Wolf: A Military P.A.C. Novel (23 page)

Michael scrambled up.

“PAC, full boost.”

Michael didn’t notice that PAC didn’t respond, and that he failed to feel the boost over his adrenaline surge as he leapt into the fray with his wife, his pistol in hand.

Chapter 43 White Bear Dying

The Yeii called to White Bear. Talked to him about knowledge. Lore he knew and didn’t understand. Not totally. His grandfather had taught him so much. And left out the most important lesson. The cost, to his soul, to his family.

How had grandfather dealt with it?

White Bear knew the answer though. It crawled through his brain like bloodworms, decimating thoughts that didn’t fit. Belief and need grew from what was left over. The Yeii taking over, the pathways growing in response to the old knowledge they imparted. The First Man, Etsáy-Hasteén, and the First Woman, Estsá-assun, had a need to be in the world.

But the cost.

His son had known all the legends of the Diné, the way children did. He played them out in his mind and his actions. He was the great hero of the people.

White Bear hadn’t made the decision to step into the Witchery Way
. Not fully. He had teased into the lore of his people. And then the black ash had covered his son’s cheek and the sacrifice had been made.

White Bear attacked. The Skinwalker, Faelon, dodged the swipe of his paw, its jaws snapping on fur only, missing the flesh, but ripping his hide. A snarl erupted from his throat. He dropped to all fours and charged, his claws digging into the earth, throwing up snow and dirt as he roared forward. The wolf dodged, driving her teeth into his shoulder. He shrugged, the ripple of flesh and muscle throwing her to land in the snow and roll away. He lunged, the bulk of his five
hundred and fifty kilos falling like a mountain to land on the brindle-coated wolf.

If she had stayed there.

His bulk slammed into the earth and stone. Vibrations ran through the ground.

Then his shoulder exploded. Blood spattered the snow, a red spray turning into separate drops, dotting the landscape like seeds blown to the wind. White Bear bellowed out his pain,
and twisted on three feet, looking for the cause. Michael Scott. His gun smoked, and the smell of cordite tainted the air.

White Bear roared, and forced his bulk to move through the receding pain. Agony that would cloud his mind if he let it. He slammed into his enemy, catching his right shoulder rather than his body the way he’d intended,
and his teeth snapped at Michael’s head. Missing. He was faster than a human and still changing. Had he killed yet? Was his soul as damaged as White Bear’s own?

He heard a growl, and then his leg snapped, giving out from the brindle
-coated wolf digging her fangs into the tendon, trying to cripple him. As he turned to club her, another gunshot went off; he ducked instinctively, uselessly, as the bullet lodged in his side. He dug his claws deep into the earth and pushed his bulk towards Michael and his bullets. His smart bullets. Exploding with more force than normal, damaging his body faster than it could heal on its own. White Bear’s claws raked out into the air and struck, not Michael, but the metal in his hands. The gun flew, struck sparks on the cliff, discharged in a roar, and dropped into the snow, lost in the fine powder of last night’s weather. That gave the bloody wolf time to sink her teeth into the same leg she had attacked moments before. His leg jerked and struck her. A yipe of pain rewarded his reflexive action.

A roar filled the air, the earth vibrated and rumbled as if in a storm. An old saying came to White Bear
’s mind: third time’s the charm. He didn’t think the person making that claim had been referring to gunshots and avalanches.

White Bear ran. Eating up ground in huge leaps, pushing himself ten
metres for every flex of his giant muscles. His body reaching, straining, covering a hundred metres in what seemed like moments. The edge of the cliff came up fast. He had safety here, from the rumble above, and now space to fight two enemies. Open space fell below his hind legs. Snow piled up in a cascade, burying the cave that Michael and the cursed wolf had been in. This was the season for the mountain to shrug off its winter skin. The snow stopped falling and the earth only quivered now. The mound of snow stopped forty metres away, billowing ice particles into the air and creating an ever-growing fog.

The Skinwalkers approached. Fast. Emerging from the cloud of frozen vapo
ur.

They flared out to each side of him, as if they had fought together before, the communication was so perfect. The wolf growled. Her body steeled close to the ground, ready to spring. Michael edged forward, knife in hand. He wore a glove on his right hand. A strange affliction, that. One glove, and his feet bare. He was
favouring his right shoulder, so he was hurt, but not for long. Skinwalkers healed fast. His own wounds were closed now, the trail of blood that led here petering out as he had travelled.

They attacked, both at the same time, forcing him to choose. He turned from the knife and drove his claws toward the wolf; she leapt from his path, but fifty of the one
hundred twenty-five centimetres of his talons raked across her jaw. He heard the crunch of bone rattle the air. The knife sliced across his shoulder and down his side. Before he could attack, Michael had moved back. White Bear’s sense of fear was strong on the wind, from both of them. But it wasn’t personal, their fear was tainted with concern for each other. White Bear shook himself in confusion, his great coat sliding, rippling, as if a wind had caught it. They did not act like Skinwalkers. He roared. The spirits would take them; it was the Yeii that held these creatures as evil.

They would decide.

White Bear attacked. He lunged forward, blending into the ice and snow that swirled around them, twisting as he brought his huge paw up to slam into Michael, cupping his puny body, directing the force of his inertia so that his enemy flew over his shoulder. Seven metres. The drop over the cliff another fifty. If he bounced right, it would be further.

“Faelon
!” The scream for his mate echoed in the snow laden mountains.

Then White Bear shifted his weight, facing the wolf
just as she had lunged for his back. His claws pierced her side, one set through her lungs, forcing blood up into her throat, the other paw digging into her flank. His teeth sunk into her leg, crunching down on the bone, shattering it, and he jerked his head and pulled. Her leg separated, her paw dropping to the ground as her yelp split the air with an agonized whine.

He picked her up by the scruff of the neck, like a cub. The walk home would be long, but White Bear needed one more thing from the brindle-coated wolf before she died.

She would make a good sacrifice for the First Man and First Woman.

Chapter 44 Samantha

The manual was what Samantha would call a user manual. There was no tech information in it. Nothing about how the organics engine actually worked. Only that it could produce almost any organic required in the field. The list of uses in the field were medical: pain reduction, muscle regeneration, surgical adaption. The list went on. Then there was the machine itself. It had enough mass and energy to produce a Kevlar-type skin, molecules thick that would function the same way as that bulletproof material. It could stop a fifty-calibre bullet to the chest. Carbon monofilament.

“Sammy, are you capable of all this?”

“Yes, ma’am. In time, and with adaption to the Primary Interface.”

“Define Primary Interface.”

The manual flipped a few pages. “Primary Interface is the organic unit that models morals and personality profiles for the base unit. This can be defined by specific DNA, or first contact.”

“Specific DNA? Who made you?”

“Robert Scott.”

“Jesus.”

“Ma’am?”

“Never mind.”

Node Two: Name, Sammy. Primary Interface: General Samantha Ariyan: Adapting. Primary Systems: Nominal. Organics Engine: online. Behaviour and Emotional files: Updating. Command Structure: Unchanged.

Samantha reared back. The office that was her domain when she was running her clandestine operations was suddenly too small, too closed in for the fierceness that had exploded from Kerrigan and Sammy.

Zach had changed; his growls and the pain that produced them had filled the office like a rushing tide swamping an aqueduct. His knees had cracked with a loud snap, the force of his bone joints reversing themselves. His haunches lowered to the ground, taking his weight, and his shoulders broadened and limbs lengthened. His face had kept the distinctions that made Zach the handsome man he was; his strong brows hung over his cobalt blue eyes like a cliff face. Ivory white teeth had taken on a length that would make him a killing machine. His fur was the richness of copper, unlike any wolf in existence, even Sammy.

But this was the man she loved. They had just proved that once again, this time willingly, without coercion on her part. With acceptance on Kerrigan’s.

She had just told him that Ma’ii tsoh had named himself out of the Navajo language, and he had freaked. The fear had driven his eyes back in his head and the change had consumed him. But why wasn’t his change as fast as when Ma’ii tsoh changed?

Kerrigan attacked. Lunged for her. Fear burned in his eyes like a forest in a lightning storm. He had ripped through Sammy as if she w
ere paper, ignoring her small size, and throwing her aside with a massive shoulder.

Samantha had
nowhere to go, her back to the wall of the office. His teeth ripped at her, her hands blocked his lunge, for a moment, and then he was through her defences, driving into her chest, his teeth piercing one breast. She froze, not willing to tear loose, to damage the gland more. Fear clawed at her, rippled over her skin. “Don’t my love, please.”

Then Sammy
went ballistic, attacking from behind, going in low, ripping at Kerrigan’s belly, her growls muffled by the flesh between them. Yelps of pain flowed like blood as Kerrigan turned and snapped his teeth into Sammy’s flesh. Meta-material. The two of them became a ball of fur and bone that churned and seethed. And as fast as Kerrigan was, Sammy was faster, fiercer than the new wolf that was Zach. Sammy had always been her protector, a buffer between the world and herself, their grief at losing Ahmed the bond between them. Sammy drove Kerrigan from the office.

“Don’t hurt him, please.” Samantha said, following her loved ones
, her hand clasped over her breast, blood flowing between her fingers.

Sammy tore at
Kerrigan’s heels as he ran down the hallway to corner himself in the elevator locked open to this floor. 

It was the last refuge. He turned and faced his enemy, a potential pack mate, his ears back and his tail low. His hackles were raised. Sammy stopped, growled once, and sat on her haunches eight met
res from the open door of the elevator, waiting for Samantha. Her eyes never left Kerrigan’s anxious demeanour, the fear in his eyes still evident, his breath ragged from the infighting between he and Sammy. Blood flowed from several wounds, but it was thick and coagulated, the wounds beneath the blood closing over.

Sammy didn’t have a scratch on her, no blood to mar the silky auburn fur of her body. Was that the meta-material of her makeup? Or something else?

Samantha knelt down at the side of her bodyguard. Her mobile protection. She ran her fingers through the fur under her hand. It felt real, soft as any German Shepherd’s. Sammy’s tongue lolled from her mouth as she looked at Samantha. The bright intelligence of the wolf’s eyes a shock.

“Let him go, Sammy. The other wolf too. If he can't be here
, he needs a pack. Maybe . . . Cycle the elevators, open the doors. He’s scared. He doesn't like change. Zach? Zach, I’m so sorry. If you can forgive me . . . I’ll meet you in the forest where you found Michael. Please?”

The red wolf that was Zach Kerrigan stared at her. Cobalt blue eyes piercing, destroying any chance she had of forgiving herself. His body shook. The adrenaline of the fight subsiding. He stood up, his limbs unsteady, his body shaking as his claws scrambled for purchase on the slick surface of the floor. He didn’t bark, didn’t growl as the elevator door started to close. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“Please, Zach. I love you.” She knew he had heard her. A wolf’s hearing was very good. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard a high-pitched whine, as the doors finally closed and the car lurched under the old motor that raised it to the ground floor and the plains of Calgary.

Node Two: Name, Sammy. Primary Interface: General Samantha Ariyan: Adapting. Primary Systems: Nominal. Organics Engine: online.
Behaviour and Emotional files: Updating: Samantha loves Sammy. Samantha loves Kerrigan, Ahmed. Kerrigan is free. Ahmed is dead. Command Structure: Unchanged.

Chapter 45 Ma'ii tsoh

Ma’ii tsoh woke. Unlike other animals under the same circumstances, he was alert and aware of his surroundings even with the drug that had made him sleep. He was still in the stone cave, made of a material that shone as if the sun were in the sky overhead rather than just the flickering imitation that existed above him. He knew the growls for where he was, the words as they were called, because of the way they had been placed in his mind by the alpha bitch.

There was another voice too. One that had just started talking to him.
It was as primal as his instincts and in a language he understood. As if his body had formed around the words when he had been made strong by the brindle-coloured bitch.

The voice wouldn’t leave him alone, urging him to leave the form he had been born with.

That voice wanted him to leave this room and this place. To go into the mountains that were his home. An image kept riding into his mind, uncontrollable and unbidden. A vast cave, the floor painted with coloured rock, the Living Crystal, which would call the First Man, Etsáy-Hasteén, and the First Woman, Estsá-assun, into being.

Ma’ii tsoh looked at the wall of metal in front of him. No, not just metal, it was glass as well
. The growls, the words, falling into place much easier when he didn’t fight the compulsion placed upon him. The call that was driving him to leave. It was almost a . . . a curse. That was the word. It came from far off, as if the distance the call travelled across was immense.

The wall wasn’t dented where he had repeatedly been throwing his wolf body at it, before the acrid mist had filled the room and made him sleep. His bones had cracked with the force he had thrown at the metal. Steel. Then he had healed, the way he did after the brindle bitch had left him for dead.
He had thrown himself at the place where the tiny seam had let in the smell of the alpha bitch. A door. Though it didn’t dent, it weakened. But the wolf wasn’t the right shape to drive his body against the door. His claws couldn’t find purchase, his weight shifted at the wrong moment. For this, he needed to be human. The voice kept feeding that thought into his mind, the compulsion that joined the words driving him into a fury that rose higher and higher. Moving him in the direction he had to go. There were promises there. Rewards that went with the compulsion. A Bitch, worthy of his attention. The only bitch he wanted. His Bitch. But the other had claimed her. The human. The not-wolf that was his enemy. The man who lived in the mountains and kept prey animals.

That would change if the promises were true.

He let the compulsion shape his body.

He went as far from the door as his cage would allow and then ran, driving the shoulder of his human body against the door. His muscles tightened and compressed. The mass, the stance of the new form letting him drive his strength into the door in a way that wasn’t possible as a wolf. He lunged again. And again. His shoulder cracked, the noise loud in the confines of the room. He threw himself at the door again
, this time using his legs, his powerful thigh muscles kicking his feet into the metal of the door. It screamed in his ear and the door groaned, like rock shifting against itself. He reared back and kicked again. He heard the metal release more sound, straining. But his legs shattered with the force. Ma’ii tsoh screamed. A ragged howl dropping into a low whine. Panting against the floor, his breath heaving, he relaxed. Waited for the healing that would let him pry his way from this room.

It didn’t take long, but he still screamed through the hours, repeatedly, as he drove himself against the steel of the door. Until it screamed as loud as he had and the metal snapped, the door swinging open the breadth of a tree limb.

He was free from the space that had confined him for days. Free from the alpha bitch that would never be his mate. His nose quested, searching for a way out, for the tell-tale sign of fresh air, the wind of the wide-open spaces of the plains or forest that would tell him he was truly free. Instead he found the scent of the alpha bitch’s mate, rife with fear, and a line of open doors leading to outside.

Freedom.