Bear ready, he headed to his assigned sector—but not before he found the young clanmate he’d scented nearby. “Devi.” He squeezed her skinny, dusty body into his arms, held her until her tremors eased. “You hurt?”
A jerky shake of her head. “A few friends and I were about to go into the restaurant across the road when it . . . when it happened.” Her voice broke, this member of his clan a bear with a soft heart and gentle hands. “I tried to help, get people out, but Zarina said I should s-stay back.”
It had been the right call, given Devi’s physical strength and skills. Now Valentin made another one. “Come on.” He took her to Silver. “Devi is an athlete,” he said when his brilliant Starlichka shot him a silent question. “A runner. Fast, with bear endurance.”
Silver didn’t question his word. “Wait here,” she said to Devi. “I’ll be using you to run water to the rescuers in a moment.”
“Okay, sure.” No longer trembling, Devi reached back to tighten her ponytail. “I can do that.”
Valentin was already turning to head to the quadrant Silver had assigned him. He caught sight of Krychek lifting off large pieces of the rubble in the distance, but even the telekinetic was having to go slow, his movements based on information passed to him by a red-haired changeling Valentin recognized as a BlackEdge wolf: an engineer doing double duty, scenting survivors and planning the safest actions Krychek could take.
Krychek was a power, but if the cardinal moved the wrong piece, the debris would collapse like a house of cards, crushing any survivors within.
Valentin saw no more of how it went; he’d reached his quadrant to find a mixed group of Psy and human first responders. The medics had been ordered to stand back, but the others were picking up and moving pieces of the broken building with painstaking care.
Spotting Valentin, an older woman called a halt. “Your nose as good as a wolf’s?”
Ignoring the tired attempt at a joke, Valentin began to climb the pile of rubble, careful to ensure his weight was in no danger of causing a collapse. Sweat and desperation—the rescuers’ own scents—were pungent in the air. But he was a bear alpha. He knew how to filter out unwanted scents— Chert!
“Has the gas been turned off?”
Chapter 16
“YEAH! AT THE city’s system mains!” The speaker was wearing the gear of Moscow’s fire-safety crews, the reflective stripes bright on his jacket. “You smell a leak?”
“There are discrete pockets.” Gas wasn’t a common fuel any longer, except in older buildings like this one where conversion wasn’t worth the cost, but Valentin knew the scent.
“That’s probably from right after the initial collapse!” the fireman called back. “It took ten minutes for someone to request the gas be cut off.”
Having scented nothing that went against the other man’s hypothesis, Valentin continued on—but not before yelling down, “Make sure Silver Mercant has that information!”
He was aware of his every tiny move as he navigated the jagged mountain of debris. If gas was trapped within, a single spark could ignite molten death.
“. . . help. Please.”
Valentin froze. “I hear you.” He focused on the area where he’d heard the sign of life, soon scented the air exhaled on a living breath. It was the most precarious part of the rubble. “Is there anyone else with you?”
“Daughter.” A gurgle followed that single word. “Just m— . . .”
The man was dying.
“Will you permit a telepath to scan your minds so a telekinetic can get you out?” he called down, aware even Krychek needed a face to lock on to.
The response came not in the original male voice, but in a shaky female one. “No. Never.”
Some things, Valentin thought, were worse than death. “This is Alpha Nikolaev—you have my word that your minds will not be touched,” he said, so they wouldn’t fear a psychic invasion.
His bears might cause trouble in Moscow, but they were also well-liked because they always stepped in to help if someone was in trouble. Two weeks earlier, Pasha had stopped traffic so an elderly lady could cross the street. The lunatic Moscow drivers had called out a slew of insults as they hooted impatiently, but the lady had kissed Pasha on both cheeks, then taken him home to feed him lunch.
“Spasibo, Alpha Nikolaev,” the survivor whispered. “. . . trust you.”
Shifting his attention to the rescuers waiting below, he said, “Here!” and pointed at the exact spot. “Two alive!”
“Silver’s located a couple more structural engineers!” It was the same woman who’d spoken to him when he first arrived. “One will be here in a minute!”
A minute’s wait might well prove fatal, but if Valentin began to throw around the wreckage in an effort to clear it off them, he could crush the very people he was attempting to save. “Hold on,” he ordered the survivors in his most alpha tone. “We’re coming to get you out.”
He spent the time till the engineer’s arrival searching for more survivors.
The acrid smoke of burned flesh, the metallic sting of blood mingled with alcohol fumes, the warm tones of seared wood, he scented that and more, but no other voices called out to him . . . and he smelled no more living breaths. By the time he climbed back down with careful hands and a heart on which sat a huge metal anvil, the engineer had come up with a plan to get to the trapped survivors.
Valentin listened, began to lift. His muscles burned, but he had no intention of stopping until they’d saved two people trapped in hell.
The Human Patriot
HE WATCHED THE footage streaming in from Moscow with interest. It didn’t take him long to spot Silver Mercant. It’d be so convenient to take her out now, but unfortunately, that didn’t suit his plans. Nor did it suit the plans of the fools who were helping him achieve his aims while believing him a power-hungry sociopath like them.
Silver had to be removed quietly from the equation. He didn’t want the world uniting behind her assassination, trying to be better than violence. It was pure luck that his “associates” had the same goal. No one had argued with his idea of a domestic poisoning—the Mercants, after all, would never air their dirty laundry.
Human he might proudly be, but money talked even to Psy, and he had his informants. He knew all about the Mercants and the opaque shield they kept between themselves and the rest of the world. Their cold arrogance could be utilized as effectively against them.
All this, the bombing in Moscow, it was a good distraction from his far more intelligent strategies. Sad that good humans had to die, but that was the way of war. People had to understand what was at stake, the ruin to come if those pushing Trinity were permitted to have their way. He’d kill every human on the planet before he allowed them to be turned into slaves.
Chapter 17
We are, all of us, better than we believe ourselves to be.
SILVER DRANK HALF a bottle of water into which she’d poured a nutrient sachet provided by a member of the emergency medical team. She’d also had Devi run similarly doctored bottles to the rescuers. The girl was thin, but she was bear-tough, and Silver was using her to the edge of her endurance.
Devi didn’t complain; she thrived.