by L. A. Banks
“Don’t,” Francois said, his voice tight and eyes frantic.
“Then tell me what happened with my delivery.” Dexter didn’t turn around.
“I was delayed, as you can see,” Francois said, motioning to the bed with a petulant wave of his hand. “What began as a simple feeding took multiple delicious turns. Nevertheless, before your rude intrusion, I was going to have a servant deliver it to you—I am many things, but always a man of my word.”
Dexter fingered the drapery cord by the window as growls of discontent rumbled throughout the room. “So, you’re telling me that we were made to wait in the swamps for a booty call and until after you ate? Why, I just oughta—”
“Non, monsieur,” Francois said quickly, assessing the tension in the room. “We didn’t want to kill him.”
“Don’t negotiate with me or try to play me, Vampire!” Dexter shouted, glaring at Francois over his shoulder poised to let in the dawn.
“What purpose would a delay serve? Use the human part of your brain, mon ami.” Francois’s eyes scanned the room for an escape route as he spoke. “We could only capture one alive, the one named Crow Shadow. Look at how many of you there are compared to the one body we have to collect blood from, oui? If we drained him dry, then after this full moon, what would you have for the next, and the next? We could have sucked him bone white of blood, made him a husk, and given you all that his body contained, then thrown his damnable carcass to the alligators. But again, I ask, what purpose would that have served?”
Murmurs of consideration amid discontent rumbled around the room as Dexter kept his back to the group, flexing the muscles in his wide, thick shoulder blades.
“There has been no double-cross,” Francois implored. “We thought you wanted an ongoing supply, so in order to accomplish this task, you rightfully came to us . . . blood specialists. The Shadow Wolf has to replenish his red blood cells, and to do so we must feed the creature and give him plenty of liquids. He must stay hydrated and not be abused, or his white blood cell count will go up to fight any additional injuries he receives, which could then make you sick. This is a delicate business. Most times, our victims are in rapt pleasure when we extract or never see the death bite coming. Rarely do we duel or battle them in the streets. There is a way to do things that keeps the balance of chemistry within the human body in correct proportion to maximum flavors and desired effects. We have been bottling the elixir of life for a very long time, I assure you—we know blood. Is this not why you came to us?”
Francois used the lilting, hypnotic balm of his voice to buy himself time as he inched along the ceiling and slowly eased down the side of the wall nearing an air-conditioning vent while Dexter considered his statements. He kept his gaze on Dexter’s hand, which still fingered the window drapery cords in a most threatening way, willing it not to suddenly yank.
“How much have you collected so far, then?” Dexter finally asked and turned to face Francois.
“Enough for five syringes,” Francois said nervously. “In the kitchen, in the refrigerator, they were freshly packed in a white Styrofoam container that would have gone in a cooler surrounded by dry ice. But you ate my day courier, monsieur.”
Uneasy quiet settled in the room. There were only enough syringes for five out of fifteen infected pack members present. Tension settled over the eerie silence so thickly that it almost made the air crackle. Then in the next second, a full-scale war broke out in the bedroom.
Wolves lunged, tearing at each other, furniture smashed; the bed dumped its dead body contents, and in the fracas two wolves locked in combat hurtled toward the fragile, leaded beveled glass windows. Francois was mist, a quickly escaping vapor down the vent. Daylight poured into the room, glinting off surfaces that probably hadn’t been bathed in dawn’s hues in several centuries.
Sasha lurched forward from the void with the Shadow clan behind her, calling out the names of her team members. Only a morbid silence echoed back. She glanced around quickly, as did the others, looking for signs of an attack. It took only a few seconds for her to see that the MLRS was shifted out of place and a huge hole was in the ceiling but covered by a tarp. Laptop computers and easily portable artillery were gone. Her worst fears were confirmed in an instant: The safe house was no longer safe and her team was on the move without cover . . . had most likely been forced out under heavy enemy pressure. That would have been the only reason Woods and Fisher would have relocated the group . . . assuming they’d made it as far as this situation room alive.
Turning her gaze toward the back of the group to get Hunter’s read on things, she froze. He wasn’t there. “Hunter!” Her voice carried through the house at a panic-laden decibel. His amulet exited a shadowy void between worlds and clattered to the attic’s wooden floor. Bear Shadow caught her by the arm as she lunged, knowing her intention was to go back for him.
Bear Shadow shook his head and motioned toward Silver Hawk’s worsening condition with a swift jerk of his chin. “Hunter chose. Save the old man and save what’s left of the clan’s leadership . . . save your team. If he didn’t come through with us, and also sent back his amulet, then that can only mean that the infection he got as a child has progressed.” Bear Shadow’s eyes were filled with grief as his voice dropped down to a thick garbled whisper. “He cannot exit because he cannot control his shifts. He cannot trust himself with even us, his brothers, or you, his mate. He threw back the amulet because he can no longer wear it and it will not protect him. It has rejected its owner. He is more like them than us. Please, do not go back, Sasha. You will not like what you see.”
She nodded and looked away, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. “This man needs medical attention,” she said, making her voice take on the military authority that came from years of training. She paced away from the group and tried to find a cell phone, sat-phone, anything, even a computer land line—and then kicked over a table when there was no communication device to be found. “Damn!”
“Home to your familiars,” Bear Shadow reminded her, but made it seem like he was simply providing a second opinion for the brief moment of duress any alpha would be allowed after having just lost their mate to the dread sickness.
Again she nodded, and raked her hair with her fingers. Even this time of year the humidity and dampness could be its own brand of beast. They’d lost another five minutes. Silver Hawk had been holding on to fifteen precious minutes of life. She quickly closed her eyes, saw Woods’s expression go blank as he jerked his attention to something unseen—her. She tried to envision an ambulance, a hospital, and then frustration made her say it aloud. “We gotta get him to Tulane! Doc isn’t here. That’s a university hospital and the only one I know for sure is still standing after the flood!”
Not waiting for the group, she hustled down the steps and out into the streets, weapon drawn and sweeping the terrain for any hidden danger. It was a long shot, but if they got a military biologist with full credentials into a state of the art facility, the old man might stand a chance until Doc arrived—another good reason to head for Tulane by ambulance; it had a helicopter landing pad.
Her brain was on fire as she raced back to the house to give the all-clear. She could commandeer highly trained ER doctors on staff; having military fatigues on and a group of soldier-looking dudes also packing heavy artillery would temporarily stop most civilian questions, even those of local police. Bradley and Winters could handle PR, flashing their NORAD identification, and could make the whole who-are-you-and-where-are-you-from line of questioning go away under the guise of Homeland Security.
The sound of a siren was music to her ears. Woods was driving, Fisher riding shotgun. The elated expressions on their faces said it all. She released a rallying howl, not having time for human protocols, and could only hope the neighbors thought she was a stray baying in an alley somewhere.
Clarissa, Winters, and Bradley piled out the back of the vehicle as the Shadow pack swiftly but carefully moved Silver Hawk into position down the step
s.
“Glad to see you all, but this man’s been shot,” Sasha said as they lifted Silver Hawk into the back of the ambulance. “He’s lost a lot of blood—and his blood isn’t normal.”
Clarissa looked at Sasha. “What’s his type? When he gets to Tulane, they’ll immediately hook up an IV, and an interspecies transfer could . . .”
God bless Woods and Fisher, they’d passed on the vital intel. “Yeah, I know,” Sasha said quickly, jumping into the back of the ambulance with the human team. “It could shock his system, cause a rejection, and kill him. He’ll match mine—type O positive, universal donor, with the other cellular structure he needs.”
“We should stay here and wait for Hunter?” Bear Shadow asked with uncertainty, as the others glanced around.
“No . . . borrow a coupla neighbors’ vehicles and follow us. Military emergency we can do that, and give the assets back to the local authorities to get the cars back to their owners.” She slammed the back of the ambulance and closed her eyes for a moment, leaning against the wall. “How’s his vitals?” she finally asked Clarissa.
Her expression was grave.
“Not good.”
Chapter 17
“Dammit,” one doctor exclaimed, slamming down his fresh cup of coffee and running forward to meet the ambulance. “I thought after Fat Tuesday we’d get a break in the action, but here we go, Tony.”
“Full moon aftermath, people. Guys in fatigues, let’s see what we’ve got,” another attending physician shouted as the ER came alive in the dawn hours.
“Gonna be two full moons this month, I heard,” an ER nurse muttered sarcastically toward her colleague as they dashed down the corridor. “Better get your gris-gris ready—wish Administration would make it standard on the crash carts.”
“Just what we need a month after Mardi Gras, a goddamned blue moon,” another nurse replied, skidding to a halt as what looked like a brigade of dirty marines piled out of commandeered vehicles behind the ambulance.
“How many injured?” a doctor called out. “Do we have a situation? Let us know what we’re dealing with so we can make way for heavy incoming.”
“We took care of that already,” Lion Shadow said in a low rumble. “The bodies are where the bodies were left—just got one old man with pretty bad gunshot wounds to the lung and thigh.”
Medical personnel glanced at each other but didn’t say a word as Sasha and her team lifted Silver Hawk down from the back of the ambulance on a door.
“Winters, Bradley,” Sasha said quickly, glancing at them to start the PR process. She should have made it clearer to the others that only Winters and Bradley needed to speak to hospital personnel. Damn! “Rissa, with me—get a line up to NORAD to Doc. I want the rest of you guys on point.” It wasn’t necessary to explain why to Lion Shadow. A VIP was in the building and, come nightfall, could be at risk.
She saw the ER team give each other confused glances as they quickly helped transfer Silver Hawk to a gurney while rushing a crash cart to his side.
“On three,” the doctors said, and the transfer was seamless.
True professionals, the ER team interwove all questions directed at Sasha between their barking medical commands. But the medical team kept moving as though in the midst of a war zone. Unfortunately, this hospital, like others that had recently seen large-scale civilian disasters, had plenty of practice. One dying old man riddled with nine-millimeter slugs wasn’t an incident—it was the deadly show of force that came in with him that had alerted the staff.
“It’s so bad they’re flying ’em into us from Colorado?” one doctor asked as the gurney burst through the doors. “You said NORAD, right?”
“At least it’s not raining,” another one quipped sarcastically.
“His heart rate’s dropping,” a nurse called out. “Where’s that drip? Where’s my blood order? Let’s move, people!” Then she stopped, looked at the patient hard, and then gave Sasha a knowing glance.
Immediately Sasha saw the woman’s Fae aura, and her kind green eyes became hazel and then blue to let her know that she’d help with the ruse.
“He’s got a rare blood disease, I’m an exact match donor—what you’ve got in the fridge will kill him.” Sasha’s gaze met the nurse’s and then went to the lead physician’s as she yanked up her sleeve and crossed the room. “Take it from me. Until our expert Dr. Xavier Holland arrives by chopper, our lead biologist, Dr. Clarissa McGill needs a phone, access to your scopes, lab equip—”
“I knew we were gonna have heavy incoming,” the lead nurse said. “Get Admin in on this, might need someone to cope with media.” Again, she gave Sasha a knowing glance, even though her voice sounded harsh. Everything in her eyes said Trust me, I’m on the inside. “I’m Margaret. Don’t worry,” she said quickly, working. “I’ve seen this before.”
Sasha nodded, hoping that supernatural healers were in full force in New Orleans’ hospitals, and then she began to relax. They would have to be . . . there had to be doctors and embedded personnel in all walks of life, especially if this was the site of an international conference with supernatural dignitaries coming in from all over the worlds.
“What kind of contagion did you military boys bring in here?” the lead physician snapped, oblivious to Sasha’s thoughts. He looked up at Sasha as he steadily worked on shearing away Silver Hawk’s clothing. “Are we all fucked?”
“No, sir. Not yet.”
“What has occurred here is nothing short of a travesty! I demand recompense! Our regional council must be enlightened . . . Le Krewe of L’Grand Duke must know, at the very least,” Francois wheezed.
“Oui . . . to be sure. This is what happens when one does business with undesirables, but we must consider the long view—a possible elevation within the Cartels. . . . Our brothels have been most profitable, as have our legitimate hotel enterprises, but if we pull off this coup to start the wolf civil wars, as we know the old guard so desperately desires, short term, there will be nothing we cannot request. They will owe us,” Etienne said slowly, speaking inside the darkness of his sealed coffin to conserve energy while he rested within his light-bathed crypt.
“But we must survive to be able to enjoy the reward. The dogs of war daylight-breached my manor!”
“All of this is disconcerting, I’m sure.” Etienne’s mind reached out and stroked Francois’s panicked psyche. “Rest within the vents. . . . I know it is difficult to breathe as the sun heats the moisture in the very air . . . but you must calm yourself. Still yourself. Die to the morn and tonight we’ll awaken together to redress this unnecessary violation of your sanctuary.”
Heads slowly lifted from the feeding den floor. Low snarls echoed through the cavern as glowing gold eyes fixed on an unfamiliar male. Gazes narrowed and snouts scented the air.
“Back off,” a large, humpbacked male warned Hunter, protecting the carcass he’d claimed. “There isn’t enough! Not even after what we pulled from the surface during Mardi Gras. Everyone’s personal hunt was aborted during this moon phase.”
A female laughed low in her throat and flung a section of human rib cage to land at Hunter’s feet. “Darlin,’ you’re way too fine to allow to starve to death, but that’s the best I can do.” She ducked to avoid a backhanded blow from the big male in the center of the pack.
“I say when he can eat, bitch!” The offended male glared at Hunter. “Touch it and you die.”
Unfazed, Hunter looked down at the remains with disgust and then kicked it back toward the group, much to the leader’s obvious satisfaction. He waited until the snarling and snapping over the returned portion died down before he spoke. “I didn’t come here to feed. I came to bring you information.”
“Smart move,” the leader said, foul saliva oozing from his massive jaws. “What have you heard or seen on the surface?”
“Two very important things to consider,” Hunter said calmly, his voice so even in tone that all demon-infected Werewolves present stopped eating for a moment.
“One, it’s not a rival pack of infected Werewolves that have decided to hunt in unison on the surface, abandoning the age-old methods of being a solo predator.” He shook his head. “No. That’s not what it is.”
“Then what the hell was unleashed on us?” the leader raged, now standing upright at an impressive eleven feet at the shoulders. He walked forward a bit to better study Hunter, crushing bones beneath his girth as he sniffed the air.
Ignoring the menace and the horrible stench all around him, as well as the awful nasal sound that the beast’s snout produced, Hunter addressed the pack leader without blinking. “Shadow Wolves.”
For a moment all the wolves in the regional den glanced at each other, and then finally the huge leader released booming laughter.
“You, my friend, must be high.” He shook his head and turned away from Hunter, dismissing him. “You’ll have to do better than that to whine for scraps. Shadow Wolves can’t get what we have from a bite, and their females don’t mate with our uninfected brethren to ever possibly produce offspring with the recessive gene—or don’t you know your history? That’s why we’re shunned, son.”
Hysterical, wild laughter surrounded Hunter as he stood, stone-faced, before the infected alpha.
“The Vampires stole a toxic serum from a U.S. Military base up in Colorado—NORAD. The humans had been playing with trying to re-create one of us without some of the side effects. Problem is, what they created bonds real nicely with the human side of Shadow Wolf DNA, whereas a normal bite or scratch from an infected Werewolf can normally be purged by a Shadow Wolf. So, view what the humans made as a super bite or super serum.”
The pack leader slowly turned. “I heard something about that. . . . They caught one of us years back. Another in North Korea, but some human chick blew the convoy.”
“Same batch of blood samples came from that first capture,” Hunter pressed on, his voice never wavering as he stated the facts.
