Chapter 27 #2
Juliet frowned. “Should we tell Kazimir? I think he’d want to know if Otero had some involvement. Especially if it involved harm to Iron Valor.”
Bronc agreed. He picked up his phone and scrolled, then slid it across the table to Juliet. “Call him on speaker.”
Juliet did. The phone rang twice, then picked up.
“Dobryy vecher.” Kazimir’s accent was thick, barely filtered by the transatlantic lag. “You call again, so this must be about the war.”
Juliet let him know it was her and filled him in, reading Parker’s notes straight from the pad.
Kazimir listened without interruption. Then, “Dagger is desperate. He has nothing to lose. I send your padruga Lucia and two enforcers tonight. They watch the perimeter. If any vampires interfere, we eat them for you. For free.”
I could hear Lucia in the background, laughing. “We like to see good wolf fight. It is entertainment for us.”
Juliet said, “Thanks, Kaz. We owe you.”
He laughed. “You owe me nothing unless you want to kill Otero for me. I hate that prick.”
Juliet said she’d pass it on. Then, before she hung up, Kazimir dropped his voice to a hush.
“Tell Parker: if she survives, she is always welcome in Philadelphia. Our hackers are lonely.” Then the line went dead.
Menace grinned. “See? We have friends everywhere. They come in damn handy in a fight.”
Bronc turned his attention to Parker. “You did good. We have the intel. Now we make the plan.”
We spent the next hour running down every option, every weak spot, every route in and out.
Gunner and Arsenal would man the gate with heavy weapons.
Doc and Maddie had already moved the civilians into the storm bunkers with quad leaders.
Menace and I would sweep the perimeter at midnight and again before dawn, looking for anything that didn’t smell like us.
Papa would coordinate in the war room, running comms through the new secure relays Parker built from scratch in her bedroom while she was still healing.
Parker stayed on the edge of the conversation, taking notes, occasionally correcting someone, but never quite joining the circle. I wanted to pull her in, to remind her this was still her pack, but she seemed determined to keep one foot out the door.
The plan settled like cement: We’d let Greenbriar in.
Lure them toward the compound, then hit the kill box.
If Adramal or another demon showed, we’d try to draw him into the old meat locker on the property, then collapse the structure with C-4.
Thankfully, our munitions were kept separate from the clubhouse, so the bomb hadn’t come near them.
If it had, the explosion would have taken out half of Dairyville.
Then, as if on cue, the front door opened and in swept Pearl, her silver hair glowing in the kitchen lights. She wore a yellow sweater, carried a tray loaded with sweet rolls and a thermos of coffee. Maddie followed, her eyes dark but alive, clutching two huge boxes of medical supplies.
“Brought reinforcements,” Pearl announced, as if her entrance had been scripted. She set the tray down on the table and began pouring coffee for everyone. Maddie set the boxes down on the island.
“You planning on starting a field hospital?” Bronc asked, with a little smile cracking the granite of his face.
“We already did,” Maddie replied. “Doc’s setting up cots in the old shed. Anyone who can hold a gun is on guard. The rest are locked down, per your order.”
Pearl smiled at Parker, her eyes warm but tired. “You holding up okay, sweetheart?”
Parker managed a nod. “Just ready to be done with this.”
Pearl’s look was all sympathy, but she didn’t push.
We were halfway through another strategy run when a new car pulled up in the drive—a blacked-out Charger, engine idling like a panther.
Bronc’s son, Tyler, home from deployment.
He walked in with the loose stride of a man who’s spent too much time in desert heat: tall, lean, haircut so fresh it looked like it still itched.
He nodded to Bronc, hugged Pearl, shook hands around the table.
Then he saw me and Parker. He hesitated. His eyes, blue like his father’s, narrowed at the sight of us together. Maybe he’d heard the stories, maybe not. It didn’t matter.
He sat at the table, took in the maps and printouts. “So it’s war again,” he said, as if reading the weather report.
Bronc nodded. “That’s the long and short of it.”
Tyler looked at Parker. “You’re the one who killed Silas?”
She met his gaze, flat and even. “I am.”
He grinned. “Cool.” Then he poured himself a mug of coffee and started reviewing the plan.
The rest of the night passed in fragments: people coming and going, the house filling with the ghosts of past battles and future casualties. Parker slipped outside just after dark, and I followed, the wind sharp on my face.
She stood on the porch, staring at the sky, arms tight around her ribs. I leaned against the rail beside her.
“Everything ready?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s never ready. But it’s close.”
We stood there, listening to the wind rattle the storm windows, until the world felt calm again.
I wanted to tell her it would be all right, but I didn’t believe in that kind of lie. Instead, I took her hand, and she let me.
Back inside, the lights burned all night, and the house was a beacon in the prairie dark.
We were barely healed, but for the first time in weeks, I felt something close to hope. We had the fiercest pack in the South. Hell, maybe in the entire country. Greenbriar was about to get a taste of the pain Iron Valor delivered.
Menace’s healer—a coven witch named Claudia, maybe forty, half-patched hair and a voice like a pack-a-day smoke—worked through the house with a box of vials and a notebook.
She wore latex gloves, which was funny, since all the Iron Valor guys had immune systems that laughed at bacteria and normally bled out toxins like beer through a shot glass.
But she was thorough, checking temps and pupils, making each of us swig something clear and stinging from a conical flask.
It tasted like vodka with notes of gasoline and sweet basil, but whatever was in it, it did the job.
By the time Claudia hit me, I was back to normal—more or less.
“You’ll live,” she said, pressing her thumb into my wrist until I flinched.
“But if you see blue light again, call a doctor, not your local exorcist. That goes for all of you.” Her accent was somewhere between rural Wisconsin and straight-up witch.
She moved to the next patient—Juliet, who grumbled but choked down the tonic, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve and grinned at me like a hyena.
The Iron Valor guys filtered in and out throughout the afternoon and early evening.
Gunner first, still favoring his left side, but with that crazy look in his eye that said he’d been waiting for an excuse to shoot someone all week.
Arsenal next, carrying a duffel with at least three illegal rifles poking out the top.
Then Doc, who nodded at Claudia. Clearly he respected her ability despite what he called “witchy shit.” They ended up comparing notes and swapping recipes for ten minutes before Bronc smacked the table with the flat of his palm and called the war council to order.
The kitchen was already full, so they moved to the big front room.
The table was gone, replaced with a plywood slab on sawhorses, covered in maps, printouts, and a tray of mostly eaten sandwiches.
Bronc stood at the head, arms folded, shoulders broad enough to block the lamp behind him.
When he started talking, everyone shut up.
“Here’s the play,” he said, voice steady as an anchor.
“We assume Greenbriar will send its main column through the south road at dawn. They’re going to try to draw out anyone who is still healthy enough to fight.
They won’t expect a full fighting force.
We’ll put Arsenal and Gunner on the south line, with the heavy stuff.
Tyler and the new guys will cover the west and east. Everyone else is on fallback in the compound, or on quick-reaction.
If you’re not a fighter, you’re in the bunker.
No exceptions. By the time they get off their first volleys, they’ll know they’re fucked. ”
He looked around the room, letting the weight of it drop. “If anyone from Greenbriar makes it past the perimeter, we cut them down. No mercy. They want to end us; we’ll show them what that means.”
Arsenal grinned. “Copy that.”
“Questions?” Bronc asked.
Juliet raised her hand, mock-innocent. “What about the demon? Or Parker’s brother? What if they try to double back or sneak in from the north?”
Bronc nodded to me. “Wrecker and Parker are on that. They’ll be running the cams, the drones, and if Axel shows, they get first shot.”
I wanted to say I hoped Axel would just run, that maybe he’d finally grown the backbone to cut and bail, but I doubted it. In my heart, I hoped he’d catch a bullet early, save Parker from having to see it.
Tyler, who’d been silent up to now, spoke: “What about the women and kids?”
“They’re already in the storm bunker,” Bronc said. “Armed and ready if anyone tries to breach. Maddie and Doc took them down earlier, and Menace’s healer, too.”
The room buzzed with low talk—banter, old jokes, a little gallows humor. I caught Parker leaning in close to Maddie, the two of them laughing at something on a phone screen. The sound hit me right in the chest, the same spot that used to ache when I thought about my real family. The old one.
As the night went on, the house shifted from war council to barracks.
Juliet, Pearl, and Maddie turned the living room into a patchwork of blankets, sleeping bags, and couch cushions, so everyone could crash in the open together.
It was an old Iron Valor ritual: before the worst battles, everyone packed into the same room, so you could see the faces you’d die for or live for, all in one sweep of the eyes.
The air was thick with breath and hope and old, unspoken fear.
Some of the younger guys started a poker game on the corner of the plywood slab, betting cigarettes and loose cash.
Gunner and Arsenal took apart rifles on the floor, metal clicking like teeth in the quiet.
Menace stood at the window, one eye on the road, the other on the night.
Savannah drifted between him and the kitchen, always in his orbit, always ready.
For a princess, she was as tough as they came.
I found a spot at the edge of the blankets, Parker curled against my side. Rocket wedged himself between us, snoring like a freight train. I ran my hand through her hair, found the spot behind her ear where the angel’s mark still glowed faintly in the dark.
“You nervous?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not as much as I should be.”
“Good. You’ll need that tomorrow.”
She kissed my jaw, then burrowed closer. “If we get through this, I want to go away for a while,” she whispered. “Like, the ocean. Or the mountains.”
“Deal,” I said. “Wherever you want.”
The lights went low. The last sound before sleep was Pearl telling a dirty joke to Juliet, both of them cackling. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the room wrapping around me. Tomorrow, the nightmare might finally be over.
Or it might just be the beginning. But tonight, I had my pack, my girl, and a reason to live.
It was maybe more than I deserved. And certainly more than I thought I’d ever have.