Shards of Hope (Psy-Changeling 14)

Everyone knew the wolves were very unwelcoming when it came to outsiders—“shoot first and ask questions of the corpses” was their rumored motto. “A small cabin, a small group—that could’ve flown under the radar in such a vast territory, but the chopper would’ve lit up their surveillance satellites and, bad weather or not, we’d be drowning in wolves by now.”

“Terrain wrong for DarkRiver.”

“Yes. I don’t think we’re in Yosemite.” It was possible they were near the territory of another feline pack. On the other hand, given the cats’ reputation for roaming far distances in their youth, it was equally possible they were near a single solitary changeling. If Aden could locate the owner of these paw prints, that changeling could go for assistance—if he or she didn’t attack them on sight. Many changelings remained leery of Psy.

It was, however, their only chance.

They walked as fast as they could, hoping to beat the rain that was starting to spit again. If it poured down, the trail would be erased in a heartbeat, and with it, their first real chance of survival. Zaira finally lost consciousness what must’ve been about eight minutes later, and from the blood she’d coughed up, he knew she’d die if she didn’t get medical attention soon.

No, he thought, you do not get to die.

Lifting her into his arms, he carried her tucked against his chest. She was so small in comparison to the others in the squad, but she was deadly and strong and part of their future . . . part of his future. When he went to his knees in the mud, he got up again, muscles straining and arms locked around her. His body protested, the leg injury he’d sustained in the fight outside the bunker starting to make itself felt, but he was still functional, still able to walk.

Following the tracks of the changeling deep into the trees just as the rain pounded down again, he wasn’t prepared for the tracks to simply disappear. Not with the canopy offering enough protection that he should’ve had another minute or two at least. He put Zaira down very carefully before taking out the penlight again and checking the ground. Nothing . . . but big cats could often climb.

He turned just in time to see the glowing eyes of a large jungle cat coming at him.

The impact crushed the air from his lungs, slamming his body into the rain-soaked forest detritus. His training told him to fight, but he lay quiescent. “My partner is badly injured and in need of medical attention. Will you offer assistance?” If the answer was no, Aden would use the knife he’d palmed, get away from the changeling.

It might not be an easy fight, but he wasn’t going to fail with Zaira’s life at stake.

Growling, its teeth flashing in the dark, the changeling walked over to Zaira’s body. Aden could see spots now, realized this was a leopard, but, judging from the “welcome,” not any leopard he knew. Sending Aden a glowing yellow-green glance after sniffing at Zaira, the leopard bared its teeth and took off, moving so fast that Aden had no hope of following him.

The darkness swallowed him up a heartbeat later.

Either the cat was going for help or his answer was no to the request for assistance. Regardless, Aden had to keep going, try to locate a vehicle so he could get Zaira to a medic, or find a comm beacon he could hot-wire to send a message to the squad. Simply hunkering down was not an option. She’d die.

He refused to think too hard about the fact that so far, they’d glimpsed no signs of civilization, no evidence that there might be a comm beacon or station in the vicinity, much less roads or traffic. That was self-defeating behavior and he was an Arrow trained to survive.

Rising, one of his ribs feeling as if it had cracked under the impact of the leopard’s pounce, he picked Zaira up again and continued on. As long as his body functioned, he would walk.

A hard droplet of water penetrated the canopy to hit his cheek, then came another and another and another, until all around him was a torrential rain that sought to shove him to the earth. And then the wind slammed into him, the gale so strong that each step felt like fighting his way through a brick wall.

So be it.

“Stay alive,” he said to Zaira, then gritted his teeth and took the next step.

That was when the bullet wound in his leg finally tore wide open.

Chapter 9

REMI RACED THROUGH the rain, the pads of his paws soundless on the wet mass of leaves and branches under the trees, surefooted over the grassy open area that threatened to turn to mud at any instant. When the rain thundered down again, he growled low in his throat. On the list of his leopard’s least favorite things in the world, icy cold rain rated very high, but that was an easily shrugged-off concern, his mind on the two people who’d been tracking him until he turned the tables on them.

He’d kept his claws sheathed as he slammed into the man, intending only to pin the stranger down so he could figure out if he’d attracted unwelcome attention that could pose a risk to his pack. It was only as he hit the man that he’d caught the acrid scent of wet iron, a scent the wind had hidden from him until that instant.

The woman, he’d realized almost at once, was bleeding badly. Her companion might be conscious, but he wasn’t in much better condition.

Remi had recognized the man’s face a heartbeat after Remi’s paws made contact with his chest. No way to mistake those sharp cheekbones, the intense eyes, the ruler-straight black hair that had become visible when his hood slid off: Aden Kai. The reputed leader of the Arrow Squad, according to the reports Remi had seen on various news platforms.

No one seemed to know too much about the Arrows. Rumors ranged from calling them a death squad to a highly trained black ops team, but everyone had witnessed their actions in the past months. The black-clad men and women had saved Psy, human, and changeling lives across the globe—and they hadn’t stuck around to lap up praise or play to the media.