In the Company of Wolves(5)

Becker turned just in time to see two hulking figures dressed eerily similar to him and Cooper—black garb and tactical vests—and toting automatic weapons, which the bad guys were aiming in their direction.

Becker ducked behind the closest wooden packing crate while Cooper dove for cover behind another as bullets whizzed past them, all six feet five inches of him managing it without getting hit. Using the crate as a shield, Becker stuck the barrel of his M4 out and took aim. He hated the idea of killing fellow werewolves, but he didn’t have a choice. This crew would take him and every member of his pack down without hesitation. It was pack against pack, and there was no question about what he had to do.

Becker put two rounds through the thug on the right, just above the top of his tactical vest. The werewolf stumbled back, but then charged forward with a growl, his eyes turning a vivid yellow-gold, his lip curling in a snarl, exposing his fangs.

Becker lifted his weapon a little higher and squeezed the trigger, putting three 5.56mm ball rounds through the werewolf’s forehead. That stopped him cold and he immediately went down. On the other side of the aisle, Cooper took out the second werewolf.

That left about a dozen more. They came at him and Cooper from multiple directions at once, using their keen hearing and sense of smell to pinpoint their location. They even attacked from above, climbing on top of shelving units and trying to pin them down in crossfire.

In the two years he’d been with SWAT, Becker had never gone up against anyone who was even close to being a match for him and his pack. These guys were fast and they were strong. But while they fought like berserkers, they didn’t fight as a pack. That gave Becker and Cooper the advantage. When they put down yet another werewolf—this one fast and wiry, who’d climbed and hopped around on the shelving units like a frigging monkey—the rest of them turned tail and ran.

On the downside, that meant he and Cooper had to split up. It was dangerous, and Xander would have their asses for it, but it was worth the risk if they could take down this crew.

“I found the two guards,” Khaki reported over the radio. “They’re alive but unconscious.”

Xander said something in reply, but Becker didn’t hear what it was because he was too busy trying to figure out the new scent his nose had just picked up. It was unmistakably werewolf, but unlike any werewolf he’d ever smelled before. It reminded him a little of Khaki but sweeter.

He took a breath, then another and another, until he was almost hyperventilating. Shit. He could barely hold up his weapon.

Becker shook his head, trying to clear it as he rounded the corner, and came face-to-face with a female werewolf so beautiful that all he could do was stop and stare. She stared back, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. Her heart beat a hundred miles an hour and there was blood splattered on the tactical vest she wore. Becker’s heart lurched at the thought of her being hurt. But one sniff confirmed the blood wasn’t hers. It belonged to one of the other werewolves with her.

He opened his mouth to order her to drop the MP5 she had aimed at him, but nothing would come out. It was like she’d robbed him of the ability to speak. But he had to get the weapon away from her. If she pulled the trigger, he’d be dead. Shooting her wasn’t an option though, and the idea of arresting her didn’t make him feel any better.

Becker didn’t consider whether what he was about to do was smart but simply lowered his weapon and took his finger off the trigger, letting his M4 hang loosely against his chest by the strap over his shoulder. Then he slowly lifted both hands as if in surrender.

He’d done it to put her at ease, but her heart pounded even harder. Her eyes darted left and right, her ponytail swinging from side to side. And while she kept her weapon trained on him, at least her finger wasn’t wrapped around the trigger now.

Becker pulled up the black ski mask hiding his face, then switched off his mic. When he finally managed to find his voice, he didn’t want his teammates listening in.

“Relax and put down the gun,” he said, keeping his voice soft and calm even though gunfire echoed in the rest of the warehouse. “We can work this out. No one else has to get hurt.”

She didn’t say anything or lower her weapon. She didn’t run either. That was progress, he supposed.

He was wondering if he should try a different tack when Xander’s voice came across loud and clear over the radio in his ear. “They’re bolting, so be careful. The few left are going to fight like caged rats.”

Becker didn’t have to ask if the woman heard what Xander said. She was a werewolf like him, which meant she had the same exceptional hearing. If he needed further confirmation, the look of terror on her face would have been it. He couldn’t blame her; her pack had just abandoned her.