Wolf Whisperer

Chapter 2

The blast slammed them to the ground. Instinctively, she covered her face with her arm, breath temporarily knocked out of her. She’d hit her head, hard enough to see stars, and thought she might be bleeding.

What the—?

As she struggled to suck in air, she remembered the man. Mac Lamonda. Her cousin Maggie’s widower. Lifting her head—the only part of her she could move at the moment—she saw he’d landed half on top of her. He was motionless, his sooty-lashed eyes closed. She was so stunned and shocked that for a moment she thought he was dead.

But then he moaned and she realized he was only unconscious. Dead weight. Shifting her legs, she managed to heave him off them.

From outside, thunder boomed, startling her. She was hot, too hot. And surrounded by smoke, clogging the thick damp air, making it difficult to breathe. Dimly she became aware that fire roared nearby. Hot. Too close.

One of her dogs barked. Another howled from somewhere near, the sound full of terror. Her chest hurt. Her dogs. Her canine family. Hell hounds, she hoped none of them had gotten hurt. She needed to get them out—all of them. Man, dogs and herself. Now.

But how?

As she staggered to her feet, dread coiled in her gut. Her house was on fire. Her sister was missing. It all had to be tied together.

Eyeing the man again, she checked his pulse, finding it steady and strong. He’d be fine, once she got him outside. After all, he was a shifter, like her except a Half ling. One of the only things that could kill their kind was fire.

Fire. Focus. Her home was burning. She realized she must have hit her head harder than she’d realized. Everything seemed surreal. Out of kilter.

Eyes smarting from the smoke, she looked around, trying to ascertain both the current location of the fire, and, second, if her enemies still remained nearby. Whoever they were. Whatever they were.

Mac’s accomplices? What did they want? They already had her sister. Now they’d come for her. Apparently, they hadn’t thought Mac capable enough to do the job on his own.

Thick black smoke rolled in. The roaring of the flames grew louder, tempered by the steady drum of rain and the hiss as the two met. She had to get out of here, now, and take the man with her. But how? He was a large man and she had no illusions as to her strength.

One of her dogs yelped, making her aware again of the immediate danger to them, as well.

Still, she couldn’t seem to focus.

Damn.

She got up, staggered to the back door and pushed it open. The instant she did, as fresh, rain-drenched air rushed in, the fire exploded in an angry roar.

Ignoring this, she rushed to the bedroom and opened the door.

“Come.” Amazingly, when she gave the command, her voice came out strong and certain, with no hint of panic. The terrified dogs darted past—she counted, all seven of them—barreling outside toward safety and rain and freedom. Kelly staggered after them, then remembered the man. Mac.

“Wake up.” She shook him, wishing she were cold enough to simply leave him to his fate. After all, he deserved it. But if she got out of this—and she would—she needed him to tell her where he was holding her sister. “Please, Mac. Wake up.”

He didn’t move. The heat, the smoke, the fire grew stronger, and still he didn’t move. She half thought that this event might be fate catching up with him. When his wife had perished, he should have died also.

But he wouldn’t die here, because of her. Left with no choice, she hooked her hands under his armpits and began to drag. Adrenaline-fueled, she made it to the door, over the doorjamb, and outside. Despite the ache in her arms, she pulled him across the soggy grass to the edge of the trees that bordered her land. This should be far enough from the house, since she wasn’t sure if there’d be another explosion or even if the attackers—whoever they were—were still around.

What was she thinking? Of course they were still around. They’d come for her and most likely weren’t going to leave without her.

Her best gun. It was still inside, though she had a spare in the kennel. Even as she contemplated going back to retrieve it, fire blazed through the living room, destroying what was left of her little house. Her home. Even if there was a fire department in the area, they wouldn’t have been able to make it on time.

Still, with a crowd of paramedics and firemen and policemen around, the attackers would be hampered from making a move. For the first time ever, she cursed living in the wilds of Wyoming. She needed help—she glanced at the man lying on his back in the wet grass—exactly what he’d been offering. Little good it did them both now. They were lucky to have made it out alive. And, she amended, fortunate all of her dogs had escaped.

Of course, in the law of “what can go wrong, will,” the downpour slowed, becoming barely a misty drizzle instead of a downpour. Still, she knew any amount of rain would be too late to slow down the inferno. She needed to face facts—she would lose her home. Still, she was lucky.

Mac moaned, drawing her gaze. He stirred, struggled to sit, before falling back to the damp earth. Kelly walked over to him, crouching down to help him sit up. No one had come to rescue him. Maybe she’d been wrong about the attackers being his people. Though she didn’t see how that could be, perhaps another party had jumped into the thick of things.

“You’re okay,” she said softly. “I got you out.”

“What the—?” He blinked, wiping at his face with his hand. “What happened?”

As she opened her mouth to answer, another explosion sounded. Kelly winced. That had been the propane tank, on the western side of the house. The flames roared up again, spitting and hissing, undeterred by the misty rain.

Something moved over by the barn. A shape too large to be a dog. The attackers.

“We were attacked,” she said, leaning in close and talking urgently. “And they’re still here. For now, we’ll have to work together. Can you change?” She waited while he tried to process that information, aware they didn’t have a lot of time.

“Change?” He nodded, wincing at the pain as he did. “I think so. Why?”

“Because I think if we want to have a prayer of capturing them, we’re going to need to change to wolf.”

He’d have to wait to get information from her. Worse, she’d saved him. Despite himself, Mac liked that instead of wanting to flee, she wanted to go on the offensive. Even better, she was right. Every instinct screamed in agreement that they needed to change to wolf. They could run faster, attack harder and fight fiercer.

Crawling up to all fours, he nodded. “You first,” he said. “I’m still regaining my strength.”

She gave him an intent look, her long-lashed green eyes appearing to glow in the murky light. “We are together, as one,” she said, immediately blanching as she spoke. “I can’t believe I just said that. But it’s necessary. Mo Anam Cara. Do you understand what this means?”

Though a chill skittered up his spine, he didn’t—at least he didn’t think so. Yet he vaguely remembered seeing something like that in the file and, before that, hearing his wife laugh about it, calling it only superstitious nonsense. Words she was to say to protect him, though they would bind them together. Though she’d never done so and he hadn’t cared.

And now … this woman wanted him to do what? Repeat them after her? Whatever.

Damn, his head hurt. He couldn’t think. Did he have to say something similar back? If so, what? And why? He knew this, though he couldn’t remember what or where he’d heard it. “I … er …”

“You’ve got to reply,” she repeated softly, her low-pitched voice vibrating with urgency. “I’ll say it again. We are one, Mac Lamonda. Mo Anam Cara. Do you understand?”

Again he felt the same chill snake up his spine. Ridiculous. They were only meaningless words. Shaking it off, he grimaced. Though he wasn’t sure if repeating her words was what he should do, he jerked his chin in a nod. “Fine, we are one. Now what?”

As he spoke the words, she froze, her gaze searching his face as though waiting for something else. When he didn’t elaborate, she finally nodded. “It is done, then.”

“What’s done?”

Instead of replying, she pointed toward the barn and another building that looked like a large kennel. “Change and follow me, okay? I think I’ll definitely need backup.”

When he nodded, she took off. One second she was moving away from him, the next—Mac couldn’t believe it. To his shocked amazement, she changed in midair, like that fake wolf in the Twilight movie. One moment, she was human, a woman charging in a full-out run. The next, a giant wolf with a glossy coat the exact same sable color as her human hair. Her clothing, torn and shredded, fell to the ground in tatters. Eyes glittering in the smoke, she turned and eyed Mac, waiting.

Damn. He shook his head. Not only was she a beautiful woman, but an absolutely gorgeous wolf.

Quickly stripping off his soggy clothing, he tossed it on the ground, wincing as his head throbbed. Taking a deep breath, he mustered his strength and began his own shift into wolf.

His change, while quick by Pack standards, wasn’t as flashy or dramatic as hers, but the instant he was fully wolf, renewed strength and power flowed into him. Changing had been the right thing to do, attackers or no attackers. As human, his capacity to fight was limited to whatever weapon he had at hand, including his fists. As wolf, he could use his entire body; his ferocious essence would be leashed and tamed no longer.

She touched her muzzle to his, taking his scent and giving him hers. Next to her, he felt invincible, a phenomenon he’d never experienced, even when running as wolf with other Protectors. Heady.

Side by side, they moved forward. Immediately, the scents assailed him, amplified a hundred times stronger than anything his pitiful human nose could detect. In addition to the overriding smell of smoke and fire, he could scent dog and man and wet earth and leaves, along with something more, something awful—the scent of decay.

He knew this scent. It meant vampire. The walking dead. He growled, glancing at her before he leapt forward. Baring her teeth in a snarl, she followed, her four feet as swift and sure as his on the muddy ground. His wolf coat made a much better barrier against the wet, damp cold than anything designed by humans.

Mac stopped. As Kelly came up beside him, he stared at the three hooded figures now facing them. All vampires? No, he also smelled flesh and blood and life.

Metal flashed. One of them had a gun.

He glanced at Kelly. Side by side, his wolf form dwarfed hers. Despite that, he sensed she was equally powerful and dangerous. Their gazes met briefly, be fore they returned their attention to the others. Their enemies.

One of the three made the mistake of moving, using that gliding run peculiar to vampires. Instantly, Mac took him down, slashing at the undead corpse with his powerful teeth and claws. Though the action wouldn’t kill the vamp, unless he remained out when the sun rose, it would take him out of commission for now. One less vampire to deal with.

Two remaining. Were they human, vampire or shifter? Something about one … He sniffed, catching a whiff of blood and skin. Half-human, half-shifter. Half ling, like him? Even as he pondered, the vamp made a move toward him, while the other circled around Kelly.

No time to think. Mac acted instinctively, leaping forward, teeth bared, hitting him directly in the chest. He slammed into him, the other’s body oddly hollow, not whole or solid like that of a living creature, but a husk, a shell. The undead. Another vamp.

Baring his fangs, he went for the creature’s throat, planning to take him down the same way he’d taken down the other. A loud bang went off, too close. Pain and heat sent him reeling back, flinging him off the vamp, as though a giant hand had lifted and thrown him. Shot. He’d been shot.

Dammit. But nothing he hadn’t survived before. Except this time, the wound felt different.

The bullet—hard, foreign—seared through him, white-hot agony trailing in its wake. What the …? Not a normal bullet. A silver one. That meant his life was over. Suddenly he realized what she’d meant when she’d said they were one. If he believed the superstition he’d read in the case file, now he couldn’t die unless she died, too.

No way. He had no time to believe in fairy tales, preferring reality. Even his own wife, Maggie, a Tearlach herself, had discounted it as nonsense. She’d even found it amusing, refusing to ever say the ritualistic words to him.

Sure as hell, no words had been able to save Maggie. After her death, he’d wondered if saying them would have made a difference. Other than prolonging his life without her, he didn’t think so.

Steeling himself, he thought of his children. Twins, barely eighteen months old when they’d been stolen from him. They’d be two and a half now, nearly three. Would they even remember him?

And now this new wrinkle in things. This Kelly had told him they were one. The ritualistic words. And he’d agreed. If the superstitious nonsense was true and he lived, that would mean she’d saved his life. He would owe her. He’d owe a Tearlach, his sworn mortal enemy, part of the ones who’d stolen away what remained of his life.

He had to get them back. He mustn’t fail, couldn’t fail. Isobel and Caleb would be coming home.

That is, if he didn’t die. A silver bullet was always deadly. No exceptions, except Tearlachs. If the legend of her protection wasn’t true, then he would die here, without even seeing his and Maggie’s precious children ever again.

Either way, he wouldn’t go down easily. Defiant, he clenched his teeth and struggled to get to his feet, refusing to cry out or even acknowledge the pain.

A silver bullet. Hell hounds.

With every breath, the dangerous metal spread silver poison throughout his body. He knew he must get the slug out if he wanted to buy more time.

The bullet had to come out. But how? As he tried to focus, his vision faded in and out. He held on to what reality he did know for certain. Cold misty rain, hot blood in his veins and—looking up—the sheer viciousness of his assailant’s grin as he watched Mac suffer.

The second shock—that Halfling was no vampire. That shifter looked vaguely familiar. A Protector? Surely not. Because if he was, that would mean Mac had been played for a fool all along.

Mac’s vision blurred and he sank to his knees.

Having taken Mac out, his attacker turned away, lifting his gun and sighting the weapon on Kelly. Unable to do more than watch, Mac grunted with pain and turned his attention toward his own wound.

The bullet must come out.

Grimacing, he bit at his own leg, teeth connecting with fur and muscle and sinew. Bracing himself, he counted to three and then yanked, biting back a yelp, snarling instead.

Bullet must come out. He repeated this like a mantra.

Ruthless, he tore at his own flesh, searching for the slug. Finally, his teeth connected with metal and he clamped down on it, gagging at the acrid, bitter taste of silver, mortal enemy of his kind.

As it exited his body, bringing with it muscle and sinew and skin, blood welled up in the wound, pouring from the gaping hole in his matted leg and dripping from his teeth, the coppery bullet metallic and poison in his mouth.

Evil. He spat it on the ground, then eyed his wound. Must stop the bleeding. After all, blood was irresistible to a vampire. Even, he thought dazedly, shifter’s blood.

A hiss came from above. He looked up, knowing what he’d find. The vampire had gotten back up and faced him, no doubt attracted by the scent of fresh blood. His glowing red gaze appeared transfixed by Mac’s wound.

Of course. As he struggled to hang on to fading consciousness, he wondered what would happen if the vampire drank his blood as he lay dying. Would he then be reborn, one of the undead, a new form of being, a lupine vampire?

Right. He groaned. As if there could ever be such a thing. Though Tearlachs existed, so why not?

As he peered up through a haze of pain, the vampire leaned closer, white fangs gleaming. It was going to bite him. Seriously? He bared his teeth in self-defense.

Kelly appeared, growling low in her throat. She forced the vamp to back away from Mac, keeping the monster from defiling a dying wolf and drinking and draining his blood.

Mac closed his eyes, letting out breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Hounds help him, he was glad.

The shifter appeared and lifted his gun. Kelly snarled, and leapt forward at the exact same moment that the bloodsucker did.

Bang. Once. Bang. Twice. And then a third time. Kelly kept going, apparently undeterred despite having taken three bullets. Three silver bullets. Or had they gone into the vampire?

Damn. Despite his pain, Mac couldn’t help but be impressed.

Dropping the gun, the shifter spun on his heel and took off in a speed-blurring run. The vampire, too, had vanished, nowhere in sight.

Blood dripping from her wounds, the wolf—Kelly—did not pursue.

Mac must have blacked out then. The next thing he knew, Kelly—in human form—cradled him in her arms. She gently shook him awake.

“Change back,” she urged softly. “I need you to be come human. Let me take a look at your wound.”

Struggling to focus on her incredibly beautiful face, he took a deep breath and willed himself to shift back to human form.

He was so weak that shifting to man took longer than usual. But finally, it was done and he lay, naked and bleeding, in her arms.

Her blood-soaked arms.

“You were shot, too,” he croaked. “Three times. Right?”

“No.” She sounded supremely unconcerned. “Only once, and I already took care of that. Right now, we’ve got to stop your bleeding.”

Already took care of … Damn it. The benefit of being a Tearlach. Invulnerable to anything and everything, except fire. Despite horrific injuries, Maggie would have healed, would have lived if the car hadn’t exploded. He let himself drift with the pain.

“Where are your clothes?” she asked.

Dazedly, he looked about for something to use as a makeshift bandage. “Over there.” He pointed.

She grabbed his sodden hoodie off the ground. “This will work. Hold still.”

Wrapping the hoodie around Mac’s leg, Kelly tied off a makeshift tourniquet.

“I hope this will stem the bloodshed. If you were full-blooded, a nonsilver-bullet gunshot wound would heal almost instantly. But because you’re a Halfling …” She shrugged. “It’ll take a bit longer.”

He couldn’t take offense, because she was right. Half lings healed only slightly faster than humans. Not that it mattered. None of that mattered now. No shifter, full or half, lived after being shot by a silver bullet.

The Tearlach crap be damned. They were both going to die. Strangely enough, this knowledge brought him peace. Truth be told, he had nothing, really, to live for. If he couldn’t have his children, he was ready to go.

Unless, the niggling thought wouldn’t go away, the legends were actually right about Tearlachs and their magical powers. If they were, he wouldn’t die. And neither would she.

Mind-boggling and probably the product of a dying mind. Wishful thinking. Yet once it had occurred to him, the thought would not go away.

Being around Kelly could save him. Might save him … No. Would save him. The true significance of the words she’d spoken. We are one—Mo Anam Cara. Spoken by a Tearlach, that meant he was under her protection. Which meant, in theory, like her he couldn’t die unless by fire.

Therein lay the appeal of her kind to the Protectors. And to their mutual enemies.

So there was a distinct possibility he might live. But first, as a fresh wave of agonizing pain swept over him, he realized he’d have to go to hell and back.