INVISIBLE DUTY (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

"Oh, damn it all," Jaylene shouted into the commset. She must have reached the hut. If she went in alone there was going to be hell to pay. First with Stone, and then with me, who should have been guarding her back.

"Report," Vaughn's voice broke through. "Report!"

"Hurry, Vaughn."

I grabbed my bird tighter. Wasn't a darn thing I could do about the hut, or Stone, or the team. My immediate objective—stop the guys in the Land Rover.

That’s why I was there. I could do physical. Impossible maybe, but definitely physical.

But how?

Just then one of the men in the rear of the vehicle spotted me. And raised his gun. A second guy hanging off the side joined him.

The dirt around me kicked up puffs of dust.

Between my erratic transport, and their precarious positions, suspended in the back of a bouncing rig, their shots went wild. For now. And they didn’t look happy about it either as their frowns deepened and they started using two hands to steady their weapons.

But I was gaining ground.

My father's instructions on gopher hunting came back to haunt me. Now I was the gopher. A large-sized one. Even a blind man could hit the broadside of a barn if he was close enough.

Watch out. Watch out. Watch out.

The bird didn't seem too keen on getting shot at either. Each bam, bam, bam had the two-legged beast veering like a drunken sailor on shore leave. My risky hold was getting iffier by the second. Reaching for my Glock with one hand took an act of blind faith that I wouldn’t go flying off the bird.

But I snagged it.

I was close enough now to hear the shouts of the men in the vehicle as they picked up speed. Bad news for my own aim.

Time for the old point and shoot method. And a good dose of luck.

I aimed for the men in the rig as the best targets, praying like hell the sound of my gun didn't send my bobbing ride into a tizzy. I dug my knees in tighter just in case.

First shot missed.

Second hit the rear right wheel. The Land Rover veered then straightened. The bird did the same.

I was so going to put extra training time in on the gun range when I returned to Maryland. If I returned.

Damn. I clutched the bird’s neck tighter.

In the front seat the unknown man turned his head at last. Even at a distance I felt the jolt of that gaze. Like a sticky, thick web blocking me, creating a layer between us.

No way. No way in hell was I letting him, or it, get away. The witch doctor beside him was
just
a sorcerer so the power wasn’t coming from him. And from what I knew of shamanism, which was kith and kin to sorcery, no sorcerer could do what was happening to me over distance. I had to stop them all, but especially the unknown guy. Whatever he was.

I was still in the field, coming at an angle toward the vehicle on the road.

Sucking in a deep breath of dust I raised a shaky arm and fired again. The third shot, wide by my measure, did the trick. A little too well. One of the guys in the back tumbled out just as the front tire shredded. Not because of my shooting but I’d take the win anyway.

The driver wrestle
d with the steering wheel, over-corrected and the rig slammed forward, connecting with a pothole the size of Rhode Island.

All slowed. The stunned looks of the remaining five men in the vehicle, grabbing for any bracing. The shouts in two languages. The arc of the rig twisting, as it buckled and rotated, now heading straight for me.

Oh my—

My cry rent the air
. Pulling wildly on the ostrich's neck, veering it to the right, we brushed feather-wing to metal past the front of the rig as it jolted over the lip of the dirt road, landing with a solid thump into the unplowed field. The bird and I were now on the road.

The Land Rover shook, rattled and rolled into the field. Then exploded in a ball of flame.

Land mine.

The force of searing hot air and debris punched the ostrich and me backwards, in opposite directions. The bird squawked, righted, and fled thirty miles an hour back the way we'd come. I face-planted into the dirt, my pistol flying, my bones connecting hard with the solid blood-red earth. At least I’d been blown clear of the initial blast.

I rolled, stopping face down in the road, tasting red dust and blood from a split lip. A man's scream rolled around me. Then silence, except for the crackle of fire and whomp-whomp of incoming chopper blades.

Everything in me screamed to get up and grab my gun. Even if I wanted to play dead and let Vaughn fly in and rescue me. Plan D. As in dumb idea.

My commset nowhere in sight, I raised my head enough to see Vaughn leaning out the open door of a transport helicopter that looked Vietnam vintage. Guess she listened to directions as well as I did.

The moment my fingers curled around my weapon I waved her on, pointing toward the compound, knowing Stone and Gahutu needed her help more, then I rocked to my knees, biting back a groan of pain.

Someone moaned nearby.

Staggering to wobbly legs I faced one man from the rig doing the same, both of us a good
twenty feet from the burning wreck. To a stranger it probably looked like a country-western duet, two weaving bodies, seconds passing as we both struggled to connect thought to action.

I got there first.

With a roundhouse kick leaving my head spinning, my booted foot slammed into the man's jaw. He dropped, twitched once and lay still. My brothers would have been proud. Too bad they’d never know.

I stumbled forward, sparing a quick glance at the burning and twisted rig, one charred body still visible behind the wheel. Pressing a dusty sleeve across my nose I breathed through my mouth, attempting to staunch the smell of human flesh roasting. It wasn’t helping much.

Two men accounted for, four to go.

A quick glance around. Straight into the barrel of a Ruger revolver held by the Duna Sorcerer.

Watch out Watch out. Watch. . .

How the hell he had survived the blast was a miracle. Or sorcery. Not that he didn't look worse for wear. Blood streamed down his face and right arm. The arm quivering as he raised his weapon higher, his face blank, his eyes dark holes.
His lower body looked like an ape, semi-erect stance, furry, and massively powerful muscles held taunt.

Would he die if he had only partially shifted? Or
would I be wasting my chance to kill him?

I held my own weapon steady,
only waist high, ready but out of his direct line of sight as long as I held his gaze. Which wasn’t easy. It was like looking into twin infernos of darkness.

Piss him off
. As if blowing up his jeep wasn’t going to be enough. Get him to fully commit to his animal self. But just in case . . .

“Hey Hyena jerk. Not such a big guy now.”

He paused as if thinking. Then said, “I could use your blood.”

Ugh.

On the other hand he was still human but hesitating, with that stillness I recognized growing up around shifter brothers. Weres were forced to change with each full moon, so maybe they learned early and faster how to make the process of morphing from human to animal easier. From what my brothers shared, shifters could change at will, so they tended to not embrace the process as inevitable. There was always that pause when the human brain knew intense pain was about to occur. It could last a few seconds or even longer depending on the incentive to change.

That was my job. Get Duna guy to work against his
upper body human instincts. But why would he? He had a gun and the upper hand.

I could try using magic against him but to do that I’d have to put my own gun down. One of the catch twenty-two issues with wielding magic. For witch-born users you could use either a man-made weapon or magic, but not both, not at the same time
. Last thing I wanted to do right then was set down my Glock. Except if he thought I was less of a threat, he might just allow his animal side to fully change in order to destroy me as I’d destroyed his chance to escape.

Besides, it wasn’t easy to counter a lot of black or dark magic with the more benign white magic and my gut told me this guy was a master of black or blood magic. Using white against that is like using Clorox to clean up an oil spill. Sometimes it could work, but only in very small doses.

But I had to try something. So I was back to my words.

“You a Duna? Big guy, huh? Afraid to fight a woman?”

Who’d have thought goading brothers would ever come in handy.

“Here piggy, piggy, piggy,” I taunted. His arm sta
rted to shake. Adrenaline afterburn? Or was my spur-of-the-moment plan working?

Not enough.

“Did you know your mama is so ugly that she makes blind children cry.”

He raised a brow.

“Your mama is so ugly that she looks like she's been in a dryer filled with rocks.”

His nostrils tightened.

“Your mama is so ugly that... well... look at you!”

That
actually made him smile. Maybe his momma
was
that ugly. A different approach was needed. Fake him out? Let him think he’d won then whip out some magic?

I sucked in a deep breath and slowly lowered my gun hand, holding my other palm face out.

“I’m no threat to you. You win.”

He hadn’t become who he was by being stupid but he was still too human for me to take him out.

“Look.” I eased my gun to the ground, feeling my stomach twist with the effort it took to remove my fingers from the grip. I was shocked my voice didn’t shake as every other part of me did. “You’re in charge.”

His lips curled into a sneer, saber sharp and knowing. The knowing of a predator who had won.

That’s it, big guy. Do your thing. Let your ego show.

At first it felt like a trick of my eyes, but I blinked, hard. His arm, the same arm holding the gun, was morphing, as was the upper half of his body. Before me he transformed into half-hyena, half-monkey with long, black fur hanging from what had been his bloody face
.

Great. I’d pissed him off. Now what? He was still able to grasp the gun and I had nothing.

Where the hell was a plan when you needed one? Or a reprieve?

One came with the loud trumpet of an elephant rushing through the nearest acacia trees.

The Duna jerked. I dove, pounding shoulder to hairy stomach. Thwack! His gun fired inches from my ear, deafening me as I knocked it from him.

Point to me. But not for long.

I slammed against the ground, but I wasn’t down. Being raised with brothers had taught me one thing, fighting fair got one nowhere. Besides as I came in contact with him I’d felt it, his emotions, so roiling dark they made a tornado seem like a light breeze. This
thing
meant to kill me, and after me anyone left in the area, which meant my team.

Wasn’t going to happen
, asshole.

I swiped my hand across my face, feeling dampness and glanced down to see blood. My blood. A nose bleed. That might work in my favor.

Time to use what I’d been born to use. Magic.

I started with a banishing spell.

Light come forth.

Clear the darkness. Guide and protect.

Light to dark.

Clear and guide.

Light to dark. Protect.

Dark to dark, seek thy home.

He staggered backwards. Not banished but impacted. I’d take my wins in small doses here. As long as he remained in his hyena form he couldn’t counter my magic with his own. But I could see him already shifting
more. Not an easy feat so soon after his partial change which meant his magic was strong. Very strong. And the fact my banishment spell was having only minimal impact gave me a reason to change my approach.

I deepened my voice and used a different chant, no longer meaning to banish him but to contain him. If I could wrap him in a circle of magic before he morphed totally I stood a chance to neutralize him.

Air, earth, water, all three, I summon thee.

Elements of earth, smite my enemy.

Elements of air, surround us and protect me.

By my blood, protect my blood.

Air, earth, water, all three, protect me.

He paused, his stomach and arms mostly human-like, except for clawed hands.

Protection bring, guide and hold. Witch called, born or bred.

Evil and threat cease. Protect from harm and bane.

Cast off dark of night to light of day.

And then it hit me. A wave of magic so much darker and stronger than my own I crumpled to my knees
. Pain screamed through my head. A hot, searing blast, racing along my nerve endings, from cell to soul.