Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

The ground trembled and then shook hard enough that the leaves on the trees shivered. Jeff swayed and then sat abruptly on the ground, the bloody spear out of Kyle’s shoulder and now lying in the vegetation beside them. Jonas took a hasty look at Kyle’s wound. Blood wasn’t gushing. Leaking yes, spouting no. He took that as a good sign. Whatever Camellia was doing to repair the damage from the inside appeared to be working.

Jeff turned and faced outward, away from Kyle, preparing to defend him.

Stay with him, Jonas commanded. I’m the one Shaker wants.

Shaker was calling him out. The underground network told him Shaker was moving in a circular direction up toward Camellia—at least where he believed Camellia to be. She’d moved, but she wasn’t that far from where she’d been. He was grateful she’d changed positions despite his orders. Even if Shaker couldn’t pinpoint Camellia’s exact location in the fog right at that moment, Jonas was taking no chances. Shaker had extraordinary enhancements, and some of them seemed to be directly tied to the weather.

Jonas moved to intercept, judging the distance as he went. He noticed that if he moved slowly, Shaker couldn’t perceive any activity in the fog, but if he sped up, Shaker was instantly aware. The disturbance—not on the ground but among the droplets—told the man exactly where Jonas was. Jonas went still again and drifted away from where he’d been to give himself another starting point.

I can throw him off by stirring the drops here in various places, Camellia said. If you don’t come at him in a direct line, he shouldn’t be able to detect exactly where you are.

Jonas didn’t like Camellia having to do anything that might in any way put her in danger. Who knew what enhancements Shaker had?

Don’t be an arrogant ass, Jonas. We’re partners, remember? Camellia didn’t sound in the least soothing in that moment. She sounded more as if she needed soothing.

It’s a good idea, he agreed, calling on his memories of studying the wolves. He often tried to apply the traits of the alpha to his own life. The alpha could be aggressive and savage when needed, but he was also protective and tender. He didn’t rule his pack through intimidation but possessed a quiet self-confidence and self-assurance. He always led by example.

With all the aggression from the other animals and reptiles in him, Jonas had purposely chosen to study and model his behavior and control after the wolf, admiring the behavior. He had been born with many of the same characteristics, and Whitney had enhanced them. He was loyal. Protective. Faithful. Caring.

The fog pitched and rolled despite there being very little wind. Jonas recognized Camellia’s hand in the disturbance. He didn’t hesitate, quickly gliding as lightly as he could through the fog, first at an angular direction and then moving more in a circular one, but always making his way toward Shaker.

Camellia wasn’t randomly disturbing the drops. She set routes toward Shaker from multiple directions as well, making it impossible for the man to determine where Jonas was coming from. All he would know was that Jonas was coming and he should be ready for the attack.

Jonas smelled Shaker before he could see him through the rolling purple-gray sheets of the fog. Oliver’s brother was hunched over as he made his way stealthily up a deer path, past the boulders where Camellia had been concealed. Just beyond the boulders, Angel’s body lay, his face torn by the owls, his feet and legs still wrapped in fibrous threads. His gun lay on the ground just inches from his hand. Shaker crouched there for a few minutes, studying the ground, clearly trying to figure out what happened. Then he turned his attention to tracking Camellia.

Jonas didn’t move. There was no whisper of sound to alert him, yet Shaker suddenly whipped around, firing his gun in a covering pattern. The only thing that saved Jonas was the fibrous loops that caught at his ankles from underground and yanked him down. He rolled toward Shaker, not away, his most familiar knife in his hand. This wasn’t a throwing knife but one his father had owned before him. A blade made to be used in close-quarters combat for self-defense—or to kill with.

He came up on Shaker fast, inserting his legs between Shaker’s as he continued to roll, slamming his opponent to the ground in a scissor takedown. He did it hard and mean. The moment Shaker hit the soil, fibers erupted, curling around the man’s gun, wrapping up the metal fast, over and over, and wrenching at it, ripping it from Shaker’s fist. Simultaneously, as he rolled and took Shaker to the ground, Jonas came up on top of him, one hand reaching to pin Shaker’s wrist that had held the gun, the other stabbing down three times with the knife. Each stab went deep. Jonas had no intention of allowing Shaker to ever get up, not when he was this close to Camellia.