"Today we plan and practice," the uber-alpha said the next morning. "Tomorrow we rest. Then we hit the
ground running thirty-six hours from now at sunset. So let's make those minutes count."
Every gaze in the room turned to meet mine, waiting to see how I'd react to the fact that Hunter had effectively wrested control of our current operation out of my grip. I didn't see what the big deal was, though. It wasn't as if I'd ever been the kind of alpha who refused to share leadership opportunities. Case in point—the fact that Ginger and Glen had been heading up our fur-form hunts for as long as we'd been together.
Still, I did have some agenda items to add to Hunter's simplistic analysis of the situation. "Sounds good," I agreed, then began tossing out orders. "Ginger, I want you to see if you can find any evidence of the SSS online. They've got to be communicating somehow, and the internet is the most effective way to do that. Secret Facebook groups, members- only forums, email lists. See what you can dig up."
"No need to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs," the trouble twin muttered. Her eyes were still flashing from her earlier annoyance, but she obediently pulled out her smartphone and got to work. As our most internet savvy pack member, I trusted that if any evidence was out there on the World Wide Web, Ginger would find it.
"Glen, we need some sort of tracking device. Small, easy to hide against the skin, and with a long range."
"On it," my second agreed, but his eyes were troubled. I could tell he'd already made the mental leap and knew where I was going with this request. But all he said was, "Okay if I take the car?"
"All yours," I said, tossing over the keys from the top of the bureau beside me.
Then I turned my gaze to the Tribunal enforcer, whose eyes were narrowing with suspicion. "Hunter, do you think you can scout out the meeting grounds, see if you catch any sign of shifters without leaving your own scent trail behind? It would be nice to know if we have the right location now rather than showing up at an empty field tomorrow evening."
I'd hoped the challenge would be enough to derail him from putting two and two together and figuring out what I intended to do the next day. Because even though Hunter hadn't repeated his four-letter assessment of our relationship—or our kiss—I had a feeling the uber-alpha wouldn't be thrilled by my plan B.
No such luck. "Quill can do that," Hunter growled, his stare boring into my face so strongly that I found myself incapable of looking away.
My wolf must have been more alert than usual after nine hours prone on an actual mattress, because I felt the uber- alpha's emotions as if they were a physical substance creeping up my legs and invading my skin. Everything around me became muffled, a ringing started up within my ears, and I couldn't so much as swallow down the lump that had lodged within my throat.
To my surprise, support emerged from an unlikely location. My wolf—weak, lily-livered coward that she usually was—came to my aid. She rose up through our shared body, pushing my human consciousness out of the way and peering out from behind our eyes. Then, with a show of force that had nothing to back it up, she snarled and snapped at the uber-alpha. And to my surprise, the fog stifling my senses abruptly receded.
Hunter glanced aside for an instant as if chagrined by his own over-reaction. But when he turned back in my direction, he wasn't ready to let the issue drop. "If you plan to use yourself as bait," he said, the words an order, "then it's high time you learned how to handle that hunk of metal you carry around. Turn it into a real weapon rather than a walking stick. Let's go."
"I'M NOT GOING TO SWING at you," I said to the werewolf who currently glared at me from the other side of the clearing.
An hour ago, Hunter had dragged me away from my pack and into the air-conditioned comfort of his SUV. He'd deftly wound up curvy, gravel roads into the national forest until we reached a secluded pull-off spot not much different from the one where we'd begun our ill-fated hunt the day before. Then, wordlessly, he led me to the location where I now stood contemplating the idea of hacking into someone who I was tentatively beginning to call a friend, cutting him apart with a katana so sharp it could slice smooth lines through thick paper. The training exercise seemed like a very bad idea.
"I've been watching you," the uber-alpha said quietly, circling around me with such soft footfalls that I barely believed he still retained his human form. The wolf that was always rampant behind his eyes now seemed to be speaking through the human's lips, and I shivered at the force of his words.
"You use that sword so you don't have to call upon your animal half," my companion continued. "That I understand— when she sleeps, you're protected from alpha compulsions. It's smart to work to your strengths."
I wouldn't precisely call my half-assed wolf a strength, but Hunter appeared to be trying to give me a compliment. So I nodded cagily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It didn't take long for him to get to the point. "But you just defend, defend, defend," the uber-alpha continued smoothly as he stalked around in a circle, making me swivel to face him. "That's not going to be enough to spring Lia from the SSS."
I shook my head, not in negation of my companion's analysis but in an effort to push aside the obvious facts. Yes, Hunter was right. If it came down to choosing Lia's safety over that of a nameless psycho shifter, the answer was obvious. I would skewer those suckers.
Still, that didn't mean I was willing to hack Hunter apart until he looked like Cinnamon just for the sake of practice. In fact, the thought accelerated my heart rate even more as it drew to mind the wounded trouble twin's actions this very morning.
Cinnamon had been bound and determined to help with today's preparations. But he'd barely managed to shift into human form and state his willingness to join our strike force before conking back out on the bed. In response, I'd met Ginger's eyes and she'd nodded her understanding. On that one point we were in full agreement—Cinnamon would not be a part of the action tomorrow even if we had to chain him to a table leg to achieve that end.
"Focus," the uber-alpha said softly.
Blinking my eyes to clear my mind, I realized my opponent had taken advantage of my wandering thoughts to step so close he could have reached out and pulled the sword out of my clenched fists. Which is precisely what I thought he planned to do at first, until I realized the uber- alpha was instead slipping a thin skin over the length of my blade. The motion was so reminiscent of rolling on a condom that I flushed beet red.
Nice visual, my wolf whispered. Beside me, Hunter's lips quirked up in response, and I almost thought he'd caught the gist of the animal's words. Shh, I growled more than whispered. Then, aloud, I demanded to know: "What's that?"
"Protection," Hunter answered, laughter rippling beneath his simple answer. The evocative pun begged the question— could my companion really have read my mind?
I shook my head to dislodge what I knew to be an impossibility. Unless I put effort into sending communications from myself to another pack mate, I'd never heard another shifter's words inside my head and I doubted my companions had ever heard mine. We were werewolves, not mind readers.
"You'd still end up bruised as anything even if I can't cut into you," I said, turning aside the dangerous direction of our nonverbal conversation by dint of focusing on our equally dangerous physical reality.
"But I won't be bloody," Hunter amended. "It won't be the first or the last time I've been knocked around, and bruises won't impact my ability to fight tomorrow." Then the air shimmered ever so slightly as he twisted to one side, managing to drop his clothes emptily to the ground as he achieved sleek lupine stature more quickly than any shifter I'd ever met before.
Hunter was beautiful as a wolf. Beautiful like a shiny torpedo or an approaching tornado, that is. He growled and lunged forward as if to strike, and despite myself I flung my sword up between us in guard position.
The uber-alpha wasn't on the defensive at all, and I could have easily thrust my weapon deep into his belly, jerked down, and ended the battle then and there. Well, I could have if my katana hadn't sported a padded tip that would prevent it from piercing an apple, let alone a wolf's tough hide.
There wasn't time to think, though. Battle was all about adrenaline and instinct, so I did what I'd done dozens of times before. I smacked Hunter hard on the shoulder with the flat of my blade, knocking him back a step but leaving no permanent damage in the blow's wake.
In response, I could have sworn the words Not good enough floated up in my mind, their timbre flavored with Hunter's deep rumble rather than with my own higher- pitched tones. I shook the thought away though because the uber-alpha was already lunging forward again, this time so quickly that he slipped beneath my guard and wrapped his jaws around my ankle with the strength of a steel trap.
I expected my companion to soften his bite just as I'd eased off on my own cut. But, instead, the bloodling clenched down until I could feel his sharp canines shredding my jeans and then piercing the skin underneath. I jerked back in surprise, feeling blood welling up to wet my sock.
"You bit me?" I couldn't decide whether I was shocked or horrified. We weren't that kind of werewolf. Sure, if danger faced our pack mates, then we were willing to defend our friends and ourselves. But we didn't go around chomping down on humans or on other shifters just for the fun of it.
The image of Daisy Rambler rose up in my mind unbidden. The shifters who had turned her young body into a piece of meat more suited to a slaughterhouse than to a morgue hadn't felt any compunction about biting into a living shifter. They wouldn't hesitate to do the same for Savannah and Lia. And if I waffled when the time came to mow my enemies down, then a half-blood like me would likely end up in the same state in short order.
I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes at Hunter. I'd half expected him to attack again while my mind wandered, to force my hand until instinct morphed from defense to offense. But, instead, the uber-alpha seemed willing to bide his time and let me think the situation through rationally.
"Okay, I get it," I said quietly. The images in my mind and the turmoil in my gut were almost incomprehensible in our current location, surrounded by tall trees and gentle bird song. But I could smell a weasel that had passed through the clearing a few hours earlier, the tiny killer's breath salty with blood from an unlucky rabbit. In nature, I knew, nobody pulled their punches. And shifters were wolves as much as they were humans.
So when Hunter rushed me a second time, I met him with the full force of the sword in my hand. My opponent dodged aside, and I knew that even without the barrier formed by the current thin sheathe, my blade wouldn't have done more than shave a few hairs off the tip of his tail.
Faster, my wolf whispered. She had a good point, so rather than shush her, I invited her to join me up behind our shared eyes.
And this time when the uber-alpha rushed me, I could feel my lupine half tallying up the nearly invisible tension within our opponent's cord-like muscles. Together, we somehow knew that Hunter would dodge left, trying to draw our blade in that direction before sidestepping at the last moment and dashing between our legs.
So my wolf and I mirrored his approach. But rather than simply allowing the uber-alpha to advance unhindered, we stepped forward to meet him, feigning a block that would halt his left-handed pseudo-attack.
Then, at the last moment, we slid abruptly to the right, slamming our sword directly into the soft spot beneath our opponent's chin. The soft spot where Hunter's spine was least protected by fur and tough flesh.
The spot where a simple strike became a killing blow.