No Such Thing As Werewolves (54 page)

The room had been on the losing side of a war. Ancient stone was gouged and broken. Two of the massive obelisks had been shattered. He knew Sheila’s heart would break if she saw the devastation. This place would never be the same.

Bodies littered the room. Most were his men, two armored guards and Yasmin’s blood-soaked body. Jordan crouched next to the closest form, one of the armored guards, minus a leg. It was Yuri. In theory, the armor would have self-sealed the wound, so he was possibly still alive. “Evans, carry Yuri to the surface. Get the chopper warmed up, and get him to Panama. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Evans said, shouldering his rifle. He knelt, scooping up Yuri’s mangled armor. He trotted back up the ramp, heading for the surface. The move didn’t make tactical sense. It removed one of his soldiers from a combat situation. But Jordan was done throwing away lives. Yuri deserved a chance.
 

He turned his attention back to the scene before him, trying to piece together the battle that had occurred.

One of the corpses was a badly mangled monstrosity with black fur. Her body was shattered, bones jutting out at odd angles and huge rents marring her flesh. Sightless eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, and she was missing three limbs.

At the far side of the room lay the entryway to the bunker. The door stood open, which could only have happened from the inside. Ice filled his belly. Somehow Smith had tricked the soldiers into opening the door. A bright white light pulsed from within the battered bunker. Jordan wondered if it had done that the last time he was here. Or had Smith already entered and started whatever process would wake that woman?

There was no sign of opposition, but all his men were down. The werewolves had won the skirmish, and if that was the case, there was only one place for them to go.

“Teams of two, cross the chamber and rush that room. Kill anything moving inside,” Jordan ordered, still scanning the central chamber as his men moved to obey. Something wasn’t right here. This was too easy.

He crossed the room slowly. He was about midway when the first pair of soldiers reached the doorway to the bunker. Something roared from the darkness, huge and terrible. It came at them sideways, just like it had back in the cornfield. A silver female tore into one of the men behind Jordan, shredding armor like tissue and tearing out his throat. He’d expected auburn, the color of Smith’s new accomplice, Liz Gregg.
 

The last thing he’d expected was for Bridget to show up. Even knowing she could have broken free of her cell at any time, his mind just couldn’t wrap around the fact that she was here now. How had she known about Smith’s arrival? He felt a brief twinge of guilt for Adams, the soldier she’d just killed. He could have done something to neutralize Bridget, but he had left her where she was, knowing she was a threat.

Jordan was still processing the attack when another form flashed from the darkness, this one completely unfamiliar. A blond female picked up Cortez and hurled the man face first into the central obelisk, where he landed with a crunch of stone and metal. How many targets were they dealing with? It didn’t matter. What did was stopping Smith from getting inside that room.

“Form a defensive perimeter around the bunker. Ureksav, Brody, get inside and terminate anything that isn’t us. The rest of us will keep them off you,” Jordan barked, already sprinting toward the bunker.
 

The trouble with fighting these damn werewolves was that they could vanish at will. How the hell could he fight an opponent that he couldn’t track?

He walked his rifle over the darkness, placing his back against the bunker’s battle-scored edifice. The rest of his men took up similar positions as Ureksav and Brody squeezed through the door.

The silver werewolf lunged from the darkness again, this time armed with a rifle taken from one of his fallen men. She pressed the barrel against the back of a helmet, stroking the trigger before anyone could offer warning. The man’s head exploded through his faceplate. His now headless body collapsed to the ground, leaving the werewolf open.

Jordan and two other men lined up shots, filling the air with high-pitched whines as their bullets tore at the darkness. Bridget let out a yelp as she rolled back into the shadows, the kind a dog made when it had been hurt. There was no way to know how badly she’d been wounded, of course. Or really if she had been at all, since she might be able to heal any wounds they could deal. It was so hard to know how much punishment a werewolf could take before they could bring it down.

He needed a way to flush her and her companions out. What did they want in this situation? Him and his men dead, obviously. But there was more to it than that. She was protecting Blair, giving him time to finish his work. “Everyone inside the bunker. Now!”

Chapter 79- Embarrassing Accident

Blair experienced a moment of vertigo. Then he was back within the strange control room construct, a sort of psychic waiting room. The mental construct hadn’t changed. He stood exactly as he had before, as did the Mother. Or Isis, if he were to use her real name. She stood before him, eyes smoldering with fury.
 

“Seven. Billion. People,” she said, voice quivering with what rage. “Do you know what you’ve done? You are like locusts, infesting every continent. Seeding the world for the ancient enemy’s return. The deathless will slaughter your people, giving them billions of willing slaves. Our world will burn, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Yet even that is not the greatest crime.

“You have destroyed the great pack itself. It is bad enough that you hunted wolves to near extinction,” she roared, eyes flashing. “You’ve twisted their DNA, creating cruel mockeries. These
dogs
your people have bred. They are a sad remembrance of the majestic creatures that stood with us against the ancient enemy in ages past. We have great need of the pack, but you moderns have eradicated them. It is as if your kind knowingly sought the worst ways in which to ensure your own destruction.”

“I couldn’t possibly—” Blair began.
 

“Silence,” the Mother thundered. Blair tried to get a word in, but her gaze silenced him more than her words had. “You are fortunate that I do not burn your mind to a cinder for your own crimes. Had you woken me when Ahiga first asked, he might still be alive. We might have had months to prepare, instead of hours. Yet you waited. Waited until it was too late.

“Then there is the matter of the Ark itself. You have destroyed two of the control rods and severely damaged another. You witnessed my memories. You know this place is older than even I can understand, yet the damage you have wrought has turned it into nothing more than a stone monument,” she hissed, leaning in close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her. “We lie naked before the storm. Our champions are scattered and leaderless, their numbers too few. Ahiga is dead. The Ark is in ruins. The enemy is upon us, and he is legion. Why even wake me at all? Why not let me go to my end in ignorance?”

“You know what? Fuck you. You don’t get to take this out on me,” Blair snapped, leaning in until his nose nearly touched hers. After all that he had sacrificed, all that he had been through, she blamed him. “I didn’t ask for this. I knew nothing about your world or about this ancient enemy. I’ve been chased, shot at, and nearly killed more times than I can count. I’ve seen friends killed. Hell,
I’ve
killed friends. All because of
you
. Because of the preparations you left. Lady, I get that you’re pissed off, but this is not my fault. I woke you up so you could help us deal with this ancient enemy. Can you do that? Because if not, you’re wasting my time.”

“You have the temerity to lecture
me,
little whelp?” she hissed, those emerald eyes growing dangerous. “I will deal with the pitiful wretches that assail your pack. When I am done, I will return, and we will speak of your insolence. Spend the time learning humility, for if you speak to me that way again, I will tear out your spine and hang your skull atop this place as a warning to fools everywhere.”

The world exploded into a billion tiny pieces. Blair staggered backward, suddenly back within the sarcophagus room. He caught himself against the wall, weakened by whatever he’d just experienced. The rejuvenator began to hum. Then that hum grew to a whine. The rejuvenator shimmered, and the Mother’s body began to rise, passing through the translucent material until she rested on the surface.

She flipped to her feet, shifting in midair. The process was unbelievably rapid, occurring in an eye blink. She stood, nine feet of silver fur and infinite rage.

A pair of armored men pounded their way into the room, drawing her gaze. She blurred toward them just like he would have done but far, far faster. The move shook him to the core, because it completely changed the rules as he understood them. Apparently Isis could use the powers of both sexes.

She seized both suits by the head, dashing them together like a pair of melons. She dropped the now headless corpses and turned to face him.

“We will speak when the slaughter is finished. Remember what I have said,” she roared, and her hot, fetid breath washed over him. “Humility, little whelp, your life depends on it.”

Blair wasn’t proud of what happened next. Warm wetness spread around his crotch as his bladder released itself of its own accord. Yep, she had, quite literally, made him wet his pants.
 

Chapter 80- The Mother

Liz staggered away from the armored soldier, clutching at the new wound in her side. The arm spurs were sharp enough to sever limbs, though thankfully she’d danced away before he’d been able to puncture anything vital. She knew she was at the edge of her abilities, chest heaving as she bled from a multitude of wounds.

Gathering the shadows was like hefting boulders. She staggered into the darkness, collapsing against one of the undamaged obelisks. She was exhausted. Maybe she should just lie down. No, Blair still needed time, and as long as she could buy that, she couldn’t stop fighting.

“Let me handle this,” a voice growled from the shadows next to her. That must be the silver werewolf who’d shown up out of nowhere, just in time to delay the soldiers seeking to stop Blair. Without her, Liz would already be dead. “You’re in bad shape. If they get a clean shot at you, I don’t think you’ll survive.”

“You’re not doing much better,” Liz panted, nodding toward the severed arm across the room. A new one had grown back, but it still hung limply at the silver’s side. “I don’t think either one of us is going to make it out of this, but it doesn’t matter. We have to give Blair the time he needs.”

“To wake the Mother, I know. I’m Bridget, by the way. I was on Blair’s team. He might have mentioned me,” the woman said, rising shakily to her feet. The hope in her voice drew a surprising surge of jealousy. Was this Blair’s girlfriend?

“I’m Liz. He never mentioned you, but he didn’t really talk about the team,” she said, grunting as she regained her feet. “We’ve been dodging Mohn for weeks with hardly a moment to catch our breath.”

Bridget’s disappointment was brief, quickly buried under a mask of purpose. Her amber eyes glowed. “We need to attack again, keep them all from getting inside that bunker.”

Liz was too tired to answer with more than a slight nod. Bridget melted back into the shadows, and Liz did the same. The effort left her lightheaded, and she had to clutch the obelisk or risk falling. A roar sounded from the far side of the room as Bridget’s silver form barreled into an armored soldier. She grabbed an arm, yanking with all her might. It came loose with a tortured shriek of metal that battled the agonized shriek of its owner.

An answering hail of fire came from the several suits remaining, now inside the bunker and using the firing slits. One appeared in the doorway long enough to launch its missiles. Bridget dragged the still-screaming soldier in front of her, using his body to block the explosion. His scream cut off abruptly, replaced by one of Bridget’s as she was launched backward and into the wall. She tumbled to the ground and didn’t rise.

Liz tried to hobble back into the fight, but the moment she released the obelisk, her balance failed. She sprawled onto the ground in a heap. She struggled feebly but was forced to admit that further action was beyond her. She was done with this fight, regardless of her wishes.

Two soldiers moved in her direction, red dots seeking a target as they scanned the ground near her. She was about to die, and Bridget didn’t look like she was faring much better. They’d done everything they could against tremendous odds. She should have been proud of that, but all she wanted to do was sleep.
 

Stone and metal burst apart in a shower of debris as the bunker simply ceased to exist. Several armored figures were part of that debris, slamming into obelisks or the wall with bone-shattering force. Something massive and beautiful came striding out of the cloud of dust, a silver female perhaps a foot taller than Bridget.

Four armored soldiers were still moving, all wounded but obviously still in the fight. The silver could only be the Mother, and she ricocheted between them faster than the eye could follow, cutting down first one and then another. It was the same ability Blair used, the one he’d claimed only men could do. How was that possible?

The third managed to pepper her with missiles, which detonated in a now familiar explosion of shrapnel and debris. The Mother roared with fury, seemingly unaffected by the blast. She blurred through the cloud of smoke, grabbing the soldier by the neck and dashing his faceplate against the wall so many times that nothing recognizable was left.