A thick layer of clouds blockaded the afternoon sun, and the wind off the mountains held a biting chill. André glanced up at the sky. Rain was coming, but it might hold off until tomorrow.
“Hi, hi!”
André turned. A three-year-old lass had targeted him like a flower fairy spotting a tasty rose. The cub’s mother was chasing after her.
Bouncing off Andre’s legs, the girl raised her arms to be picked up.
Who could resist? When he obeyed the mini-alpha, he got a strangling hug around his neck.
“Little rascal.” André rubbed his cheek against hers, and the tiny giggles made him laugh. With a smile, he handed her over to her mother.
“Sorry, Cosantir.” The mother smiled ruefully. “When my mates insisted that you’re a youngling magnet, I didn’t believe them. Now, I do. My girl is normally afraid of strangers.”
“She’s a fine cub.”
Beaming at his compliment, the mother headed off.
Joining Madoc at the end of the square, André walked past the sawhorses blocking off the greenway. Signs were posted here and there: THE PARK IS CLOSED FOR WORK ON THE SEWAGE LINES. More sawhorses formed a path from the pedestrian bridge to the square, and a couple of shifters were on guard duty.
They couldn’t risk having a human seeing either of the hellhound traps.
Down the leaf-strewn path, through a stand of trees was the north trap.
With his arm around Heather, Niall watched the digging being done.
André smiled…because she was leaning against the big cahir.
After a momentary frown, Madoc barked a laugh. “It’s probably good for him to chase a female instead of being the prey.”
“It is, isn’t it?” André brushed his shoulder against his brother’s. They’d need to discuss Heather soon, but first, they had to focus on tonight and keeping everyone alive.
“Any problems getting into the chief’s house?” Madoc asked.
“No. Being on the council, Murtagh had the keys.”
Duffy, the shifter police officer, had mentioned Chief Farley had kept a personal arsenal at home. Firearms were of limited use with a hellhound but better than nothing, and André’s handgun was in Canada.
“Did you find his firearms?”
“Oui. I must admit my law-abiding conscience had fits.” André watched as the volunteers hauled dirt out of the pit. “There was a nice S&W M41 he probably used for competition shooting. It fires twenty-twos.”
“Just the ticket for aiming at a hellhound’s eyes.”
“Exactly.” Even so, if the demon-dog was moving, the chances of hitting the sunken eyes were slim. “I also stole his Desert Eagle.”
Madoc frowned. “Cool name. What is it?”
Like many Canadians who weren’t hunters, military, or law enforcement, Madoc wasn’t particularly interested in firearms. “It’s a .50 caliber semi-automatic pistol.”
“Brawd.” The way Madoc kneaded his forehead suggested he thought André’s wits had gone missing. “A massive bullet won’t go through the eye socket, and nothing except teeth penetrates a hellhound’s armored plate.”
“True. However, remember when I survived getting shot because I wore body armor?”
“Oh yeah.” Madoc’s jaw tightened. “Not something I’d forget.”
“Getting shot felt like getting bashed with a baseball bat.” André rubbed his chest at the memory. “It half-stunned me—and might do the same for a hellhound, you understand.”
“Could come in handy, then.”
André nodded. “And a heavier bullet might embed in the armor rather than ricocheting.” Ricochets were a major drawback to shooting at hellhounds.
“Cosantir,” Jens, a wolf shifter, called from the bottom of the pit. “Is this deep enough?”
André checked. It could be deeper, but there were stakes to plant and the covering to put on. “Aye, it is. A fine job, shifters.”
As the last buckets of dirt were hauled out and tossed into a pickup, the males climbed the ladder. The large number of Daonain who’d helped was gratifying. They were coming together as a unified clan far sooner than he’d expected.
“I’ll let the Morenos know it’s their turn.” Madoc headed toward another group. The construction crew would hammer in the metal stakes, then weld sharp points to each one.
To be sure the hellhound couldn’t escape, the bottom of each pit would be filled with the iron-tipped stakes.
“See you later.” Heather went up on tiptoes to kiss Niall, raised a hand at André, and headed back to the town square.
Silently, Niall joined André.
Seeing the unease in his brother’s eyes, André held off teasing. If—no, when—they survived, there would be time for banter. “Let’s go see how the south pit is coming.”
“Sure.” Niall looked around with a frown. “Where’d the cubs go?” His piercing whistle hurt André’s ears.
Talam and Sky came running, followed by two other orphans, Mateo and Alvaro.
“Hey, Niall, they’re putting in the stakes.” Sky pointed to the pit.
André smiled. Madoc had joined the Moreno crew to help pound in the metal poles.
Talam frowned. “Why would the hellhound even come this way?”
“That’s what bait is for, youngling.” Niall’s face was expressionless.
Razors shredded André’s heart. Niall insisted he’d be the one to goad the hellhound into chasing him across the pit.
André couldn’t gainsay him. Niall was correct; this was a cahir’s duty.
Closing his eyes for a moment, André sought for some semblance of calm. At least the pits evened the odds.
In the creekside park, the traps were located north and south of the square in locations where copses of brush and trees would channel the hellhound. The bait would do the rest.
André set his hand on Talam’s shoulder. “Predators seeing their prey fleeing will instinctively give chase. Niall will lead the hellhound to a trap.”
“But…it’ll see the trap and go around or something.” Sky looked back at the open pit.
Smart cubs, bright as dew on a summer’s day. “You’re right, which is why we’re camouflaging the trap with a grass and leaf-covered board so that the cover will look just like the path.”
At the puzzled expressions, Niall added, “The board will be held up in the middle by a pole—and will swing down when the hellhound steps on it. Like a seesaw.” He held his hand horizontally, showing how the top would pivot and drop the demon-spawn onto the stakes.
Talam scowled. “Won’t you fall in too?”
“We’ll pin yellow leaves to the pivot pole to show the one spot where it’s safe to land,” André said. “It’ll take a big leap to get there and another leap to reach the path on the other side.”
“What if the hellhound lands there?” Sky asked, his brow furrowed with worry.
“A hellhound is a lot heavier than I am. It’ll break the pole.” Niall gave André a wry smile, because André had insisted on several tests to ensure they had the right thickness of pole to hold the cahir’s weight.
This was the best strategy to defeat the hellhound with the least chance of losing shifters. If it didn’t work—or if they couldn’t get the hellhound to go after the bait, then it’d be on to plan B where volunteers would attempt to keep the demon-spawn distracted so Niall could roll beneath it and slice open its unarmored belly. It was a technique developed by some North Cascades cahirs. Unfortunately, it required close to a cahir’s strength to penetrate the thick hellhound skin.
The alternative was a stiletto or bullet to the eye. André had told the volunteers to carry .22s and long, slender daggers. Niall would be carrying the same weaponry. They’d be prepared if any opportunity presented.
He rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated anger simmering in his gut. A month hadn’t been enough time to get the territory ready for a gods-cursed hellhound.
Please, Mother of All, let this work.
Welcome to the dark of the moon. As a cub, Niall had loved the moonless nights when the stars could reign in the black sky.
As a cahir? It’d taken only one sight of the savaged remains left by a hellhound for horror to set up residence in his soul.
At the front window of Madoc’s restaurant, he looked out at the night. The sun had set an hour ago. The vintage, wrought-iron streetlights around the square created yellow pools of illumination. Nothing moved out there.
Niall pulled in a slow breath, hoping against hope the hellhound would attack somewhere else. With time—and André’s charisma—they’d get a couple more cahirs to move here.
If there were other cahirs, he’d be out patrolling the night. But there was only him, and for the trap to work, the chase had to start here. The square was where the demon-spawn had located its prey—shifters—so this was where the hellhound would come first.
After tying his hair back, he cracked his neck, left, then right. He’d be ready.
“Is it out there?” Voice shaking slightly, Sky came up on Niall’s right.
Talam took the left.
“No, nothing yet.” Niall set a hand on Sky’s shoulder, then Talam’s as well. Both lads were trembling slightly.
Fuck. How could he have forgotten a hellhound killed their mother. Sliding his hands down, he pulled them into a rough hug. “Don’t worry, lads. You’ll be safe in here.”
“But you won’t,” Sky whispered. Tears shimmered in wide blue eyes. “Can’t you stay inside too?”
He wished.
Instead, he shook his head. “It’ll hunt until it finds a home without window guards. Not everyone will be in a protected place.”
Earlier, the Moreno construction crew reported the communal house’s window frames needed to be replaced, or a hellhound could simply bust through. So those shifters and cubs were here.
Roger, the alpha, had quite a few of his wolves in their pack house. So that helped.
Not enough, though.
At full moon, André had told people to get their homes secured, and many had complied, thank the God. But there were always procrastinators as well as those who wouldn’t take refuge with someone else. Or those who had nowhere else to go.
André had been outraged at the number and asked Heather to get their names and addresses. By next month, those shifters would be far better prepared, or he would know the reason why.
Niall smiled. It was amusing to see people meet the immovable rock that was his brother.
“People, time to move the tables and set out your sleeping areas,” Madoc called.
Niall glanced over his shoulder. The warehouse and gift shop were closed off due to the construction mess, so the restaurant itself was packed with shifters, from cubs to seniors and all the ages between.
In one corner, Heather arranged sleeping bags and blankets while chatting with nearby Daonain. Her practical advice with a side-helping of humor implied nothing was as bad as it seemed. Other blanket piles formed around her as her calm competence attracted the anxious shifters like a magnet.
He knew how they felt. Gods, he wanted to be over there with her, too, hearing her throaty laugh, seeing the serenity in her eyes.
“Hey, sis, got room for mine?” Heather’s brother, Daniel, shoved his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. His brother, Tanner, had stayed home to protect their Daonain ranch hands, but Daniel had volunteered to be one of the fighters here. He’d shown up with a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Good male.
“Cubs.” Niall gave the lads a nudge. “Go help Heather while I stay on watch. Then you can hang together with your buddies.”
“Yessir,” Sky whispered and gave Niall a hard hug before following his brother toward Heather.
Niall watched before shaking his head. Why hadn’t anyone warned him how cubs could steal a heart faster than a hungry feline?
Movement outside caught his attention. Tensing, he leaned forward, expecting to see a grizzly-sized monster with a sharklike head.
No, it was a female, carrying a baby of maybe six months old. Another cub was in a backpack carrier.
What. The. Fuck.
At the closed grocery store next to the gift shop, she tried the handle. Sitting the infant at her feet, she pounded on the door. “Murtagh, I need food for the kids. Let me in!”
This wasn’t good, but…if she was human, the hellhound wouldn’t bother her—not with the scent of Daonain in its nose. Niall glanced around. André was already crossing the room at a fast clip with Madoc following.
Heather joined Niall. “What’s going on?”
“Who’s the female?” He pointed.
She looked out and stiffened. “Portia. Wolf shifter and her two cubs.”
A shifter. If a hellhound was around, her yelling would target her like a spotlight. He squeezed Heather’s shoulder, wishing for more, so much more—and then dashed for the door.
A scream broke the quiet night. Cowering on her knees, Portia didn’t even try to run from the huge hellhound stalking across the square.
The sight of it would terrify anyone. Grizzly-sized with ankylosaurus-like armor plating. Eyes the color of old blood. Claws the size of his fingers.
And just like that, their wolf pit plan was fucked. The demon-spawn was too close to Portia for Niall to lure it away. It already had the scent of fear. Of babies.
“Run, female!” He dove at the beast, hitting it with his shoulder. It felt like he’d slammed into a concrete wall.
The hellhound staggered sideways, spun, and savaged Niall.
Pain seared through his leg as its jaws tore into his flesh. Kicking its head, he rolled away. To his horror, the female hadn’t moved.
Roaring a challenge, Madoc in bear form slammed into the hellhound at an angle and dashed away.
Niall regained his feet and ran. The hellhound lunged after him.
Madoc charged again.
The booming crack of gunfire announced André had arrived.
Hands pressed to her mouth, Heather stood inside the door, dread shaking her. The males—her males—would die.
Behind her, she could hear Daniel shouting orders at the volunteers who’d come to fight.
Another shot rang out. André’s bullets didn’t kill the hellhound, but it stopped and shook its head.
Why didn’t the brothers move back, regroup, something? In front of the grocery next door, they stood in a semi-circle far too close to—
Mother’s breasts, they’re protecting Portia and the babies. Hunched down on her knees, the female didn’t move. Too scared. One baby sat at her feet, arms up. Crying.
The males couldn’t do anything with Portia there.
I have to help. Heather’s heart pounded as if to beat out of her chest. Her mouth was dry with pure terror.
Don’t panic. Move!
She raced out the door, straight to Portia. Bending, she snatched the red-faced baby up, tucking him into one arm. Reassured by the high little wail, she turned to put her body between him and the hellhound. Grabbing the front of Portia’s shirt, Heather yanked the female to her feet. “Move your tail!”
Dragging Portia like downed prey, Heather ran back to the restaurant.
Rifle in hand, Daniel trotted past Heather. “Good rescue, sis.” A wolf and a cougar followed him, then two more males.
Even as Heather went through the door into the restaurant, his rifle cracked.
The hellhound snarled.
Someone yelled, “The Cosantir’s down!”
Pain ripped through André’s shoulder as the hellhound shook him like a trapped rat.
With the deep, cracking sound of a heavy shotgun, the demon-spawn let out a shriek—and released André.
Madoc hit it from the side, buying André enough time to scramble away. Thank the Mother. Sweeping up his pistol, he regained his feet, staggering, hot blood streaming down his side.
Turning, he saw Heather had reached the restaurant with the female and babies. Bless you.
“Shooters, aim for the head,” Niall yelled, pulling his knife. “Animals, charge its rear.”
Taking aim with his left hand, André opened fire. Daniel and two other shifters did the same.
As the shifters in animal form attacked from behind, the hellhound was stymied for a moment.
Taking advantage, Niall dove under it and stabbed upward—even as the hellhound charged forward.
Its unholy shriek rang out. Blood splattered on the ground.
Niall had wounded it. But not enough. Whirling, it grabbed Niall’s leg and flung the cahir across the street.
Then it attacked Daniel, who was frantically reloading.
André’s pistol clicked on empty.
Madoc tore forward on three legs, his speed not nearly fast enough.
A female yelled. “Flashbang. Three-two-”
Merde. André dove to the ground, covering his eyes and ears.
As everything flashed white, a sound like the crack of doom almost ruptured his ear drums.
Was that lightning? Ears ringing, Talam shook his head as the splotchy after-images made his eyes water. But he could see good enough. Nose pressed against the glass, he told Sky, “The Cosantir’s bleeding bad.”
Sky’s hand gripped his. “Niall can’t run. His leg’s all tore up. He can’t be bait.”
Talam’s heart sank. Most of the shifters out there were down or hurt. “Nobody out there will be quick enough to stay in front of the hellhound.”
“I run fast.” Mateo bumped his shoulder. Alvaro stood beside him. “We both do.”
Talam’s breathing was too fast, and there was a buzzing sound in his head. Cuz he was scared—like when Mom had left them in the root cellar. And made the hellhound chase her.
She’d saved them. Because she loved them.
He made his hands into fists cuz his stomach was twisting like he’d puke. “I run fast too.”
Beside him, Sky’s face was pinched, but he nodded. “We should scream an’ yell. Like prey.”
“Yeah.” Talam looked at Mateo. “We’ll take the left trap; you go right.”
They darted to the door, dodging people who grabbed for them.
And then they all ran for the park, screaming like they were scared.
Only he really was scared. He was.
Madoc flung himself at the hellhound standing stunned over Daniel. Above the ringing in his ears, he heard high shrieks. So high.
The hellhound’s head turned with a jerk—and it charged after four younglings.
That was Sky’s blond head. Talam was with him.
By the Gods, no!
Sprinting incredibly fast, the cubs reached the park and split, two going south, the other pair going north. Being bait.
Already in motion, Madoc chased after them with all his strength, ignoring the jolting agony in his hip where the hellhound had savaged him.
At the park, the demon-spawn paused, nose in the air. Obviously following the upwind scent, it turned left.
After Talam and Sky.
Faster, bear!
Madoc had almost caught up, and the hellhound was nearly to the younglings when they reached the trap. Hand-in-hand, the cubs sprang for the leaf-marked center. They came down right on the pivot pole and leaped again.
Sky’s jump fell short, his belly hitting the edge.
“No!” Talam grabbed him before he fell in…but the trap cover tipped down.
At the seesaw motion of the camouflaged top, the hellhound skidded to a stop.
“Fuck that.” Madoc rammed the hellhound from behind with all the fury in his heart.
It was like hitting a boulder. The demon-dog was thrown forward,
Thrown forward, the hellhound crashed down into the trap as Madoc landed on the edge of the pit.
Gut-wrenching shrieks filled the air.
Half-running, half-staggering, André chased after the hellhound and Madoc—and cubs, by the Gods. His right shoulder was ripped to shreds, his arm hanging limp, and each hard footfall sent pain blazing through him.
Niall had tried to follow and collapsed. Thank the Mother, Heather had already been there, yelling, “I’ve got this, André. Go.”
Even as André reached the park, he could hear her barking orders to get Niall, Daniel, and the other wounded inside.
“Do you have more bullets?” A female ran beside him in the dark night. An inch or so above his six feet, muscular, short black hair and—
“Bron?”
“Aye, nephew. Sorry, I’m late.”
Her arrival explained the flashbang. She did love the bloody things.
Footsteps sounded from behind as others tried to catch up.
When screams of pain broke the night, André’s heart almost stopped. But no—it wasn’t the cubs.
It was the hellhound.
At the trap, Madoc had shifted to human and tossed the top of the trap away. Now, his arms were wrapped around the cubs.
André looked down. The hellhound was badly wounded, but its thrashing had dislodged most of the stakes. One iron point dangled from its belly as it clawed the sides of the pit, trying to climb.
“Gods, it might be able to get out,” Bron breathed.
“Aye.” André pulled the other pistol he’d carried. The S&W .22. “I can’t hit anything with my left hand.”
He offered it to Bron who shook her head. “I’m not accurate enough for eyes.”
“I am.” The gravelly voice came from behind them.
André glanced over his shoulder to see two huge cahirs. One was darkly dangerous, scarred…and holding a handgun.
The fair-haired other had the appearance of an Irish prize-fighter.
“Shay, isn’t it?” André asked the dark one. They’d met at the festival last summer.
“Zeb and Shay, aye. Sorry we missed the fight. We ran a patrol in Cold Creek before getting on the road.” The prize-fighter smiled. “It’s good to see you again, André.”
He started to hold out his hand, then his eyebrows rose. Elbowing his partner, he bowed his head slightly. “Cosantir.”
“Gnome-brain, that’s André,” Zeb growled, then he blinked and also bowed his head. “Cosantir.”
“Enough,” André growled. “Please finish this, cahir.” Before I pass out. He motioned to the side of the pit.
Joining him, Zeb took aim and fired. It took several shots before a bullet finally hit one of the tiny, recessed eyes.
The hellhound dropped. It was done.
Seconds later, he was getting hugged by two—then four—over-excited cubs.
As the world darkened around him, he heard someone say, “Tell Calum we need Donal. Bad.”
Gods, would the night ever end? Carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and glasses, Heather glanced around the Shamrock Restaurant.
At the tables near the walls, the people still awake were talking. Most of the cubs were curled in blanket piles, watched over by their loved ones.
All the wounded lay in one corner. On each side of André, Madoc and Niall sat on the floor, backs against the wall.
Setting down the tray, Heather knelt beside the Cosantir. Blood still streaked his shirtless, muscular chest. Biting her lip, she checked the pressure dressing on his shoulder. The bleeding had slowed but not stopped. He hadn’t woken since they carried him in.
His brothers watched, worry in their expressions. “Shay says the healer is on the way,” she told them.
Please hurry, Donal.
But André would live. He must. Her hands shook as she brushed the dark hair off his forehead.
His eyes opened, so dark a brown, so very alive.
“André,” she whispered.
“Heather.” His lips quirked, then capturing her hand, he kissed her fingers. “Thank you, ma chérie, for leaving safety to save the female. Your courage warms my heart.”
Tears prickled her eyes at the words. At the respect in his gaze.
Leaning down, she brushed her lips against his. “Says the male who stood against a hellhound with only a pistol.”
“Who’s the female, anyway?” Niall frowned toward Portia, who sat across the room. Two females with her were caring for her two babies.
Typical lazy Portia behavior. She’d been freeloading in the communal house until Pete closed it. “She works at the RV camp downriver. She knew about the curfew but…” Heather lifted her voice to mimic Portia’s higher one. “I forgot to shop earlier, and the grocery should have been open.”
André’s eyebrows drew together, and his eyes darkened.
Madoc snorted. “Oh, she’s in for it now.”
After a second, André shook his head, and his eyes returned to their normal dark brown. “No. The hellhound was enough of a lesson.”
“Probably so.” Heather huffed a laugh. “She was so scared, she peed her pants.”
“There you go then.” Trying to sit up, André made a muffled sound of pain.
“Stop it.” Was he crazy? “Stay put. You lost—”
Chuckling, his also-injured brothers helped him so he could lean against the wall like them.
Heather’s head threatened to explode. “You are the most sprite-brained, crow-cursed feline I’ve ever met.”
All three burst out laughing.
She eyed the tray of water. Pour it on their stupid heads?
With a sigh, she filled the glasses. “Maybe it’s blood loss making you idiots. Drink up.”
As they did, she checked Niall’s leg and Madoc’s hip. Daniel had also been ripped up, but his bleeding had stopped.
“André’s awake!” The squeak of delight came from the blanket pile next to Niall. In a flurry of motion, their two cubs crawled over to join Heather.
Talam bit his lip, his gaze on the blood-soaked bandage on André’s shoulder and how his arm was bound in place. “You got hurt so bad.”
“It was worth it to keep our people safe,” André murmured. “Don’t you think…young warrior?”
After a moment, Talam nodded.
With his good hand, André touched the cub’s face, then smiled at Sky. “You almost scared my fur off, but I’m very proud of you both.”
Heather was too. And maybe, when she stopped choking on the memory, she’d tell them so. By the Gods, she’d never known such fear as when the hellhound had gone after them.
Or when Madoc had chased after them on only three legs. He hadn’t even hesitated. She’d been so terrified for him—and for André who’d been half-staggering.
If Niall had gone after them, she would have smacked him flat, but he’d managed only one step before falling.
Stubborn, stubborn males.
A noise at the front door made her look up.
Donal, Margery, and Tynan had finally arrived.
Heather shot to her feet and waved them over.
Followed by his lifemates, Donal joined them, his gaze going from Daniel, who hadn’t woken, to Madoc and André.
When his eyes fell on Niall, he scowled. “Cahir, you flea-ridden, fart of a feline, did you fuck up the same leg I just fixed a few weeks ago?”
As the cubs’ eyes widened, Heather burst out laughing.
Her males were going to live.