N. Walters - Legacy Found

Simon slithered up beside Alex and lifted the other rifle. “Mind if I borrow this?”

Alex shook her head. “Be my guest.”

All Shelley could do was watch as several men raced into the compound, shooting as they came. She didn’t recognize the first three who fought their way inside, but she recognized their kind. Bounty hunters. They were dressed in camouflage and denim and all were shooting to kill. The fourth man in made her heart freeze with fear. Steve Macmillan. Somehow he’d found her.

James raced across the ground, moving faster than she’d thought possible. At the last second the muscles in his hind legs coiled and he sprang. The hunter raised his rifle and fired, but his aim was off, knocked aside by James’s strong forelegs. Powerful jaws opened and clamped down on the hunter’s throat. He cried out and fell to the ground, blood pouring down his neck. His cries stopped and he went silent.

Micah and Levi returned fire as the hunters scrambled for cover. One of the hunters was spun around as a bullet hit him square in the chest. He fell to the dirt, not moving.

Shelley felt useless. Less than useless. She needed to fight. She’d brought this on all of them. Somehow Steve Macmillan had found her. An axe sat propped next to a load of wood waiting to be split. Staying on her elbows, she dragged her body to the side of the house. She heard Alex calling her name but ignored her.

Taking a quick glance around, she scrambled to her feet. On a dead run, she grabbed the axe and kept going, circling the house and coming out on the other side, closer to the fighting.

The continuous spray of bullets from the hunters had Joshua and James pinned down behind a shed. Levi, Micah and Simon returned fire. Shelley heard a cry behind her and saw Simon fall.

Alex screamed his name. Levi sprang from the side of one of the houses, while Micah covered him. Closing the distance faster than seemed possible, he grabbed his younger brother and dragged him to safety, swearing the whole while.

Shelley blocked out everything happening around her. The sound of her brother’s moans, the blast of the gunfire, the pounding of her heart. She sorted through the smells. Blood. The acrid smell of the bullets. James. For a moment, she stopped and breathed in his unique scent. It was the same, yet different. Not unpleasant. Man and wolf together.

For the first time in years, she felt her wolf clamoring to get out and wasn’t afraid of it. “Soon,” she whispered. But not yet.

Shelley tightened her grip on the handle of the axe and concentrated. The stench of sweat mixed with fear and excitement. These hunters loved to fight and kill, and they expected to win. She paused and sniffed again. All except one. One of the hunters smelled different from the rest. She frowned and sniffed again.

Before she could figure out what that difference was, the scent she’d been looking for almost smothered her. Steve Macmillan. She’d grown up with the stink of his hatred burning her nostril, his disdain swirling around her. Now she could smell his need for revenge.

He was hunkered down behind a tree, his men in front of him. Her lip curled. Coward. He’d always allowed others to take the fall and then swooped in for the glory. She’d heard enough of his bragging tales at his father’s kitchen table to figure that out.

A shot rang out. This one was from behind them.

Shelley eased down beside the house and looked over her shoulder. That didn’t make any sense. She sniffed the wind and frowned. Wolves. She was getting nothing but wolves from that side. Another shot rang out and Levi swore. “Fucking Carlos clan. What the hell do they think they’re doing?”

It just kept getting better and better. Now they were under attack on two fronts.

A wolf came barreling around the side of the house. Shelley stood slowly and raised her axe. She had no idea if he was friend or foe. Another wolf was right behind him, bearing down on him fast. Five feet from her, the wolf behind sprang, coming down on top of the other one.

Growls filled the air as blood and fur flew. Powerful jaws and sharp teeth tore at flesh. Lethal claws ripped. Shelley was momentarily spellbound by the sight. It was so violent. So raw.

Finally, one of the wolves lay dead. The larger one turned toward her. She raised the axe, ready to fight. His blue eyes were unusual, but familiar. She’d met him this morning. Donovan Brody.

He gave a low growl. If a wolf could sound disgruntled and pissed off, this one did. He whirled away and took off toward the sound of more fighting.

James . Where was James?

Shelley forgot the dead wolf only feet away and eased toward the corner of the house. It was still hard to see where everyone was. She concentrated on trying to sort out the scents, but it was becoming more difficult with the bitter smell from the guns and the metallic stench of blood filling the air around her.

A flash to her right got her attention. Someone was on the move. She glimpsed a familiar face. Macmillan.

Moving, she raced to the house next door. She had to kill him. Her nightmare would never end until he was dead.

She tore around the corner of James’s house and skidded to a dead stop. James stood there in wolf form, teeth barred as he snarled a warning at Steve Macmillan.

The hunter held his rifle ready, a taunting grin on his face. “You’re going to make a great rug for the side of my bed.”

Shelley screamed. Every ounce of rage she’d ever felt spewed to the surface at that moment. She would not let him hurt James. She drew back her arm and flung it forward, releasing the axe. The blade flashed in the morning sun and Macmillan was forced to dodge back. James started to move, but Macmillan brought his rifle around and held it on her.

“Stop right there, wolf. Or I’ll shoot the little bitch.”

James froze.

“Come here, Shelley. You didn’t think you could get away with what you did, did you? I’ve got plans for you.”

Shelley didn’t know what to do. If she went with him, she was dead. If she didn’t, he’d kill James. There was only one choice she could make.

“I’ll go with you. Just leave the rest of them alone.”

“Sure, Shelley. I only want you.”

She could read the lie in his voice, but knew she had no choice. Maybe she could knock aside his gun when she got close enough.

“Now, bitch. I’m running out of patience.”

Shelley took a step toward him. James’s hind legs quivered as though he was getting ready to jump.

Steve grinned. “Try it, wolf, and you’ll be dead before you get halfway. Shoot him, Quinn.”

Shelley froze as another hunter stepped out behind James. He raised his rifle. A shot ran out and she screamed. But it wasn’t James who fell to the ground, but Macmillan. Blood blossomed on the front of his shirt, spreading rapidly.

The blue-eyed hunter Macmillan had called Quinn ignored them, hurrying to Macmillan’s side.

“You bastard,” Steve gasped.

“Where is Chris Lawton?”

Steve gasped again. “You traitor. Who the hell is Chris…” Blood bubbled up from his throat and he took his last breath.

Behind them, Shelley heard more yells and the sounds of fighting, but she couldn’t look away from the scene before her. James shifted, the wolf receding and the man appearing. Naked, with blood staining his hands, James was an intimidating sight.

He shot a glare at her. She glared right back. She knew he was mad at her but didn’t care. She’d done what she thought was right, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is going on?” The voice was deep. Authoritative. And very familiar.

Shelley turned to see a huge male striding forward. He must have been about six and a half feet tall and he was all pissed-off male in blue jeans and a tight T-shirt. His deep mahogany hair was shaggy and hung down around his shoulders. His deep-set chocolate brown eyes were eerily familiar. She saw the same ones peering out at her each time she looked in a mirror.