Hunter of the Shadows Book 3

Enemy at the Door.

Chapter 20

Now…

It's full on night, once again.

The rest of the camp is deserted; Tobius' cabin in the background is dark and silent.

Sam rests his chin on his knees and stares into the camp fire, while Dean throws on another couple of logs. The flames flare and dance, casting shadows across Sam's face.

"Everyone's gone out on a hunt," says Dean, leaning back on his elbows. "I thought I'd stay here and relax."

He yawns and stretches, but the action seems a little put on.

Sam snorts. "Dean, I know you've been dying to go on a hunt, and I'm perfectly ok here with the pups. See?" he looks down at the two fur balls of Matthew and Logan, and a slightly larger, older looking pup curled up around them both. "They're asleep. Arthur's keeping them warm."

Dean shrugs. "It's not that. I just wanna get the next journal entry out before they all return."

There's a slight snort and a grunt from nearby, then Bobby Singer rolls over in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible.

Sam smiles, knowingly. "Ok, but don't blame me if you miss out on all the fun just because I can't go hunting yet."

Dean's expression is wry when he looks into the camera lens.

"See what I have to put up with?" he smacks Sam lightly upside the head. "You ungrateful bitch! Blessed with my scintillating, entertaining company, and all you can do is complain?"

Sam laughs softly. "Ok, ok! I give in. Just… huh," he shakes his head and his smile turns rueful. "Don't let what happened hold you back, Dean. It wasn't your fault."

Dean stares at him, sadly. "Yes. It was."

Sam rolls his eyes. "No it wasn't! God! You're so stubborn I could just…"

"Oh, I'm the stubborn one…" Dean begins, but is interrupted by another inelegant snort.

They both laugh when Bobby is heard muttering "bad as each other" and "Idgits!"

They sit there in silence, until Bobby rolls over again and opens one eye to glare at them.

"Well? Don't just sit there, for Christ sake! Get on with it!"

Then…

"Dude, you ok?" I grabbed his shoulder, concerned at how fast the blood was draining from his face.

"I've cracked the code, Dean," he rasped out. "It's an encrypted video message."

When he fully turned to face me, it wasn't just anger in his eyes. There was a good deal of fear.

"Cut a long story short, that Giuseppe guy?" he licked his lips when I nodded. "He stumbled upon a secret meeting one night a few months back, in some side alley of a bar. When he realised who it was and what was being said, he used his cell phone camera to video it. Then, as we now know, he emailed the video to Castiel. We can assume that he was discovered and murdered shortly afterwards, and maybe his phone was destroyed or lost."

"Ok," I stared at him, worriedly. Something had Sam spooked real badly. "Go on."

Sam dropped his chin and took a deep breath before looking up at me again.

"It was a video of Crowley," he spoke slow, as though having trouble getting the words passed his throat. "It becomes clear that he is talking to John… or rather a human possessed by John Winchester. Dean…" Sam shook his head, blinking in shock.

"Sammy, what is it?" But I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say.

"They were making a deal. John would help Crowley take over the Canadian Pack, if Crowley managed to get hold of us," Sam bit into his trembling lower lip. "All three of us. You, me and Tobius."

Well, not to shit on Sam's mournful parade or anything, but we had already kind of guessed something along those lines a while back.

"Sam, out with it," I demanded. Poor kid seemed like he was in shock, but I needed him to talk to me, and fast.

Sam blinked and began again.

"Crowley figured it out," he answered, breathlessly, on the verge of panic or an explosion, maybe. "How to use Sleepworm to allow werewolf possession by a demon." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, obviously trying to calm himself.

Sam suddenly smiled grimly.

"Wanna know what else?"

"Ok…" I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Then Sam dropped the bomb.

"Crowley has been harbouring John inside him all this time, through everything," Sam gazed at me, eyes moist and angry, nostrils flaring. "He's been watching us, toying with us, laughing at us!"

Sam turned and, with a loud roar of fury, smashed his fist into the heavy oak desk. It didn't leave a scratch on the wood, but Sam's knuckles spurted with blood.

For a moment I did nothing, just stood there in deep shock.

John had been with us this whole time? Right from the moment Sam was kidnapped?

I felt sick. None of this made sense. How did Crowley enter pack grounds with a demon riding him? The place was littered with protection symbols, not to mention the iron devil's trap embedded under the main entrance.

"Sammy, just chill out," I pushed him back into the desk chair and crouched down beside him, gesturing to the computer monitor. "Now show me the video."

And there it was, laid bare.

The screen was a little grainy from poor lighting, and shaky, as though the guy holding the phone was scared out of his mind, and he probably was.

Crowley's face appeared under a dim street light in some dark alley. Dumpsters lined the grimy walls, lids half open and filled to bursting with garbage.

Crowley grimaced and stepped cautiously forward.

"Did we really have to meet here?" he murmured with disgust, and gestured to his suit jacket. "This is Armani, ya know!"

All the hairs on the back on my neck stood on end when a voice out-of-shot replied, quietly:

"I kind of like it,"

The voice itself wasn't familiar, but I knew who it was straight away.

"In fact, I met my destiny in an alley just like this, long ago."

I nearly gulped at the hard edge John's new voice suddenly took on. He was referring to his own death by Tobius' jaws.

Revenge might not have been the sole motivator for John but, judging by that statement, it was definitely on his agenda. And that wasn't even the downright, shit-your-pants, quake-in-your-boots interesting part.

Upshot of their conversation was this.

John contacted Crowley once he picked up on the use of Sleepworm topside. Remember that Sleepworm, when put to use, lights up the occult world like a beacon, and attracts demons?

Imagine John's glee when he realised who was using it. A turncoat and traitor to his own pack, an organiser of illegal fight arenas, and brother to the guy who had 'stolen' his kids?

It must have been like all his birthdays and Christmases came at once.

They'd arranged to meet outside the walls because demons couldn't enter pack grounds. After some discussion, they soon struck a deal.

John would help Crowley become alpha to one of the most powerful packs in the world, in exchange for a little help with his own family issues.

Crowley might have been vain as hell, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't agree to anything until it had been fully established just what degree of control he would have over his own body while possessed by John.

Here comes the turning point.

John admitted that a Type One had pretty much full control, but a Type Two had very little if any.

Naturally, Crowley leapt on that one like a Rottweiler in heat and demanded the means and knowledge to become a Type One before allowing John in.

Smart guy.

As for the control issue? Well, it all came down to emotions.

Humans are easily possessed by demons, partly due to their general, physical make-up, but also due to their humanity. Demons are attracted to good people – as the saying goes: opposites attract - but especially the highly emotional. High emotions make you guys especially prone to possession, and thus easily manipulated and controlled.

Type Twos are compassionate creatures, and hold a great respect for life. We are emotional, affectionate and show our love willingly. So, although they can't possess us without the use of Sleepworm, once it's done a demon can control a Type Two so easily it's almost embarrassing.

All because of our emotions.

Type Ones on the other hand…

You get the picture, right?

So, John tipped off Crowley that becoming a Type One would be a really good fucking idea and, in exchange, Crowley could get John onto pack grounds.

This was the genius part:

Sleepworm spirits are only half-demon, right? They're only ghosts at that stage. Which was why Sleepworm was even allowed on pack grounds in the first place, and why Sam was able to enter when I carried him through the entrance on our arrival.

Now here's the kicker: that stuff had eventually been altered enough to actually shield a fully fledged demon from all those carefully constructed devil's traps and protection symbols at the pack gates.

So, for Crowley, it was all plain sailing. He'd needed the fight club to get hold of the Sleepworm drug and the means to experiment with it. The kidnapped Type Twos were perfect guinea pigs for his purposes, but when John tracked him down and gave him a little more information, Crowley realised he was on to something.

Using Sleepworm, he transformed into a Type One and allowed John to hop on board.

It was perfect. Since Crowley had full control, John couldn't renege on the deal by either smoking out of his werewolf meatsuit, or by killing us at any given opportunity because Crowley stopped him. He also couldn't call for any kind of demonic backup while under Crowley's control.

Crowley had needed us alive to carry out his own plans, and he wasn't going to allow John to screw that up. Even out in the forest, when we pursued him, Crowley was happy enough to kill Sam but not me. By that point, he'd only needed one of us alive and it appeared that Sam was expendable to both non-lunar and demon alike, probably because Crowley was worried his powers might become too much of a threat.

Sam had already proved too difficult to handle, after all. I secretly suspected that an attempt was made to latch John onto Sam during his captivity, but it must have failed spectacularly, so they resorted to an overdose of ordinary Sleepworm and used him to try and assassinate Marcus that way.

Was that resistance due to Sam's powers? Or his stubborn nature?

Probably both.

But, so far, no one had gotten what they wanted out of this deal. The doors to pack grounds were holding firm and the Canadian Pack Alpha was refusing to give in. It was virtually a stale mate so the big question was: what did Crowley plan on doing to shake things up a little?

It seemed Sam had that covered.

"Dean," he said, urgently, and rising to his feet. "I think I know what he's playing at. He's found someone else, someone the pack trusts in order to get John inside the grounds."

"Shit, the Captain!" I'd known something was different about the guard's eyes, especially when he stood there so passively while threatened by Crowley's silver arrow. I'd put it down to injury or shock. "We gotta get down there and stop Marcus from letting him back inside."

"If John gets inside the pack grounds in a Type Two meatsuit," Sam replied, nodding quickly, "he'll betray his deal with Crowley."

"Oh, you can pretty much bet on that," I agreed bitterly, as we raced out of the room and headed downwards, taking two stairs at a time.

Combining his demonic powers with the strength of a controllable werewolf would make John one lethal sonofabitch. Once he was done with Sam and me, he would break all the protection seals, invite his little demon buddies to come play, and either possess or lay waste to the entire pack.

As it turned out, I was badly, desperately, stupidly wrong about something.

We fell hook line and sinker for a very nasty trick.

By the time we left the Council Chambers building, Tobius and Marcus were atop the wall by the main doors. From down below we couldn't see a damn thing, but a set of guards appeared to be preparing to open up the grounds.

No, don't do that! I called out, as Sam and I sprinted towards them. Don't open the doors!

But the guards carried on as though they hadn't even heard us.

"The Type One's have blocked our thought projections," Sam panted out loud.

"Hey!" I yelled out at the top of my lungs to the guards. "Keep the doors closed! It's not the Captain!"

One of the guards, a young corporal, squinted over at me when he heard me shout, but I could tell by the confusion on his face that he hadn't heard me correctly.

"What?" he yelled back, then turned and started walking towards us.

"I said don't open the doors… that guy out there?" I repeated, desperately. "He's possessed!"

The corporal stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at me, but to his credit he didn't question or argue, just about faced in one smooth movement, and screamed out the order.

"Guards, stand down!"

I guess being the Duke of Normandy's son carried some perks.

But the soft, whirring noise of machinery started up, indicating that the doors were about to open, regardless.

"Already activated, Corp!" the operator called back, helplessly. "I've thrown it into reverse but, now the locking mechanisms have been disengaged by the mainframe, it's too late!"

The doors clunked against each other for a few moments, then began to move. Daylight soon appeared down the middle where the two huge doors met. Just a slither at first, but then it grew as the mechanism got to work and picked up momentum.

"What's going on?" said Marcus, suddenly appearing from nowhere.

Next to him, Tobius and Castiel emerged from a hidden passage in the walls. "What's all the shouting about?" Sire frowned at us both, worriedly.

"It's Captain Byrnes," said Sam, anxiously. "We think he's possessed by John Winchester. Crowley needed to use a trusted officer to get inside the grounds…"

"What?" Tobius exclaimed.

"That encrypted video message explains it all," Sam replied and tossed his cell phone to Castiel. "I've uploaded it for you guys. Take a look."

The three senior non-lunars crowded round the cell phone, while Sam and I assessed the doors.

Already, there was a gap almost wide enough to admit a small person, if they held their breath, pulled in their stomachs and squeezed. But the doors weren't moving as fast as before, and this was because some of the guards were physically pushing on them. Sam and I, amidst nods and grunts of thanks from the other guards, immediately joined in and put our shoulders to it.

Our efforts weren't entirely wasted. The mechanism began to protest, smoke pouring out from huge ventilation shafts along the walls, and the once quiet, whirring noise now sounded like an angry bull elephant with the runs.

Still, the doors remained stubbornly persistent and continued to open, but in slow, jerky movements. It looked like it was coming open, whether we liked it or not.

"Try the manual override!" bellowed the corporal, on the verge of panicking. "Do not allow those doors to open any further!"

Castiel, Tobius and Marcus had joined the team on the other door, backs against it, heels dug in and heaving with all their might.

"The Manual override hasn't been used in centuries," Castiel panted and winced when the doors shuddered against its two opposing forces. "And guess who was responsible for keeping it maintained?" he added, with an unusual hint of sarcasm.

Marcus' head thunked back against the door in frustration. "Oh, you are taking the piss now…"

Tobius growled and dug his heels in further. "Bloody Crowley. First the sodding guard window, now this!"

Sam and I watched on as a couple of the guards scrambled to obey the corporal's order. There was a small hatchway built into the wall right by the doors, and our hearts sank when it was forced open to reveal…

"It won't work, Corp!" the guard explained. "Some bastard's sabotaged it… see?"

The old mechanism had indeed been tampered with. Though it was in surprisingly good condition and without a speck of rust, it was an old fashioned design and easily accessed by anyone.

Someone (no prizes for guessing who) had jammed a crow bar into the wheel and damaged the cogs beyond repair.

There was no way the doors could be closed again.

We pushed and fought and held on as long as we could, but now there was enough of a gap to allow two people in side by side. And judging by the battle howls coming from the enemy side of the walls, Crowley's battalions were about to take full advantage.

We felt it when they hit. A whole line of Type One's charged the Pack doors, thudding into the wood and pushing back against us. We were no match for them, especially when four of the enemy slipped inside through the growing gap, and attacked. It was a bold yet cunning move on their part because several of our guards trying to defend the doors became embroiled in a fierce and bloody skirmish.

In the end, there was no contest. Sam, Tobius, Marcus, Castiel and I, along with the remaining guards, were forced to disperse. The doors swung open and slammed against the walls with an almighty boom, and around a hundred Type One's swept inside and over ran us.

We each performed a speedy change, clothes tearing at the seams, shoes ripping off emerging claws, and leapt into the battle. I lost track of Sire and my Uncles after that, too busy standing back to back with Sammy and fighting for our lives.

Like everyone else defending the grounds, Sam and I were surrounded by Type One non-lunars, circling us, viciously snapping at us with their jaws, red eyes glowing and mocking. They performed partial changes with their snouts, paws and legs, morphing from human to wolf and back, trying to confuse and disorient their prey.

Sometimes it was a one on one attack, sometimes it was group effort, which were the hardest to fend off for obvious reasons.

So we followed suit, morphing from one form to another as and when the need arose in combat.

We couldn't thought project, even without the Type One interference. There was too much going on, too many wolves in pain or dying.

Silver tipped arrows, courtesy of the Pack longbow troupe zipped about, narrowly missing us several times, but these guys knew what they were doing. The Type One right in front of me, smirking, taunting, and licking his lips suddenly went rigid, red eyes wide and flickering, then he toppled forwards and landed face down on the cobbles. A quivering arrow protruded from his back, right over the heart.

I whirled around to find Sam being attacked by another three wolves, bloody claw marks up his arms and face already beginning to heal. He fought hard, lashing out with his claws, swiping them across the nose of a female Type One and quite literally wiping the smug grin off her face. She whimpered and growled, ready to come back for more, but Sam gracefully spun around on one paw like a ballerina, his other paw raised in a classic Jean Claude Van Damme pose, and in the next instant her throat was gone. Blood poured down her chest, staining her silky fur, her eyes rolled back and she dropped.

But there were plenty more where she came from.

I felt my heart suddenly swell with equal parts sadness and pride in seeing my little brotherson fighting so skilfully. And we would both bear the guilty burden of this horrific battle for the rest of our days.

Assuming we didn't fucking lose that is.

Getting with the program, I twisted the head off one, ripped out the throat of another… it seemed endless. Wolf after wolf, time and again, came at us, and we took care of each and every one of the sonsofbitches.

But for every wolf we slaughtered, there were another five to take its place, and we were tiring.

Bodies, of both friend and foe alike, piled up around us in a grisly mountain of cooling blood and flesh.

"Dean, we can't hold out much longer," Sam panted, over his shoulder.

Once again, we were standing back to back, partially changed, crouched in readiness for the next attack, and drenched in blood and gore. The Type Ones were becoming wary of us, sure, but we weren't stopping them. All it meant was that they were no longer jumping into the fray so easily; now, they were thinking about what they were doing. And that could prove dangerous…

But, suddenly, something changed. In the distance, we heard the distinctive blasts of several powerful shotguns being discharged, followed by the roar of angry battle cries.

Sam and I glanced quickly at each other for confirmation, but we'd both felt the turning of the tide when we heard the weapons firing.

Was it the cavalry riding in? Or just more trouble on the way for us and the Canadian Pack?

Then we sensed how the Type Ones were quickly losing confidence, as though some secret information had been thought projected to them by their commander.

They were scared.

We could see it in their cherry red eyes, that flicker of uncertainty, as though the order they'd been given was in direct conflict with their base instincts.

Fight or flight.

It became clear what they'd been ordered to do, and it was equally clear to us what they wanted to do with that order, because they started milling about and in some cases backing right off, whimpering with fear.

Something had them spooked alright and it wasn't the battle with us. The Type Ones were competent and skilled warriors and, up until that point at least, they'd been winning. Or so it seemed to Sammy and me.

So what the hell was going on?

And then, over the heads of the enemy and the bodies, we saw them.

Bobby Singer, Jim Murphy, Andy and Gerald… and Lenore appeared at the Pack doors, wielding all kinds of silver equipped weapons. Bobby with his trusty sawn off, Jim with a hefty broadsword, the werebears with their claws and were strength, and Lenore… well, she had her own advantages, being a vamp and all.

But they weren't alone.

Oh, no no no.

They'd brought along a few… friends.

It was an astounding sight, and one that was extremely welcome. Definitely beat the pants off any battle sequences in Braveheart:

In a surprise rearguard action, a huge battalion of human hunters, werebears, and what seemed like the entire United States population of vampires had slunk out of the forests surrounding the grounds, and attacked the Type One assault squad.

They gained ground quickly.

Jim's broadsword was a blur, whirling round and round, a deadly wall of hardened silver, brutally cutting down any Type One that got in his way.

Bobby, steadily and with an air of confidence that almost made me jealous, reloaded and blasted away the nearest two red-eyed wolves who tried to dethroat him.

Lenore leapt at the nearest Type One, sank her lengthened fangs through fur and flesh, and ripped out its throat. At the same time, she clawed her way into the wolf's chest and a pulsing, still beating heart appeared seconds later, slick with blood.

The wolf dropped like a stone. Lenore didn't spare it another glance, and just charged at the next, and the next, repeating the same action until she was covered from head to toe in the blood of her conquests. All around her, the Florida vamp nest were using the same method of dispatch with frightening ease, until, between them, only a quarter of the enemy remained behind the walls.

Then suddenly, the ones that had survived backed off but only by a small distance, and there was a sense of anticipation about them. Soft whimpers and groans were the only sounds once the carnage was over.

Tobius, Marcus and Castiel, splattered in blood and what looked like intestines, clambered over to us, slipping and slithering around on various non-lunar remains.

"Are you boys alright?" barked Tobius, sharply.

"Yeah, we…" I began.

"Dean." Sam gave me a violent nudge with his elbow, and we all turned to face a silent line of around one hundred Type Twos, members of the Canadian Pack, just standing there, watching us.

From the corner of my eye I could see the remaining troups of Crowley's army as they slunk towards us, hunkered down and grinning evilly, blood dripping from their snouts. It was obvious they were about to attempt a counter attack, but the Type Twos in front of us did nothing.

"Don't just stand there, dammit!" I roared at them, angrily. "This is your pack we're defending!"

But they continued to stand there in eerie silence.

"You heard the man! Jump to it!" ordered Marcus. "These boys have risked their lives for us! Now move!"

When no one answered or obeyed, the Alpha made to step forward, face white and stern, but Castiel and Tobius held him back.

"Wait, brother," Castiel's eyes narrowed. "There's something very wrong here."

Instinctively, we all moved closer together facing the Type Twos, with the vamp nest and humans watching our backs.

"Crowley must've gotten to them," Sam murmured softly, slowly dropping back into fighting stance, shoulders loose and limber, body crouched low for stability.

"How can you tell?" I asked out the corner of my mouth.

The line of Type Twos suddenly took a smart pace forward, and one hundred paws struck the ground in a sharp halt.

Then one hundred pairs of eyes flashed red.

"S'ok, I think I figured it out," I muttered quickly, before Sam could answer.

The newly-emerged Type Ones bared their teeth, and charged.

TBC...

Let the battle commence!

Sorry for not replying, yet again, to your reviews (sighs in frustration).

Been a busy week, and... well, you don't wanna hear it, trust me!

Family, work... the usual.

Lovely to hear from you all during this difficult time, though, so please do keep up with the wonderful reviews.

Love ST xxx