Kelly Meding - Wrong Side of Dead

My infected human . It sounded so cold when put like that, but Elder Dane didn’t know Wyatt. He had no stake in Wyatt’s survival. His only major loyalties were to the Pride and the Assembly. But Wyatt was strong. He was Gifted, dammit. He could beat this.

“Is there anything else about the Lupa that you can tell us?” Astrid asked.

“They are an old race, second only to the Coni, and strong.”

“And bi-shifters,” I said, thinking back to my Boot Camp battle with Wolf Boy in his half-wolf form. He’d been one scary son of a bitch.

Both Elders glanced at separate corners of their screens, probably where each saw the other, and shared a look I couldn’t decipher. They had to know I’d been told about the bi-shifters in general; I just didn’t know which Clans had the ability. Only my own guesses, based on an old clue from Michael Jenner.

“Yes, they are also bi-shifters,” Elder Dane said.

Fabulous .

“The medical information should have arrived,” Elder Rojay said. “Best of luck.” He signed off.

The monitor expanded the angry visage of Elder Dane. “Astrid,” he said.

She stiffened. “Yes, sir.”

“You have three very serious problems, and as the chief security liaison to the Assembly, need I remind you of your priority?”

“No, Elder Dane, you needn’t do that.”

Dane’s gaze flickered up and past me to Marcus. “Do not disappoint.” The three words fell like anvils, and then the screen went blue.

Marcus growled, deep and low.

Dr. Vansis snatched up the laptop.

“What’s your priority, exactly?” I asked Astrid.

“Protecting the Clans,” she said in a flat tone. “Which means my first priority is finding and destroying the Lupa, and then finding our missing people.”

I bristled, hands balling into fists. “So Wyatt and the sick vampires come in a distant third?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize that all of these things are connected, right?”

She stood up, my height, but somehow impossibly taller. Fury flashed in her eyes, and her true form prowled just beneath the surface. I’d seen Astrid shift several times in the last month, but her leopard was nowhere near as intimidating as the woman. “Yes, I realize all these things are connected, and I also realize that you aren’t used to taking orders and following the commands of your superiors, so let me make something clear. Isleen is sick. Baylor is in the field. Right now, I am in charge of the Watchtower, and if you wish to continue working with us, you will follow my fucking orders.”

Hot damn, I’d never heard her cuss before. The cold delivery of her mini-rant didn’t cow me, but it did make one thing perfectly clear—she wasn’t happy about the ordering of her priorities. Good. It meant she cared about more than just her Clans.

“Understood,” I said.

She blinked hard, as though surprised by my sudden acquiescence. “Good.”

“I need permission to leave the Watchtower.”

“Stone, we still don’t know—”

“I know what we don’t know, Astrid.” I was toeing the line with her, but had the faintest outline of a plan forming in my head. I just couldn’t do anything about it stuck here. “We don’t know a hell of a lot, including what this disease will eventually do to the vampires here, or if Wyatt’s going to die from that werewolf bite. But Thackery does know, and I can at least get us a few more werewolves.”

She gave me a dubious frown. “How?”

“I need to know Phin’s current location, and I need two tranq guns with the strongest local anesthetic we have.”

“For?”

“I used to be a Hunter, right?” I smiled. “I’m going hunting.”

6:50 A.M.

Ten minutes later, I met Baylor’s van in the parking lot of a discount grocery store in upper downtown. I climbed in, armed with my requested guns and a cell phone set to speed-dial Astrid. Baylor wore the same concerned, pinched expression I’d seen on everyone in the last few hours.

“Squad’s in position,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Good,” I said. “Phin?”

“Construction site across the street, just like you said.”

“What’s our lead time?”

“Ten minutes, max.”

Cool. I hated waiting. My plan was simple—bait and shoot. The wounded werewolf had died a few minutes ago from blood loss—which may or may not have been helped along, but I wasn’t going to question a good thing—so the body had been dumped at the construction site. Phin was watching downwind in osprey form, and the rest of Baylor’s team had taken surveillance positions nearby. As soon as the other werewolves tracked their dead buddy, I’d get a signal and teleport in with my tranq guns ready to blast the bastards. We’d have twenty, maybe thirty minutes to interrogate them before anyone tracking realized they hadn’t moved locations in a while.

A very simple plan.

With so many chances to go terribly wrong.

Less than three minutes of tense silence passed before Baylor’s phone beeped. He checked the message. “They’re coming up the street, about a hundred yards to the north, human form.”

Even better, if they were tracking as teenagers. “Okay, good, see you in a few.” I reached for the door handle.

“Watch your back, Stone.”

I winked, then bounded out of the van. The guns were tucked in the waist of my jeans, hidden by a loose T-shirt I’d changed into after a quick shower; no sense in coming to an ambush smelling like Halfie blood. The wound on my back had been rebandaged, and the itch-ache of it healing kept me company as I jogged across the street south of the construction site. It was still early, the city not fully awake. Cars zipped past, but the foot traffic was minimal—good for our purposes.

A tall construction wall created a fairly solid barrier between the sidewalk and the stalled project inside. I’d hunted Halfies here a few times and knew the lay of the land pretty well. Financing on a hotel had fallen through nearly two years ago, and all work on the site stopped. It had yet to restart.

I was near the empty and rusting trailer housing the site office. The frame of the hotel was in place, creating an iron maze with only the barest sense of structure. Tarps had been draped over large sections to protect equipment from the weather. Phin should have put the dead werewolf in the center of one of these tarps. The logic: open placement screamed bait, but covering him theoretically limited our ability to ambush the other werewolves from a distance. That’s where my teleporting ability would come into play.

I could appear out of nowhere, far enough to prevent them from smelling me first, and shoot them before they could react to my presence. Theoretically. Everything hinged on my ability to not teleport into one of them or, worse, into an unexpected support beam.

The fence had half a dozen different weak spots, and with the werewolves approaching from the north, they’d stumble across at least three of those before they got close to my position. So I waited. Waited for a very simple signal: Phin landing on the roof of Baylor’s van.

I leaned casually against a telephone pole, pretending to bite my nails, glancing around as if waiting for someone, all the while facing the van. Minutes ticked by. My anxiety grew exponentially, sending a gaggle of butterflies loose in my guts. This had to work. I didn’t have another plan, couldn’t think of another way to learn if there was an antidote for wolf bites.

A shadow drifted across the sidewalk, and then a bird that had no business living in a city perched gracefully on top of our van. I swallowed hard, mouth dry, and pulled my guns. Checked for potential witnesses and saw none.