Half-Breed Read online

  Everyone kept silent as we followed the scent. The human hunters always left the ferreting up to us because of our indigenous skills and knowing exactly what to look for.

  The sounds of crackling underbrush and snapping twigs put my nerves on edge. Still, my nose continued whiffing the air for anything that might be tracking us while we tracked it. Rippling water, not enough to be a river but perhaps a stream, bubbled about a thousand feet away.

  Dane, in the point position, threw his hand out to his side, signaling for us to stop. Apparently, the trail split up. He pointed to Scott and Fisk, and thumbed them in a different direction. The rest of us continued on the same path. Ten minutes later, we came in view of the other party. All of us converged on an opening at the edge of a rock face about fifty feet ahead. A southeasterly breeze cut across, blowing a strong rogue scent in our direction.

  Fisk took a step nearer to the cave. I threw my arm out, clutching his jacket. With us this close to their den, the rogues could pick up our scent, which would set a bad stage for a late night hunt. If we went any further, they might think we raided their cave. Gut would make them stay away because of the imminent threat we posed to their boorish activities. Unless we rethought our strategy, we stood a good chance of making them run. Retracing our footsteps, we headed back to the car and began planning our strategy for that night.

  Chapter 16

  After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms either for a nap or to recheck their equipment. Come midnight, we would meet in the parking lot and head back to the rogue den. What we had encountered up to this point left my mind racing through the what-if's and trying to rework the different angles. Even when I tried sitting down at my laptop and working through a few programs, my thoughts wandered back to either the hunt or Matt. Oh, how I wished he was there. I missed him something awful.

  After staring at the same block of code for more than twenty minutes, I shut off my laptop and grumbled my way to the bedroom. A headache had worked between my temples and underneath my right eye socket. With several nights of restless sleep and more aggravation than a blind man stumbling through a labyrinth has, my mind and body needed a catnap in order to be on the top of my game tonight.

  I bolted from the bed. The alarm clock woke me up with help from the phone's shrilling digital ringer.

  Good lord, when had I fallen asleep? I ran a hand through my black textured waves and thought, I set the alarm, laid down, and picked up the remote for the television. What happened after that? Man, was I that tired?

  The shrilling ringer yanked me from my frazzled thoughts. I tore the phone from the cradle and yelled into it.

  "Uh ... you okay?” Matt asked. “You sound a little crazed."

  I slapped my forehead and slumped backwards on the mattress. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I'm sorry. I was napping."

  "Awww, shit. Let me let you go."

  I bolted into a sitting position again. “No. Honey, please, I can sleep later. Right now, I want to hear your voice."

  He chuckled. “How's the programming going?"

  "Oh ... the usual.” I swallowed to keep the trembling out of my voice. “HQ's making sure we get the same software training as the Raleigh branch. That way there's no excuse for one office being able to do something and the other not. Politics. You know how it is. No mind-blowing excitement here.” God, how I wished that were true.

  "That nap must have done you some good. You almost sound normal."

  This hunt would come to a close tonight, so I had every reason in the world to be happy. The minute we finished taking care of business, I would be on my way back home. It didn't matter how late, how far, or how much it cost me to get there. I was going home.

  Knuckles rapped on my door.

  "Who's that?” Matt asked.

  I cursed under my breath. Of all the times to have supersensitive hearing, why did it have to be now?

  Not answering him right away, I left the bedroom with the cordless phone in hand and gazed through the peephole at the main door. Uncle Graham stood there watching me, smile etching his old withered face. I wanted to close the door on him, but my parents raised me well when it came down to respecting my elders. Undoing the locks, I opened the door and tried to think of a way to get Matt off the phone without him becoming suspicious.

  "Hon, I need to go,” I said, anxiety creeping into my voice. “Some of the crew from the Atlanta office stopped by and they're inviting me out for drinks."

  Uncle Graham cleared his voice. Miserable old goat. Matt and I exchanged our love and said our good-byes.

  "That was him, wasn't it?” Uncle Graham said. He sat his tired body in one of the stools at the breakfast counter.

  My jaw tightened. “I'm having some tea. Would you like some?"

  I fought through the hostility that burrowed a hole in my chest. He should have been thanking me for not breaking him across my knee and throwing him out the door. I needed something to do, somewhere to channel this venomous anxiety. So, I followed through with my original plan, marched into the kitchen, and began filling the coffee pot from the tap.

  "No, thank you, child,” Graham said. “I only came to wish you good luck."

  "Thanks. Now good-bye."

  "I also wanted to say how sorry I am.” Sighing, he shifted in his seat. “Lex, this is important to me. If there was another way to get your attention, don't you think I would have tried it?"

  My mouth opened, about to rifle something in response, but I stopped myself. Several blinks later, I narrowed my eyes on him. “What are you talking about?"

  A shaking hand wiped his moist brow. A deep sigh seemed to strengthen whatever resolve he had in him. “I'm the one responsible for the bounty on your husband."

  I couldn't think. Hell, for that matter I could barely breathe. I gripped the counter, pain searing my whitening knuckles. Venomous rage seeped into my bloodstream. “What the hell are you talking about?” I growled.

  He shrugged. “Dane said that you might not come back. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight at the time—I don't know. But I knew I had to do something."

  I glared at him. “Simply asking never occurred to you?"

  "And what would you have said? No?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you left me no other choice."

  "So what do you think you left me with, you crazy bastard? At least the choice would have been mine!” I slammed the pot so hard against the sink that glass splattered across the kitchen. Cutting him with my eyes, I stalked toward him. It took every ounce of my strength not to reach across the breakfast counter and snap his wrinkly neck. “You set me up. Your own flesh and blood. What kind of sick bastard are you? And here I thought Grandfather was the psycho. At least he wasn't devious and lowdown when it came to what he wanted."

  Graham didn't flinch. “You never collected a dime on all your kills because you didn't care about the hides. So I did it for you without any protest. Even Dane had a hard time believing that you had more than two hundred grand in your rainy-day fund for you and your children.” He leaned heavily on the counter, inhaling deep and letting it out slow and easy.

  "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

  "It's a testament to your skill. The kind of skill the Club needs. If putting a bounty on your husband's head and lying to get you here keeps us one more step away from the grave, then so be it."

  "So you used the money against me,” I seethed, locking my eyes with his. “If you ever question why I'd ever come after you ... think about this moment. You have no fucking right to screw around with my life."

  With a deeper sigh, he shifted in the chair and leaned on his cane. “Lex, I'm an old man and I don't have much time. If I can't find the beast that bit my brother, then I want to make sure we can take enough of them out so that they won't destroy any more lives. Can't you understand that?"

  "I understand it perfectly, Captain Ahab."

  "Who do you think is out there getting rid of other rogues?” His voice had risen for the
first time. “Do you realize how many families we've saved? So we had a huge upset eight months ago. But there isn't one bounty hunter who can hold a candle to our results. Could you live with yourself knowing you could wake up someday and hear that one of those beasts has attacked Viva? Your baby brother already paid the ultimate price. Suppose one of those bastards bites Viva, and you had a chance at preventing it."

  Glowering at him, I shook my head. “Don't you dare,” I seethed. “You have no right using Viva and Avery, Jr. against me like that. You weren't there, you crazy bastard! You didn't see what I saw! You don't know what it's like to be five years old and have your own flesh and blood terrorize the hell out of you. Now you sit there like...” I fought through the blistering, unshed tears and forced the words out of my taut throat. “It's like it's happening all over again, only this time it's you instead of your nutty-ass brother. What the hell kind of family do I belong to?"

  This was a man whose vengeance had turned him senile. He was on a save-the-world mission, one rogue at a time, and expected me to be a part of legacy. Sure, we did everyone a favor by keeping the rogue population in check. We did our part to ensure that human and werewolf worlds never collided. But we had to draw a line somewhere or lose our common sense along with them. How many more of our people had to die before these guys got it through their thick skulls that we were somewhat “human” too? I had every reason to kill the monster that sent my absentee grandfather over the edge, but I refused to lose my own sanity in the process. Too bad Graham hadn't realized that yet.

  "I'm through when this is over,” I muttered. “If I ever see you again, Uncle, I hope for your sake a knife won't be in reach."

  "Do you want to know why I feel nothing for your husband?” he asked, nonchalantly.

  "What the hell do I care? You've made it obvious that what I think doesn't matter.” All the energy I had regained from my cat nap, this conversation had drained it out of me and then some.

  "I don't know him. I'd rather see you married to Dane or Riley than to that man. If you were going to fall in love with a werewolf, I prayed it could have been one of them."

  "That's not news to me."

  "I trust them with my life. With your life. They've watched my back and I've watched theirs, both on and off the hunting grounds. We've gone fishing together. Camping. I've eaten at their table and they've eaten at mine. They're my family.” Graham shook his head in disbelief. “You invite me to meet this man for the first time at your wedding instead of letting me get to know him on my own terms. Do you know how that makes me feel? How small and insignificant? All my life I've tried to do right by you because I feared that you could become a maniac like your grandfather. And disrespect is the only way you know how to repay me. What did I do for you to hate me so?"

  I closed my eyes, still smarting from his blowup while trying to work through my own. “I'm sorry if I hurt you. But whenever we spoke, the only thing you cared about was this Club. If a werewolf didn't belong, then he was worthless in your eyes. Matt wouldn't have stood a chance under that kind of scrutiny."

  "This is the home I've built for you, and you turned your back on it. I knew someday you would marry and I worried about what would happen if you married a werewolf. Finding this Club helped me prepare for that. You have an abundance of wolves to choose from. Any one of them would become your lapdog if it meant being your mate. Scott is proof of that and he just met you. Even he would have been a good choice."

  "I never asked you to play matchmaker for me. This isn't your life. It's mine! Mine to do with as I see fit. If you don't like that, then why are we having this conversation?"

  Graham's quaking hands grasped the bulb at the tip of his cane. Leaning on it and the counter, he pushed himself off the stool. I should have helped, if only because it would mean getting him out of my sight faster. But I couldn't trust myself not to keep helping him across the room, out the door, and over the railing. He hobbled his slow body to the door, not bothering to turn around.

  Then he stopped. “Good luck tonight.” Graham opened the door and left.

  My Earl Grey tea had lost its appeal. Killing the rogues and going back to my husband were all that mattered now. Matt, our home, even the little-known facts concerning the Georgia Pack. That was what mattered to me. Missing Fisk and the others, avenging a coworker's death, putting the Club back together ... it meant nothing to me. So much rage burned inside me that I would gladly have gutted the entire rogue pack on my own if it could have brought me one step closer to my familiar surroundings. Tonight, I would go back to being the hunter. Tomorrow, I would go back to a normal life.

  I spent the next hour dressing in black and polishing up my gear. I secured six arrows on the crossbow's underbelly and packed one of my least-used weapons, a pistol size crossbow, in a holster at the swell of my back. Extra arrows fit snugly into my fitted vest, and I sheathed a large bowie knife along my thigh. I wasn't taking any chances. Hell was coming for the rogues.

  Chapter 17

  For the first time in more than eight months, I waited in hiding. The only difference was that I chose the ground, a few bushes, and a large rock for my hiding place. No cliff this time. Stationing myself at eye level with the natural surroundings wasn't anything new, but given the choice, I'd rather be twenty or thirty feet above the ruckus. That practically guaranteed me walking out of the wood on my own two feet instead of being carted out in a plastic garbage bag.

  Our plan was simple and one we had used on many occasions: the others would steer the rogues in the direction of our three perches, where we waited in ambush. Had we not found their den, we would have resorted to our original plan of going out two by two and looking for them. With the three of us—myself, Fisk, and a human who went by the name of Pulaski—fanned out, the others had a wider target area. Since I was the best shot out of the bunch and the queen of the perch, I waited at the center of our firing line.

  Keeping the crossbow aimed in front of me, I opened up my ears to our surroundings, catching every wisp of wind, rustling leaf, and hooting owl. Dane brought technology to the Club by giving us sleek wireless communicators that hooked around our ears and had a small microphone arms that extended to our mouths. I could hear everyone loud and clear, so I spent the majority of the time fidgeting with the volume controls. Worthless piece of equipment. Graham sat in one of the SUVs following our conversation and tracking our positions on a map.

  Feverish thumping drummed from my left. The updraft blew in a different direction, so I couldn't detect a scent on the wind. Since I was the only perched person who had heightened senses, I doubted anyone else would notice the foreboding in the shadows. My senses snapped to alert.

  "Pulaski,” I whispered. “They're approaching from your direction."

  "Ready and waiting,” he responded.

  "Fisk, hold your position unless you think it's getting hot."

  Good as his intentions were, I almost wished Dane hadn't invested in the communicators. They took the thrill out of the hunt and turned this into some sort of covert military operation. Next thing you know he'd have us donning army fatigues, combat boots, and helmets. I felt like a fool.

  "Copy that, Angel,” he replied.

  I rolled my eyes.

  The thumping increased. Panting voices spilled over the earpiece, giving out the positions of and pertinent information about our adversaries. Three rogues barreled down on Pulaski's position, one dark blond and two brown, thinner than normal for a pack who feasted on so many humans and household pets. I'd bet anything they brought home the bacon while their Alpha feasted first, leaving the scraps for the others to fight over. Based on all the information we had gathered so far there were at least four wolves total. These three had returned from their outing first, so the team didn't have time to account for the extra one's whereabouts.

  Shrilling screams blasted through the earpiece. I tore the communicator out of my ear before it blew my eardrum out. Even holding it about a foot from my face, the scre
ams radiated through the speaker. But they were nothing compared to the actual horror that spilled through a densely packed thicket and a tangle of forestry. All coming from Pulaski's direction.

  "Fisk,” I yelled into the mouth piece, “regroup in my direction."

  I leapt to my feet, aiming the crossbow towards the shadows from which I expected him to emerge any second. The others would reach whatever was left of Pulaski, so that left me to cover Fisk. Tense minutes passed before leaves and bushes crunched in the distance. From the malignant shadows, Fisk's pine green hunting jacket darted in and out instead of running in a straight line, a tactic Dane had taught the humans for staying alive longer during a pursuit. And his pursuer was gaining fast.

  "Down!” I yelled.

  Fisk dove to the ground.

  I pulled the trigger. The bow snapped and my arrow skimmed the air with perfect precision.

  The beast yelped and twisted his body before tumbling to the ground beside Fisk. He scrambled to his knees, pulled the rifle up to his shoulder, and shot two bullets into the dazed wolf.

  The pack had set up an ambush of their own ... just like the last pack that almost butchered our numbers in half.

  Fisk gripped the nearest tree for balance as he hauled himself off the ground. The back of his wrist swiped the moist thinning hair that clung to his forehead.

  Making my approach, I jerked the underbelly of the crossbow and chambered another arrow. Best be on my guard as long as we remained on someone else's turf.

  "Dane said you were on your game,” he panted. “He sure as hell meant it. Thanks, Angel. Hell, you can have the claim on that one by yourself."

  "We're not out of this yet,” I said. “I think Pulaski's dead."

  "He is,” Decker, replied over the earpiece. “One of the bastards clawed him up."