Katie drew the sweatshirt tighter around her, trying to clear her mind. Two guns sat at her waist, three knives were strapped to her legs. Cold from the marshboat seat slid from her thighs to her spine. They traveled a narrow path, sweeps of branches high above hiding the sky. The day began turning muggy, but hidden in the bayou, darkness and cold still ruled. A flash of orange came through the trees from Lance running along the bank in tiger form.
Baye sat in front of her, Jordan behind her, both keeping an eye on the marshy land while they rowed the small craft.
Her only thought was of the lioness inside. She’d felt the lioness awaken. How had it happened? Could the virus be running its course? Was she going to be able to shift again? Reality and hope fought for dominance inside her. When she’d faced Jordan in the alley, for the first time in a decade, she’d sensed the animal within her pores.
Katie dug down deep to find her again, but nothing. No feeling of the animal within. Regret and frustration had her clenching her hands.
Lance gave a sharp yowl from the bank. Birds protested, wings flapping as they flew for safety.
Katie yanked her attention back to werewolves. She’d have to worry about the lioness later. Right now she needed to hunt.
Cattail and bull tongue plants lined the banks, along with the timber stands. A muskrat raccoon swam by lazily, seemingly unafraid of the abundant alligators hiding below. Brave little animal.
The soft splash of the oars was broken only by an occasional cry of a bald eagle high above. Dark and murky, the swamp hid treasures and wildlife. A lonely breeze swept her hair, chilling her skin and bringing the scent of decaying moss.
The shifter in front of her was on guard, the shifter behind her pissed off. Jordan must be irritated he had to stop and fight werewolves instead of heading straight to Oregon.
She was irritated, too. Baye and Lance were good friends, the best, and Jordan hadn’t even given her a chance to say good-bye. If Baye hadn’t found the lair, she’d be on her way to Realm Headquarters right now.
Her spine tingled. An ache centered at the base of her skull. Darkness swam over her vision, and she tightened her hold on the side of the boat. The energy signature sent out by the beasts caused pain as well as disorientation. At least for her. “We’re getting closer. They’re to the right.”
She swallowed, the taste of dead animal permeating her saliva. Yeah, they were close.
Baye steered to the bank, jumping out to drag the boat up the mossy embankment. He lifted his head, scanning the area. “I get a general sense of maybe three werewolves but can’t get a direction.”
Jordan leapt out, reaching a hand to help her. She paused. For ten years she’d been treated as one of the guys by her squad. Well, kind of—they still protected her during battle. The gentlemanly gesture from Jordan, so natural, set flutters alive in her abdomen. “Oh, for goodness sakes,” she muttered, taking his hand and sliding out of the boat. She didn’t have time for this crap.
Releasing him, she stomped up the bank toward the trees. The pounding in her skull increased in power. Squinting, she pointed at a narrow trail. “That way.”
Jordan nodded, taking the lead. “Stay between me and Baye.”
“This isn’t my first hunt, Jordan.” What the hell did the lion leader think she’d been doing the last ten years? Charging into danger like a dumbass blonde in a slasher movie? She fully understood her limitations from the virus. In strength and speed, she was nowhere near where she used to be as a lioness. For now.
Baye cocked a gun, the only sound behind her as they tromped through the wilderness. “It’s still morning ... they may be asleep.”
Lance appeared at her side, his massive head reaching her rib cage. He head-butted her.
“Knock it off.” She tried to bite back a smile. The shifter would kill to have his ears scratched, even in the middle of werewolf territory. He huffed and then took up a flanking position, large paws silent on the rocky ground.
They trudged through maybe five acres, scrambling over rocks and through brush. Katie smacked a mosquito off her arm. The air began to turn muggy. Thunder rolled high above, promising a break in air pressure.
Jordan paused in front of her, sliding brush out of the way. “I can feel them now.”
Katie nodded, sidling up beside him. Even with her mental shields in place, a dull, dark ache pounded in her head.
She studied the lodging. A dilapidated porch covered the front, hanging drunkenly off one side. Two windows had been roughly boarded up. The roof sagged in the middle. “Weird. They usually try to go underground.” A chill having nothing to do with the weather shook her arms. If any humans had lived there, they hadn’t survived the werewolves moving in.
A punch of pure evil hit her between the eyes.
She stepped back, hand going to her throat. “I sense Brent.” Nothing on earth could make her think of him as “Snuggles” ever again. “Muted, but a sense.” Maybe the beast hid in a basement. Though, in a swamp? This wasn’t a place to have a basement.
Lance snarled, the striped fur along his spine standing up.
“Katie, stand back. Lance, cover her ... don’t come unless I yell.” Jordan took a green gun from his waist. “Baye, you go through the rear door.”
“On it.” Baye jogged around the perimeter of the small clearing, disappearing silently.
“I’ll try to stay in human form—I’d like to just shoot them and end this quickly.” Jordan gave her one last hard look. “Be careful.” Then he turned, charging for the front door. If the werewolves were awake, they’d smell the shifters, so stealth was unnecessary.
Katie settled her back against a tree, taking aim at the entrance. Lance stood in front of her, teeth bared, concentration absolute on the shack.
Jordan hit the entrance, splintering the rotten wood in two, crashing inside. A furious roar bellowed forth. Snarls, growls, and loud thunks echoed back. Something impacted the nearest wall. Boards on the front of the house broke outward. Splinters of wood flew across the sad porch.
Fear slammed into Katie. What if more than three werewolves lived in the shack? She maneuvered closer and to the side for a better angle.
Jordan flew out, spinning head over heels, followed by an enraged beast. A seven-foot, huge-assed, hairy werewolf the color of a gray sheepdog. Deadly fangs flashed low, dripping with saliva. The monster advanced on Jordan, eyes a swirling yellow, three-inch claws swiping furiously. The fur stood up along its back.
Hitting the ground, Jordan rolled, landing on his feet with his gun firing.
Katie joined in, aiming for the beast’s chest. She used both hands to aim the gun. The recoil jerked her arms each time. An ache set up in her shoulder blades, yet she shoved the pain away and kept firing.
The animal fell to one knee, roaring in fury.
Lance circled to the side, teeth bared, claws out.
Jordan settled his stance, shooting the monster between the eyes. The werewolf fell back, an odd moaning escaping. No expression covered Jordan’s face, but his eyes flared with emotion. He yanked a knife from his boot. Stalking forward, he straddled the werewolf, plunging the blade into its neck.
Blood sprayed across Jordan’s throat and chest. Grunting, fighting, and using both hands, he slashed hard to the right. Then the left. Finally, the monster’s head rolled away from the body.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan whispered.
Lance eyed Jordan, nodded at Katie, and ran full bore into the house to help Baye, clearing the porch in a graceful leap.
Standing up, Jordan turned toward her. Savagery slashed into very lines of his chiseled face. Sorrow cut deeper in his eyes. “I should never have allowed you to be part of this.”
Understanding and sympathy slid through her. It wasn’t the killing. The pain lay in the fact that the shifter had probably once been a good man. “This is on the Kurjans, Jordan. Not us.”