Primal Promise

Twenty-Four

At that crack of gunfire, the night erupted into chaos. "Let's go." Jameson spoke under his breath in a hiss. There was a wet crackling behind them, and he didn't need to look to know that the twins had chosen to trade weakness at dawn for strength right now as he was sure they would. 

They split up, the twins each tearing off into the moonlit woods in opposite directions, the three of the remaining party splitting into a wider approach. Jameson came out at the south side, seeing Blaine pushing up to his feet and tackling his assailant. Whatever the shot had been, it wasn't the result he'd feared.

He could see, in the distance, Andrew's face appear at the northern edge. He couldn't see Jacqueline. The fight between Blaine and his opponent had drawn the attention of almost everyone. That was, until with a rush of wind and fur, a body blew past him racing outward into the crowd, its doppelganger running into the clearing from the other side at the same moment.

If there had been any question that these were not Nesri, it was answered at that moment. The big, scary, bikers screamed like little girls. A few got their wits enough to shoot at them, but they were not the kind of bullets that would do any mortal damage to a beast like a fully shifted Kasabe male.

With a swipe of their massive hands, they sent men cartwheeling off through the air to land heavily yards away. Jameson sprang forth, as did Andrew, the crack of gunshots from the latter's gun marking the number of men now missing the middle portion of their kneecap. 

Blaine had his opponent by the throat and seemed to be gaining the upper hand when the black-haired man drew a knife and slashed at Blaine's arm, the wound shallow but it caused him to let go, the man running off toward the woods.

Jameson noticed the one trailer with lights on. That was his goal. A pair of men were standing guard, each aiming He fired twice aiming low, the buckshot tearing through the leathers, the denim, and the skin beneath the legs of the men who now were doing all they could to stem the flow of blood. He paused outside the trailer only long enough to reload before breaking through the aluminum door.

Feminine screams cut the air and he whipped around to see two women handcuffed to a long chain, the center of which passed through a large ring in the floor. They looked at him with wide, terror-filled eyes. He set his finger to his lips, but it didn't stop their screams. He would have to help them later. Whether they knew it or not, they were safer where they were at the moment.

The trailer stunk of urine and the sickly-sweet smell of incense. He found the bathroom, though it had no running water or plumbing, making it an indoor outhouse. The room at the end of the hall had a long line of locks running its length and the hollow core door had been cut open and filled with foam, then strips of aluminum were laid across it to further strengthen it. He quickly undid the locks and threw the door open.

The room was empty. A single chair sat bolted to the floor in the center of the room. There were heavy black zip ties cut and laying around it. The wood was smeared with blood. Her blood. He could smell her in this room even past the cloying stink of the incense. He turned on his heel, looking out the window. The sound of shots was slowing, as there were fewer men able to use their guns. He stalked back through the house to the girls. He slid the gun into the holster and snapped it shut before he bent down.

The older pushed herself in front of the other, her face a patchwork of cuts and bruises. "Odejdź, wilkołaku!"

He did not know the voice but knew the word. He lifted a hand out, palm facing them, showing he meant no harm. From a pocket of his cargos he lifted out his phone and began typing. He saw her eyes, fixed on the phone with a desperation he could understand. When he'd finished, he held the phone up and hit 'translate' with his thumb. The feminine automated voice filling the silence.