Bonnie Vanak - The Covert Wolf

“No Draicon stole the Orb,” Parker said, glaring at her.

Curtis’s expression became stony. “I agreed to have you on this assignment, Miss McClare, against my will. Lieutenant Parker’s identity has been exposed. His life is in danger. No one must know Matt is a Draicon. No paranorms, no humans, not even the POTUS.”

At her confused expression, he added, “President of the United States. Is that clear, Miss McClare?”

She nodded, feeling sweat bead on her forehead.

“You know how powerful the Orb is,” Curtis continued.

“It serves as an amplifier to enhance a person’s natural power, both dark and light, which is why it’s dangerous,” she interrupted. “And it reveals the truth about whatever one desires. For example, if you want to know the true identity of a Fae you suspect is using glamour, you consult the Orb.”

Curtis glanced at Matt, emotion shadowing his gaze. “The person who stole the Orb used it to sell intel about Lieutenant Parker and his teammate. They were ambushed by pyrokinetic demons. The demons burned Lieutenant Parker’s partner and nearly killed Matt.”

Sienna choked back a horrified gasp. The Orb was being used for evil? She had hoped it was merely lost. Now the stakes were much bigger. Pity filled her as she looked at Lieutenant Parker, his expression tight with pain and grief.

“How do you know the Orb is to blame?”

“We have sources. And we have a leak, which is why we’re meeting in secret.” Curtis turned to the lieutenant. “Shay’s providing backup on this op. He’ll brief you.”

Once again, they’d shut her out, as if closing a door. Shaymore opened the briefcase that had been cloaked as a large Coach purse, and pulled out a fat envelope.

Bile rose in her throat as she studied the photographs he displayed on the table. They were horrifying in their simple, stark details. Bodies, unrecognizable and charred, lay scattered on the sands. Their hands curled into claws, stretching out to the sky.

“One of our paranorm assets discovered they’d torched an entire village after attacking you, Dakota. A community of friendlies.”

Sienna swallowed past her gorge. “Why?” she whispered.

Parker leaned across the table, his gaze searing hers. “Because that’s what they do, Miss McClare. These demons feed off fire and terror. It infuses them with energy and power.”

Sienna had a nagging suspicion she’d seen this kind of nasty work before. But she couldn’t place it.

“They’ve been kept in check before because the bolt holes barring entry into our dimension were secured. About two months ago, a group of Darksider rogue Fae opened a bolt hole in an abandoned building in Nevada scheduled for demolition. Using explosives they’d stolen from Libya, they managed to free four pyrokinetic demons before our people sealed the breach. The pyro demons then torched a nearby apartment building, killing twenty-six people.”

She felt sick to her stomach. Her own kind had helped do this?

Shaymore dug out a photograph from the purse. “This is a pyrokinetic demon.”

Sienna stared at the mottled gray skin, the angry red slash of a mouth, the tapered, long fingers ending in sharp talons. “How could they move among the humans if they look like this?”

“Glamour.” Shaymore rubbed his eyes, as if weary. “The Darksider Fae gave the demons their ability to glamour in return for a higher position in the netherworld. The glamour only holds for a few minutes—”

“Long enough,” Parker cut in. “But if they get the Orb, they’ll be able to hold it longer.”

The possibilities were horrifying. Bile, hot and acid, rose in her throat.

The Draicon looked tight and deadly as a honed blade. “A Darksider Fae bought intel about me and my buddy from the slime who stole the Orb. Then he glamoured himself as our C.O. and ordered us on a mission. The demons waited until the marines in our convoy passed. The jarheads weren’t the target. We were. The Fae set us up.”

A low growl rumbled from his throat. “Because of that, my best friend died in agony. If I find the Fae who did this, they won’t need a demon to get to hell. I’ll send them there myself.”

His rage was luminous, raising the room temperature and warming her cheeks. Every instinct urged her to get up, get out and away from this dangerous Draicon. Sienna’s eyes widened as he dragged his fingertips across the wood table, scoring it with claws that suddenly emerged.

“Whoa, L.T.,” Shaymore said. “I don’t have the money to cover damages for this room.”

“Easy, Dakota,” the lieutenant commander murmured. “The Fae who impersonated the major general was caught. He’s been taken care of. We’ve established new security measures around all key personnel.”

Sympathy filled her. She knew how it felt to be helpless and enraged. Sienna watched the Draicon rein in his control. Sweat popped out on his forehead, but his claws retreated.

“This mission is crucial, Miss McClare,” Curtis told her. “If the pyro demons get the Orb, they’ll discover the identity of every member of the Phoenix Force, and our associated powers. And use it to kill my men, who are the last defense against them.”

“Not going to happen,” Parker grated out. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not going to let innocent civilians be torched like my buddy was.”

A horrific image came to mind. Streets lined with bodies, burned and twisted. Mothers, fathers, children. Not a tiny village on the edge of a desert, but a city filled with living people. Turned to a charred wasteland where the silent screams of the victims still floated in the air …

Nausea rolled in her stomach. She could no longer hold it at bay.

“Will you please excuse me?”

Somehow she made it down the hallway, into the bathroom, running the water to cover the sounds of her retching. It was worse than she’d been led to believe. With shaking hands, she twisted the tap, splashing water on her face. She took several deep breaths, dried off.

Voices raised in anger. In the corridor she paused outside the living room, out of eyesight.

“You can’t even mention his name.” Parker sounded anguished.

“You know the rules, Dakota. He’s gone.”

“Damn it, I know the rules. He was my buddy. He fought bravely for his country. We can’t even speak of him. Everyone who knew him had their memories of him as a SEAL erased.” Parker hissed out a breath. “Adam deserves better. He deserves to be remembered.”

“And he will.”

She peeked around the corner. Curtis emerged from the kitchen, clutching three amber bottles. He handed one to each man. They raised the bottles, clinked.

“To Adam,” Curtis said.

“To Wildcat,” echoed Shaymore. “A damn fine warrior.”

“To Chief Petty Officer Adam Barstow, the bravest soldier I’ve ever known. The best buddy I ever had. May the spirits guide you to the Other Side as you live on forever in our memories.”

The men drank. Parker tipped his back and took a long pull, his throat muscles working. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, set down the drink. Glass cracked beneath the pressure of his squeezed fist.

“Matt,” the lieutenant commander said gently.

“It should have been me. I sensed there was something off….”

He twisted and turned, his nostrils flaring. “Spying on us?”

Sienna walked into the room, her heart pounding. Anger and grief etched Parker’s face. She knew all about grief, how it ate you up inside. And to not even be permitted to remember a lost one …

“His name was Chief Petty Officer Adam Barstow.” A statement, not a question.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Fear skidded along her spine as she saw Parker’s cold expression. This Draicon wasn’t only a deadly wolf who ripped prey apart, but a trained navy SEAL as dangerous as the weapons he wielded. More than six feet of muscle and deadly force regarded her with cold blue eyes. She eyed the pistol holstered to his hip.