Читать книгу A Pack of Two - Jacky Russell - Страница 5

Chapter 1

Breanna

Spend five minutes in the woods and it’s easy to understand why rabbits are on the bottom of the food chain. Reconnaissance duty meant lots of down time and with no activity on my assigned stretch of road, the rabbit had become my target. It really should have noticed my owl form perched in the tree less than fifteen feet above its fuzzy brown head. That grass must have been good.

The distant roar of a motorcycle meant Flopsy wouldn’t be dinner. Damn.

The headlight of a Ducati sliced through the fog, the rider hunching forward to guide it along the winding mountain road. As he approached a turn, the rider reined in his bike, man and machine in perfect harmony. The moon glinted off his black helmet. The black-and-red leather riding suit contoured to his body. The bike roared as he released it into the curve.

I’d returned to my musings of Flopsy with a dollop of mustard when more headlights appeared. Through the fog I could barely make out a sedan rushing forward, tagging the back wheel of the Ducati.

How the hell had I missed that car?

The rider fought to remain upright but the bike skidded on its side before careening off the road. The rider disappeared over the edge, his bike crying out for pavement.

So much for a quiet night of recon.

A fireball blinded me as the Ducati exploded into a fountain of flames, the remnants of the motorcycle consumed.

Precious seconds ticked away while the flames died and my eyesight returned. The rabbit dashed into the leaves. The sounds of raspy breathing drifted from the brush, the gurgle of blood-drenched lungs struggling for air. The rider, thrown clear of the explosion, lay deathly still within the thick undergrowth.

The clipped voice of my commanding officer, Major Simon DuChard, resounded clearly in my head. Do not engage anyone or anything. Recon only. Call if you have something to report but do not, I repeat, do not engage.

Partially shielded by the bushes, the rider’s battered body looked human, but he wasn’t. A human would have been dead.

The slam of a car door broke the stillness, followed by a flashlight beam sweeping across the burning remains of the Ducati. A muted groan escaped the rider’s lips and the beam turned urgently in his direction. Gravel rolled freely as a cloaked figure slid down the incline and landed with inhuman grace in the clearing. The air in the clearing vibrated with a chaotic evil. Suffering and death surrounded the cloaked figures.

Had to love being able to read auras. Hooray. One for the witch.

“He’s breathing,” the cloaked freak yelled to his counterpart at the top of the hill.

A cloak? Really? Who the hell wore a cloak? That was wrong on so many levels.

A second cloaked figure leaped gracefully into the clearing and sneered. “Good. The others would be disappointed if he was already dead.”

The rider grunted when jerked onto his back. He couldn’t fight them even if he tried. He was badly injured and at their mercy.

Recon only, Welker. Do not to engage.

Sitting by, pruning my feathers, was not an option. I needed to protect him. He was helpless. Vulnerable.

And I was under orders, but oh well.

I needed a plan. If I flew out of hearing range and called for backup, the cloak brothers would be gone. If I flew along behind the car, I’d lose them. There was only one choice. My beak chattered as my plan began to take shape. I would engage.

Plan? This wasn’t a plan. This was crazy female witch insanity.

Tendrils of black magic surged around my body as I screeched and dove. My chest constricted, the magic choking air from my lungs. My owl form was not nearly as resistant to the power of dark witchcraft as my human form, but for now dive-bombing was the best plan of attack I had.

Dive-bombing? Really, Welker? That was the best a seventeen-year veteran of the US Army Bravo Company could come up with? Bird brain.

The first figure slapped at me like I was a giant mosquito. The second chanted in a language I didn’t understand. Definitely not an invitation to a Tupperware party. The magnitude of the situation hit me as I circled for a second approach. These were Malandanti, powerful Italian witches known for ritual killings. Great, these guys were so old they were around when Hell formed. Unless I stopped them, the groaning rider would be their next sacrifice to who only knew what. I would be dinner.

Simon was gonna kill me.

Magic crackled in the air as I landed in a pile of leaves. The two Malandanti chanted in unison. I summoned my own magic and shifted seamlessly to human form.

The black magic surrounded me like a smothering blanket of evil. Without opening my eyes, I repeated the protection spell my grandmother had taught me. As the last words left my mouth, the cool sensation of my own protective magic enveloped me.

Now whatcha gonna do, Welker? Exchange recipes? Brilliant plan, Sergeant.

The Malandanti stood between me and the rider. If I could breach their magic, I could take them down. The Malandanti had powerful magic, but their hand-to-hand skills sucked. Mine, however, did not.

“Have some of this, boys.”

Wave after wave of spells slammed into me as I dashed kamikaze-style through the moonlit clearing. My protective cast was holding, though it felt more and more tattered as the Malandanti increased their fervor. With one great lunge, I knocked both witches to the ground, their hoods falling away from their faces. Their inky black eyes glistened as I glided over their heads. My loud whoops made me sound a bit on the crazy side. That was fine. Whatever worked.

Landing on my feet, I peeked at the downed rider. Life slowly drained from his body with each labored breath. I should have helped him, but healing spells were not my forte. Hell, I’d probably turn him into a frog. The cloak-wearing scary-faced uglies in front of me climbed to their feet.

“You guys have serious fashion issues.”

The Malandanti hissed as I took a step toward them. Together, with enough effort, they could overwhelm my arcane protective spells, but maybe they didn’t know that. Earth witches weren’t common and hopefully these guys wouldn’t know the limits of my magic.

Great. I had hope. They had skills.

I traced a sign of protection in the air and stepped around it. The blue-gray glow increased until it bathed the dying rider. The Malandanti snarled, their black teeth obviously never having seen fluoride. Their pasty faces had a greenish, rather ghoulish glow. Damn, they were some kind of ugly.

“Guess you guys don’t floss, huh?”

“Strega,” the taller Malandanti snarled, his eyes wide as he stared at my protection symbol.

Hmm, strega? That was much cooler than witch. I liked it. Breanna Welker, Earth Strega.

For now, the Malandanti magic fell from me as if I were Teflon-coated, but one more step away from the glow and my Teflon would be gone.

This was not looking good for the home team. Oh well, game on.

“Leave or die,” I demanded, smiling in satisfaction at using one of my favorite movie lines. With a flick of my finger, a blue-green fireball landed at the feet of the closest Malandanti. He yelped and jumped sideways to avoid the bouncing flame.

“Simon is so gonna kill me.”

I ducked as the remaining Malandanti hurled a bolt of lightning in my direction. The bolt whizzed past my head and embedded in a tree. The ground shook with the force of the impact, the tree shuddering before thudding to the ground. Guess my fireballs weren’t all that intimidating.

“Damn,” I grumbled, diving toward the rider. The protection sign faded. I needed a diversion.

“Hey, look over there,” I yelled, pointing to the top of the cliff. The idiots fell for it.

I straddled the rider and called upon the ancient magic of my people. My mind reached out to the forest, beckoning an ally from its depths. The connection clicked into the place as the protection symbol flickered its last moments of life. The Malandanti, no longer staring into the wild blue yonder, advanced.

“We do not wish to kill you, strega. We only seek the werewolf.”

“Uh huh, whatever.”

The Malandanti danced as my curtain of flames touched off tiny fires within the hems of their robes. Their predicament gave me just enough time to cast another protection spell over the rider. The acidic smell of black magic tormented my nose and brought tears to my eyes. My magic tank was almost empty. The ugliest Malandanti sputtered a mean-sounding curse and the ground began to shake.

“Yeah, not happening, Dumb and Dumber. You can’t sic the earth on an earth witch.”

My final vapors of magic quieted Mother Earth. The Malandanti screamed and threw another energy bolt. I tucked and rolled but not quickly enough. The voltage sizzled along my nerves, searing my insides to a charcoal-y well-done.

The second Malandanti attacked my protection spell, shredding the rider’s only defense. I tried to cast another spell, but with no magic and burned-out circuits, all I managed were a few tough-sounding words that held no power.

Muttering a string of profanity my fellow soldiers would have been proud of, I clambered to my feet. The Malandanti ignored me. That was insulting.

“Yoohoo!”

Both witches glared at me.

“I wasn’t done yet. Why don’t you guys go make some brew or something? Or, I’ve got it–go fly a kite in a thunderstorm. A visit to the spa could really help with those wrinkles.”

Their lips moved but I couldn’t hear the words. They were casting and I was receiving, or something like that. Earth witches have the ability to absorb black magic and if I didn’t deflect their magic, my internal organs would cease to exist. No magic in my tanks meant no deflector shields. This was gonna hurt.

The slashing of my guts increased as the Malandanti chanted louder. I pulled a knife from my boot and side-armed it, but the freak ducked before the blade reached its target. My liver bubbled and my spleen baked as the magic swirled inside me. I was almost witch fricassee when a bellowing bear burst from the forest. The Malandanti screamed and ran from the clearing with the bear in hot pursuit.

“Damn well took you long enough.”

Bears didn’t get in a hurry to answer a summons from an earth witch. He was probably on his nightly constitutional when I called and a wild bear in the woods would not rush.

The bear roared as tires squealed from the cliff above. The Malandanti were so busy trying to run away they hadn’t bothered to cast any spells. That was good. If the bear had been hurt, Mother Earth would not have been pleased with me and I didn’t want the big bad Mama angry.

I pulled my radio from my pocket and made a note to thank the manufacturer since the thing worked even through my shape-changes and the Malandanti fireworks.

“Ordy, this is Welker. You out there?”

The radio crackled to life. “Gotcha loud and clear, Bre. What’s up?” Theodore Ordison answered in his slow Louisiana drawl.

“I need the Humvee over here. Got a wolf down, civilian.”

A long pause followed before the Cajun answered. “Uh, we weren’t supposed to engage anybody. What did you do to him?”

“It wasn’t me, Ordy. The Malandanti attacked him. Now get your ass over here with the Humvee ASAP.”

“Be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it ten. This guy’s hurt pretty bad.”

My body trembled and my legs felt encased in concrete as I crawled toward the rider. A tiny carpenter was building cabinets in my head. Blood dripped from my nose. Damn black magic. This was supposed to be an easy recon mission, just watch the road and report anything odd. Nobody had said anything about Malandanti sightings and why was a lone werewolf out here this time of night, anyway? Werewolves were pack creatures. Hell, they didn’t even go to the bathroom by themselves.

The rider wasn’t moving but there was air whooshing into his lungs. He was alive, barely. He lay on his back, his face hidden by the dark mask of his helmet. I knelt beside him and shook off my coat. He groaned softly, his boots scratching against the dirt as I unzipped his black leather jacket and ran my hands along the hardened muscles of his chest. Gritting my teeth and trying to be gentle, I pulled the helmet from his head.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered when he moaned. Waves of chestnut curls spilled around the most handsome face I’d ever seen. Sinfully dark lashes rested against perfect olive skin. With high, chiseled cheekbones and deliciously full lips, he was traffic-stopping gorgeous. An unruly lock of hair fell across his forehead, giving him a heart-stealing mischievous look even as he lay unconscious and bleeding. The smell of musk and leather was intoxicating. A sense of coiled power and pure masculine sexuality surrounded him.

Yum.

I scooted closer, actually checking his injuries this time. He was losing blood rapidly through his leg, the jagged femur jutting through a rip in his pants. He had at least four broken ribs beneath a set of washboard abs that made me seriously want to do laundry, a nasty bump on the back of his head and a constant stream of blood flowing from his mouth. The injuries would have been enough to kill most beings but werewolves were tough.

After pulling my radio from my fatigues, I couldn’t resist running my fingers through the rebellious chestnut hair on his forehead.

“You’re going to be all right, Wolf. Just hang on, okay?” The bristly stubble along his jaw tickled my fingers.

My radio beeped. Simon answered immediately.

“Breanna, where have you been? You were supposed to report in a half hour ago.”

“I found a couple of Malandanti.”

“Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine but I’m with a werewolf who’s been hurt. He needs medical attention.”

“Which one? Aaron?”

“No, not a Bravo wolf. I think he’s one of the Italian Pack wolves.” The line buzzed long enough I thought the call had dropped. “Hey, Simon?”

“Why are you with an injured werewolf? “ He sounded calm but he was P.O.’d in a very big way. Simon’s accent was always much stronger when he was angry and right now my vampire commanding officer sounded very Frenchy.

“He was attacked by Malandanti. They wrecked his bike and he’s here beside the road with a bunch of broken bones and a hell of a lot of blood on the ground. Can you send a Medivac Transport for him?”

Simon ignored my request. “Are you sure these were Malandanti?”

“Got the sizzle marks to prove it. Now will you please send help? I tied a tourniquet on his leg but he’s losing a lot of blood.”

“He’s a civilian and since we are under orders not to engage, I can’t very well send an American military aircraft to land in the middle of the road,” Simon bellowed. He was ready to strangle me for disobeying orders.

After a French cursing tirade, Simon agreed to call for a chopper. “You need to get away from that wolf now. Injured wolves are dangerous and this one doesn’t know you.”

Simon was right but I couldn’t walk away from this wolf. His head was now on my lap and his fingers firmly clamped around my hand. He hadn’t spoken, but he knew he wasn’t alone. He might believe I was someone else, his mate or girlfriend, someone to comfort him as he lay dying. If that was what he needed from me, so be it.

“Does that wolf have any idea what you did to get rid of the Malandanti?”

“No, he hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“Good, at least we won’t have to try to explain that. By the way, how did you get rid of them?”

“I called a friend.” The back of my fingers brushed along the wolf’s bruised cheek. He moaned softly and licked his lips.

“Breanna, you need to let the Bravo wolves deal with this. The Italian Alpha is one of the most powerful werewolves in Europe and could easily believe you attacked this pack wolf.”

“I’ll be careful.” I signed off and looked down at the injured werewolf. His grip, even in his weakened condition, was substantial enough my bones ached. I pulled a cloth from my fatigue pocket and dabbed at the blood trickling from his mouth.

His eyes fluttered opened, pure silver boring into me. The werewolf, his wolf fully ascended, watched me warily. He was human in body but wolf in mind and that made him very unpredictable. He was injured, but had enough strength that he could easily snap my neck if he felt I was a threat.

“I mean no harm,” I said.

The silver eyes never wavered from mine. In wolf language, direct eye contact was a display of dominance, a solicitation for a fight, a demand for submission, but oddly there was no threat in his stare. Somewhere deep inside me, something snapped to attention, as if my soul had awakened for the first time.

He squeezed my hand harder. My bones threatened to crunch. He held his breath and clenched his teeth until I placed a hand on his forehead.

“Shhh, easy, Wolf. Shhh, easy.” I stroked his forehead while his breathing resumed and his jaw relaxed. “Easy, Wolf, I’m here to help.”

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, his grip loosening a little. My heart beat wildly as his thumb rubbed tiny circles on the back of my hand. My body reacted to his touch, yearning for more, wanting to caress his lips, his chest, his…

“Thank you.” He sounded like he’d gargled with glass.

“You’re welcome.”

He opened his eyes, now tinged with brown, and smiled weakly. “What happened?”

“You ran off the road. Your bike’s over there. Pretty much totaled, I’d guess.”

He turned his head and groaned at the sight of the charred Ducati. I chuckled and the brown eyes captured me.

“Why are you helping me?”

I wiped the blood from his face and shrugged. “You had a cool bike.”

He reached for my face, gloved fingers softly caressing my cheek. I was lost in his eyes, helpless as a mouse with no hope of escape as his fingers travelled along my jaw toward my chin.

“What’s your name?”

“Breanna.”

“Breanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“You must have hit your head when you crashed.”

He clenched his eyes and gritted his teeth, a semblance of a laugh rumbling in his chest. “Ow,” he choked, coughing up fresh blood.

“Sorry,” I said, wiping his pain-twisted face.

He smiled but it didn’t touch his eyes. I wished I could do more to help him. My grandmother would have known how, but his injuries were beyond my magical abilities.

“Some other wolves are on their way to help get you to the hospital.”

I expected him to look relieved but he didn’t. He hacked up more blood. I eased him farther onto my lap and held his head until the coughing fit passed.

“You need to save your strength, Wolf.” I wiped the blood from his face, my fingers lingering along his jawline.

Silver tinged his espresso eyes. “Will they hurt you for being here?”

What an odd question.

I brushed back his hair. “No, they are soldiers in my unit. They won’t harm anybody unless I tell them to.”

He smiled and my heart thundered loudly enough every living thing in the forest could have heard it. He had the most beautiful, perfect white teeth. “I’d kill them if they hurt you.”

“Brave words for a wolf in your condition,” I muttered before finding myself lost in a sea of brown.

“I’m Lucas.” His voice was weak, his eyes dulled with pain, but there was an aura about him, unrelenting dominance. “Lucas Benelli.”

The man was too hot for words. It really had to be illegal to look that good in a leather riding suit.

Holy cannoli.

Before I could formally introduce myself, the bright glow of headlights shone over the cliff above us. Tires squealed to a stop, followed by voices yelling for me.

“Sounds like the cavalry is here,” I said as the voices grew closer. “Down here, fellas.”

Rocks rolled and I shielded Lucas’s head with my body as Ordy and two other werewolves plunked into the clearing. They were all empty-handed.

“Did you forget something?” I asked as they got closer.

The soldiers looked at one another like I had asked for the top speed of a charging wildebeest.

“You guys plan to kiss him and make him better? Where the hell are the backboard and the first aid kit?”

Lucas tightened his grip on my hand. Alpha-like dominance filled the air.

“It’s okay, Lucas. They’re friends.” I laid my hand against his cheek and urged him to look at me. “I give my word they mean no harm.”

Desperation flickered to fear before the silver took over his eyes. His wolf surged, trying to force a change, but a change in this condition would kill him.

“Lucas, can you hear me?” I motioned for the approaching wolves to stop. They did.

Nothing but wolf looked back at me.

“Wolf, listen to me.” The silver eyes watched apprehensively. “If you force the change, you will both die. Let me help and you will both live. I swear no one will harm you.”

His gaze flickered from me to the waiting werewolves. “Stay.”

I nodded and the silver slowly receded. He sighed heavily.

“Thank you.”

I motioned for my wolves to come forward but their eyeballs were bugging out of their heads. The impatient snap of my fingers made them resume their approach. Lucas death-gripped my hand.

“They’re going to help lift you and slide the board under your back, all right?”

His entire body tensed but he nodded. As the soldiers neared, Lucas fought with his wolf for control. I laid my free hand against his cheek and his wolf settled. “Easy, Wolf. You have to trust me.”

Lucas blinked and for a fleeting second he reminded me of a scared little boy. Yeah, a scared little boy who could rip my throat out if his wolf surged at the wrong time. Of course Ordy and the others would immediately kill him, but that would be a waste.

We got him loaded onto the chopper and I sent the boys back to the Humvee. They argued, saying Simon told them to ride with the injured werewolf. I wasn’t about to leave him–not that Ordy or the others would hurt him, but Lucas wasn’t comfortable around them.

“Breanna?”

I looked down into his handsome face. “Uh huh?”

“Are you an angel? I mean, I must be dead or something, right?”

Being a witch and a woman in the military, I'd been called many things, but never an angel. “I’m not an angel and you most certainly are not dead.”

His face softened. “I think you’re an angel.”

He thinks I’m an angel? Damn, how hard did he hit his head?

The chopper ride took fifteen minutes. We needed to go to a hospital equipped to tend injured werewolves. The human pilots looked a little surprised when I ordered them to fly to a hospital farther away than their normal flight pattern, but one look at the stripes on my shoulder garnered me a curt “yes, ma’am” and the chopper took flight. They had no clue their injured cargo was a supernatural.

The hospital helipad was on the roof and a team of medical staff, all Elvin folk, were milling about. Naturally gifted healers of the supernatural world, the peaceful blue-eyed, blond-haired elves were always the ones who took care of injured werewolves, vampires, or whatever other non-human came through the doors.

The humans thought supernaturals were of a religious faith that did not believe in any type of blood testing or transfusions. It wouldn’t be cool for some third-year medical student to come across the undead blood of a vampire or the ramped-up metabolism of a werewolf. It took keeping the right people in the right places. The Divine Council, the ruling body of the supernatural world, did a great job of managing all the details.

We hadn’t talked during the ride to the hospital, our hands locked together. His wolf was quiet. His breathing was soft. His heart had calmed. As the elves circled the chopper, I softly kissed his forehead.

“We’re here, handsome.”

The lost little boy look was back. “Can’t you come in?”

It felt good to be wanted, even if it was by a werewolf delirious with pain. “Probably not a good idea,” I answered, hoping my voice didn’t crack.

“Okay,” he said, “but can I see you again?”

Brown eyes swallowed me.

“Take care of yourself, Lucas Benelli.” I brushed another kiss on his forehead as the nurses wheeled him away. His fingers slipped from mine as he disappeared behind the enormous double glass doors of the hospital. It took every ounce of strength I had to climb into the waiting chopper.

He’s gone. Suck it up, buttercup, and move on.

“To the base, ma’am?”

“Yeah.”

He thought I was an angel?

Every instinct in my body said I should go in the hospital and make sure Lucas was all right. He was injured. He was vulnerable.

He needs me.

I banged my fist against the chopper door. An unknown witch among supernaturals would cause nothing but trouble and Simon would wring my neck if I got all of Italy in a tizzy.

I was under orders not to engage. Going in the hospital would be further engagement. Damn.

As the chopper lifted, I slipped on my headset. Simon would be furious and I needed to get a hold on myself before we landed at Camp Ederle. He would blast me for disobeying orders and doing something plain damn stupid like riding to the hospital without any backup. He would be right, of course. Simon was always right.

I settled into the back seat and rubbed my hand. Lucas had held on so tightly he’d left bruises. Holding werewolves’ hands as they were transported for medical treatment wasn’t new, but with Lucas, there was something that ate at me. The sadness and fear in his eyes made my chest hurt.

I should not have left him.

An invisible rope tugged me to go through the double doors of the hospital. I could wait with him for a little while. Hold his hand while the doctors checked his injuries.

Too bad I didn’t have an invisibility spell. Wonder if they’d have noticed an owl?

With muscles bunched, I was ready to leap from the chopper when a wave of power swept across the helipad. An Alpha werewolf, probably the Italian Alpha, was in the building. Anger–no, make that rage–coursed through the air. One very pissed-off Alpha was on the premises and a lone witch was not what he needed to see.