Bo shook me again, not hard, but enough to make it clear he wanted me to see sense and stop the crazy talk. “Look, I’ve seen you in action, but even you can’t take that many.”
Jason looked me up and down, fingering the bowie knife at his belt. “I don’t know. She’s capable of more than we thought. You have something up your sleeve, girl? Some secret weapon you plan on using while you’re in there?”
I gave him a look, and he held up his hands. “Hey, no harm in asking, right?” I didn’t dignify the comment with an answer.
“You’re crazy,” Nikki said, surprise and a grudging kind of admiration in her voice. “You really think you can survive this?”
I shook my head.
Adam gave a low whistle. “Man, didn’t think you had this kind of dedication to the cause. We won’t let you down.”
Bo’s fingers tightened painfully, even through the protection of my armor, pinching my skin. He didn’t seem to realize he was hurting me. “Shia, you can’t—you’ll never get out alive—”
I looked up into his dark brown eyes, locking gazes with him. That same, weird calm flooded through me, a certainty of the inevitability of what was to come. Somehow, my voice stayed steady and composed, even though I was sorrier than I could say to hurt Bo like this. “I know. Tell Jack I’m sorry. And don’t let any of them walk away from this. Burn it to the ground.”
Without another word, I pulled away and jogged across the street, not giving them another opportunity to pull me into an argument or to come up with reasons to put this off until later. I wasn’t sure how long this Zen-like state of mind was going to last. I needed to take advantage of it while I could.
I was dimly aware of the other hunters getting themselves into place. Bo tried to come to my side, but Nikki pulled him past me and shoved him toward his designated position outside the house. Front yard, hidden behind a bush lining the walkway leading up to the house. I’d have to pass him on the way. He might try to stop me, so I’d have to be careful not to give him an opportunity to give us away.
Taking a deep breath, I took stock of my weapons while I waited for the other hunters to get under cover. My guns were in their holsters, ready for easy access. The belt was cinched tight around my waist, thrumming with something bordering on lust for the coming fight. Extra ammo clipped to the belt. Borrowed knives strapped to my outer thighs, ankles, and another at the small of my back. With a few careful tugs, the turtleneck was pulled just a bit higher on my throat, protecting me from any new claw or bite wounds. Not that it mattered much at this point.
A dim light shone from the side of the house, over by the trash cans. Everyone was in place. It was do or die time.
Another deep breath centered me, helped me focus on nothing but the front door as I strode forward. If I looked into Bo’s eyes one more time, I might lose my nerve and call this suicide mission off. There was no way I could allow that.
The bushes rustled as if he reached for me, tried to hold me back, but I used a bit of the belt’s gifts to speed past long before he could lay a hand on me or whisper at me to stop.
I took the few steps leading up to the porch one at a time, everything in that moment condensing into a need to face what lay behind that door. I could feel them in there. Their energy. Their smell; a tainted musk, unclean. Afraid of something. Maybe knowing I was coming for them.
Well. Wouldn’t do to disappoint them. I lifted my hand, glad of the studded leather gloves that Jack had found buried in a drawer and handed to me before we left for the mission earlier this evening. The sharp crack of the metal studs against the heavy wood, just under a Halloween ghost taped to the door, echoed down the quiet street, loud as a gunshot.
All sense of movement and sound from behind the door ceased. The tang of fear grew stronger, more bitter, sharper. I could taste it on my tongue, burning my taste buds like sucking on a copper penny.
Someone was approaching the door. I could feel the heat of them. Closing the distance. I closed my eyes and took one more breath, holding it, hoping it wouldn’t be my last. Drew my guns, running my leather-clad thumbs over the grips, before leveling them both at the entryway.
Slowly, the door swung open, the figure on the other side a silhouette against the lights burning deeper in the house. He or she gasped, a sharp intake of breath, only managing a single step back before I pulled the triggers.
“Knock, knock, bitches.”
Chapter 19
The gunshots would no doubt alert the neighbors that something was up, but I didn’t plan on this taking very long. I stepped over the corpse in the entryway, still twitching, the acrid stink of silver burn heavy on the air. A niggling thought rattled around in the back of my head that I should be sorry or horrified, but I ignored it.
Another Were was scuttling around somewhere beyond my line of sight, running away from me by the sound of it. There were also the stomach-churning wet cracking and groans, and the telltale rip of tearing fabric, coming from multiple sources somewhere in the house around me. The dominant wolves were pulling quick shifts, preparing for battle.
I paid no mind to the bottles of alcohol stuffed with burning rags that shattered the windows and set the furniture on fire, using the belt’s preternatural reflexes to dodge out of the way whenever one came too close. The picturesque, suburban perfection of the place was quickly being ruined by fire and ash. The added Styrofoam and dish soap we’d used would guarantee the house would be choked up with smoke in no time. The haze would provide cover, but could be more deadly than the Weres if I stayed inside too long.
Without hesitation, I pressed deeper inside, searching. There hadn’t been any gunshots or sounds of brawling from outside yet, so the monsters were all still trapped in here—with me.
Claws skittered across linoleum. I kept one gun in front of me, aimed low, the other held at my shoulder with the business end pointed at the ceiling. The clicking and scraping sounds grew louder as I approached. Turning the corner, I barely registered what I was seeing before the gun popped again, impossibly loud in the enclosed space.
A wolf—silvery gray fur, not big enough to be Chaz—let loose with a howl, charging at me, its paws slipping on the slick tile as it shot around the table that still burned with the remains of a shattered Molotov. There was blood on its shoulder, but clearly the silver bullet wasn’t enough to stop an enraged dominant Were. Jesus, the thing was huge—teeth as long as my fingers and a body that would put a St. Bernard to shame—and it looked like it was intent on latching onto my throat.
I barely had enough time to tuck the guns away before it bounded forward, knocking me back against the wall. It felt like the whole house shuddered under our weight. I got one arm under its mouth and the other hand buried in the fur on top of its skull, forcing its jaws shut. Claws raked down my chest, bruisingly hard, but the armor prevented it from flaying me open. Plaster dust drifted down around us like snow while we grappled.
The growls issuing from its throat were thunderous, so deep that my bones shivered in response. I voiced a low growl of my own, glaring into its yellow eyes with every ounce of hatred I could muster.
Tightening my grip, I gave its head a sudden twist, breaking its neck with a dull, meaty crack.
Satisfaction warred with relief and a dim sensation of horror at what I had just done.
The limp body slid to the floor with a thump. When I looked up, glowing green eyes were watching me from the shadows of a doorway across the room. The creature had fur so dark, it seemed to suck in the light, the shadowy outline of its hulking frame emphasized by the occasional spark from floating embers drifting through the open space between us.