Sentinels: Kodiak Chained

“I don’t understand.” She didn’t, and it troubled her; she didn’t bother to hide it. “Then why would Nick give me the impression you’d take the healer’s role—that you’d need me?”

Ruger snorted; it was a throaty sound. “I don’t have the faintest idea. Because he’s giving you the chance of your career, to be in on this operation? Because he’s pissed at me about something?” But he stopped, and shook his head. “No, that’s not fair. If Nick’s pissed, he comes at you head-on.” He sent her a direct stare, a challenge from pale brown eyes. “I only know one thing for sure—I don’t need this. And we’re spread thin enough. Nick should have put you somewhere else. On someone else.” The challenge didn’t ease in the faintest. “Someone who you haven’t lied to yet.”

“I didn’t—” she said hotly, but stopped. Not just because she pretty much had lied to him, even if it was both simpler and more complicated and that. But because he’d gone still, staring down the hill. Not still as Maks or another big cat would do, the stalking calm—just plain still.

And then, before she could ask, he started down the slope. There was something about the angle of his head that caught her attention, spiking concern.

“Ruger,” she said, pitching her voice as a warning.

He didn’t seem to hear, and maybe it was just as well she hadn’t distracted him. For an instant later, when a camouflage-obscured figure behind the fallen tree exploded into motion, Ruger barely startled at all, even when Mariska yelled his name—this time imbuing it with alarm as well as warning, all the dammit, this is what I’m here for she could manage in one word.

At the park, he’d respected that. He’d wordlessly left her the room to do her share of the brawling.

Now he ignored her completely—even though he could easily see that the man had reacted in panic as Ruger’s path downward narrowed his escape route from this swale. And he could damned well see that if he stepped back, he’d create the man room to get past, leaving him completely open to Mariska’s full-bore approach from the side.

A bear in full-speed charge was nothing to trifle with, whether in her human or animal form.

But no, Ruger crouched slightly, weighting himself to earth—taking those few necessary steps to block the man’s way. And then he just was, rooted and unmoving. He ducked one shoulder in a perfectly timed block, and Mariska found herself floundering to shift gears. She cursed, slipping in the layered old pine needles, and righted herself to discover that the fool of a Core minion was fighting back—and doing it in the cowardly way that the Core did best when they couldn’t manage an ambush.

With firearms.

“Gun!” she cried, barely hearing Ian’s mind voice with its bemused ::What the hell is going on over there?:: as she spotted the weapon on its way out of the shoulder holster hidden beneath the forest-patterned camo jacket. “Gun!”

::Idiot,:: Ruger snarled, a personal thought gone public—or at least gone to Mariska—as he yanked the man up and off his feet, gave him a good shake, and dropped him to slap the gun away. “Stay down.”

But by then Mariska was close enough and still running on strong, and she could see the man had no intention of doing any such thing. He fumbled in his jacket pocket even as he crabbed away—a classic amulet grab—and Ruger said, “Ah, hell,” and threw himself down on the minion.

“No, no, no!” Not when there was no way to tell what the amulet would do if it made contact, what it would do even if it didn’t.

The dull snap of bone stopped her short. Ruger rolled away from the man, ending up on his hands and knees and already poised to thrust up and away. A big man, nimble on his feet.

But then, she already knew that.

Amulet corruption shredded the air, far thicker than carrion; the man had time for only a faint gargle of horror, a quick and spastic thrash toward death before he subsided.

After a moment, Ruger climbed to his feet, nothing of haste about it.

::Ruger?:: Ian said, obscured by terrain and structure. ::What the hell?::

::We’re good,:: Ruger said, an absent sending that didn’t distract him from circling in as he brushed himself off. ::Back with you in a moment.::

“Good?” Mariska said, aghast at the shrill note in her voice. “We’re good?” By then she was close enough to reach him—she punched him solidly on the arm. “This is what you call good?” She looked down at the minion—the former minion—and discovered his elbow bent the wrong way, his hand stuck in his pocket as it clutched the amulet… and his body as mummified as any creature left dead and undisturbed in the desert sun. “What were you even thinking?” and she threw another punch into his arm, full of frustration and fury.

Ruger turned with a quickness belying his size, his hand closing around her wrist—closing hard. His eyes, so matter-of-factly amiable—so filled with heat—had gone hard, hard enough to make her gasp. And he said nothing, but she heard the growl rumbling deep in his chest.

She responded without thinking, offering the quiet sound in her throat that meant a bear’s acquiescence—but only for the instant before she managed to cut it short. Then she yanked her wrist free and glared at him. “You should have let him go. I would have had him—that’s why I’m here.” And when he said nothing, she found herself flinging out words, rushing to fill that void, wanting something—anything—from him in response. “Last night in that parking lot, you would have let him past. You would have worked as a team. You should have known—”

“Last night,” Ruger interrupted, “we were a team.”

She blinked back unexpected emotion, and made her voice hard. “We’re still a team. You have your job, and I have mine. Don’t get them mixed up again.”

::Guys?:: Ian said. ::Hate to break up your little whatever-it-is, but have I mentioned I want to know what the hell is going on?::

“We had company,” Ruger said, out loud as much as through his mind’s voice. “Our company accidentally fried himself with his own amulet.”

::Purely by coincidence, I’m sure. Keep sharp, then. We’re just about through here; come on over and we’ll get a look inside.::

::Coming,:: Mariska said—but when she lifted her head, she discovered that Ruger was already on his way.

The brief, acrid stench of stolen Core power burst through the underground workshop, making Ciobaka sneeze. “Wowoww.”

“What are you complaining about now?” Tarras slammed the door of the recently emptied cage nearest to Ciobaka’s.

“No,” Ehwoord said, the snap of annoyance in his voice. “He’s right. Yoske triggered one of his defense amulets.”

Ciobaka tilted his head, studying Tarras as his mouth clamped shut and his body stiffened in anticipation of repercussion. But Ehwoord continued quietly grooming amulets for the next round of impressions, no more prepossessing than he ever was with his slight stature, his belly going round, his hair gray and his skin lined with wrinkles of a strangely stiff nature—as if parts of him had forgotten they were old and the rest of him was ancient. Sometimes Ciobaka thought his mind worked in that same pattern, shifting from coldly efficient to something just a little less sane.

Tarras asked carefully, “You felt it?”

“It’s my amulet,” Ehwoord told him, as if that was explanation enough.

“Then they’ve found the overflow installation.”

“Perhaps. Or Yoske became careless between here and there.” Ehwoord’s mouth tightened. “I needed that network up and running. I need those cameras. After a time, if Yoske doesn’t return, you’ll see to it.”

Tarras cleared his throat. “Of course. I’ll take a team and—”

“No,” Ehwoord snapped, and Ciobaka blinked at his emphatic tone. Interesting, to see Ehwoord ruffled. Interesting, to see that Tarras feared. “We hardly need half a posse tramping around in the woods if the Sentinels have found the installation. You may, however, take Ciobaka. He can warn you of Sentinel presence long before you detect them. They are, at all times, far too cocky about their presence in woods such as these.”

“Wahnnah!” Ciobaka said, and barked an exclamation as his tail quivered in anticipation. “Ouwwtah!”

“Out,” Ehwoord said, flaunting his human tongue and lips. “And yes. Of course, you will wear the collar—and you still bear the obedience amulet within you. If your behavior is less than exemplary, there will be punishment upon return.”

Ciobaka flattened his dingoesque ears, crouching slightly in the submission that Ehwoord wanted to see. But he flexed his newly mobile dewclaw thumb, pondering the buckle to his electric collar—and made sure Ehwoord saw that not at all.

Chapter 5

In truth, Ruger had only meant to stop the Core minion from pulling the amulet from his pocket. If the man hadn’t triggered the thing in hand, he’d still be alive.

He’d been a handsome man—as were many of the Core, in a snake-oil kind of way. Not because of their strikingly swarthy skin—more olive than Mariska’s stunning complexion, not as dark—but from the affectation of their hair, slicked back into a short queue and always black, whether natural or dyed. And the silver jewelry, heavy at wrist and neck and ear.

And their ubiquitous suits. Especially in the highlevel posses—those serving the regional drozhar or even the Septs Prince, leader of them all. High sheen, beautifully cut… always just a little bit I think much of myself.

Not that this man was any of those things any longer. His black hair had gone dry and brittle; his skin taut, dry walnut stretching over bone. His clothes had been woodsy enough, the camo jacket over fatigue pants and a black T. But whatever else he might have had to tell them, they’d lost it when his tongue dried up. All they’d ever know was that this place wasn’t quite as abandoned as they’d thought it to be.

“He’s safe,” Ian said, coming to inspect the man now that he’d cleared the installation’s entrance of security workings. “I’ll leave the rest of it to you.”

Ruger hadn’t expected Mariska to display any squeamishness over the chore, and she didn’t. She leaned over to search the man, displaying her truly fine ass in the process. Ruger watched until he realized the riveted nature of his gaze, and scowled as he moved off across the swale. “I’m going to take a look inside with the AmSpecs. Let us know what you find.”