Bite the Bullet

by L. A. Banks

  “Lemme put a beacon on you at least, then,” Winters said, his startled eyes clouded with concern.

  “Take a couple of these,” Bradley offered, tossing her the sample siphoning tranquilizer shells he’d been working on.

  Sasha caught them and stared at Bradley, trying to ignore the sounds of the medical team working behind the curtain to revive Hunter. “Won’t need more samples, and what I’m going after I’m not trying to tranquilize. I want it put down permanently.”

  The heart monitor had stopped its sickening, flat-line wail, and monitor blips allowed her to start breathing again.

  “Then let me do the honors,” Clarissa said with hard eyes. “After truly seeing what they did to that man . . . what this virus is capable of . . . oh yeah, Sasha, put the rat bastards down hard.”

  Clarissa rooted through the medical supply cabinets and talked to Sasha as she grabbed small vials. “How about a homemade, lethal cocktail in part one and part two of Bradley’s gizmo? Those guys with the full-blown virus should have sustained severe liver damage already—a nice overdose of Phenobarbital, which is normally used to control seizures, will drop their blood pressures and make their heartbeats go haywire—then if I add a nice lethal dose of fast-acting thiobarbital, the bastards ought to be in a drop-dead coma before the second segment explodes. Mmmmm . . . lemme see what we can mix up . . . Veronol to paralyze their breathing apparatus, with a nice healthy jigger of Oxycodone to help promote muscle flaccidity and cardiac arrest . . . and one of my personal favs for blurred vision, Librium . . . What else do we have—oh, general purpose ammonia will always do the trick, add in some formaldehyde, and—”

  “Remind me to stay on your good side, McGill,” Bradley muttered.

  “Sounds more like the stuff of covens, rather than a lab,” Winters said. “Sheesh.”

  “It’s all chemistry,” she said, mixing her lethal solutions and filling the retrofitted shells for Sasha. “And it’ll only take five or six seconds once it hits their bloodstream.” She looked up at Sasha. “Try to hit a jugular or something close to the heart if you need it to work faster than that. Hopefully you’ll have more time than that, but ya never know.”

  Strangely enough, of all people, Dr. Williams had offered her the keys to his seven-series BMW in the spirit of teamwork, and it was indeed parked where he’d said she could find it in his reserved spot in the lot.

  Sasha jumped in the silver, drop-top sedan and cast the automatic weapon on the passenger’s seat, glad that she’d warned the man ahead of time that his vehicle might not come back the way he’d given it. No surprise that he’d waved her off—at his salary, this was his commuting vehicle, the one he slummed in. Go figure.

  But it was a silver beauty with enough power under the hood to make a drive-by sweet. Yeah, she was feeling dangerous, maybe even a little reckless. Twice in twenty-four hours she’d heard Hunter’s guts get ripped out—first from a purge, then for a hard transformation. They’d caused the wrongful shooting of Silver Hawk, and then tried to assassinate or abduct him in the hospital while he lay there helpless and alone. They’d even eaten members of the clan. Some things were just over the top, so she would show them the female version of crazy.

  Every instinct she’d had had been correct. Regardless of the incidents in the mountains, everything they were hunting was slowly making its way here.

  When she’d begun this mission to track down Dexter, she and her team had monitored unusual preternatural activity converging on New Orleans. Even before Winters and Bradley told her, she’d felt the migration in her bones way before the Conference. Technology bore out her gut hunch; the body count was higher than normal in the Ninth Ward, but ever since Woods and Fisher’s MLRS launch, that seemed to die down.

  Gravitational pull had made her bed down briefly in the French Quarter, but while exhausted, it was hard to delineate sensory perceptions from the simple human desire for comforting aesthetics. Now she knew. Hunter had picked up the scent; he’d keyed her onto it over Silver Hawk’s prone body. Mind of his mind, she could Shadow-vision snapshots of the dead man’s previous path which led her right back to the French Quarter where her first mind had already been.

  She let the green streetcar pass her on St. Charles Avenue and screeched to a stop as a man leaped from it into the seat as she snatched up her weapon.

  “You have got to stop rolling up on me like that!”

  Shogun smiled. “I told you I had your back. Drive before they start honking at you.”

  Sasha pulled off, shaking her head. “How’d you—”

  “Ethan’s wife. She works ER—Nurse Margaret. The fairies hiding in the fluorescent lights and ducts told the rest of the Fae how they made that man suffer. Dexter had him poisoned, as well as more Shadows . . . word traveled from the forest regions, now that most of the contingents have assembled.”

  “You’ve got proof?”

  Shogun shook his head no. “The Fae have proof. . . . They always have proof but they try to stay neutral for fear of reprisal. If we can show them that we’ll come together to fight a common enemy, and can win, then they’ll bring their evidence to the UCE. If not, we’re on our own.”

  It didn’t do any good to argue the fairness of it all. It was what it was. You couldn’t make anyone scared out of their minds testify against entities that held a grudge till the end of time. Maybe the Fae had a level of wisdom that the wolf packs had abandoned.

  “You got an extra weapon—since we’re hunting Vampires by day and I can’t shift till the moon’s up?”

  “Sure,” Sasha said. “Take the semi.”

  Shogun studied the weapon with appreciation. “Nice piece.” He turned to her with a sly smile.

  She refused to dignify the comment and kept driving. This alliance was going to be hard enough as it was to explain to the clan. That was all she needed—for there to be even the remotest hint of impropriety. Therefore, the tall, bronze, animal magnetism routine was a waste on her, just like it had been before . . . dazzling smile in the sunlight notwithstanding. Hunter was laid up in the hospital, possibly on his deathbed, and this guy was joyriding with an automatic in tow, beaming like a Labrador going on a hunting trip. Werewolves. It just wasn’t right.

  “I could have handled this home invasion myself, ya know,” she finally said.

  “For the alliance,” Shogun replied and lifted the weapon.

  “Would you keep that down? Jeez!”

  Sasha turned into a sleepy, oak-lined neighborhood. Victorian, Greek, and Spanish revival mansions ensconced with overflowing gardens bedded with bougainvillea, brilliant azaleas, myrtles, and camellias—crinolines beneath the swaying skirts of tree moss—kept her eyes keened. Yeah, this was Vampire territory, their version of slumming since the 1700s. Not as ostentatious as the huge antebellum plantations they generally preferred, but definitely in-town residences for galas and feeding fetes.

  Her foot eased on the accelerator as another scent mingled in with the dead orderly’s. Crow Shadow?

  Shogun’s expression had gone stone serious. “Shadow Wolves have been butchered here, Sasha. I smell their blood . . . no demon contagion in it. What we see might be terrible for you.”

  “No worse than I’ve already seen in our territory,” she muttered, bringing the car to a stop. “I want these bastards more than my next breath.”

  Parked illegally, she was over the side of the BMW, weapon in hand within seconds. Shogun flanked her seamlessly, like he was air. The trees provided a lush choice of shadows but she had to resist kicking the door off its hinges. Opting for the magnolia-shaded side of the house, she cased the wrought-iron balconies and leveraged her way in the old-fashioned way—an elbow through the glass. Shogun moved like a gymnast, his lean, toned frame flipping over balconies, grabbing hold of drainpipes, as he scaled the walls and got in without a sound.

  She’d be gone before the cops came if the house was alarmed, which she doubted. Vampires had their own security measures. She had her own ant
isecurity measures: silver slugs, partial daylight, and a real bad attitude.

  Quickly scanning the interior of the French Gothic antebellum she’d plundered, her gaze roved the centuries-old, hand-carved cypress ceilings, then the slate floors of the double parlors, paneled bookcases, and heavily draped floor-to-ceiling guillotine windows. Moving as a Shadow against the wall with her weapon cocked, she cleared each room until she found a cellar door. Bingo. In a land where the water table made its residents bury their dead aboveground, the vague scent of damp soil, stone, and blood was literally a dead giveaway that somebody wanted something hidden badly enough that they’d endure unceasing property damage. A wine cellar, yeah right.

  Shogun entered the kitchen beside her without a sound, giving her the all-clear in hand signals that the second floor was unoccupied.

  Lifting the latch silently, she went for the surprise attack with a boot to the door. Several red glowing eyes and hisses met her as she became the darkness, a Shadow within the shadows, firing dead aim between red glowing eyes in split second single shots. The stench of embers and charred dead flesh gagged her, but the scent of Crow Shadow’s blood drove her forward. Her wolf eyes adjusted to the black, damp environment. A shard of gray sunlight from the stairwell behind her helped. Crow Shadow weakly lifted his head and looked up at her, and then passed out.

  Shogun somersaulted down the stairs, laid flat on the ground for a second as a Vampire scampered from under the table and four more came from behind the stairs.

  In one scissor move, he’d flipped the one that scrambled out from under the table into the first aggressor. Milliseconds mattered when battling this predator, and he dodged a claw rake that attempted to snatch out his heart by running up the wall, grabbing the Vampire’s arm, and breaking it backward. Sasha was halfway down the steps and had hit two center skulls when Shogun flipped again, grabbed the automatic he’d been carrying off the floor, and unloaded hellfire. Cinders floated down everywhere with the awful sulfuric stench of the undead igniting.

  No time to spare, she yanked the bloodletting tubes out of Crow Shadow’s arms and hoisted his body over her shoulder with a grunt, and then precariously leaned to the side to grab her automatic by the barrel, but Shogun picked it up so she could keep moving. Getting him up the steep cellar steps was gonna be a true bitch, but she’d have to call everything wolf within her as close to the surface as she could to get them both into the BMW alive.

  Much as she hated to admit it, it was good to have Shogun there sweeping the terrain. He was more agile, had a crazy Ninja thing going on. If a Vamp came out of nowhere, she knew he had it. Fragile battlefield trust just clicked like tumblers instantly falling into place within a lock. She could now mule Crow Shadow’s body with less panic. Somehow, in an undefined sliver of time, they’d become pack, squad. One mission.

  But after all the gunfire report, humans would arrive soon. So would Vampire familiars, possible local cops getting a call from distraught neighbors, and God only knew what else. Sweating, puffing, she kept it moving and got the injured man to the double parlors. There was no way to do the window, then down the balcony. Out the front door, under the cover of porch and tree shade would have to do. But any neighbors watching the car that had heard gunfire report would freak when she stepped out of the shadows with a prone body and dumped it into the vehicle next to a guy bearing a full set of canines and toting an M-16. Oh, well . . .

  “Got another one,” Sasha said into the cell phone, driving like a maniac.

  Winters turned to the team monitoring her location and then toward the curtain. “Yo, Doc, incoming! Got a bleeder.”

  Francois coalesced into an angry funnel cloud of vapor and exited the vent system of his home like a stung hornet the second the sun touched the horizon. Etienne was already up and dressed and waiting for him to enter the town house cellar to assess the damage.

  “They came for their own as expected. Bon,” Etienne said, walking around the piles of ash that had once been his henchmen. “Now the table is set for full-scale war.”

  “They killed some of ours,” Francois seethed.

  “No matter. Lower levels that served their purpose. The Shadows will seek retaliation, which will further lend credibility to our claim that Shadow Wolves and Werewolves that have been infected are out of control. But the she-Shadow left the blood. Très bon.” Etienne turned to Francois and stroked his cheek. “We redress your home invasion tonight. Oui?”

  Francois nodded. “Oui.”

  “How can we emerge from behind our doors at full strength when the moon is not due to be at exact fullness for weeks?” a Werewolf voice rang out to their leader.

  “This month we expect a blue moon,” their leader growled, stalking through the carnage of rotting bodies, bones, and flesh. “Supernatural conditions dictate that from the onset of the first full moon until the next one within the same lunar month, we can come out to play. It is our birthright to feed under the full moon! It will be that way for several more days.”

  “But under the moon bands stretching between the first and second full moon rising, we are not as strong as we normally are until that second moon rises again in her full splendor,” an older, one-eyed Werewolf said from the distance. “The infected Shadows are stronger than us. They probably even ate the strong newcomer that warned us, because he never made it back through the doors to safety.”

  “Our numbers dwarf theirs now, I am told. Their own Shadow packs have warred with them until their numbers are significantly diminished. The time to attack is now. If we wait, they can infect more of their own and replenish their troops.”

  “I heard parts of their plan,” Crow Shadow said weakly as the doctors revived him. “It’s going down tonight before the Conference convenes the first night of the general session.”

  Sasha paced between the livery that held Hunter and the one that now held Crow Shadow. Shogun had refused to enter the hospital, but she needed to break it to Hunter now that a Werewolf alliance was in the offing.

  “Then, I’m—we’re out,” Hunter said, yanking a tube from his arm.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—whatduya mean, you’re out?” Incredulous, Sasha spun on him.

  “Not advisable,” Doc Holland said. “You can’t afford another shape-shift, a nick, or even the physical exertion of a battle. We just jump-started your heart three—”

  “I’m out,” Hunter repeated, stiffly throwing his legs over the side of the livery and then staggering to the curtain past the huddle of amazed physicians and yanking it back.

  Clarissa’s gaze slid down his body as she opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “Clothes, scrubs, something I can put on to get through the streets in—plus I need a weapon since shifting might not be an option,” Hunter said, his intense stare roving the group.

  “I’m out with Hunter,” Crow Shadow said, sitting up slowly and almost falling. “I can get a transfusion from one of the uninfected guys that made it to the safe house. So can Hunter. If they lived through the day, they’ve no doubt eaten, gotten some rest—we have fresh warriors there.”

  “Jesus, Trudeau . . .” Clarissa said quietly as Woods tossed Hunter an automatic. “You said more impressive in jeans and I say jeans not necessary.”

  Thoroughly frustrated, and unable to process Clarissa’s comment, Sasha rounded on Hunter. “You can’t do battle like this, neither one of you can! That is the most bullheaded, self-destructive—”

  “Silver Hawk would want it no other way,” Crow Shadow said, his voice raw.

  “We are warriors, and this is what we do—defend what hangs in the fragile balance.” Hunter caught a pair of scrubs that Fisher brought in and flung at him.

  “Okay, since there’s no arguing with you, then at least wait a few to get a transfusion,” Sasha said, beginning to pace. “Plus, I need to talk to you about an alliance.”

  “The alliance can wait. Right now—”

  “No, it can’t wait, Hunter!” she shouted. “The Southea
st Asian Werewolf clans want a truce, want a pack bond between the Shadow Clan of North America and them. It’s necessary,” she said, her gaze holding his in a deadlock, “to have enough of a voting bloc to best the Vampires—whom we know are angling for a civil war between us as an additional cause of action.”

  “Werewolves?” Hunter raked his hands through his hair and rolled his shoulders.

  “We are in no position to turn away allies and to hold on to old prejudices right through here. We’d better accept this olive branch and bond, because—”

  “Werewolves? After all this—”

  “Their pack leader saved my life, man. Him and Trudeau burst into the house where they had me,” Crow Shadow admitted quietly.

  “Shogun had my back in Vamp territory, Hunter.” She stared at him hard and then looked away out the window. “If North America merges with Southeast Asia, those are two huge Federations. . . . The others will know something went awry and vote with us, at least for a show of solidarity—even if talks break down later, outside of the Conference forum. But we should go in united, especially since the Vampires obviously tried to play us.”

  “We’re also gonna need some additional forces, Hunter,” Crow Shadow said in a firm but respectful tone. “If we’re going after Dexter, where he’s had time to build up troops, we’ll need all the available firepower we can get.”

  Hunter nodded and opened the window. The Tulane doctors and Sasha’s monitoring squad threesome watched in abject amazement as he tilted his head back and released a long, baleful howl. Crow Shadow soon joined him in the pack-rallying call. Try as she might, Sasha couldn’t resist, and soon Woods’s and Fisher’s voices blended in with it.

  “Damn, and we thought sonar was an advanced communications system,” Winters muttered when the wolf call ended.

  “This hospital will never be the same,” Bradley said, shaking his head. “The entire staff is gonna have to take Xanax to get over all this.”