Page 27 of Shift of Destiny
Chaffet held his flashlight with one hand and painfully squeezed the back of her neck with the other the other to frog-march her down the road. Washenko kept pace and maintained pressure with the barrel. She stumbled along as best she could, knowing they’d hurt her if she didn’t cooperate.
Growls from fighting wolves erupted to the right, then a pained yelp, then silence.
Chaffet chanted a litany of obscenities under his breath. Washenko vibrated with tension as they left the road and started up a rock-strewn slope. A brief flash of light illuminated the top of the hill and the van, right before it exploded into a fireball.
Chaffet stumbled and pulled her backward, away from Washenko’s gun. His flashlight went flying. She threw herself to the side and tripped over a rock. As she fell to her hands and knees, Washenko raised his rifle to aim at a dark shape coming down the slope at them. The unconscious, slashed body of a huge gray wolf slammed into him and Chaffet, knocking them over like bowling pins.
Moira crawled away as fast as she could, but she got tangled in a pair of black pants crumpled on the ground. A hand clamped onto her ankle and hauled her backward. She took in a lungful of air, then turned and screamed, banshee loud and long.
The hand let go. “My ears!” cried Chaffet. He and Washenko both howled in pain as she crawled away again and climbed to her feet, but tripped over a rifle barrel.
She pulled the mirror light out of her T-shirt and turned it around. Before she could take a step, a fist slammed into her stomach. “No more screaming, bitch!”
She folded to her knees, her diaphragm temporarily stunned. She fought to draw in a ragged breath, then she nearly threw up from the unmistakable rotting stench of Richie. It didn’t help that he was naked and beginning to sprout dark fur. In seconds, a larger-than-nature gray wolf stood in his place, wetly gleaming teeth bared, growling, and preparing to lunge at her.
She focused on her mirrors, flaring them bright to blind him. As he shook his massive head, she grabbed the thick barrel of the heavy rifle and swung the stock, two-handed, against his skull. He yelped in pain and backed up, shaking his head. She took another swing at him.
She tripped on a boot, and the heavy stock went under his chin and slammed into his throat. He coughed and backed up a few more steps, shaking his head. Before she could line up for a third strike, his body was knocked sideways with a meaty thump by something big, tawny-colored, and fast. They tumbled down the slope, out of the pool of light her mirror cast.
She flared her mirror light and ran with the rifle, across the slope, away from the angry wolves. Every step jarred her sore stomach muscles. She staggered to the base of a rock and leaned against it with one arm, coaxing her legs and lungs not to give up. The sound of a gunshot made her quickly douse her light and use her hiding magic to avoid becoming a target.
She heard human shouts and animal growls, and then a long, heart-rending, pained animal whine that ended in silence. It was easier to take when she remembered Richie transforming into a big slavering wolf that wanted to rip her throat out.
Another gunshot rang out. “Goddamn it, Chaffet, you fucking shot me!” Washenko sounded more aggrieved than injured.
“It wasn’t me,” whined Chaffet, somewhere below Washenko’s voice. “I don’t have a gun.”
“I do.” Chance’s voice rang with authority and confidence. “If you want to live, sit down and stay human.”
A flashlight flickered on, illuminating Chaffet and Washenko on the side of the hill, about fifteen feet apart. They both looked filthy and battered. Between them, a tail and hind paw were all that were visible of Richie’s wolf form. Even as she watched, the tail vanished and the paw morphed into a naked human foot.
“He can’t be dead,” said Chaffet, clearly shaken. “The blood exchange with Alpha Pruhon makes us immortal.”
“It only makeshimimmortal,” said Chance. “It’s killing the pack. Every time you shift, he takes a piece of you. Richie wouldn’t have lasted another year.”
“Bullshit,” growled Washenko, his voice sounding more wolf than human. His face began to elongate as he ripped his shirt open. His neck sprouted dark fur as muscles rippled underneath the skin. But instead of changing into a wolf, the way Richie had, Washenko clutched at his chest with clawed hands and sank to his knees.
Chaffet howled and dropped to his knees as well, then collapsed in a boneless heap.
Washenko lasted a few moments longer, his expression a mix of anger and pain, before falling forward like a sack of grain.
Chance flickered the flashlight in her direction, waving it uncertainly. “Moira?”
“Here.” She released her hiding magic and briefly flared her mirror light.
He crossed to her at a half-run and wrapped her in a brief embrace, then pulled back. “Are you hurt?” It was the first time she’d seen him look scared.
“Only sore. You?” Just because he seemed invincible didn’t mean he couldn’t be hurt. “And what about them?” She pointed toward where Washenko and Chaffet lay.
“I’m good. I knocked out the guards and blew up their van. All the wolves are dead, or as good as, including those two.” He tilted his head toward the bodies. “I felt Pruhon draining them. He must be under attack.”
She remembered Chaffet’s earlier chatter. “Oh my God, the town! We have to warn them. Witzer and Pruhon brought in a hundred mercenaries to round up psychics to sell on the black market. They’ll be no match for a military invasion.”
“I haven’t been here that long, but from what I’ve seen, it’s more likely that Witzer’s mercenaries will be no match for the town.” He shook his head. “I think you have the same luck as I do for the downright unusual, except you look at it as an adventure.”
She wanted to kiss him, but knew she’d never stop if she did. “Not really. I just like helping people when they need it.”
He gave her a tender smile. “I used to think of my luck as a curse, but I wouldn’t have met you without it.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s go see if we can help.”
With her consent, he carried her toward where they’d left his truck. He seemed to like holding her, and she liked being held for a bit. Even princesses could use a breather after marching all over the mountains.
It was a warm, wonderful feeling to know that Chance considered her an asset in a fight. Of all the things she still didn’t know about him, such as what kind of animal he turned into, or how old he really was, or if he liked breakfast for dinner, she did know one thing. She’d fallen in love with the man, and it would rip her heart out if she had to leave him.
