Wild Hunts (20 page)

The wind continued to blow, snow falling in thick sheets. Visibility lessened with each minute, but scents abounded. Micah retreated, hoping to come outside the circling wolves. He knew the moment he reached a prime spot when several different scents filled his nostrils and slid over his tongue. An unnerving toxin finally made his hackles rise. Blood rushed through the length of him, hot and furious. How many pack members did Dark Moon have in the vicinity? More importantly, how many were reprogrammed weres who posed more threat to them than a regular were?

Micah’s nostrils flared, taking in as many scents as possible. He filtered out the crisp, clean fragrance of the snow, the frozen trees, and the spiced spruces. Two, three, four. Hell, six or seven different wolf scents rode the wind.

The odds weren’t favorable. Jordan had an army of eight in Trout Lake. Seven rebels were approaching from this side alone. How many more were there?

A series of grunts and snarls filled his mind, plaguing the telepathic link between him and Jordan’s pack. Shortly after, barks and growls found their path to his ears via the wind.

“We’re engaged. Four wolves against Luke and me,”
Jordan informed. Micah’s jowls quivered, his mouth watering in anticipation of impending bloodshed. He pressed ahead, hunting those who planned to hunt this evening.

“Coming up behind a group stalking you and your boys,”
Micah said. The beast in him chuckled with sadistic pleasure as he caught the first of his prey.
“This is gonna be fun.”

He tuned out Jordan’s scowling comment and crept up behind the prowling wolf. To his right, he caught a quick streak of darkness through the thick snow. Another wolf. He licked his lips. Instinct swelled within him, drowning out his human conscience. So easy, slipping from man to beast. So easy, getting lost in the wild spirit. At some point, he had to keep one of the rebels alive for questioning. One of these bastards would be granted a pardon, if only for a few hours.

Micah padded closer. He launched forward, plowing his massive weight into the unsuspecting wolf, knocking him onto his side. Snow sprayed. The wolf snarled. Micah dove onto the rebel, lodging his rear paw and sharp claws into the bastard’s belly while pinning his shoulders down with the rest of his weight. The wolf snapped at him, white teeth matching the snow. Micah snapped back, viciously tearing his teeth over the wolf’s cheek.

“How many were sent here tonight?”
Micah demanded. The wolf snorted, wriggling beneath his hold. Micah pressed his claws deeper into his belly. Flesh tore. Blood scented the clean air. The wolf whimpered, desperate to squirm out from under him.

He remained stubbornly silent.

“How many!”

Nothing. Micah growled and sank his teeth into the restless wolf’s throat. He barely had time to pull away before two more wolves came flying through the air, front paws outstretched to him.

The fun begins
.

Primitive instinct swallowed him. He plunged into his wolfen self, hungry to destroy his enemies. Their foul odors and evil air made his skin crawl. The lethal fighter lodged in his spirit rushed forth.

Micah dropped low. The first wolf overshot him, leaving his vulnerable underside open. Micah snapped up, latching onto the sensitive flesh of the gray’s belly, and tore into him. The wolf yelped, his confident leap crumbling. His body dropped into the snow. Micah jammed his rear paws into the rebel’s chest and heaved the heavy enemy into the closest tree.

He turned to the second wolf, who had skidded to a stop a few feet away. Jowls pulled back, quivering over bared fangs. Hackles rose along his tan back. Micah rolled to his feet, sparing a quick glance at the dying wolf pouring life essence into the snow. The second wolf struggled to climb to his feet at the base of the tree, short whimpers escaping his mouth.

“Any more coming? I’m up for it.”
Micah mocked the bastard growling at him like a pack alpha.
“You fucking dog.”

The tan wolf lunged. Micah leaped out of his path, spun around, and overpowered the imbecile. He forced the tan to the ground, catching a claw to his hind leg. The sharp pain lasted a split second, overcome by a plaguing rage that left him ruthlessly tearing into the enemy.

Three down, one ass-planted unknown to go.

Micah padded over to the gray wolf still unable to make use of his hind legs. He swatted the wolf’s snout, unleashing a series of snorts and sneezes.

“Look at your two friends behind me. They’ve made a mess of the snow. I left another not far from here.”
Micah lowered himself, level with the gray. The wolf finally stopped struggling. He panted, his green eyes misted with hatred.
“Do you gamble?”

Just like the first wolf, this one didn’t answer him. Those eyes pulsed with such disgust Micah could taste it on his tongue.

“Don’t expend your energy trying to burn a hole in my head, idiot. You might need it to run if you don’t answer me correctly.”
Micah tipped his head to the side, surveying his prey’s expression.
“More specifically, if you don’t answer me at all.”

“You’ve broken my fucking back, you fucking bastard.”

Micah laughed. A sharp bark escaped his wolf’s mouth. The gray growled.

“I could’ve easily broken your neck. Need reassurance? Look over my shoulder.”
Micah licked his fangs, still stained with blood.
“They were easy. You’re just a waste of my time. So, don’t waste any more. Tell me how many of you came here tonight, who is leading your pack, what they want, and how they think they’re going to get it.”

“For what?”

Micah’s gaze narrowed on this particular wolf. Three dead without as much as a call out. No strange static electric zing to signal telepathic communication on a private link between pack members. If he understood the reprogrammed wolves correctly, they would never buckle beneath an adversary.

“They didn’t get to you, did they? You’re a new recruit and they’re still turning you.”
Micah would’ve laughed again if he found any reassurance in this unsettling discovery. If new recruits were sent out, where were the loyal members? Those so brainwashed they’d rather die in the snow than speak a word to anyone?
“Give me what I want and I won’t tear your throat out like your pals over there. Who’s leading the pack?”

“A female. Some call her Runt. Others call her Sister. The female at the cave calls her Lilia.”

The gray shook his head, snow flying off his fur. His ears twitched, and he blinked several times. Pain speared across the wolf’s face. Micah nudged the gray’s snout with his front paw and earned a snarl.

“Time’s running out, boy. How many of you are there? Do they expect to get the white? You know, this was a failed mission before it left the cave. And speaking of caves, where is this secreted hideaway?”

“They’ll kill me if I say anything more. I’ve already said enough.”

Micah straightened onto his paws and came around the gray’s backside. The gray’s eyes never left him. Swallowing a satisfied chuckle, Micah lifted a paw against the gray’s spine. The wolf jerked. Micah moved lower, feeling the spine until he came to a separation that earned him a gratifying howl.

He stamped down on the wolf’s back at the break. The gray bucked, panting yelps and mewls. Snow kicked up as his front paws dug desperately into the hard ground.

Micah craned his head forward, baring his teeth.
“Now, either you can die by your pack or you’ll die right here by my teeth. Choose one by answering my questions or remaining silent.”

“Twenty-six of us! The female leads us. Never mentioned the white but said something about the alpha. It’s a trap,”
the gray gasped. His eyes went in and out of focus. Micah released the pressure at the rebel’s back and leaned over his downed body.
“We came to launch a surprise attack. A scout watched the pack leave the cabin. We decided to surround them and take them out, but we’re not supposed to harm the brown one. He’s to be captured. The cave is a hidden underground hell. They’re tortured, broken down until the female that leads everything begins to rebuild them. Her way. We’re supposed to hate the whites. Kill them all. Anyone who shows allegiance will die.”

“Where is it?”

“About two miles from here. There’s a small lake surrounded by large boulders. A narrow pathway leads to what looks like the jagged side of the mountain, but there’s a crevice not deep in that opens to the cave. Several tunnels and chambers make up the interior. Torture chambers.”

“Why are you after the brown?”
Micah’s mind whirled as he absorbed the fast-talking gray. His pain twisted his face and strained his words. Hell, he’d be putting the poor bastard out of his misery soon enough. No one involved with Dark Moon could be trusted, even if this one seemed a little different.

“Lilia wants him to lure the white. He’s the white’s brother, isn’t he?”

Dread inched into his spirit. Tonight might have been a setup, but not for the obvious target.

Micah quickly ended the gray’s suffering before dashing off. He frantically clawed along Jordan’s telepathic line, trying to make contact with him. Growls, snarls, sharp barks met him. Fights. Battles. He pressed himself faster, ignoring the slippery patches of snow over rock. He bounded by two pack members fully engaged in a winning battle with three rebels, other bodies strewn around them.

He shot out another call.
“Where the fuck is Jordan?”

“Busy,”
came Luke’s raspy response.

“Where are you? They’re after him, not Kasa. They’re here for
him
!”

“You really are a fucking fool.”

Micah growled, slowing just enough to latch onto scent trails. Numerous trails. Some from rebels alone. Some from Jordan’s pack. Some mixed together, woven with blood-hunger and residual power. Indentations disturbed the snow. Spots of crimson melted deep pockets in the white blanket. Dirt marked areas.

He paced, lowering his snout close to the ground, sniffing. Too much time passed. He needed to get on Jordan’s trail.

At last, he caught the faint scent of Jordan and took off after him. He leaped over a small brook, slid down a steep slope, and finally spotted Jordan and Luke.

And at least seven wolves, hungry for blood.

Micah plowed into the melee, ripping one wolf off Jordan’s back. He found his footing, the rebel’s scruff still in his teeth, and swung around, throwing the bastard off his mate’s brother. He dove between an attacking wolf and Jordan, crashing body to body in midair. Claws dug deep into Micah’s shoulder and ribs. He slashed his paw across the wolf’s face, tearing open flesh in a plume of red liquid and a metallic smell. Together, they bounced against the ground, the snow softening their impact. Micah rushed to overpower him, but the rebel had a fraction of a second on him. He was pinned, fighting off the glistening fangs snapping down at his face.

A piercing yelp cut through the feral sounds of fighting. Micah wedged his back paws into the rebel’s hips and shoved with all his strength. The rebel staggered to the side. Micah sprung to his paws and came down on top of the rebel, sinking teeth into fur and flesh, ripping relentlessly until the wolf crumpled beneath him.

Spinning, he spotted Luke, down in the snow with blood oozing from numerous wounds. Two rebels were on him, but he valiantly fought off a death blow in his weakened state.

“Get him. I’m fine,”
Jordan barked, reading his mind. He rushed forward. Feet from Luke, he crouched low, dipped his head, and slid beneath one wolf. He jerked up, flinging the wolf aside before facing the second head-on. Teeth snapped, growls vibrated through bone, and Micah wasted no time finishing off this one.