first target, jumped. The coyote’s aim was aborted with a handful of claws in his belly. Tank wrapped an arm over and around the animal’s neck.

The coyote howl was cut off sharply with a crack. It fell in a quivering, dying heap on Tank’s boots.

Adam flung himself toward the coyote leader, carving a path through the few coyotes who mustered enough power to half change and stupid enough to step between the charging alpha and his quarry.

A wolven roar of challenge bellowed behind Adam. Scent identified the stray at his back. Two more shots rang out, dropping coyotes.

Adam followed the movement at the edge of his vision. He reacted, but he wouldn’t be fast enough.

Rick changed and lunged after a coyote. The coyote turned and snarled, spooking the boy enough to make him falter.

Adam roared. Chase turned and leapt the six feet, landing on top of both the coyote and the boy. He dropped and imbedded his claws and fangs into the coyote’s back. He used his teeth to tear out the throat of his prey.

Chase stood, lifting the bleeding, dead carcass over his head. He tossed the useless hunk of meat aside and reached down to grab the boy in one claw.

The blond wolfman glanced in Adam’s direction and nodded once. He tucked the squirming protesting boy under one hairy arm. He walked back to the wolven group and dropped his load.

The coyotes’ attempted attack fell apart as fast as it started. Benjamin Gates turned tail, literally. He turned, changing and running back into the woods.

One last coyote flung himself at Adam, only to be slapped aside like an annoying gnat, only larger and more persistent. The distraction slowed him down enough for Gates to finish his escape.

The sounds of car doors slamming, and engines turning over, caught Adam’s attention. He turned in time to see the coyote young make their escape. The ridiculous overpriced speakers drummed out their retreat.

Bradley and the boys gave a halfhearted chase. They stopped in the middle of the road.

Rick gave a two handed finger salute at the retreating cars. “Yeah! An’ don’t you be coming’ back unless you want some o’ dis!”

“Yellow tailed bastards!” Mark yelled. “Run!”

After a few more colorful taunts and threats, the boys trotted back up the drive.

Adam watched the last coyote limp into the darkness. Only a couple had been killed. Those hit by Mack’s gunshots wouldn’t die. The lead shot was extremely painful, but not life threatening unless one happened to be the fairy type of supernatural.

Adam threw back his head and howled. His silvery fur practically glowed in the moonlight like a ghostly wolf man. The others watched him then joined their voices to his in victory song.

“You howl pretty good for a human,” Chase said.

Mack grinned like the devil. Adrenaline still charged through his body. He held up the handguns, one in each hand, and simultaneously flicked the safeties on with ease.

Ambidexterity was a good thing in any fight.

“Finally got to shoot someone, eh, Mack?” Adam asked. He resumed his human state.

“Just like old times. Only this time I got to use these babies.”

“Yeah, it was weeks before you’d use a nail gun again,” Adam jibed. “Too bad framing nails aren’t made of silver.”

“Yeah. I thought about that the whole time I was laid up after you shoved my guts back in.”

Mack tucked the guns in the waistband of his jeans, one in front and one behind his back. His expression turned serious.

“I think I’ll pull the silver ammo out until all this blows over.”

“Good idea.”

The heat of battle was over and the sick dread returned to his stomach. Adam reached for his cell phone, intending to try Diana home number again.