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A small, red light caught his attention as it seemed to bounce off the trees before heat and searing pain penetrated his body. The sound of the sniper rifle having been fired only came on the heels of agony that was spreading throughout his system.
They said you never heard the bullet that killed you. They were wrong.
As he slumped over the front of the snowmobile, he knew he was dying. An inability to control his limbs was spreading quickly, and breathing had become unbearable. He tried to gun the engine, but he couldn’t maintain his grip on the throttle. He watched as his hand slipped off and landed limply on his thigh.
“Mason!” his little brother cried down the link—the kind of link that existed only between fated mates and twins.
As his snowmobile decelerated, Carson’s came up alongside his, slowing until Amelia leaped from one to the other, managing to get in front of him and wrap his arms around her.
“Carson, we’re losing him,” Amelia said into the comm unit. She was cool and steady. His brother had, in Mason’s opinion, been gifted with an extraordinary mate.
“I know. I can feel him slipping away,” said Carson over the comm unit. “Much like the bonding link, twins share a similar link.”
‘Get away. Leave me. I’ll hold them if I can,’ whispered Mason down the link to his brother.
“No,” growled Carson. Carson had never been one for subtlety or subterfuge.
“I’m dying, little brother. Nothing you can do about that. Let me take as many of the bastards with me as I can. Get your mate and the package to Colby. He will keep you safe. I’ve got your back, bro.”
There was another volley of gunfire as they tried to make the crest of the ridge. They pushed to make it to the top amidst intermittent gunfire, which only barely missed them. Once at the top they stopped. Carson was at his side in an instant—the way he’d always been.
“The saddle bag on the right side of my snowmobile has a couple of guns and a couple of grenades. Leave those with me. The two of you…”
“We’re not leaving you,” said Amelia. His brother’s mate was no pushover. She wouldn’t submit easily, but when she did, Mason thought she’d be well worth it.
“You have no choice, little sister,” Mason said, hoping he could make them both understand he was dying. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t think he had much choice. All he could do was make his death count. “I’ll slow them down up here. Halfway down the ridge, leave the other snowmobile. Turn it on its side like it flipped and booby trap it so if they get there and move it, you’ll know how far they are behind you. At the foot of the ridge, drop all the other supplies. All you’ll need at that point is speed, the package, and each other. Get to the coordinates. Colby will take it from there.”
“Mason,” started Carson.
“We don’t have time, little brother. I love you. You love me. I can die knowing what I was doing was important and that you will have her.” He took Amelia’s hand and placed it in Carson’s. “Take care of each other. Love each other. Now go.”
Mason knew he was right and knew Carson knew it, as well. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out one of the very expensive cigars Colby Reynolds had hooked him on. He lit it up and puffed contentedly as he watched the ridge.
He could barely hold the cigar between puffs, and it hurt like hell to smoke, but he didn’t care. It gave him something to focus on other than the feel of the warm blood draining out of his body—the lethargy creeping through his limbs, but he’d find a way to slow down those who wanted them dead. He would find one last way to protect his little brother. Colby had damn well better take care of them. If he didn’t, Mason would find a way to come back and haunt the lynx-shifter to the end of his days.
Three-quarters of an hour later, he saw them creeping down the hill. His killers had thought to mask the sound of their coming by abandoning their snowmobiles and coming on foot. Well, he was about to make plenty of noise.
He waited for them, watched them coming—five…no, six of them. Apparently, the Shadow League didn’t count pennies when they wanted someone dead. They must be very afraid of what they’d thought Carson had heard.
The light was starting to fade, but so was his ability to handle a weapon. It wouldn’t take much to use a grenade, but could he wait for them to get to him? He decided by the time they reached him, he wouldn’t have the ability to do anything. He was out of time, and he knew it. He lobbed both grenades at the approaching men. Darkness closed over him with the sound of the explosions, and he prayed he’d given Carson and Amelia enough time to get away. He died believing they would live on, and he would see them when they left this plane of existence to move into the light.
His only regret was that he was leaving her, his fated mate, here in a dangerous world alone. Perhaps he could find a way from the other side of the veil to at least keep her safe.
* * *
The first time he came to, he was aware he’d been tied down on some kind of sled being pulled by a snowmobile. Snow and bits of frozen foliage hit him as he bumped along at speed.
What the hell was happening? He was supposed to be dead, dammit.
“We need to get him to a medical team. He’s dying,” said the killer on the snowmobile hauling the sled he was tied to.
“We can’t let him die. Bad enough we lost four men. If we fail to bring this one back alive, they’ll kill us too,” answered the other survivor.
Good to know they saw value in saving him, although he wasn’t sure that dying wouldn’t be preferable to what they had in store for him.
“How the hell did this thing go so sideways? How can one nerdy scientist mean so much to them?”
“I learned a long time ago not to ask questions like that. One guy on my first team did and got his throat slashed for his troubles. They dropped him where he stood. None of us ever asked questions again.”
