“Go, go, go!” Steele yelled, looking over his shoulder to see armed soldiers racing after them. Silhouetted by the burning hangar behind them, they ran as a pack and then scattered to take cover. Muzzles flashed and bullets sang through the air, slamming into the side of the armored vehicles in front of them.
Steele swore, using his bigger body to protect those ahead of him—two lycans, werewolves for all intents and purposes, and a female aide from the Project staff. She squeaked a small, breathless sound of terror and the scent of her fear hit his nostrils, sharp and acrid.
He fought back the need to sneeze, snarling over his shoulder as though his anger could stop bullets, and shoved the smaller lycans toward the vehicle.
More rounds flew past him, turning the air around them into a l
