Cutter grasped one of Jenny's hands in his own as they stood in the same clearing they had yesterday, waiting for the arrival of Helen and her undead cronies. He didn't even have to wear gloves with her hands. He felt…steady. That was the best way to describe it. For the first time in months, he felt like he had his feet on solid ground. Last night, he and Jenny had done nothing more than lay in bed beside each other, but that was somehow much more intimate than anything else they could've done. "Ready for this?" he asked quietly. Nobody knew what would happen when they turned down Helen. He remembered telling Stephen once, what felt like an eon ago in the shopping centre—Helen has never handled rejection particularly well. He could feel the dagger that Matt had given him pressed against his forearm, safely tucked in his sleeve. It wasn't made of metal, but rather of snakewood. According to the Irishman, it was the hardest wood in the world and the best weapon against nightkind. Apparently the old stake-through-the-heart trick really did work. He, Stephen, Abby, and Becker all had one. Jenny and Connor didn't, but only because they had their own defences.
"Been ready," Jenny replied in just as soft a voice, squeezing his hand.
Connor stood beside Abby, practically humming with tension; she had one hand fisted on the back of his waistcoat as if to physically restrain him. Becker was scanning the trees warily, holding his rifle tightly. Stephen was just as on edge, standing at the ready, tensed for action. Danny, Sarah, Matt, Emily, and Jess had stayed at the ARC for two reasons. After signing the Official Secrets Act, they had become a kind of second response team to help with handling the anomaly alerts, considering how they now had a two-front battle going with anomalies on one side and Christine Johnson and her magic army on the other side. Also, Helen had warned them not to bring any of the witches.
Jenny took a deep breath and took a moment to really expand her senses. Matt had taught her how to do this, how to access her wolf's powers without being in the wolf's skin. It was like stepping into a whole other world. The she-wolf—she always saw her alter ego as Nitka now—had an incredible sensory range that made humans seem deaf and blind in comparison. All five of her senses were hypersensitive as a wolf. Vision—she could see in the dark as well as daylight. She saw infrared, body heat. Hearing—her ears could detect the heartbeats of the people around her, hear pitches higher and lower than the human auditory range, and she could pinpoint an individual sneeze in a crowd. Smell—she could smell what a person had for breakfast the day before, could distinguish Coke from Pepsi from twenty paces, and could track scents for kilometres without losing the trail. Taste—her body now defied poison. Anything that disturbed the wolf, she would instantly bring it back up. Touch—even as a wolf, she had highly sensitive hairs all over her body. She could feel her way in total darkness by detecting changes in air pressure on her skin. Even in human form, she felt things with almost ten times the intensity of a normal person. And she had five hundred muscles that she could control voluntarily.
She had to squeeze Cutter's hand just to keep herself grounded at the abrupt sensory onslaught. The smell of fresh snow was first and foremost, a cold, crisp smell that reminded Nitka of hunting across the Arctic tundra. Freshly broken twigs added a sharp, sweet odour. She could hear the faint twittering and fluttering of birds amongst the bare, leafless branches; somewhere in the distance a stag was peeling bark off a tree to eat. Nearby, a rabbit snuffled about in the undergrowth. She could smell her friends all around her, a collection of odours that she knew by heart and could recognise from anywhere. Cutter—rich and spicy-sweet, old paper and spices; Abby—reptile, flowers, and natural musk. Stephen—pine needles, resin, leather, and deep earth. Becker—gun oil, metal, and gunpowder. Connor—new leaves, fresh-cut hay, and damp soil.
She pushed all of it aside, attuning all her senses into finding the burning, terrible reek of nightkind—of Helen and her lot. The muscles of her temples twitched as Nitka tried to move her ears. She'd heard it, the faintest whisper of boots against snowy earth, far too quiet for any human to detect, and as she inhaled through her nose, the harsh, searing chemical odour of nightkind practically burned her. Beside her, Connor went tense, so she knew he'd smelt it too. "They're coming," she murmured under her breath.
The others shifted around her, and she heard the faint increase in their heart rates. Within her, Nitka prowled restlessly, hackles lifting, red tongue curling between bared fangs in murderous anticipation.
Just as they had yesterday, the nightkind appeared like black-clad wraiths, wrathful spirits sent from the land of the dead to take vengeance upon the living. There were fewer of them today—only four of them instead of a dozen. Five, counting Helen. They were still decked out in protective layers: hoods, scarves, and sunglasses.
Helen stepped forward, taking off her shades and pulling down the scarf. "Well, well, well. You're all here. Good. I actually thought I'd have to hunt you lot down," she said, hands on her hips. "So, Nick…what do you say? Have you thought over our rather generous offer?"
Cutter nodded, facing her without flinching. He noticed how her eyes flicked to his hand, still entwined with Jenny's, and he saw the brief flash of emotion that crossed her gaze before a mask fell over her face. The fact that she was bothered only made him feel better. "I have. You can go to hell," he answered.
The mask didn't slip, but he saw her fingers twitch slightly. "And I suppose the same goes for the rest of you?" she asked icily, shifting her gaze to the others.
"Piss off, leech," Connor growled, his voice dipping into deep, snarling tones that rang with Akela's fury.
A low hiss slipped out from between Helen's teeth, and the student replied with a deep, ripping snarl that Jenny echoed. Her dark gaze went to Becker. "Captain?" The soft click of the rifle cocking was the only answer she received. Finally, she looked over at Stephen. "E tu, Stephen?" she asked, her voice taking on a decidedly sultry tone, a small grin playing at her lips.
There was a heartbeat of silence as nightkind and human stared at each other, faces unreadable, but then…Stephen stepped towards her, crossing the no-man's land between the two groups. Helen's smile grew into a full-blow smirk of pure victory.
"Stephen?" Cutter's voice came out weak, stunned and disbelieving. "No…no, you—you can't…."
The tracker came over to stand beside Helen, turning back to look at the professor and the rest of the team. Their faces were all similar masks of horror and disbelief. "I'm sorry, Nick," he said. "I know you think that you can survive this, but it's time to be realistic. I don't want to die, and if I have to do this to live, I will."
"You son of a bitch!" Abby shrieked, her voice shattering the silence that rang after his words. She lunged towards him with fists clenched, eyes blazing fury, but Connor hastily looped an arm around her waist, keeping her from attacking the tracker. She kicked and writhed, trying to break free, but he was far stronger than her, holding her fast. "We trusted you, you bastard! We thought you were our friend!" She shouted a few more obscenities at him, then buried her face into Connor's chest, shuddering with repressed sobs. The young man looked dazed, disbelieving, wounded…and entirely betrayed. He looked at Stephen with hurt in his dark eyes, then buried his nose in Abby's hair, eyes closed; his lashes were suspiciously damp.
Cutter's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone bone-white, and he began striding towards his former friend, not even caring about the nightkind that hissed in warning. Jenny hastily threw her arms around his chest, digging her heels into the snowy earth to restrain him. "Stop. Nick, stop! It's not worth it, they'll kill you," she muttered in a low voice, visibly straining to keep him still even as he tried to prise her arms off him.
He didn't seem to hear her, half-mad with rage. "You—you—" he sputtered furiously, then lapsed into a stream of fluent Gaelic, the old language rolling off his tongue in an enraged river. Nobody in the clearing needed to understand the foreign words to imagine some of the names that he was calling Stephen.
Helen grinned victoriously, reaching up to touch the lab technician's arm in a gentle, seductive caress. "You made the right choice, Stephen," she practically purred. "Let's go. Christine will love to meet you."
As they turned to leave, Stephen paused slightly, then reached up his sleeve and pulled out the snakewood dagger that'd been leant to him. "Give that back to Quinn, would you?" he asked, then threw it; the blade buried itself in the earth near Becker's feet, hilt quivering. Without another word, he turned his back to the team and disappeared into the forest with Helen and the other nightkind.
Stephen felt uncharacteristically afraid as he walked into the tall, imposing building that seemed to be made entirely out of windows. He didn't often feel scared, but right now, he felt bloody terrified. Because he was surrounded by predators. The primordial parts of his brain knew that he was surrounded on all sides by creatures that could take him apart like a tinker toy. He once told Helen that all humans had to fear was each other, but he was so terribly wrong—they had this to fear, this unknown, unacknowledged world that lingered just below the surface of everyday life.
They were met inside the door by a man in a military uniform, his slightly-greying hair neatly combed. The patch on his chest said 'Wilder.' He didn't have the same cold look that the rest of the nightkind did, but he did have that dangerous, prowling grace that Matt and Danny had. So…a skinchanger, probably. Or one of those other shifters, he thought.
"Captain Wilder, I'd like you to meet Stephen Hart. Stephen, this is Captain Wilder. He's Christine's head of security here," said Helen. "I imagine you'll be working very closely together."
Stephen held out one hand, but the military man ignored it. "High Priestess is waiting," he said brusquely, then turned and walked towards the stairs. Stephen followed after him, anxiously aware of Helen at his back. Only through sheer force of will did he keep from glancing back at her out of nervousness. They walked down a corridor to a large office. Wilder stopped outside the door, gesturing for them to go inside.
Feeling like he was walking into a pit of serpents, he walked into the office. It was very modern and professional, all neat lines and perfect styling. Sitting behind a large desk was the woman that'd become number one on the ARC's most wanted list: Christine Johnson. The first thing he noticed was that she was incredibly beautiful. He never understood why stories always said that witches were ugly; every one he'd met so far was wonderfully attractive. Christine had shiny black hair pinned up in a perfect French knot, flawless pale skin, full lips the red of a Christmas ribbon, and clear blue eyes framed in thick black lashes. She was dressed like a professional in an elegant pantsuit and black heels. But then he felt the invisible aura of danger that flowed off her like cold air rolling out of a freezer. Oh yes, this woman was not one to be provoked. When she looked up and saw them, a smile graced her ribbon-red lips, revealing even, pearly white teeth. "Ah, Mr. Hart. Wonderful to meet you at last." She stood up and walked around the desk, holding out one hand to him. He shook her hand automatically and barely managed to keep from shivering at the touch of her skin, an icy chill of power running down his backbone. "You've chosen your fate wisely."
"I know," he replied.
"You are also…human," she noted, eyeing him up like he was a prized animal at an auction. "That will have to change. Humans have no place in the Real World, and they break far too easily."
Stephen's eyebrows shot up as he lowered his hand back to his side. "You'll…make me into one of them?" he asked, glancing towards the nightkind out the windows of her office.
"If you wish. Or perhaps you would rather be a skinchanger," said Christine Johnson, clasping her hands together in front of her. "I'll let you decide, but remaining human is entirely out of the question. Do you understand?"
He felt a knot settle in his gut at those words, an unexpected sense of outright terror that he barely managed to wrestle down. It was a relief to know that he wouldn't be forced to become a nightkind, be made into a cold, dead creature with retractable raptor teeth and eyes made of jet. He would be a skinchanger, like Jenny and Connor, even though they would never forgive him for this. Hell, if he ever saw them again, he would have to be a skinchanger just to keep them from killing him…and to protect himself from Cutter's wrath. Still, a part of him was terrified that he would end up like his former teammates had, trapped inside an animal's form without human thought. Shoving thoughts like that aside, he replied, "Thank you, Miss Johnson."
Her eyes hardened, a predatory glitter in her blue gaze. "High Priestess," she corrected, words dripping icicles.
Stephen nodded. "Of course. Apologies. Thank you, High Priestess."
Just like that, she was smiling again. "I think that we are going to get along splendidly, Mr. Hart, just splendidly. I'll have Captain Wilder show you around."
He nodded again. "Yes, High Priestess."
They reentered the ARC in a state of near-shock, pale-faced and shaky. Cutter hadn't spoken a word since they left New Forest; none of them had, really. Abby clutched Connor's arm like he was the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. Jenny had a hand resting on Cutter's back. Even the ever-stoic Becker was stunned. They hadn't been working together as long as the rest of the team, but the two men had become almost brothers-in-arms. "I'll—I'll go report to Lester," said the captain in a quiet voice. The others didn't respond, just shuffled off to their separate offices.
Once they were inside the office, Jenny closed the door and latched it, then turned and braced her back against the cool metal, trying to keep her breathing steady. The professor shuffled over and sat down at his desk, wearing a stunned expression. But then he seemed to crumble, shoulders slumping, and he appeared to cave in on himself, growing smaller right before her eyes. He placed elbows on his knees and buried his face in both hands; his breathing came in harsh, ragged gasps. "I-I thought he was my friend," he rasped out, voice raw. A shudder tore through his body like a flick through a rope. "I…trusted him."
"Oh, baby…." Jenny pushed off from the wall, crossed the office, and wrapped both arms around him; he halfway collapsed into her, head buried against her stomach, arms locked tightly around her waist. A soft sob hitched in his throat, shoulders trembling as he let out a whimper. She stroked his hair and back, murmuring gentle, soothing words in his ear, sweet nothings to try and soothe his pain. "I'm here, Nick. I'm here. I won't leave you. Shh, baby, shh…." She placed a hand under his chin, tilting his head up, and she kissed his face, tasting the salty wetness of tears on his skin.
The rest of the team thought that Cutter no longer considered Stephen Hart to be his friend, that the relationship between them was strained and cold, but Jenny knew better than that. Cutter wasn't an emotional person—he didn't do well in expressing how he felt to others. The professor loved Stephen like a brother, maybe the closest friend that he'd ever had. Finding out about the tracker's affair with Helen had hurt him bad, but this betrayal cut him deeper, hurt more.
"Jenny," he moaned weakly, "what will we do?"
She took his face between both hands, using her thumbs to swipe the tears off his cheeks, and bent at the waist so her forehead touched his. "We are going to do what we've always done," she replied, feeling his warm, trembling breaths tickle her skin. "We are going to handle the anomalies and whatever creatures that come our way. That's what we're going to do. Stephen has picked his lot, and I know it hurts, but we have to carry on, just like we did before." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Okay?"
Cutter closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he tried to swallow past the lump of cotton wedged in his throat. "Okay," he croaked at last, voice cracking slightly.
"Good man. C'mere." She pulled him over to the couch in his office, sat down, and drew him down next to her. The professor laid down without hesitation and placed his head in her lap, eyes closed; Jenny stroked his hair, feeling him tremble slightly under her hands. "Everything will turn out okay, Nick. I promise," she said, echoing his words from earlier that day. It felt as though the entire world had shifted on its axis in the past few hours. She put her head back against the couch, feeling tears of her own prickle at her eyes. Stephen Hart, if I ever see you again, I will make you bleed for what you've done to him, she vowed silently.
"How could he do this to us?" Abby's voice was muffled by the folds of Connor's scarf, which she had her face pressed into, head buried in the crook of his shoulder. "I thought he was our friend."
"He was," Connor replied quietly, arms wound tight around her, feeling her quiver and shake. They sat in his office, huddled together closely on the couch. His chest ached something fierce, a knot settled just below his sternum, like a raw wound had been torn open in him. He honestly thought that Stephen would have learnt his lesson and would never trust Helen over the team again, but apparently he'd been wrong. It hurt more than he would've thought because Stephen wasn't just his teammate. He was like the big brother Connor never had, and his betrayal hurt as much as it would if they were siblings. In the dark recesses of his brain, Akela whimpered and whined, mourning the loss of a packmate.
Abby held tight to him, her tears leaving wet marks on his scarf, and he felt a fierce protective anger surge up in him, battling with his hurt. He could probably forgive Stephen hurting him, but he couldn't forgive the tracker hurting Abby, not his Abby. He stroked her hair and rubbed circles on her back. "It'll be okay, love," he mumbled thickly. "We'll…we'll all be okay."
"Stephen's gone to Christine Johnson?" repeated Sarah in a dazed voice. The rest of the secondary team looked just as shocked as she sounded, sitting in the otherwise empty kitchenette; Becker had just relayed to them the events of the rendezvous with Helen Cutter in New Forest.
Captain Becker reached in his pocket and pulled out the snakewood dagger that Stephen had tossed on the ground, a symbol of his leaving the team. "He asked that I give this back to you," he said, holding the dagger towards Danny by the blade.
The copper sat forward and took the wooden knife back, a disbelieving expression on his face. Sarah dropped down to sit beside him, and Danny reached out to wrap his large hand around her smaller one."I don't bloody believe it," he said in a soft, awed tone. Like Becker, Danny hadn't known Stephen for too long, but they were good mates. He stared down at the dagger, the hard snakewood gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Emily closed her eyes and pressed her head against Matt's chest; the Irishman wrapped both arms around her, resting his chin atop her hair in silent comfort. Jess whispered a blessing under her breath, grasping her charm necklace tightly.
After several minutes of silence in which they all sat mulling over their own thoughts and sorrows, Becker stood up, once more the cool, unshakeable captain and head of security. "Quinn, Anderson," he said brusquely, and both men looked up at him. "Let's get down to the gym. Show us how the hell to fight those things. Miss Parker, Miss Merchant, you said that you could put up wards around the ARC. I think it'd be a good idea to have that done sooner rather than later," he instructed. He knew he probably sounded like one cold bastard, but he had lost men before. He knew that they couldn't just sit there and mope about, as tempting as it was. They had to get up, get moving, start preparing themselves for whatever hell was coming their way.
They stared at him for a moment, but then Danny nodded and got to his feet. "First things first. Guns won't do much against nightkind. You lot are gonna need crossbows and snakewood bolts. I know a bloke that can help," he said; Matt nodded agreement, rising to his feet as well. The copper glanced down at Sarah. "And I can show you how to handle this, keep yourself safe," he added, placing his snakewood dagger back in her hands, and she nodded slowly, gripping the hilt tightly.
Jess and Emily stood as well. "We'll get others from Daybreak here to help assemble the wards," said Jess.
Becker gave a short nod. "Good. Let's get to work, then."
There was a space between sleep and dreaming where little things—not quite dreams, not quite precognition, but a strange blending of the two—could slip into the mind. Stephen's eyes opened slowly, drowsily, the tingling sense of being watched sinking into his mind through the woolly cotton feeling of being warm and sleepy. He wasn't in his flat—Helen didn't think it'd be safe for him to go home, so he hadn't. He was in one of the bunks at Christine Johnson's building, in the narrow cot underneath a window, and as he opened his eyes, he saw it.
An owl perched on the tree branches outside his window, drenched in the silvery light of the moon's glow, each pallid feather clear and sharp under the icy cold illumination. It was ghostly white with ink-black lines barring its breast, legs, back, and wings, perfectly spaced and even. Its face and throat was purest white except for the curved black beak and the black-rimmed, luminous yellow eyes that stared, unblinking, into his own. He stared at it, trying to make his mind work properly. The owl ruffled itself slightly, then its wings spread wide—perfectly round black spots dotted its primary feathers in even rows—and took off, flying away into the darkness.
Tomorrow he began his training. He had to learn how to kill skinchangers—Danny, Matt, Jenny, and Connor would be the biggest threats, so they would be the first to die. Stephen let his eyes fall shut as he sank down into sleep once more.
A/N: to aunteeneenah—I told only the truth: thou art the most faithful reviewer.
to greenpinapple—have patience, dear one, the battle comes soon. Good things to those who wait... (evil laughter here). And thank you so much for reviewing and following the story! So happy!