Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes (18 page)

She shrugged. “Your witchy friend Tullah picked it up. I think she drove it back to Denver.”

Despite my initial reluctance, having the Kawasaki was a bonus. It took too long to get anywhere in LA by car. The bike should be much better.

And it wasn’t going to buy Zane’s way into my pants, if that really was his intention.

“We should be going,” I said. “I’ll take the bike.”

“I need to stay with you,” Yelena said immediately.

“I’ll ride with you in your truck, if that’s okay?” Bian raised her eyebrows at Rita.

It’d be smart if she got off to a good start with the Albuquerque Were.

Haz was shaking her head, but Rita just waved at Bian to climb in.

That left Vera, and the Altau patrol van we’d arrived in.

I was worried about that, but Yelena had beaten me to it.

“You okay driving this?” Yelena asked Vera, nodding at the van.

“Of course. Really, Yelena, you worry so.”

“Only about you. It’s—”

“It’s been ages. I am healed. Thanks to you and Bian.”

“And Naryn.”

“Well, we’ll just skip that.”

Yelena laughed, gave Vera a quick hug and kissed her.

Oh, my God. I needed to reprogram my mental image of Vera.

The sprightly Colonel’s wife in her late fifties had gone, replaced by a woman whose face and body looked more like she was in her early forties. Her gray hair showed dark roots. She was vigorous and alert. And looking younger every day.

She was Yelena’s kin, and all that implied.

I needed to get Colonel Laine back and overcome his phobia of being bitten.

Another line on the to-do list.

I checked that I had a full tank, and started the bike. Yelena slipped onto the back behind me.

“Hold tight,” I said, and dropped the clutch.

Getting across town on the motorcycle was much, much better than by car, even at this time of night and with the roads slick with a light rain.

It would have been more fun if I’d been wearing a heavier jacket. As it was, I was freaking freezing by the time we’d crossed town, well ahead of the others.

I shivered and then put the cold out of my mind. The task of getting the Were into individual associations with their local Athanate House and a group association with the new Assembly looked more and more like making a stable pyramid out of ball bearings.

Albuquerque might be easy. At least Zane was the only alpha in town, and Bian would be more than able to…distract him. That should give me a good introduction to this league Rita was talking about. It would be run by Cameron, since he was in command of all the New Mexico Were. I’d need to meet with him soon, preferably not testing dominance levels and snarling through the walls of a confessional like last time.

Denver’s association or alliance with the Oklahoma and Kansas packs might be straightforward, through Felix.

LA looked much harder; four alphas who didn’t work together, and we were already on the point of conflict with a couple of them.

The other Were coalitions and the Confederation? Well, they seemed as remote as the stars in the sky.

But Skylur was right; we needed to get them talking instead of fighting. We needed them in the Assembly. We needed a united front for Emergence.

First steps first. A meeting with the LA Were, to get them to back off a little. Then I needed to be in Denver and Albuquerque, in short order. And somehow, in the midst of all that, I had to deal with Forsythe.

I turned off down the riverside road to the safe house and started to pay more attention to my surroundings. And I got the first stirrings of uneasiness.

I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I slowed the bike all the way down and swiveled my head to look back the way we’d come. I had that freaky nightmare feeling of things that disappeared as I turned to look for them.

Nothing. Streetlights gleamed on rainy streets, making small pools in the night. Houses sat back from the road behind a narrow sidewalk. Opposite the houses, a wall topped with iron railings ran the length of the street on the river side, the levee a looming shadow in the darkness above it. Across the river, the interstate traffic hushed liked distant surf.

No one moved. No one seemed to be awake.

“Why slow? Fast is fun,” Yelena said.

“Don’t know. Something feels off.”

“You are walking on your grave?”

“I think you’re trying to say someone else is walking on my grave.”

“But you are not in your grave.” She scanned the street as she spoke. “And if you were, how would you know if someone walked on it? Why would it matter?”

“Good questions.”

We were coming up to the safe house.

I was thinking it would be a good idea to ride on past, when I felt something I recognized.

All Were packs have a Call. It’s a subdued thing a lot of the time. I could barely sense the Long Beach werewolves we held prisoner. Alex and I shared a Pack Deauville Call, and there was nothing to sense on that.

But a pack that’s hunting, they will Call.

A couple of big motorcycles, Harleys or similar, emerged from the darkness ahead, turning lazily into the road.

A glance back showed another three had appeared behind us.

And I could feel that peculiar werewolf thrill of sighting prey come snaking down their Call.

Crap.

I skidded to a stop and we jumped off the Kawasaki.

I felt the welcome weight of the HK in the holster, but I didn’t draw. We had to make every effort not to get into a war with the local packs.

The bikes, all of them big cruising Harleys, came to a coordinated stop on either side of us.

All ridden by women wrapped in Mad Max biker leathers.

All werewolves.

Moving purposefully but without haste, they formed a casual semicircle in front of us and stood there.

I’d back Yelena and myself against them hand-to-hand. Hell, I’d back Yelena on her own against them. If they had guns, that might be a problem. It only takes one bullet. But, I’d still back the pair of us.

They noticed our confidence.

“You’re acting damn cool about this.” She was the alpha, a genuine alpha, standing in the middle of the five of them. It was too dark to make out features. Her voice seemed too light for her bulk, rich and smooth as melted chocolate.

“I could say the same about you,” I replied.

“Well, that may be because we’re in our territory and you’re not. Skipping over the part where we outnumber you.”

I frowned and sniffed. It was another marque I didn’t know. “You’re not Long Beach or Pasadena,” I said. “You can’t be Redondo this far over, but I would have thought it’s a helluva stretch to call this the Heights.”

She laughed. “Heights don’t come down here,” she said. “They have way more sense than that.”

“Well, if we’re trespassing, we apologize,” I said. “Funny though, Long Beach didn’t mention another pack. Who are you?”

“We call ourselves Belles.”

I grinned despite myself. Yeah, this district was called Bell. I guess it made a kind of sense. But if Long Beach hadn’t mentioned them at all—were they outcasts?

The leader took a couple of steps forward and sniffed the air.

“You’re not any pack I know, but you got Long Beach in that house behind you. What you all doing here?”

“They’re our guests at the moment. Not that they want to be. They attacked us.” She was listening, so I hurried on. “We’re acting for the local Athanate House, and all we’re trying to do is contact all the alphas in LA for a meeting.”

“That so?”

The alpha took another step—trying to get me to back up.

I wasn’t going to. She was bigger than me, and confident with it, but confidence without ability and training is brittle. She was going to get a shock if she attacked.

That attack looked more likely when I refused to give way. She had tells: her shoulders tensed; her knees bent slightly.

My gut feeling was that she’d come at my face to try and stun me into submission.

Submit? Not going to happen.

My body went all loose and still, alert to every twitch and sound.

Including the sound of the door opening behind me.

Alex.

He made that growl that I felt in the chest rather than heard—a sound full of threat.

That wasn’t the main event. Not even close.

Alex and I were alphas. I’d guess that either one of us was more dominant than the Belle alpha. Our dominance had grown since we’d become paired, and under threat, it was a case of pumping each other up and lighting the fuse.

It wasn’t directed at me, but the wave of dominance from Alex blew through me, snatching the breath from my lungs and crashing over the Belles.

“Oh, shit,” one of them breathed, her knees buckling.

But their alpha refused to take a backward step. By force of will, she locked her legs and kept her head up.

A van appeared down the street and sped up when they caught sight of us. I hoped it was Bian. Not because I wanted to win a fight, however much my wolf was spoiling for it, but because I wanted the Belle alpha to realize there was no point in trying to fight.

This pack hadn’t even been mentioned by Long Beach. I was curious, and not least because they were all women.

The van screeched to a halt and Bian, Rita and Haz leaped out.

“Odds have changed,” I said, my voice rusty, “but really, honestly, all we want to do is talk to the local alphas.”

The Belle alpha still hadn’t moved. Her pack had recovered a little, folding back into a defensive circle.

I walked forward, despite Alex’s snarl. I held my hands open and away from my body, away from the comfort of the HK and Yelena at my shoulder.

We locked eyes and the alpha tried to stare me down. She had way more juice than the Long Beach Were, but it wasn’t enough. After all my staring matches with Zane and Felix, she was a dewy-eyed cub.

“My name is Amber Farrell,” I said. “House Farrell, sub-House of Altau. And co-alpha with Alex, behind me, of Pack Deauville of Denver. I ask your permission to be in your territory while we talk.”

“It’s the frigging hybrid herself,” hissed one of her pack.

The alpha held her hand up to silence them.

We stood, still as carven chess pieces, while the night wind coiled around us.

“Maybe,” the alpha said finally. She squinted at Rita and Haz, her nose flaring. “Who else am I hosting?”

“The Albuquerque pack,” Rita said.

“That so? And
you
ain’t even wolf, woman. Shit, you all got stories I gotta hear.”

She backed up a pace, tension flowing out of her. Her pack loosened up behind her, not without a couple of sighs of relief, quickly stifled.

“Name’s Billie,” she said, and put out a hand. “Welcome to Bell.”

I shook it.

Her hair was cropped tight to her head, eyes deep beneath a broad forehead, strong cheekbones and a wide mouth. The distant streetlight gleamed dully on dark skin. I couldn’t make out much else in the darkness.

“Come inside,” I said.

“We will,” Billie replied, “if your hunk stops glaring at me like that. It’s not how a girl wants to be looked at.”

Alex snorted and put it all away.

I gave him a quick squeeze as we filed past. And inside, I soon found out why he wasn’t in the best of tempers.

He’d made a deal with Horseshoe, the temporary leader of the Long Beach prisoners. Altau security had blindfolded the rest of them and delivered them back to the Long Beach area in exchange for Horseshoe cooperating with us. Except as soon as he’d gotten a call from his pack alpha that the rest were safe, Horseshoe had clammed up.

Quite a trick, managing to be so irritating and noble at the same time. It wasn’t as if we had any intention of interfering with the local packs.

Horseshoe registered the Belle alpha and his face went dark with anger.

He jumped up, only to be sent crashing back to the floor by Alex.

“You can’t talk—” he started.

“Right. We can’t talk to her because she doesn’t exist, asshole,” I said. “Four packs, you said.”

“They’re not a pack,” he shouted. “She’s not a real alpha.”

“No? Looks the part to me,” I said. “Talks the talk and walks the walk.”

Oh.

A pulse on the Call. My comment had gotten me big bonus points from the Belles. We had ourselves a genuine sore point here.

Billie was ignoring the Long Beach Were and looking at what Alex had been doing when we arrived. He’d pinned a huge street map to the wall and marked it up.

The pack names had been written in approximately the right places. Alongside, we had contact info for Pasadena from the cellphones I’d taken. Alex had gotten another number when the Long Beach alpha had spoken to Horseshoe.

Dominé had given us a cell number for Redondo. There was nothing for the Heights, and clearly, nothing for the Belles.

Billie stood in front of the map, unzipping her leather jacket slowly.

She snorted and seemed to come to a decision. She held out a hand. It was a square, strong hand, the edges of her nails dark with oil. A woman who got her hands dirty, literally.

Alex gave her the marker pens.

She picked a color for each pack and started drawing boundaries.

“Approximate, you get it?” She snorted again. “LA is a frigging mess.”

“Why?” I asked.

She looked over her shoulder at me. “Too few of us. Too big. Too many people. Too many gangs. Too many tourist areas. The place is too frigging…complex.”

“What about the police?” Elizabetta asked.

“Which police? There are forty-five departments. That’s not counting the airport police or the harbor patrol. To answer generally, no, they don’t bother with us. They have too much on their hands already.”

She paused in her drawing to glare around the room. “We’d like to keep it that way. Keep under their radar. You know, not driving trucks loaded with explosives into the sides of buildings, that sort of thing.”

Oops.

She took the pink marker and drew out the area from Bell, across the Los Angeles River, up to the rail yards in Commerce and Vernon. She labeled it ‘Belle’ with a smiley face and wrote a cell number beneath.

She picked a new color, yellow, and drew boundaries around the airports, downtown and other areas. “Highways, stations, airports, tourist areas,” she said, waving the yellow pen at the map, “all common ground for the four packs.”

Her tone had become bitter.

“Not for you?”

Billie directed a lethal look at Horseshoe. “Not for the Belles,” she confirmed. “We stay here, mostly.” She shrugged. “Not much they can do about us using the common areas, but it’s not
official
.”