15. Chapter 15
Riley
When Freda and I walked into the bungalow that evening after leaving Gunnar in the hospital, Parker sat in the dark with a beer in his hand, sprawled in an armchair by the window, his boots propped up. His duffel bag sat on the floor by the front door.
When Freda flipped on the light, I noticed dark circles under his eyes to go with the two-day beard. The frost around my heart cracked a little.
“You look rough.”
He took a pull from his beer. “And you look like you slept in your clothes.”
Freda shook her head tiredly. “Now that you’re here, I’m entrusting her safety to you. I need a shower and a good night’s sleep.”
I settled into the armchair next to him that faced out to the geyser basin. A wash of stars painted the sky.
“Did you hear about Gunnar and Jamie?” I asked.
“Beau gave me an update. I’m sorry. No matter how irritating they are, I know you like them both.”
“They flew Jamie to the Moran Eye Center. His eye is damaged, and he’ll have a scar on his beautiful face for the rest of his life.” The implant worked to dissipate my guilt, but I fought against it. I deserved to feel responsible.
Parker turned to study me. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“It’s hard not to.”
“This fight isn’t just yours anymore, and right now you don’t have enough people to go back and try again.” Parker never wasted time getting to the point.
“I know. Conall said Sawyer is sending Malcolm, one of his medics, and an enforcer. They’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
Parker’s mouth quirked. “The Scottish asshole? Christ, I bet Conall loves that.”
Conall didn’t like Malcolm. It had everything to do with the Scott hitting on me before he knew Conall had already staked his claim. Malcolm shielding me from him at the Southwestern States Pack house in Las Vegas was icing on the cake.
Parker took a pull from his beer. “While you were scheming with the Alphas, I made a few calls of my own. My Marine buddy, Decker, runs air transport for a private contractor. He has a Black Hawk we can use for transport.”
I blinked. “Okay. Do we need something that big?”
“Yeah.” Parker’s grin was all teeth. “A UH-60 with twin engines, a four-bladed main rotor, and the beast can carry eleven fully loaded troops plus crew. Perfect for us. We’re not schlepping in twelve miles again with Marlowe lurking around. We’re flying in and doing it fast.”
I sat up straight, and even my implant seemed to vibrate. If Marlowe had to hike out and procure reinforcements, I could actually beat him to the coordinates. The device began calculating distances, flight times, and landing zones. And the cost.
My excitement died. “How much is he charging? Fergus isn’t going to approve the expense.”
He smirked. “More than your salary can afford, but Conall’s Pack will be footing the bill. Apparently, he’s not taking any chances after what happened to Jamie and the troll.”
Something warm uncoiled in my chest. Conall was in D.C., neck-deep in the Pack Council and the proposed legislation, yet still found a way to help me from thousands of miles away.
“Good. There’ll be enough room for the hellhounds too.”
Parker cocked an eyebrow. “On a Black Hawk?”
“I need them. Mangus protected me, and Athena took out one of their people.” I instinctively rubbed at my cheek where she’d left a nice chunk of brain splatter.
He grimaced. “Where are they?”
“At the ranger station with Beau and his people. I need to go get them.”
Parker scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t like this. Marlowe’s out there with God knows how many more operatives, and now he’s got an implant and whatever fucked-up Compulsor bullshit you described. But you still want to waltz back in.”
“We need to find out what’s there. Viggo disappeared, and Zaria was murdered because of it.”
“Alright.” He finished off his beer. “Decker will land at the West Yellowstone airport at zero six hundred. Tell Malcolm and his crew they need to be there by then. We load up, fly in, and hopefully find whatever the hell your father was chasing.” He stood, stretching his back with a series of pops that made me wince.
“But the hellhounds ride in the cargo bay. Decker’s not gonna be thrilled about sulfur-breathing demon dogs in his bird. ”
“They’re cadejos,” I corrected automatically.
“That’s what I said. Mangus smells like death and looks like he crawled out of a nightmare, and I’m pretty sure the white one was reincarnated from a honey badger.
But if you say they’re coming, they’re coming.
” He picked up his jacket from the back of the chair.
“I’ll get the dogs, and you get some sleep.
Tomorrow’s gonna be a long fucking day.”
I showered and sprawled on the bed with an arm over my eyes, listening to Parker come back and Mangus grunting by the fireplace.
Outside, Old Faithful erupted on schedule, a distant roar of water and steam that rattled the windowpanes.
I counted the seconds of the eruption, the implant logging the data without conscious thought.
Marlowe was out there with an implant like mine and Compulsor abilities that shouldn’t exist. I curled onto my side and reached for the bond. It pulsed faintly. Conall was fighting his own battles, and somewhere in these mountains, my father’s ghost was waiting for me.
The next morning, the sky outside my window had gone from black to a charcoal gray. Parker was already up, and the smell of coffee drifted on the cold morning air.
I lay still for another thirty seconds, cataloging my body. My thigh wound ached when I moved, stiff from the cold, but my head was clear.
When I came out, Parker slid a cup of tea toward me without looking up from the map spread on the kitchen table. Freda came out of her room, fully dressed and ready to go, and we were out the door five minutes later.
The West Yellowstone airport was quiet, and the enormous Black Hawk sat on the far end of the tarmac, rotors still. I’d seen helicopters before, but this machine was massive.
Decker stood next to the fuselage, arms folded, watching us pull in. He was Parker’s height but broader through the chest, with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut and that stillness that marked him as ex-military. He and Parker did the shoulder-clasp-back-slap thing.
Then he looked past Parker and saw Mangus and Athena. “No.”
“They’re with her.” Parker jerked his chin at me.
Decker glared, and I stared back. “I need them.”
“They’re Central American Canis Hellhounds, and I know what they can do.”
Mangus pressed against my body, knocking me sideways a little as a thin curl of malodorous smoke rose from his nose.
“They’re cadejos.” I kept my voice even. “They’re trained, and they won’t be a problem. They’re also the reason we have fewer Apex operatives to deal with this morning.”
Decker studied Mangus for a long beat as the hellhound stared back at him with his glowing red eyes. Then his tail started wagging. Smart boy.
Decker must’ve been a dog man, because I saw the second he caved. “Gawd damn it. Fine, but they ride in the cargo area,” Decker finally bit out. “And if they damage my bird—”
“They won’t.” I scratched Mangus’s head. “He’s very well-behaved, considering.”
“Considering what?”
“That he’s a supernatural apex predator,” Parker offered cheerfully.
“You aren’t helping,” I muttered.
Decker scowled at Parker, then went back to checking his bird.
I heard his voice before I saw him. “Och, our pilot looks like he’s smiled twice in the past forty years. I like the lad already.”
Malcolm crossed the tarmac with his long, cocky stride, a pack slung over one shoulder, his red hair catching the early light. He grinned, and something warm broke through the ice.
“Hi, Red. Are you going to try and make me kneel again?” I grinned as Mangus gave a halfhearted growl.
Malcolm ignored the hellhounds and proper Resonant and Alpha Mate protocol, pulling me into a quick, solid hug.
“No, lass. I learned my lesson the first time. I hear you nearly got yourself kidnapped again.” He stepped back and looked me over, his green eyes quick and assessing. “Nice scars. You’re collecting them.”
“Get your hands off my niece, asshole,” Parker muttered behind me.
Malcolm turned to him, his grin widening. “I see you haven’t lost yer sunny personality.”
“I see you’re still a smartass.”
Malcolm looked down at the hellhounds, then crouched and extended the back of his hand toward the black beast. Mangus sniffed, then exhaled a puff of sulfury smoke directly into Malcolm’s face.
The Scott blinked and stood. “Right.”
Athena glanced at him and looked away. “High praise,” I informed Malcolm.
He straightened and pointed to the two shifters hanging back behind him.
“This is Cora, one of our medics. And this is Bart.” The woman was of medium height, with light brown hair cut short and practical.
She assessed our group and gave a quick nod as discomfort radiated from her.
Except when she glanced at Malcolm, her cheeks went pink. Interesting.
“The bonny lass is quite a talker,” Malcolm grinned, then turned to the other shifter. Bart was broad through the shoulders, with a sunburned face and a wide, easy grin. He stared at the Black Hawk with naked delight.
“We’re actually flying in this? Best assignment I’ve had all year.”
“Don’t jinx us, lad,” Malcolm muttered. Bart’s energy exuded uncomplicated warmth.
Decker stood with his hands on his hips, scowling as we loaded the gear, and I settled the hellhounds into the cargo area. Then I strapped in between Freda and Malcolm, my pack wedged at my feet.
The rotors began a slow build, the vibration moving up through my bones.
Less than an hour later, the meadow came up beneath us, a wide pale spot between the tree lines.
Freda handed out com-links as Decker expertly brought the Black Hawk down, and we were moving before the rotors finished spinning.