Wolf Tracks: Tales of the Were (Grizzly Cove Book 17) Page 4

  “Me? I’m no soldier,” Helen protested. She could do the first part, of course. She could save Jim’s life. But helping him fight the enemy? No way. She was a healer, not a fighter.

  “You have all that you need to help him do what’s right,” her mother insisted. “Just don’t let him leave you behind. You must go with him, when he leaves the beach.”

  Helen was confused but knew enough not to argue. She would go to…wherever her mother wanted her to go. Possibly Virginia Beach? Jim and Martin had talked about that location before they’d all parted. Helen knew she would be able to pin down the location better in a few minutes, when her mother was ready to answer questions about details in her vision. Landmarks would help them figure out exactly where Helen needed to be.

  *

  Helen followed her mother’s instructions to the letter. She’d learned long ago, not to argue when it came to her mother’s visions. Loading up her car with spare clothing from her brothers, medical supplies, towels, wipes and whatever else she could think of that she might need, including a cooler full of prepared food and bottles of water, she headed out at first light.

  She made a few stops to get gas, use the facilities and stretch her legs, but other than that, there was only one thing her mother had demanded she do. That little task was the oddest of the odd things Helen had done that day, but she didn’t question. She merely stopped at the fireworks store near the state border and picked up an armful of some of the larger fireworks—particularly the ones that were on sticks and could be sort of aimed.

  When her mother had suggested rather strongly that she pick up a large number of those, Helen had begun to understand what her mother had in mind. She didn’t come out and explain every step of what might happen, because that could alter events in a bad way. However, she had made suggestions that Helen had learned to read, over the years, and Helen would be very much surprised if she didn’t end up aiming the fireworks she’d purchased at someone or something later that night. She’d been sure to get a long-necked lighter, as well. And a backup. Just in case.

  She wasn’t a big fan of fireworks, generally, but she would use them if she had to.

  When she pulled in to Virginia Beach, it was nearing dusk. Using the first bits of twilight, she trolled up and down the famous strip, searching the parking lots for Jim’s pickup. She was about to give up when she spotted it, at the very end of the strip, in the parking lot of the last high-rise hotel. Pulling into that lot as night began to fall in earnest, she decided to book a room in the hotel. She was tired, and according to her mother, the attack wouldn’t come until much later.

  Helen wanted to clean up a bit and refresh herself before the work of the night. Luckily, it was off season, so she was able to get a beach-front room for a very low price. She asked for, and received, a room on the first floor, with a sliding glass door that led, after a few easily-overcome obstacles, to the beach. She knew within moments of entering the room—which was located on the far corner of the building—that the room next to hers, and several after that, were not occupied. Perfect.

  She brought in her supplies and took a quick shower. She didn’t worry about trying to find Jim. His truck was parked right next to her little car, and she’d even put a small note on his windshield, instructing him to call her when he saw it. She didn’t really expect him to call. What she did expect was that, at some point in the middle of the night, there would be a confrontation of some sort on the beach. Then, she would have to act.

  She set up her supplies near the sliding glass door for later, then went out to get the lay of the land and scout the beach a little while there was still a bare hint of sunlight. If she ran into Jim before everything kicked off, so much the better, but she doubted it would happen. When her mother had a vision this strong, things usually occurred according to what she’d seen.

  *

  Jim didn’t like what he’d found in Virginia Beach. The town was not filled with holiday makers, which was a relief, since the year was turning toward winter, but it was still a big place, with lots of nooks and crannies. He remembered better times spent here while he’d been in the service, among friends, but those days were long gone. The place was filled with the ghosts of memories past, friends lost in conflicts around the globe, and good times that would never come again.

  Maudlin. How had he let himself get into such a depressing mood? Jim realized a lot of it had to do with leaving Helen behind in Pennsylvania. His inner wolf was in mourning, howling in his soul, wanting to turn around and go back to find her.

  Ridiculous. She wasn’t his mate. How could she be? For one thing, she was much too good for the likes of him. She was a princess, and he was certainly no prince. He was more the palace guard, fit only to serve and protect, not to become romantically involved with the beautiful lady in the high tower.

  And now, he was waxing poetic. Jim shook his head at his own fanciful notions.

  He’d been on the phone with Ezra Tate, back in Grizzly Cove, and they had established that the paper trail definitely led here, to Virginia Beach. Buford—using two more of his many aliases—had paid for gas, using a couple of different credit cards, under a couple of different names, all the way here.

  Jim just had to find him. It sounded so simple, but in reality, it was proving difficult. Jim decided to prowl up and down the boardwalk, the strip, and the beach. Hell, he’d even check out the ocean, if he had to. No way was he letting Buford—or whatever he was calling himself now—get away from him.

  Jim had been up and down the strip three times already when the sun set. He paused to eat dinner at a beachfront restaurant, so he could keep watch on the darkening waters and the long strip of beach, sparsely populated at this time of year. When the sun set fully, the darker parts of the beach would be perfect for clandestine operations. Jim decided he would prowl the sands after dinner, for as long as it took. He had a strong feeling that he would find his prey there, in the dark.

  Hours later, he was almost ready to give up. He’d been up and down the beach a number of times and had found nothing. There were a few good vantage points near the hotel where he’d reserved a room, basically to have a safe place to park his truck. He went down to the waterline and back, hoping to catch a scent—any scent—that might somehow indicate he was on the right track.

  Alert at the first cackle, Jim was nonetheless caught by surprise when, of all things, a hyena Pack descended on him from downwind. He hadn’t scented them because their pungent odor had been carried away from his sensitive nose even before it could go much farther than a few feet from the spotted animals.

  That they were shifters, he had no doubt. They were as big as he was in his fur, which was to say, larger than their wilder cousins who had only the one form. With no time to strip, he shifted into his wolf form, his clothing tearing off in bits around him. It wasn’t ideal, but he’d fought like this before. It wouldn’t hamper him.

  The hyenas were organized as they came for him. They’d hunted together, like this, before. They even looked a little alike. Perhaps they were a family of hyena shifters, living in the area, though he’d had no intel saying there were any dominant shifter claims on this part of the country. If there had been an Alpha claiming this place as part of his territory, Jim would have at least thought about seeking the Alpha’s permission or even cooperation, depending on what sort of guy he was. But there had been no Alpha. Ezra had double checked with the Lords.

  Hyenas weren’t native to North America, though a few had to have immigrated over the years, Jim was sure. Still, they weren’t common, and if a Pack had taken up residence here and claimed it as territory, somebody would have mentioned it to the Lords, even if the hyenas themselves were reluctant to do so. Which meant, these were rogues. Either they were living nearby, under the radar for their own nefarious reasons, or they’d come here to do a job.

  Killing a werewolf sounded like the sort of job a group like this might take on. Jim had met their kind before, when he was a SEAL,
deployed to Africa. They hadn’t been exactly warm and cuddly then, on their home ground. They were even less so now, as they stalked him, surrounding him.

  Jim didn’t even consider changing back to his human form, but he did think about the right moment to unleash his battle form. The in-between state that only the most powerful shifters could hold for any length of time offered all the strength of the animal and the opposable thumbs and other useful features of his human half. He wondered if any of those facing him could manage to hold their battle forms for any length of time.

  Four against one, they could take turns, even if they couldn’t manage to hold it as long as Jim could. He had to be four times as strong as any of them…and then some. Good thing he’d stopped for dinner. He’d need the fuel to fight, though he wasn’t at all certain of the outcome. These hyenas were moving as a practiced unit. Jim might have just bitten off a little more than he could chew, but he knew one thing for certain… He’d walked right into Buford’s trap.

  The trail had led him—by the hand, practically—to this. Buford had been a lot smarter than Jim had given him credit for being. Jim just hoped his mistake wouldn’t prove to be fatal.

  One of the hyenas made a feint, and then, the one behind Jim charged, morphing to battle form even as he ran. Jim half-shifted, as well, ready for the clash of fists and claws. He would try to pace himself, and even if he couldn’t win, he was going to make these bastards bleed for what they were about to do to him.

  *

  Helen had a large beach bag full of fireworks, the two lighters, bandages and other supplies as she set out from the hotel, at midnight. She decided that the beach was too well-lit on the strip where light spilled out from the many businesses that were on or close to the beach. If anything was going to happen, it would likely be away from the tourist area, where the beach faded into the inky night.

  She noted the wind direction. It was blowing toward her, so her scent wouldn’t carry to anyone in front of her right now. If she didn’t find Jim on the outbound trek, it would be much harder to sneak up on any shifters that might be in the area on the way back.

  She heard snarls and a chilling laugh that sent shivers down her spine before she noticed a smudge of activity in the darkness in front of her and closer to the water. Something was churning up the sand. A fight.

  Dropping to her knees in the scrubby brush behind a low rise of a sand dune, she reached into her beach bag. She’d worn dark clothing, and her bag was dark, but the moment she lit the fireworks, the night would light up. She just prayed whatever it was that was attacking Jim would get scared and run away—and not attack her. It was going to be pretty obvious where she was once the fireworks went off.

  Maybe they’d just think it was teenagers out to have some fun. Maybe they’d get spooked about being discovered and just leave. That was her fervent hope. She decided to shoot off the first rockets toward the sky, just over where she thought the fight was happening. The flash of light might give her an idea of what Jim—and she—was up against.

  Putting action to her thoughts, she stuck the little sticks of five rockets into the sand at the top of the low dune and lit the fuses before backing away and going a short distance down the beach. She could aim the sticks, to a certain extent, and when they went off, she wasn’t looking at the fireworks display, but rather at the beach.

  What she saw made her gasp. Thankfully, the bangs and booms of the fireworks hid the sound. Shifters had really good hearing, and she was in enough danger just being nearby as it was. Setting up her next round, even before the last sparkle faded from the sky, she lit those and moved again.

  She could see more each time a shell exploded overhead. There were at least five figures on the beach. One was in the center. He was enormous. Furry. Not a man, but not quite a wolf. He looked like the werewolves in the old movies—half-and-half. He was bleeding profusely, but still standing.

  Around him circled a pack of…hyenas? In Virginia? It didn’t seem possible, but she thought that’s what they were. The inhuman cackling made sense as they communicated with each other. Three of them were full-on animal form while one engaged Jim in that half-and-half state. She hadn’t realized they could hold that shape, and it certainly was effective for fighting.

  Even as she realized all this, she saw the nervous glances of the hyenas at the fireworks. They were pacing, probably wanting to kill Jim before they left but getting antsy about the possibility of discovery. That was good for her. She just had to get a little bolder before they managed to hurt Jim so badly that even her powers couldn’t heal him.

  She aimed her next rockets carefully, even as the last embers of the previous round faded in the sky. This time, she wasn’t aiming for the sky. No, this time, she was going to singe some hyena fur, Goddess willing. Sending up a prayer for protection, she lit the fuses and moved again, knowing she didn’t have much time.

  She was headed down the beach, toward the hotel each time she moved. Just a few yards, but enough to change her viewpoint. There was a parking lot behind her now, and she decided to raise the stakes again. Picking up some of the rocks around her as soon as she lit the fuses, she threw them as hard as she could at the cars most distant to her position, setting off at least five car alarms as she moved position yet again.

  Then, the rockets flew, and the cackling laughter of the aggressive hyenas turned to screams and whimpers as the rockets flashed past them, singeing their fur. Her aim had been true, and in the light of the rockets, she saw the hyenas scatter. The one who was fighting with Jim paused, looked over at the parking lot and all the flashing lights and honking horns and let itself shift to full-on hyena form before running after its packmates, up the dark beach, into the night.

  People were milling around the far end of the parking lot now. Helen didn’t have much time. She had to get Jim to safety while the darkness on the beach covered them and the people wondering about their cars were looking elsewhere. She slung her bag over one shoulder and ran out to where she’d last seen Jim in the darkness.

  She almost stumbled over him, but he was still breathing when she found him, kneeling on the sand. He looked bad. Even she could smell the copper of blood all over him. He raised his head, and his eyes widened when he saw her.

  “Did I die?” he asked in a ragged whisper.

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she muttered. “Can you stand?” She reached out to him, putting one arm under his, trying to help him without hurting him more.

  His shirt was in shreds, so she took it off completely, rolling it up and stuffing it in her bag. His torso wasn’t the source of the heavy bleeding. No, she thought maybe the blood flow was coming from a vicious leg wound. A little zap of her healing energy eradicated all the little marks on his torso and turned the blood into vapor, removing it from his body.

  She calculated that the fight had been near enough the water that the approaching high tide would erase all evidence of the altercation within the next hour or two. Hopefully, nobody would happen across the scene before then. As dark as it was on this stretch of beach, it was unlikely.

  Jim leaned heavily on her, but he stood. Shaky, but standing, she tried to make a quick assessment of his condition, but it was just too dark to see anything useful. She infused him with a steady flow of her healing power, hoping it would stabilize him enough to get him into her hotel room. She needed light to see what she was doing, and privacy in which to do it. She’d set up the room. Now, if she could just get him to it, she might have a shot at saving him.

  “Come on, now,” she encouraged. “See that big hotel over there? I’ve got a room on the ground floor, all ready for you. We just have to get you there.”

  Chapter Four

  Jim tried. He really did. Helen could feel him making the effort. She gave him a bit more of her healing power, and it seemed to help. He was able to stagger, with her support, toward the hotel. She kept a wary eye on the beach behind them, but she didn’t see the hyenas. Of course, she didn’
t have shifter night vision, so she had no idea if they were watching her or not. If they were, she’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now, her main concern was getting Jim to the hotel and making sure he lived.

  She knew he was leaving a blood trail, but she could use a little jolt of her healing power to deal with that once she had him inside. She would do her best not to leave a trace of what had happened, but the commotion she’d created with the fireworks and car alarms had definitely drawn the attention of the local human population. Even as they neared the corner of the hotel where her room was conveniently located, she saw flashing lights down the beach. Someone had called the cops. Good. Maybe that would keep the hyenas at bay for a bit longer, if they were still in the area.

  There was video surveillance on the outside of the hotel, but with Jim’s arm around her, she hoped they would look like a partying couple returning well after hours. With any luck, the cameras were low enough resolution not to show the full extent of Jim’s injuries. They were both dressed in dark colors, so the blood wouldn’t show on their clothing, and maybe the rips in his pants could be explained as a fashion choice rather than the result of a battle to the near-death. Shirtless men were common on this beach, though probably not at this time of year. Still, with the torn pants, she hoped he would be seen as an eccentric, if anybody bothered looking at this footage at all.

  With any luck, nobody would.

  Helen had taken the chance of leaving the sliding glass door of her room unlocked so they wouldn’t have to actually enter the hotel through the public door or walk down the hallway that undoubtedly had cameras all over it. As they stepped over the low barriers and staggered toward her door, she hoped anyone who might see them would think they were just a drunk couple, sneaking in late.

  They made it to her door without a problem. Now, to get him inside. But first, she sent a little sizzle of her power along the blood trail he’d unintentionally laid, using magic to turn the blood to vapor, erasing the trail and allowing the molecules to float away on the wind.