"Did you hear that?" he asked Fang.
"I'm on it."
His beer forgotten, Vane shot to his feet and ran for her. He found her to the side of the camp, near a small outlet of water where she must have gone to get something to drink.
"I've got you, babe," he said gently as he knelt down by her side to help her.
She licked his chin, then whined as more labor pain hit her.
Fang joined them a few seconds later with blankets. "Should I get Markus?"
Vane shook his head. "We can handle it."
As he reached to pet Anya, his cell phone rang. Vane started not to answer it, but the ID showed Acheron, who wouldn't be calling unless it was important. Pissed at the timing, he flipped it open. "I'm busy, Dark-Hunter. This isn't a good-"
"I know, but there's a massive number of Daimons converging around Miller's Well. They're coming for your pack, Vane."
Vane went cold at the news as he looked to Fang to see if his brother had heard the words as clearly as he had. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive. Looks like they want a supercharge before the Mardi Gras festivities with us so you guys have got to get out of there. Pronto."
How he wished it were that simple. "Anya's in labor. We can't move her. But I'll make sure the others get out."
"All right," Ash said. "Sit tight and I'll have some reinforcements to you ASAP."
The implication insulted every animal part of Vane. "I don't need your help, Dark-Hunter. We can take care of our own."
"Yeah, just the same, we'll be there shortly."
The phone went dead.
Snarling, Vane returned the phone to his pocket. He met his brother's stony gaze. "Get the others mobilized."
Fang nodded, then ran off to spread the word.
Acheron Parthenopaeus, leader of the Dark-Hunters and an immortal Atlantean god under a massive crisis situation, not the least of which was his own brother trying to kill him, cursed as he hung up the phone. This was not good and it was getting worse by the heartbeat. If the Daimons got a hold of those pregnant wolves and augmented their powers, there would be no stopping them and the streets of New Orleans would run red from the blood of its human occupants.
He walked quickly down Bourbon Street toward Canal, which was where his Dark-Hunter was supposed to be patrolling for Daimons out to munch on human souls.
There was no sign of him.
And where the hell was Talon?
The Celt was supposed to be in his swamp, guarding the human, Sunshine Runningwolf, and instead there had been no sign of him when Ash had gone there.
Closing his eyes, Ash sensed the Celt was fine. But he didn't have time to fetch him away from the woman he was protecting. The Daimons were moving fast and he didn't have long before they'd reach Vane and his family.
Then it would rain rainbows and rose petals on them. . . .
Not.
He flipped his phone open and called Valerius who was still at home. The ancient Roman general was a major pain in his ass on his best day, but in a crisis, there were few better fighters. "Val, I'm on Bourbon-"
"I will not venture down that street of crass iniquities and plebeian horror, Acheron. It is the cesspit of humanity. Don't even ask it."
Ash rolled his eyes at the Roman's arrogant tone. "I need you in the swamp."
Silence answered him. He could just imagine Val at home with his lip curled in repugnance. Not that the general hadn't been in worse places back in the day when he'd commanded a Roman army. He was just cranky in his old age.