Moira Rogers - Wilder’s Mate

“I’ve never heard of a bloodhound turning against the Guild.” She began to stroke his chest, tracing endless, soothing circles. “I always rather thought they had ways to ensure it didn’t happen.”

“They don’t have Guild representatives out this far. When they find out, they’ll deal with him. Until then…”

She finished the sentence in a whisper. “You’ll deal with him?” At one point, Archer had been a colleague. A friend. Now, he was a liability and a danger to Satira.

“I’ll deal with him.”

“I’m sorry, Wilder.” She curled closer, as if she wanted to protect him. “This hasn’t been a simple job for you, has it?”

“Not meant to be,” he admitted. “It’s no life for anyone, really, but it’s got to be done.” Her fingers made a lazy circle over his shoulder. Another. She drew in a breath, then hesitated, uncertainty screaming through her silence. Finally she sighed. “Why did you choose it?” There was only one honest answer. “Someone has to, and I knew I’d be good at it.”

“That simple?” She touched his lips this time, then traced along his cheekbone. “You gave up any chance at a life just knowing you’d be making life safe for others?” She made it sound like he could walk on water. Wilder shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t have much of a life to give up.”

“Neither do I,” she pointed out. “Doesn’t mean what I’ve got isn’t dear to me.” He hadn’t had anything left after the war, and he found himself telling her so. “By the time I came home all busted up, everything was gone. My home, my brothers. Everything.”

“Came home?” Satira propped herself up on one arm, her eyebrows coming together as she studied his face. “From where?”

“From fighting. From the War of the Rebellion, Satira. The Civil War.” He cleared his throat and waited for her to absorb his words.

It didn’t take long. “Nineteen years ago. How old were you?”

“I was twenty-three when I joined up. I’m forty-six now.”

“You don’t look forty-six.” She tilted her head and frowned. “How old was Levi?”

“Christ only knows. He had to have been at least sixty when I met him.”

“Oh.” The furrow between her brow eased as she dropped her chin to his chest. “I admit, I’d never considered it. You said you were…broken. Did the change from human to bloodhound heal your injuries?” The change had ripped him apart, broken him down and remade him into something that wasn’t human. “That’s what it does, what it’s for. It makes us stronger.” Slower to age, quicker to heal.

“Levi would never talk of it. He’d only say some things aren’t for impressionable minds and delicate ears.”

For a moment, Wilder missed the old man so much he had to laugh or he’d cry. “I’m surprised he didn’t just tell you to mind your own business.”

She smiled a little. “After my mother died, I think he had a hard time shaking me loose. I was so needy, and he never had it in him to kick me hard enough to stop me from asking questions.” He drew her closer. “That sounds like him too.”

“He’s the one who told Nathaniel to start teaching me. Told me if I was going to keep asking questions, I might as well fill my head with useful answers.” And he’d spoken to Juliet, made provisions for her to have work and a home if something happened to him. “You were his daughter, sweetheart, whether you realized it or not.” She let out a shaky sigh. “I miss him.”

“So do I.”

The silence lingered, and her breathing slowed. Evened. “I believe I need a few hours of sleep. You know how to make a girl wobbly in the knees.”

There was no avoiding the inevitable. “Tomorrow, we ride.”

Clear Springs was the most uncomfortable town Satira had ever seen.

They rode in just before dawn, when the rising sun would stir lethargy in vampires. The town, on the other hand, should have been bustling with early-morning activity. Instead the streets lay quiet and empty, without even a twitch from a curtained window to prove life stirred.

It felt dead, and Satira shivered. “There’s no one left alive?” Wilder reined in his horse and drew up short behind some brush. “Likely not, unless more ghouls are about.”

“A whole town…” The Guild was supposed to prevent atrocities like this—but they could only do so much, she supposed, and Clear Springs would have been considered lost to the Deadlands. The border seemed to creep east a little more every year. If she returned to Iron Creek, there was no guarantee that a new bloodhound would be assigned to Levi’s old position. How long before the vampires edged close enough for the important men in Washington to decide Iron Creek wasn’t worth the cost to protect?

“Satira.” Wilder’s voice was steely. Hard.

She swallowed hard. “You can sense the dead, can’t you? Are the houses empty?”

“I sense the dead,” he confirmed, “and they’re here. Plenty of them. But don’t forget they can sense your fear. It’ll call to them, honey.”

So hiding her worry from Wilder wouldn’t be enough. She’d have to wall it off from her own heart.

Concentrating on Nathaniel helped. Her mentor would need her courage now. “They won’t be able to enter the sunlight, though. So the ones in these houses can’t join the fight, unless they’ve created tunnels.”

“Ghouls,” he reminded her, though his expression remained mild. “Don’t know if we can fight all of them. Might have to, but avoidance would be better.”

There was no telling how many there would be. The vampire could have turned the residents of Clear Springs, or enslaved them, or simply killed them. “A hotel should have plenty of ways in and out. The ghoul said there was a lab underneath now. That’s where Nathaniel will be.”

“Since we know roughly where we’re headed, sneaking’s our best bet.”

“When? Will they be weaker when the sun’s higher?”

“Maybe a little. Not enough to make waiting worth it, though.” His horse danced beneath him. “The longer we sit around, the better the chance someone’ll spot us.”

Satira smoothed a hand down her mount’s neck as the mare shifted uneasily. “I suppose I need to arm myself, in that case.”

His grin was feral, edged with a little violence. “Time to bust open that handy pack of yours, sweetheart.”

Time for the weapons they’d dragged with them across the plains, all in anticipation of this. Emotions tangled inside her—fear, anticipation, perhaps even excitement.

She met Wilder’s eyes and wondered if her smile had that same madness. “If it goes badly, I can always cause an explosion or two.”

“We’ll keep that in reserve. Sort of a plan of last resort, yeah?”

“I’ll struggle to restrain myself.” She nodded ahead. “On foot, then?” He inclined his head. “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to hang back while I do a quick scout around the hotel?”

“Of course.” It would give her time to check the weapons and be sure they hadn’t suffered for their callous handling.

He dismounted and slipped away silently. She barely caught a glimpse of him as he darted across the clear spaces between buildings on his way to the hotel.

Long minutes ticked by as Satira slid from her own horse. Most of the weapons were in her packs—in deference to Wilder’s mount, she imagined, which had to haul the impressive bulk of his muscles around.

The guns she checked briefly and put aside. She’d only been able to fit three of the modified grenades into her pack, and none of them had been armed yet. They were Nathaniel’s invention, ingenious explosives that could be customized in the field with the addition of certain chemicals.

A dusty patch of road behind a bush was hardly an ideal workstation, but Satira felt plenty motivated.

By the time Wilder returned she’d loaded the gunpowder and laced all three explosives with silver shavings that would shred through vampire flesh like acid.

“Got good news and bad news,” he murmured as he knelt beside her.

Satira concentrated on the grenade’s pin. “What’s the bad news?”

“Archer is down there. He must have waited out the new moon here instead of going back to one of the brothels in town.”

“If no one’s alive, how did he…?” At Wilder’s look, she swallowed hard and decided not to pursue the matter. Whether Archer had passed the new moon with vampires or ghouls, it didn’t change the truth—

he would be every bit as dangerous as Wilder, and would have the advantage of knowing the battleground.

“And the good news?”

“I’m pretty damn sure I figured out where they’re holding Nate.” He touched one of the grenades.

“What’re these?”

“Explosives. Laced with silver. Expensive, but the damage is impressive.”

“That would come in handy for clearing out a room.” Wilder surveyed the rest of the array she’d laid out. “If it comes down to it, we can fight.”

Confident, she reminded herself. She needed to be confident. “If I know Nathaniel, he’ll have been planning for rescue.”

“Is it possible to plan for a rescue like this?”

Perhaps not, but he’d be ready, and that was all that mattered.

Almost. After setting the grenade carefully on the ground, she rocked to her knees and framed Wilder’s face with her hands. “No one could plan for us, Wilder. Not even Archer.”

“They could plan for me easily enough.” He kissed her and rested his forehead against hers. “You’re the wild card, sweetheart. The ace in the hole, and you’re going to win it for all of us.”

“Just get me to Nathaniel,” she whispered. “There’s nothing the two of us can’t think our way out of.

Especially if we have a bloodhound around to help with the heavy lifting.” Wilder kissed her again, this time parting her lips with his tongue. So easy to melt at the taste of him, especially with the recent memory of pleasure fresh in her mind. He’d done things with and to her that still made her blush to think of, but none she had enjoyed as much as the simple heat of his kiss.