Chapter Sixty-Three: Carol's POV
A human in tactical gear, patrolling back and forth along the southern perimeter.
I followed him for two complete circuits, timing his rhythm.
He was trained, moved efficiently, but walking a fixed route alone made him too predictable.
I waited until he reached the furthest point of his circuit, where the shipping containers were stacked in disarray and the shadows were deepest.
Then I moved.
The guard didn't notice until my hand landed on his shoulder. I pressed precisely on the nerve cluster at his neck, and he immediately went limp without permanent damage.
He went down smoothly, and I dragged him deeper into the shadows, positioning him where he wouldn't be immediately visible even if someone came looking.
I took his radio, muted it, and tucked it into my vest pocket. It might be useful for monitoring their communications, but I wouldn't risk transmitting.
Just as I was rising from securing the unconscious guard, I heard footsteps approaching from the main warehouse direction.
More than one person, walking urgently, not the regular patrol pace but the rapid deployment that comes after detecting an intrusion.
Damn.
I immediately moved, abandoning the guard's position and rushing for the nearest cover. A stack of wooden crates that couldn't provide protection but could at least block their line of sight.
My back pressed against the rough wood, and I forced myself to slow down, breathe quietly, despite my racing heart.
The footsteps were getting closer, at least three or four people, moving in a search formation that would bring them right past my position.
Then, without warning, a shadow detached itself from the darkness beside me.
I instinctively reached for my knife, preparing to strike before the threat materialized.
But my wrist was caught mid-air, fingers gripping it coldly and tightly, that coldness making me shiver even in the middle of a tactical confrontation.
I looked up, meeting eyes that gleamed faintly in the darkness, and caught that familiar cold fragrance.
Maurice.
"You—" Before I could speak, Maurice's hand covered my mouth.
His fingers were cold, pressing against my skin, yet making my lips burn.
He firmly shook his head, his face hidden in darkness, expression unreadable.
The flashlight beam swept past us, closer than before.
I heard voices drawing nearer, rough short phrases, Italian.
My heart pounded hard. I didn't know if this was from fear of discovery or from Maurice pressed tightly against me.
I knew I should push him away, but my body wouldn't obey.
The footsteps drew closer, heavy boots on concrete.
I could make out their conversation about perimeter searches and securing the southern entrance.
I didn't think it through. I leaned toward him, closer and closer, until I was almost against his chest, trying to squeeze us both into that narrow shadow cast by the wooden crates.
This was just instinct, survival instinct. Smaller target, deeper shadow, lower chance of discovery.
The moment I moved, his body went rigid.
His muscles tensed hard, I could feel it.
His chest didn't rise and fall, as if he didn't need to breathe.
His hand that had been on my wrist now slid to my waist, gripping with barely contained restraint.
Then, very slowly, he lowered his head.
His nose first brushed through my hair, taking a deep breath.
I could feel him smelling. Then he followed down along my ear, his breath cold against my skin.
His face finally stopped beside my neck, right at that pulsing point I could feel.
My body also froze.
His lips rested against the skin by my neck, I could feel that coldness, and the tips of his fangs grazing my skin.
He took another breath, this one slower.
Then his mouth opened slightly, fangs pressing a bit more against my pulse.
I thought, just a little more force, and they'd pierce through.
But he stopped there, his whole body trembling.
The sensation of fangs against my neck, knowing how close I was to being bitten, should have frightened me.
But my body was craving it, craving that sharp sting.
"Maurice..." I called his name, voice barely audible.
I didn't know if this was a warning or an invitation.
My pulse raced beneath his mouth, his hand on my hip unconsciously tightening a bit.
He didn't bite down. Though I could feel how much he wanted to.
He slowly dragged his nose along that skin, sliding down my neck, making my breathing suddenly irregular.
The flashlight beam swept across the crates again, this time stopping.
The circle of light crept closer to where we were hiding.
My fingers dug into Maurice's back, nails finding purchase through his shirt fabric.
His arm around my waist tightened, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.
If it weren't for his mouth moving slightly with each breath, if it weren't for his grip shifting from control to possession, I might have thought he'd turned to stone.
Then I felt something.
An invisible pressure spreading outward from where we stood, the air becoming heavy, making my eardrums slightly swell, my skin prickling.
The approaching guards suddenly stopped in their tracks.
Their flashlight beams froze in place, then turned away in unison, and they turned back the way they'd come, movements stiff, as if fighting their own instincts.
Italian curses gradually faded into the distance.
Finally, thank God, the warehouse area fell silent again.
I waited until the footsteps completely disappeared before pushing my hand against Maurice's chest, stepping back.
The cold wind rushed into the space between us, but I didn't let myself think about it.
"You could have done that earlier," I stared into his eyes.
He didn't look away, didn't explain, just looked at me with those dark eyes.
Those eyes were slowly fading from the faint red glow they'd held when pressed against my neck.
When he finally spoke, "Carol, you shouldn't have come here alone."
"Save the lecture," I snapped, turning my back on him and walking deeper into the warehouse.
I needed anger to burn away the lingering heat on my lips. There was work to do, intelligence to gather, I couldn't be distracted by what just happened.
"If you're going to follow me around, at least make yourself useful."
We moved through the shadows together, and despite my irritation, I had to admit Maurice's presence made things easier.
He moved with a silence that made my careful training look clumsy.
More than once his hand on my arm kept me from stepping into light or around a corner where a guard might spot us.
We found an observation point behind stacked shipping containers, close enough to the main warehouse floor to see and hear without being spotted, and settled in to wait.
Before long, I heard voices approaching from deeper in the warehouse.
A young man emerged into the light, someone I'd never seen at any gathering, dressed in expensive tactical gear, walking with confident strides that came from knowing you were protected by a powerful pack.
I felt Maurice shift slightly beside me, his attention sharpening in that way that meant he recognized something I didn't yet see.
Edmund Blackwood stepped out to meet him.
"The shipment is all here," Edmund said, his voice carrying just enough for me to catch. "As we discussed. Everything your family requested."
The young man nodded, running his hand along the edge of one crate before prying it open.
Inside were neatly arranged rows of ammunition, and not just any ammunition. I recognized them—silver bullets.
Those bullets had special markings, clearly custom-made, expensive, with only one purpose: killing werewolves.
"Good," the stranger said. "We've been waiting for quality merchandise. The last supplier disappointed us with insufficient silver content. These will actually work."
"Oh, these will work," Edmund said with a satisfied smile. "In fact, I have reliable information that they've already proven effective. Valodin Pack's Alpha, Simon Volkov, was hit with one of these rounds several weeks ago and still hasn't woken up. That should be the best proof, wouldn't you say?"