Fury nearly strangled Douglas. He was not white trash. He could trace his family tree back beyond the Mayflower. He was a descendant of kings, and this bastard dared to talk to him this way.
“You remind me of a braying jackass,” Douglas sneered. “You bastards used to remember your place.”
The Coyote laughed at that. “At your back, with a blade? Man, you’d be bleeding from your throat, not your back, if you weren’t worth more to me alive than dead. Now take your piss so we can get started.”
The Coyote shook his head as he continued to chuckle. Let him enjoy his little laugh. He would be next, Douglas promised himself. There were plenty of pure blood societies willing to be trained to kill these animals. And Douglas knew just how to train them. Just how to work them. And this Coyote commander would be first on his list.
Brimstone might think his shit didn’t stink, but Douglas would be the man to show him better. Soon. Very soon.
Cabal took the pill he had saved back from those he had given Jonas. It wouldn’t eliminate the human side of his scent, but it would at least hide the Breed. If he stayed downwind of the location he had tracked the sat phone to, then it wouldn’t matter anyway.
He just had to find Cassa. He would deal with Patrick Wallace, or Azrael as Cabal suspected him to be, after Cassa’s safety was assured.
God help the bastard if she wasn’t okay.
Shifting the pack on his back, he scaled one of the low-lying cliffs that led along the path to the location he was searching for. There wasn’t time to go around it. Cassa said the pills lasted two hours; that should be time enough for what he had to do.
As he slid along the top of the cliff, he stayed low, listening to the steady hum of the near silent heli-jet cruising overhead.
The specially designed mission pants he wore would hide him from the thermal imaging the craft had. He’d disconnected the locator the pants carried, ensuring that Jonas couldn’t pick him up on the specialized radar the heli-jet was equipped with.
As it passed overhead, Cabal rose to his feet and moved quickly along one of the narrow paths that animals or hikers had made on the mountain. He checked the sat phone locator beacon often, noticing that it hadn’t moved. At least not yet. Though Jonas had sent a message that Douglas Watts was definitely on the move, and that worried Cabal. Because Watts was heading this way.
He ignored the slight chill that pressed through the mission suit and ignored the snow beginning to swirl around him.
As he topped the rise, he crawled to the edge of a ravine and looked over, his eyes narrowing at the slightest glow of light through the darkness.
He checked the tracker on the sat phone, and was certain that this was the cabin he was searching for. He watched, inhaling the scents blowing toward him, searching for some sign of Cassa and finding nothing on the cold breeze.
He was going to have to get in closer, but with the way the cabin sat and the position of the ravine, it was going to be damned near impossible to slip up on another Breed. His Breed scent might be masked, but if the pill did indeed allow the human scent through, then he could be fucked. Because Azrael would be able to detect him coming.
He would have to stay low. The lower he was, the less chance there would be of the breeze betraying him. The winds were swirling, but for the moment they were coming down, curling and moving along the edge of the valley. If they stayed as they were, a big if there, then there would be a narrow window of movement that he could use to advance on the cabin.
Plotting his course, he gave the breeze time to die down before he took off. Using one hand to hold the rifle secure at his back, he ran, body low, using the speed that had been built into his genetics to race the wind.
As he drew closer to the cabin, he knew something was wrong. He could smell Breed scent; Walt Jameson’s scent was there as well as a scent he knew belonged to David Banks. But the scents weren’t fresh. They weren’t there.
Enraged, a howl tore from Cabal’s lips as he went through the front door. Glass and wood crashed into an immaculate kitchen. There was chili on the stove, coffee in the pot. All fresh. Cassa’s scent was there at the table, an untouched bowl of food where she had sat.
But there was no Cassa.
“You fucker!” he screamed. Fury burned like fire in his blood and tore through his senses, darkening the stripes now bisecting his face and running down his body.
“Jonas,” he barked into the comm link. “They’re not at the cabin I tracked the sat phone signal from. What the fuck is going on?”
“Watts is moving,” Jonas growled into the link. “If you’d keep the goddamned link turned on, you might know that. There’s movement at the valley where Alonzo’s body was found. We can’t slip in with the heli-jet. We’re moving in on foot.”
Cabal didn’t wait to question. The clearing was a good half hour’s hard run from where he was currently at. The distance could be shortened if he shot over the cliff behind him. If he could scale it quickly enough.
It was a second’s thought, quick calculation before he ran for the cliff. The leather gloves on his hands protected his palms, but nothing could protect the gloves as his nails retracted, the strong claws beneath shooting out to grip the stone.
He scrambled up the narrow cliff face, using every ounce of strength in his arms and legs to move himself quickly along the jutting stone and the weathered erosions that pitted it.
Within minutes he was jumping over the top and was running. Son of a bitch, he hated running with this damned suit on. He couldn’t feel the breeze, couldn’t smell it either, couldn’t sense friend or foe as he could without the protective outerwear.
Without it though he would be easily detectable to Breed or human devices. The fabric blocked some scent; hopefully the anti-scent drug he had taken would completely block the Breed scent. If he was lucky, damned lucky, then he just might be able to slip in.
“Cassa’s been sighted, Cabal. She’s alive. Patrick Wallace has made a deal with Watts according to the information our spy within the group had gotten to us. He’s trading Cassa to Watts for information on a missing son.”
“What missing kid?” he snarled into the link.
“The Valentine’s night massacre,” Jonas relayed. “Wallace’s mate was in labor when the Dozen found her. She was alone with the midwife. Both his mate and the midwife were killed. Her child was cut from her body and taken. Watts took the boy. Wallace is hunting for his child.”
Then he should have come to Jonas. Hell, he could have come to Cabal at any time and received every resource they could use to find Wallace’s missing child.
No, what this man had done was insanity. He had killed, risked the Breed community and then dared to attempt to trade Cassa for information.
He was a dead man, Cabal promised himself. There was no way in hell Cabal was going to allow such mercilessness to survive.
“Cabal, we have a team moving in,” Jonas informed him. “Brimstone is commander of the Coyotes that broke Watts out of the prison. That team is not to be touched. Those Coyotes are friendly. I repeat, they’re friendly. Do not engage. Son of a bitch, you stubborn-assed Bengal. I know what the fuck I’m doing here!” Jonas finally yelled in frustration when Cabal didn’t respond.
Engage, his ass. Then they better not get in his damned way. He liked Brimstone just fine. Second-in-command of the Coyotes that had joined the Wolf community of Haven, he was a fine man. He was a damned good Breed. But if he stood in Cabal’s way, then he was going to be a damned good dead Breed. It was that simple.