Bloodshade

by Isadora Brown

  Bloodshade

  Book 1 in The Were-Weapon Saga

  Isadora Brown

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Did You Like Bloodshade?

  Acknowledgments

  Newsletter Information

  Also by Isadora Brown

  Also by Isadora Brown

  Also by Isadora Brown

  Also by Isadora Brown

  Also by Isadora Brown

  Written with Rebecca Hamilton

  Chapter 1

  Shots ripped through the black sky like fireworks, and I wondered, for the third time today, why I wore high heels to work.

  I was in no position to be running. My hair was not pulled up into one of those cute high ponytails I could never master. I was wearing a tight pencil skirt that allowed little movement of my long legs. And on my feet were my favorite pair of high heels I hadn’t worn since I graduated college six years ago, which meant running in them would be ridiculous and I was already getting a blister on the my left heel. Not only that, the city of Perry was filled with random things on the streets, like potholes and uneven gravel where it was easy for me to trip and fall or get my heel stuck in something, causing me to propel forward even though my foot remained planted in the ground.

  I could hear footsteps—heavy and quick—behind me but I didn’t know if the owners spotted me just yet. I hoped they hadn’t. I needed to find a hiding place.

  Perry boasted the most alleys in a city in the United States. I only knew that because one of the first articles I did on the city was about random facts to try to make the citizens more appreciative of where they lived. It was a difficult thing to do when supernatural crime was also the highest in the nation, and the city was on track to be the most corrupt city in the nation, just behind Chicago. I had hoped to lose my assailants in one of the many alleys at my disposal, but I needed to lose my shoes first. If I was going to escape, I needed to be silent. It was difficult enough for me to control my breathing—another sign that being slender didn’t actually mean I was in shape—and the clacking of my heels on the street was not doing me any favors.

  But I was repelled by the thought of my feet—even wrapped up in nice pantyhose—touching the disgusting street. This place was filled with garbage and other unmentionable fluids on the ground, only washed away by the rain that manage to plague our city the way it did Seattle. I knew if I didn’t get rid of my heels, however, the men would find me easily. And I did not want to contemplate what they would do when they found me.

  I hesitated again for a beat—these were the same high heels I wore to my senior prom in high school, when my crush asked me to prom in a cheesy big-spectacled way. I didn’t get Prom Queen, but I felt like a prom queen.

  That was a great night, Lara, I thought to myself, but it went to shit the minute we left prom and Brad tried to feel you up in the limo.

  I grabbed my heels and flung them out to the side, nearly hitting a taxi stuck in traffic. I opened my mouth, quick to apologize, but heard shouting and knew I had to run fast.

  As fast as I could run in a pencil skirt.

  It amazed me, even being born and raised in Perry, that there could be traffic at this time of night. Ten was late, at least for me. All I wanted to do when leaving my office that night was to crawl into bed and watch CNN for a few minutes before putting on Law and Order: SVU reruns. Instead, I had to answer my desk phone. I had to try and get the photos that would finally put Mayor Guzman away. But that bitch had friends in dangerous places, and when I showed up at our meeting place, I saw blood everywhere, no pictures, and two men with smirks on their faces as though they were looking forward to doing the same thing—whatever that was—to me.

  I had been running ever since.

  I knew the city well and managed to take the intricate labyrinth of connected alleyways onto Seventeenth Street. Two streets over, I’d be back at work, which was where I wanted to go. The Daily Perry had security around the clock, lights were on twenty-four seven, and my office was made of bulletproof glass. If I could get there and lock myself in, I knew I would be safe.

  And to think, I had been completely against the bulletproof glass when it was first brought to my attention.

  I managed to zigzag throughout the alleys. My feet stepped in day-old puddles from the rain last night. I winced. I hated any lingering wetness on my clothes, especially my feet. Still, I continued on, knowing if I missed even a beat, they would catch up to me. I let out a silent thanks to God that my assailants weren’t supernatural. If they had been werewolves or vampires, I would have already been dead. Guzman might have been clever but there were times she was an idiot. That, or her anti-supernatural policy was enough to turn off even the most desperate supe. Men, on the other hand, could be bought regardless of the bullshit policies Guzman was trying to sign into law. Luckily for me, because outrunning men was something I could actually do—even if I was out of shape.

  The alleys were behind buildings—both commercial and residential. The only houses that made up Perry were on the outskirts, where greenery started forcing itself through and buildings weren’t as important. Rochester, Darcy, and Knightly were three suburbs that surrounded Perry, all affluent and safe, with minimal crime and good politicians that represented their small community. These buildings were old, crumbling and falling apart. If they had been in North Perry, they would have been fixed up in a matter of weeks. Considering she was in South Perry, issues like these were left until they were deemed as important. Likely never.

  Each alley was connected through a narrow passageway. They had been built for probationers who acted as garbage collectors that manually had to walk through alleys, picking up trash—a punishment for kids who tagged up a building or hotwired a car. Going up and down alleys took time so the city designer and architect came up with a clever way to go through the city using the alleys. While I had never been on probation—never been arrested, either—I hated walking through the city if I could help it. We couldn’t afford public transportation a lot of the time, but walking down long blocks until I reached the small apartment I shared with my uncle wasted time I could spend doing my homework or reading or watching the news. School wasn’t on my list of favorite things but if I wanted to be an investigative journalist, I needed it. Using the connectors saved me a half-hour of time.

  “You stupid bitch, you know you’re dead, right?” a voice shouted from behind me.

  I didn’t like how close he sounded to me. I picked up my pace.

  “Do you think I would knowingly take off my shoes and run through the streets if I didn’t?” I shouted back.

  Bad idea.

  I didn’t care about provoking him but it definitely caused me to lose more of my breath than I wanted to. I dodged a misplaced dumpster and ducked through a narrow connecter, never missing a beat. Holding my breath at the pustulent scent that hung through the air and ignoring the grime that coated itself on the bottom of my feet.

  Bed would have to come second when I got home. I was going to shower with hot water and scrub until everything came off. If I survived, of course.

  I glanced up, angling my hea
d forward. I could see Twelfth Street from where I was. If I continued north, I would hit Tenth Street and I could cross that to Madisyn, where my office was. My purse pounded into my side, hanging from my shoulder, and I was glad I had it because my ID badge was in there, and I wouldn’t be able to get in without it.

  I rounded the corner of the alley and finally emerged to the street once again. I couldn’t waste a minute.

  Traffic was starting to thin and I knew that if I wanted to put any distance between me and them, I needed to do so something drastic. I took a quick breath for courage before glancing at the stoplight. Still red. I could do this.

  I clenched my fingers into fists, digging my nails into my palms. It was the only way to spring myself into action.

  I hurtled myself in traffic, hoping the light stayed red until I crossed the street. I couldn’t look what I was stepping on, all I could focus on was the Twelfth Street fountain, a landmark in the city everyone knew about it. It was a large marble fountain reminiscent of those in Rome but obviously nowhere near as good, but little fish spit water into a fountain and at night, different colored lights lit everything up so it was pretty cool.

  I wasn’t sure if the men behind me had done the same. I couldn’t risk turning around to check. I passed the fountain, nearly running into a family—probably tourists who wanted to marvel at the pretty lights and enjoy the uncharacteristically warm evening—but dodged them at the last minute. As I dashed around the corner, I could have sworn I heard the child ask about the crazy lady running around without shoes on.

  More shots rang out and my heart jumped into my throat. One whizzed just underneath my ear, causing my hair to blow from the force of the bullet. I let out a mangled scream and continued to run. I considered dropping my purse to get rid of excess weight but it had too much of my life inside of it. My wallet with my cash, my driver’s license, my credit cards, my ID badge, my keys. Maybe I should invest in a smaller purse but there was no way I could lose it.

  I rounded the corner and looked up. I could see the six-story newspaper building from where I was. The Daily Perry decorates the top of the building in its signature scrawl. The lights were all on and I could see a security guard circling the building. From where I was, I wasn’t able to see his face and recognize him but I knew he would help me if I needed him to.

  “Help!” I shrieked, hoping to get his attention. “Please, help!”

  I probably looked like a crazy woman, my strawberry blonde hair floating behind me, my face dirty, my eyes watery, filled with unshed tears. My feet were cut up, my pantyhose completely ruined, and I was running for my life in a tight pencil skirt.

  The security guard looked up and his eyes widened when he saw me. He brought his walkie-talkie to his mouth but I couldn’t hear what he said. God, I hoped he was calling the cops or telling someone to do it.

  “You know you’re going to get it, bitch!” a voice snarled from behind me. He was too close. I couldn’t remember if he had fired all of his bullets but I didn’t want to take the chance.

  All that was left between me and the building was an upward incline of grass that sloped downward before it met white tile that led to the building. There was also a small fountain in the courtyard but it was dark and still.

  “We know where you work!” the other one shouted. He sounded more out of breath than the first one. “We know who you are. You’re dead, you hear me? Dead.”

  I started to reach inside my bag for my badge. It might hinder my speed but I needed to get in that building, and that security guard—just standing there—wasn’t going to help.

  Another shot rang out. This time, I couldn’t contain my scream. But it didn’t hit my back the way I expected it to. Instead, it struck the security guard, who crumpled to the ground. My mouth dropped in horror but I couldn’t stop, not even to see if he was breathing.

  My fingers shook as I grabbed the badge from my purse. I pulled but it was caught on something. I glanced up, making sure I wasn’t going to run into anything. I blanched when I realized I had to hop over the security guard’s unmoving body or else I was going to trip. I could hear feet slap the pavement behind me. I ripped my badge from whatever it was caught on. My small makeup bag flung out of the purse, eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow going everywhere. I could let myself stop and mourn the loss of my makeup. Instead, I hoped it served as a distraction.

  Badge now in my grasp, I sped up, running to the front door. I flashed my badge at the small pad but it buzzed, indicating I was not going to get permission to enter. I growled in frustration. I tried again. Same thing.

  “Please, please, please,” I murmured, whining to God. If I didn’t need both hands—one to flash my badge, the other to whip open the door—I would have clutched my cross necklace and looked up at the sky, begging God, my grandmother, and any angel that would listen and have mercy to please help me survive this.

  This time, I pressed my badge against the pad and let it linger for more than a second.

  “She’s right there, Simon! Shoot her!”

  “I’m out of shots! You shoot her!”

  They were gaining on me fast, heading down the incline.

  This time, a bell chimed and a green light flashed. I ripped open the door and flung myself inside. I grabbed the door handle once I was in and yanked it towards me. I wouldn’t feel safe until I heard the click, and even then, I needed to get away from the glass door.

  Once it was in place, I dashed to the stairwell and headed up to my office on the sixth floor. My legs were screaming in pain. I purposefully avoided the stair master the three times I purposefully went to the gym for a reason. I was used to going up three flights just because that was where my apartment was and the elevator never worked, but six flights as quickly as I could was not something I did for fun.

  When I hit the middle of the fourth floor, I had to stop. I physically could not continue. I clutched the oak banister that prevented me from toppling to my death and refrained from collapsing into the staircase. I could stop to catch my breath, but relaxing would make it harder to start running once again, and I was only halfway to my office.

  I pushed forward. I heard the bottom door click up open.

  “You think she took the stairs?” a familiar voice asked.

  “I can hear her,” the second one responded. “Did you reload?”

  “Fuck yeah, I did.”

  I slapped my mouth with my hand, hoping to prevent any whimper of fear from coming out and pushed onward, igniting the pain. Once I hit the sixth floor, I pushed open the door and inhaled. My office was straight ahead. I was almost safe.

  I ran across the tile hallway and my feet started to cry. The adrenaline was wearing off. My energy was being depleted.

  And then, I slipped. I didn’t know if the janitor had just been through here, mopping up, but I slipped on the tile and fell face forward. I managed to catch my fall, throwing out my hands before my head cracked with impact. The force of the trip threw me off, though. My head spun.

  I was dead. I couldn’t get up. I tried to stand but my legs wouldn’t let me. I groaned.

  I could hear the door to the stairwell fly open. I could hear footsteps running towards the office.

  I felt tears prick my eyes. This was it. I had only been an investigative journalist for a year. I was only twenty-eight years old. I didn’t want to die but I couldn’t get my body to move even though I wanted to. I didn’t know what else to do. Desperately, I started to crawl. I wasn’t getting anywhere quickly but at least I was getting there. I couldn’t just give up. Not when I was so close.

  The footsteps got louder. I bit back a sob. I squirmed. I probably looked like a fish flopping out of water but I didn’t care. Everything inside of me ached. I wanted a bubble bath. I wanted my Kindle. I wanted Christopher Meloni.

  I saw their shadows cross my path. This was it.

  Then, without warning, I heard two shots from the silence. I froze. I wasn’t sure what the hell happened but I heard two te
lltale thumps.

  Someone had killed my pursuers. But why?

  That doesn’t matter right now, Lara, I thought to myself. All you need to worry about us getting to your office.

  I heard footsteps. These ones were heavier, slower. My skin prickled, bursting out with goosebumps. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. I didn’t know if this stranger was going to help me or hunt me.

  My office. I had to get to my office.

  The footsteps got closer.

  I continued to squirm, my body contorting like a silk worm. Everything in me hurt. I wanted to collapse. I wanted to give up. But my damn stubborn pride wouldn’t let me.

  Closer. Even closer.

  Breathing.

  I paused. It sounded male. Deep, but not out of breath.

  I recognized that breathing.

  But it couldn’t be…I saw him leave. He wasn’t supposed to be back.

  “Red.”

  I stopped. Everything inside of me stopped.

  He was supposed to be gone but he wasn’t. I managed to turn and found my eyes locked with dark ones.

  The eyes of the most infamous serial killer on Perry history was looking back at me. And he was not happy.

  Chapter 2

  Jon Hawkins had big, callused hands that felt warm as they took me into his arms. I couldn’t find the energy in me to reject his assistance, even though he was only putting himself at risk by being here. I still didn’t know if that security guard managed to call the cops, or where the rest of the security team was. There had to be more than one guard patrolling, especially if the first guard had made it a point to grab his walkie-talkie. Who had he been communicating with?