Miranda's Mate by Ann Gimpel

ISL people out there. Do you think we should take to the woods? We’d have more maneuverability.”
    Garen considered it. The crash of breaking glass made up his mind as he scooped the grenade off the floor and heaved it back through the window it had crashed through. Nanoseconds later, an explosion nearly deafened him. “We don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “Fade out one of the back windows. Stay behind the house.”
    “Com devices?”
    “Don’t have them. Miranda—”
    She pulled her jacket hood over her bright hair and cinched it. “Boss?”
    “Don’t get yourself killed.”
    “I don’t intend to.”
    He gathered a Kalashnikov from the front closet, slapped a high-capacity clip into it, and dropped two more into a pocket. For good measure, he detonated the last set of land mines. The blast rocked the house and pummeled his sensitive hearing. Maybe it would kill a couple more of the bastards. He wasn’t certain he’d need the assault rifle. His wolf form was better for some things, but it was best to be prepared for anything. He dialed in his lupine senses and listened intently. Nothing. Maybe the last blast had done it.
    Garen slipped out the ground-level window Miranda had used and flattened himself against the rough-hewn logs of the cabin. The only thing he could smell was explosive residue. His ears still rang from the series of blasts. He grabbed a handful of dirt and smeared his face before pulling his own hood over his head.
    The forest wasn’t far. Maybe twenty yards. Their best bet would be for him to lose himself amongst the trees and circle the house to gather intel about their attackers. Problem was, if the ISL thugs had any brains, they’d be doing the same thing. He made his way to thick tree cover even as he considered his options. A bullet zipped past him, and then another. Senses on high alert, he moved deeper into the woods. His nose twitched; he picked out several different human scents, counting as he went. Eight. Not so bad, but where was Miranda? Her scent should have stood out, but it simply wasn’t there.
    Fear bit deep they’d killed her; he batted it aside. Even if she were dead, he’d still smell her. She was a skilled agent. There was some good reason he couldn’t scent her presence…
    A branch crackled. He fired and heard a muted scream. Someone jumped him from behind. The force drove both of them to the ground. His gun was useless, squashed between his body and the damp loam of the forest floor. A gun barrel jammed against his skull. “Where is the woman?”
    “What woman?” Garen tried to jackknife his body from under his assailant. It was like trying to move a ton of bricks.
    “I am holding a gun to your head,” the thick Slovakian accented voice continued.
    “Tell me something I don’t know.”
    “The woman.” The gun prodded harder.
    “What woman? There are so many in my life.”
    “Very funny, wiseass.”
    Boots crashed through the thick undergrowth. A spray of Eastern European language went back and forth. While the man who had him pinned wasn’t totally focused on him, Garen twisted hard. He gave it all he had and butted the man in the groin with the side of his head. His assailant grunted in surprise and pain. Before the second jerk got his wits together, Garen yanked his body free, levered the Kalashnikov out from beneath him, and pointed it. The beauty of assault rifles was you didn’t need to aim. He pulled the trigger and both men went down in a spray of blood and bullets.
    He leaped to his feet and wiped gore out of his eyes. Voices reached him from the front of the house. It sounded as if reinforcements had arrived from somewhere. It made sense they would have been in contact with backup thugs. Garen bit down hard. Where the fuck was Miranda? He’d have sold his soul for com devices.
    Rather than heading for a certain confrontation, he faded back into the trees. “Sssst,” he hissed. “Where are you?” He didn’t see where she came from,