Allegiance (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (12 page)

Except, come to think of it, he’d never seen any cats around here. Dogs, either, except for Hannah’s ugly-ass bloodhound.

“Don’t think so.” Nik leaned forward. “I think it’s a shape-shifter.”

Aidan had been frowning at the drawing, his eyes lightening as he examined it. “It’s too goddamned big to be a domestic cat. If the Tribunal is working with shifters, they’re taking this battle to a whole new level. It’s a leopard?”

“Jaguar,” Cage said.

Once again, Mirren leaned over the back of Aidan’s chair and looked at the drawing. They were right; now that he sized it against the pile of bricks Nik had drawn for scale, he saw that the animal was too big to be a house cat. “This area’s surrounded by heavy pine forest. What makes you think it isn’t a wild cat?”

“Melanistic jaguars—what people call black panthers—aren’t native to the United States,” Nik said. “Two of our Omega Force team members in Houston were jag-shifters, and even in shifter form they’re rare.”

Aidan was silent for a few moments, staring into the fireplace as if he’d like to pick up a smoking log and heft it at something. Finally, he turned that angry gaze on the only shifter in the room. “Robin, do your people have any type of central governing body—like the vampires have the Tribunal?”

If Robin had been in eagle form, Mirren imagined her feathers would have ruffled. “By ‘my people,’ do you mean eagle-shifters? Or are you lumping all shifters into one big homogeneous population group?”

Aidan simply looked at her.

She sighed and shook her head, and Mirren felt some tension ease from his shoulders. He kind of liked Robin, despite the weirdness of the bonding, and didn’t want to see her alienate Aidan over semantics.

“Sorry,” she said. “It was a fair question. The answer’s no. Each species of shifter has its own independent governing body or leader—what you’d call an alpha, although different species have different names. For golden eagles, it’s the Goia. But there’s not one group that sets rules for all shifters. We don’t get along well enough.”

“Thanks.” Aidan gave a tight smile and rubbed his temples. “Okay, so we probably have a shifter either acting independently, which isn’t likely—shifters and vampires don’t generally inhabit the same areas—or we have a shifter working for a vampire.”

“Or the Tribunal. Or Frank Greisser. Or Matthias,” Mirren added. “There’s a whole fucking list of options.”

“Not much we can do about it tonight.” Aidan finished off his whiskey. “But training starts in earnest tomorrow. Mirren’s in charge. Robin and Nik, sorry, but you’ll have to get acclimated to training at night. Welcome to the world of vampires.”

“What about Fen?” Cage asked. “I’m not endorsing him, mind you. Under normal circumstances I’d keep him away from our plans, but he is a good fighter.”

Aidan shook his head. “Not yet. If he’s here honestly, he’ll understand it’s too soon to be in the middle of our scathe’s business. If he acts put out by it, that’s a red flag—let me know. Be careful what you say around him in general, all of you. Same with Shawn Nicholls and Britta Eriksen.”

Cage lit one of the little cigars he was so fond of, and managed to get two puffs out before Robin’s glare and less-than-subtle coughs led him to snuff it out. “Bloody hell. Can’t a man keep one bad habit?”

Robin frowned. “I don’t get it about the women; their bios were in our dossiers. They’re both vampires that joined up in Atlanta, right? I thought you usually recruited humans from that Atlanta free clinic, from the addicts who hadn’t been vaccinated.”

Aidan smiled faintly. “Shawn was strung out before she was turned vampire, and was still getting juiced from feeding off junkies. She’s clean now. Britta actually came looking for me at the clinic and asked to be allowed to move here. She’s a fairly new vamp—two or three years—and wanted to be part of a community. Like many of us, she didn’t enjoy the hunt for feeders.”

Mirren didn’t like the idea of bringing any of the newcomers into their training plans, but they did need extra bodies. “What about some basic grunt work for them? We need people to patrol.”

Aidan rubbed his temples again. “Just the very basics. Put them on basic security details and have them report anything that looks unusual. Not a word about Matthias or sabotage or extra shape-shifters.”

“Aidan, what’s wrong?” Cage slid to the edge of his seat, frowning. “If you weren’t vampire, I’d say you had a headache.”

“Someone’s trying to reach me through a bond.” He jerked his head from side to side, as if trying to shake something out. “I think it’s Hannah, but . . .”

Voices reached them from the street, shouting, and Mirren recognized Glory’s among them. He ran toward the door and threw it open in time to see her in the street with Krys and Melissa. More people were running to join them from both sides of Cotton Street. When Glory saw Mirren, she veered toward the house while the others raced toward the old mill.

“Hannah’s house is on fire!” Glory yelled.

  
CHAPTER 12
  

N
ik leaned against the community house three doors down from the fire and checked the clip on his Army-issue Beretta. He’d been ducking in and out of cover near the buildings that lay between Mirren’s house and the fire.

The whole street was a combination of new houses and burned-out shells of houses that had been partially demolished. Nik shook his head and surveyed both sides of the street and farther down, toward the old mill. If he’d been a sniper, wanting to lure out the Penton leaders and then take them out like ducks in a shooting gallery, a fire would make effective bait. Even Aidan and Mirren and Cage had run toward the flames, which was stupid. They weren’t thinking of their own safety—and from what he’d seen so far, their survival was the key to Penton’s survival.

Nik scanned the scene again, looking for anyone who might be watching from a distance or running away from the fire instead of toward it. He didn’t know the people here, damn it. No way he could spot who didn’t belong.

He’d lost sight of Robin as soon as they followed Mirren out of the house, but she could take care of herself. She’d probably shifted so she could fly above the scene and spot anyone skulking, running away, or driving like they were in a hurry.

When he reached the second house from the fire, the heat pressed against him with warm, gentle pulses. Another few yards and he discovered why—sparks from the hot mass of burning wood had been picked up in the southerly breeze and had spread to the roof of the second house. It was old construction, though—probably an original mill house—and Nik didn’t think anyone lived there.

He grabbed the arm of a woman running past, and she turned to him, blue eyes wide, blonde hair reflecting the blaze like a golden halo. She jerked away from him, then grabbed his arm and wrenched it behind his back before he could react. She twisted it higher, and it felt as if it might snap off.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nik struggled to free his arm, but stilled when she reached from behind him and pressed against his neck what felt like a knife blade. Besides, she was seriously strong. Since he got no psychic flashes from her touch, as he normally would a human, she was likely a vampire. Which meant she could slit his throat and twist his arm off at the same time, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

She pressed her mouth next to his left ear, her hair tickling the sensitive skin of his earlobe. The blade pressed more tightly against his neck. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

“Sergeant Nik Dimitrou. US Army. Came in tonight for the Omega team.”

She relaxed the blade for a second, and then pressed it again. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Lady, we could be doing a lot more to help put out that fire if we could actually get to it.” What would convince her? “Okay, I was just in Mirren Kincaid’s house. He has a red rug in his living room, leather sofa. There are three bedrooms along the back hallway. His wife, Glory, is Native American and she likes to cook. And she talks—a lot.”

Finally, she pulled away from him. “Yeah, Glory’s a real chatterbox. And vampires have mates, not husbands and wives. I’m Shawn, by the way.”

Nik rubbed his neck, and his fingers came away bloody. His vampire Valkyrie noticed, too; her gaze locked on his hand like a laser target, and her eyes took on a silvery glaze.

“You can suck on my fingers if you can tell me whether there’s a water source nearby.” Nik looked down the street and spotted an old-fashioned red-and-white hydrant near the old mill. “Does that hydrant work?”

Shawn jerked her gaze away from his hand and looked down the street at the mill and then back at the burning house. “There’s an emergency fire hose in each of the new community houses. Why didn’t I think of that? Come on.”

Fortunately, someone else had thought of it. By the time they reached the house adjacent to the corner lot, Cage was on his way down the steps hauling the heavy coiled gray hose. “Shawn, take this over and hook it up to the hydrant.”

The man’s voice was hoarse, and it was no wonder. The roof on the house was blazing now, and the smoke had grown as thick as the blinding fog they’d get during training in the woods and hills near Fort Benning.

Nik squelched his first instinct to be the man—take the hose from Shawn and drag it to the hydrant. If he’d learned anything from working with Robin and the big-cat shifters, it was that paranormal beings needed no muscle from him. Far from it.

He walked alongside Cage toward the main blaze. “What can I do?”

“We can make—”

Whatever he’d planned to say was lost when a thin, tall guy with a soot-blackened face yelled at them from the adjacent sidewalk. “Cage, she’s inside! Hannah ran back inside after that goddamned dog. I’m going in after her.”

“Bloody hell.” He clapped Nik on the shoulder. “Next lesson in Vampires 101, mate. We burn up just like humans. Let’s go.”

They ran across the lawns, following the skinny guy. Judging by his accent, Nik assumed it was Cage’s old acquaintance Fen Patrick.

Shawn pulled the heavy hose across the street, but lost control of it when two women—Nik recognized Aidan’s mate and the other was a strawberry blonde he’d never seen—turned on the hydrant. The hose uncoiled like a malevolent, awakening serpent, flipping and flopping in myriad directions while spraying a heavy blast of water at everything except the fire.

Shawn raced after the end of the flailing hose, moving with a blur of speed, and pinned it down with one good stomp of her boots. She lifted it without so much as a grimace, even though Nik knew it was heavy and hard to control, and directed the spray toward the house.

Cage waved to get Shawn’s attention, then pointed at himself and at the house. “Cover us!”

Shawn nodded, adjusting the stream of water to douse the doorway and make sure it was clear.

Fen ran ahead of them. “Let’s each take a room,” he shouted. “The dog is probably hiding under furniture. We find the dog and we find Hannah.”

Nik took the rear, pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth, thankful for the Ranger survival training that had forced them to maneuver burning buildings. His shirt was woven cotton, which was good. He assessed Cage’s and Fen’s clothing as they edged their way through the front door. Cage’s black shirt was lightweight but also looked like cotton. Fen wore some kind of light sweater Nik suspected was synthetic; he’d be in trouble if he hit the flames. Synthetics didn’t burn; they melted.

Cage took point, motioning Fen to one side of the common room area and Nik to the other. He disappeared into the kitchen. Nik would follow as long as Cage made good decisions. He trusted his own training a hell of a lot more than the vampire’s.

The smoke didn’t just make seeing difficult; it distorted everything, resizing objects like a fun-house mirror. Everything was smaller or larger than his logical mind could accept. A chair-back loomed like a mountain he needed to circumvent. One table became three. A rug could be a rug, or its dark shadow could be mean a disastrous drop off a collapsed floor into the crawl space below—or one of those basement spaces where the vampires spent the daylight hours.

Nik crouched low where the air was clearer and ran his fingertips along the wall, trying to block out the images that came to him unbidden. Mostly, he saw faces—the men and women who’d built the house, some of whom he recognized. Mirren, pressing against a wall to test its strength. The guy Rob, the one who’d been killed, wielding a hammer. Aidan, painting. A sawmill, probably where the lumber had been cut. Nothing traumatic, thank God.

The toe of his boot hit something hard, and he crashed to his hands and knees, taking down a stool along the way. Hell, as long as the floor was nearby, he might as well crawl.

He edged along the wall, reaching out blindly in the choking gray smoke to grasp at anything whose thickness made it look solid. Lots of furniture. No little girls, though, and no dogs.

When he reached the end of the room, he rose to a crouch again and saw Cage pointing Fen toward the back hallway. They’d come up empty, too.

Nik’s eyes watered so heavily that the image of Cage standing upright seemed to shift, going in and out of focus. One sharp Cage; two fuzzy Cages. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and rubbed his eyes, nodding when Cage pointed him toward the second bedroom along the hallway.

Halfway there, Fen emerged from the last bedroom. “I think I heard the dog somewhere back here,” he shouted. “What’s his name?”

Cage hesitated, looking unsure, and jumped out of the way as a bit of the ceiling fell, pushing Nik clear.

Thank God for the colonel and his anal-retentive mission notes. “The dog’s name is Barnabas,” Nik shouted. He struggled to see through the smoke. They had to find the girl, and fast.

“Barnabas, like the vampire in
Dark Shadows
? Brilliant.” Fen’s face broke into a lopsided grin for a split second before he turned and bellowed, “Barnabas, you sonofabitch—where are you? C’mere, you cursed hellhound!”

They paused to listen, but all Nik could hear was crackling wood and the whoosh of flames. Fires bellowed like angry beasts.

A dark smudge had appeared on the hallway ceiling above them when the drywall fell. Cage pointed at it, but then cocked his head and listened a moment. “I heard him, too! Middle bedroom on the right.”

Fen was closest. He crouched and disappeared through the doorway. Damn it, he was only three feet ahead of them, but Nik groped blindly as he reached where he thought the door should be.

“Watch it!”

Nik turned in the direction where he thought Cage stood, but his outstretched hands clutched nothing but smoke. Then the room spun; no, it was him. Spinning. Falling amid a rain of singed Sheetrock that sparked on his shirt in hot pinpricks.

His cheek slammed into the smooth wood of the floor, and he had just enough time to think it was oddly cool against his skin before a splinter pierced his cheek and something heavy fell on him, knocking out what little breath he had left.

Things went black for an instant. Maybe several instants. Maybe he was dead, because he seemed to be moving independently of his arms and legs.

Something hard cracked his head and jarred him out of his stupor. “Sorry, mate. Door facing.” The voice came from above him, and finally he realized Cage Reynolds was hauling him out of the burning house in a classic fireman’s carry. Yeah, he might trust the man from now on.

“Down.” His voice came out somewhere between rooster and chain-smoker, but Cage got the message, setting him down as soon as they’d cleared the front door. He kept a firm grasp on Nik’s arm, though, and hauled him down the stairs at what the colonel might call triple-time.

But he could breathe now. Nice thing, breathing. To hell with dignity; Nik gasped in big lungfuls of cool night air. Out here, it might smell like smoke, but it inhaled like oxygen.

“You’re all right, mate? Gotta go and check on Fen.” Cage leaned over him, soot smudged across both cheeks and part of his shirt missing.

“Yeah.” Nik coughed up half a lung. “M’okay. Go.”

The pressure on his arm disappeared, and the world tumbled again. He landed face-first—again. This time it was on wet, cold mud, though, which felt pretty damned good. He thought he might just lie in the mud puddle for a few seconds. Then he’d be ready to help.

He closed his eyes, thinking he might need a few minutes instead of seconds, but cracked them open when feet came to a stop a few inches in front of his nose, splashing mud on his face and in his mouth. He craned his neck, looking up and up and up.

Tall woman, Aidan’s wife. Mate. Whatever.

“Take Hannah to our house, and Fen, too,” she yelled, and Mirren answered . . . something. Nik groaned and closed his eyes again. Just a little nap and he’d get up.

At least they’d gotten the girl out. Nobody had mentioned the dog. He liked dogs. This dog had sure caused a lot of drama, though. He might like to get a dog when he—

“Hey, Nik. Nik. Wake up.” It was Krys again. Mrs. Aidan.

“M’awake.” He sort of opened his eyes.

“Uh-huh, sure you are. Mel, sit here with him, will you? He’s not burned, but he needs to keep this on until he’s able to stand up by himself.”