Sentinels: Wolf Hunt

The more Nick tried to break it, to fight it, the more it drove back at him, insinuating itself into his energies—replacing good with bad.

Poisoning him.

Realizing it—realizing how far it had already gone—he did the only thing left to him. He poured everything he had into one final effort. All his intent, all his focus—clawing his way across the ground, one excruciating inch after another, hind legs splayed out behind him. He had no thought for what he’d do if he was spotted or if he broke free, only that narrow little goal. Move. Break the working. Leave the amulet smoking.

Find the woman who’d left him here. The Core agent in wolf’s clothing. That, too.

Move.

But it occurred to him, finally, that he no longer made progress. That what felt like heart-bursting effort from within resulted in nothing without—only his head sinking toward the ground, lolling off slightly to the side with his mouth barely open to pant. Air puffed past his flews. Heavy sickness spread through his body, weighing it down.

The next panting breath brought an influx of scent, both ambrosia and anathema.

She was back.

He growled, a ridiculous and weak token—but an unforgiving noise. A statement.

She’d come in her human form, all black-clothed and lithe. She made a noise of dismay; she went to one knee beside him. With all the effort he had in him, he raised his growl to something distinctly audible.

It gave her not an instant’s hesitation. Her hand landed on his ruff, fingers kneading in. For a long moment, she said nothing—for that long moment, his growl hung between them. Unmistakable.

Until he had to break it off and resume panting, more heavily now, eyes slitting closed.

“I don’t understand,” she said, and frustration laced through her words. Frustration and more. Grief.

Nick didn’t think it was for him.

“He said you wouldn’t be hurt.” Her accent, whatever it was, came thick. Or no accent at all, perhaps—a difficulty in forming the words. A slight speech impediment, almost Castillian in nature. “He said he wanted only to talk.” Her fingers kneaded his fur, then smoothed it. “When he said you took the wolf, he made it sound…wrong. Stealing. Faking.” Nick growled at her again…but it came weaker. Barely there at all. “Yes,” she told him. “He was wrong about that. And this…I can see how it harms you.” She found the thong around his neck—the amulet strap she’d placed there herself—and her hand hesitated.

Nick tried to growl again. Somehow it came out as a faint whine.

“He said he wouldn’t hurt my pack.” She covered her face with her free hand—an unusual gesture, putting the back of her wrist against her nose, her hand loosely curled and oddly graceful. As if the hand itself wasn’t as familiar as the paw. “He said if I did this…”

Nick panted. The amulet worked on him, tugging at all the corners of his being. Fever washed over him.

She repeated, slowly, “He said if I brought you to him…”

Breathing suddenly seemed like too much effort. His lungs burned; he realized he’d let them lie fallow for long moments and dragged in a gulp of air.

Quite suddenly she bent over, laying her face against his—nuzzling him ever so slightly. Just as suddenly, she straightened again. “I think he lies,” she said. “He will do to my pack what suits him, no matter what I bring him.” A gentle lift of his head and a flick of her hand, and she removed the amulet thong. “No more do I heed him. You, I help. And my pack…I save on my own.”

Instantly, breathing seemed natural again. And if his body shuddered with waves of flame and ice, he nonetheless had his growl back.

She gave a little laugh, laying her head against his for a long, long moment. “Good,” she said. “That suits you. Now be the human again, and take yourself away from here. Gausto will not wait long before he comes for us.”

Chapter 4

Gausto.

Nick had known it, of course. Or guessed it, the moment that amulet went over his head. But to hear her say it…

A wave of dizziness swamped his thoughts.

She stood up and back, and made as if to fling away the amulet—stopping herself at the last moment. “No,” she said out loud, a lurking anger behind her words. “Someone else could find it.”

It shouldn’t matter. It had been triggered; it had connected with Nick. Separated from him, it was worthless.

Or should be. With Gausto, you never knew. The man seldom cared about consequences when he drove for power.

So yeah. Best not to take chances. As she tucked the amulet away in a tight front pocket, he lifted his head—wobbly at that, but still a significant improvement. Not for long—it thunked back to earth, a jarring thud.

In an instant, she was there beside him. “You have to take the human,” she said, cradling his head in her hands, lifting it to face him nose-to-nose. No fear, not even with his crazed eye and the snarl on his lips. She stroked his face from the muzzle back, awakening all the myriad nerves there, flattening his whiskers. Past his cheeks and the massive carnassials that could have sheared off her arm, firmly down his ears…tugging ever so slightly and waking those nerves, too. Bringing him back, even if his head still lolled in her hands. “Nick Carter,” she said, “I heard him talking. He wants you. He will hurt you. Do you understand this?”

He snarled for her.

“Be the human,” she told him, one more time, whiskey-gold gaze latched onto his with ferocity. “I must leave this place, too.”

Too many things gone unspoken there—too many pieces unknown.

But he heard her urgency. He believed it. Be the human.

Easier said than done. Took every fuzzied bit of concentration he had. He thought she’d back away, giving him space—but when humanity settled around him, there she was, still holding his head—turning it, gently, so he wouldn’t end up face-first in the goats’ head burrs and stiff ground cover—and then releasing him.

She did it like someone who’d been there.

He coughed, clearing his throat of weakness—or trying to. “What?” he rasped, and made it clear enough with an unyielding gaze that he referred to her. “Who?”

She shook her head. “I have to go.” Right. To help her people. Whatever that meant. “You have to go, too. He won’t wait long.” She shook her head again. “He almost sent men with me, but his prince spoke loudly of not being caught. I think, though, that they are not far behind. So go, now.”

“Not without you,” Nick said. He made it to his hands and knees, limbs shaking visibly, a feverish hot and cold chasing itself through his bones—but he didn’t take his gaze from her. Didn’t release her. “Who…” Too much going on in brevis these days to ignore that fact. “It matters…”

“It matters to me,” she told him. “But it is not yours to have.” She rose, a fluid motion, and strode away down the buffer zone. No looking back…but there, at the edge of the trees, the slightest of hesitations.

But then she moved on.

And Nick’s shaking arms gave way, and he plowed down into the dirt without grace. He spat an unequivocal curse and rolled over to his back, wiping dirt from beneath his lip with the careless and uncoordinated swipe of his wrist.

All right. Fine. He hadn’t intimidated her into sticking around. It had been a long shot. He tried Annorah again, got nowhere—his focus was too scrambled, his energies likewise. So he needed to get up on his feet and find his way across the fairground to his car. Or at the least, onto the agility grounds where someone would have a phone.

Because he had no doubt his mystery betrayer-and-savior was right. If Gausto was behind this, if he’d had any doubts of the outcome…he wasn’t far off. Or his people weren’t far. No matter how the Septs Prince had instructed him.

Get up. Walk. Stagger. Crawl, if he had to. To the phone, in the car. Across the show grounds. Gausto would seed these grounds with his people if he realized that Nick was here, loose and vulnerable. And unlike the Sentinels, the Core agents carried guns. Guns and amulets and no compunction about damaging their prey.

His fingers twitched; fever cold chased him. And he realized, some moments later, that he hadn’t moved at all.

Son of a bitch.

…no, still hadn’t moved at all.