A ringing laugh echoed. “It’s never that simple. I could kill you right now, with no worry of you harming me. You may be a werewolf, but you’re not that fast. You’re not that quick.”
“Is that a challenge?” Glen growled. He took one step forward. He sniffed the air. There was a scent there that shouldn’t have belonged. He narrowed his eyes further.
“What are you?” he demanded, shifting his footing.
The man laughed once more. Its echoes sent shivers down Glen’s spine and he issued a warning growl.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the hunter responded cockily.
Years of repressed anger at hunters had already begun to swell within him, but he was doing well to calm it. For years, he had dreamed of enacting revenge on the deaths of his parents. The hunter standing before him was too young to have been the murderer, but to Glen Cole, it didn’t matter.
He was a hunter, no matter what he was, and Glen wanted him to pay.
He lifted the gun and aimed it with direct precision at the gloating man. His white face shone perfectly lined in his sight. All he had to do was pull the trigger.
A human scent caught his attention and Glen turned his head to the side. Someone was trying to sneak up on him. He could hear the quiet footfalls and smell the man as he neared.
It was just the distraction the hunter needed. His gun came out of the holster, it fired. The bullet cut through the air and hit Glen in the right arm. He let out a cry of pain and dropped the gun, a fatal error on his part. The pain seared through his body. His fang-like teeth clenched tightly together. Blood dripped between his fingers and poured down his naked arm.
A gun cocked behind him. Glen ducked at the moment it fired. The bullet passed him. He prayed it would hit the hunter down the hall, but no such luck. The hunter was no longer standing there. He had disappeared.
Glen had no time to ponder the strangeness of it. The man behind him cocked his gun again. This time he was prepared. He lunged at the man and hit him full in the stomach with the force of his good shoulder. The man doubled over, but not before bringing the gun across Glen’s face. He felt his nose snap, and his sense of smell was overwhelmed with that of blood. It spurted down his face and chest.
Caught off balance, Glen felt the man’s arm lift the gun to shoot him. He moved fast, ignoring the blood. An uppercut to the face disoriented the hunter and Glen pushed at him until the man stumbled and fell back. He heard voices from the back of the hall, but the broken nose and blood subdued his normally acute sense of smell. He cupped his hand to his nose, staring. They were coming from the back of the house.
From the back of the house…
Glen stared at the moving shadows in horror. He had just sent Aidan, Jason and Rose to the back of the house. There were more than four here. They were surrounding them.
He didn’t have a chance to even curse. The shadows and voices were moving closer. He would have to make a run for it.
Glen called upon the wolf for speed and endurance. He allowed him to take over his human senses. He began to run down the hall. He moved swiftly, almost silently but it didn’t matter. They had already spotted him.
Gunshots sounded once more as one of attackers ran forward, and after him. The front doors were just ahead and open to him. Glen had reached the lawn, long before the bullets tore through the wooden door. More bullets rang, but they missed him again.
Then it began. His body began to contort to a new shape. In the darkness, it was a shaded event as black fur began to spread across his body. His jeans tore as his new and more powerful legs struggled to get free.
Within a few moments, he was a black wolf. He bounded across the lawn and away from the PRDI. He met the shadows and vanished in them.
* * *
Bullets hit the side of the van and Claire instinctively crouched down into the seat and out of the line of fire. There was a sharp hiss, and the sound of escaping air alerted her.
The tires are shot out, she thought at first, and she sat up. The gunfire had died down. But no, the tires on the van were fine. It was the front tire of the motorcycle in front of her that had suffered the damage. The front end of the bike leaned forward more as the air deflated.
Claire wet her lips and watched the man run across the lawn. She blinked. She feared he would run for the van, throw her out and take it, but he did nothing of the sort.
Instead, he did something she could not believe.
Right before her eyes, he began to change. At first, she wasn’t sure what was going on, but she watched, wide-eyed and unable to turn away as his body seemed to grow. The shape of his legs became wrong. His spine curved. A tail jutted from his naked backside. His clothes had become shredded and left scattered upon the green lawn. Hair sprouted over his white skin, darkening his features. Hands and feet became powerful paws with sharpened claws.
His face contorted grotesquely. The skull changed. The ears became longer, now placed more at the top of his head, and his jaw was no longer human. It had become far too long.
Claire watched, horrified. “Oh God…” She could hardly breathe. A hand went to her mouth, covering her quivering bottom lip. She felt sick suddenly, very sick.
He’s becoming a werewolf. A real fucking werewolf.
“Oh God,” Claire repeated. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” It was all she could manage to say, as if she was praying to Him for deliverance from what she had just witnessed.
The man-wolf disappeared behind a house across the street, and there was nothing more of him. He was gone. Claire felt like she was suffocating.
Quickly, she opened the door to the van, leaned out and vomited on the sidewalk.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“So, Davis… We meet again.”
Davis stood several steps down from Jason and he eyed the bloody katana apprehensively. He held his weapon at his side, in a tight fisted grip.
He flexed his grip on the handle of the sword. Blood had dried on his fingers and hand and caked around his wrists. Small flecks peeled off as he moved his fingers around the black hilt. A small pool of blood had formed where the katana pointed downward, but it was no longer dripping.
“I wanted you to leave us alone. Apparently, you didn’t listen to my…advice.” Jason spoke in a tone that was angry and accusing. His empty hand hung at his side, balled into a tight fist. “Marcus didn’t leave her alone.”
Davis was at a loss for what to say or do. Any moment now the blade in Jason’s hand could take a deadly swing and seal his fate. He tried not to focus on the sharpened edge of the blade and searched Jason's face, as if looking for some sort of compassion. He found nothing but a pair of enraged golden eyes.
He tried not to let his gaze waiver, but now and again, Davis found himself looking side to side and over his shoulder. It was as if he expected someone to sneak up on him. He swallowed nervously.
Before Davis had a chance to speak, a gunshot rang out. Though silenced, its sound echoed in the foyer. Davis flinched, but Jason did not. His gaze flickered from Davis, to the front door, then back again. More shots were fired. From where Davis stood, he had a perfect view of the hall just under the stair’s landing. From the corner of his eye, he could just see Simon slipping from one hall, and turning into another.
What is he up to? Davis didn’t allow his gaze to stray too far. Jason had taken a step toward him. He hadn’t seen Simon slip away. For all Davis knew, he was completely unaware of him.
“I didn’t come here to pick a fight,” Davis finally said.
Jason scoffed loudly. “No, really? You came here to slaughter everyone in their sleep.” He sniffed the air and lifted an eyebrow. “You smell like piss,” Jason deftly added.
Heat rose within Davis and he felt his face begin to glow red with indignation. He said nothing.
“Where are the others?” Jason demanded. He seemed cool and collected, but there was an untamed rage flaming in his gaze. He spoke tersely, “Well?”
“I don’t know. They
’ve split up.” There was a quiver in his voice. Jason narrowed his eyes at him.
“What do you mean, they’ve split up?”
“They’ve split up,” Davis repeated. Sweat dripped down his temple and his neck. It saturated his shirt. “They’re everywhere.”
Davis suddenly knew why Jason hadn’t killed him yet and it was evident in the way Jason scrutinized him with his narrowed eyes. He wanted him alive, to give him answers.
He looked at this as an advantage and decided to play it for all he could. He would have to be careful. Davis thought a moment as he stared up at Jason’s dark face. He opened his mouth to say something. The next events interrupted his train of thought. In fact, it had derailed completely.
Gunfire had erupted yet again. Still silenced, the guns were muffled enough not to cause a deafening blast, but nevertheless, it still echoed in the hall. The familiar form of Glen raced through the hall below them, and both men on the steps turned to watch him flee. Bullets sang in the air behind him.
Jason grew more angered and his hand moved to the waistband of his pants. His fingers locked around the silenced handgun.
Davis stared as one of Sean’s men raced forward, shooting madly at the open door. He hit the woodwork, but missed the man he had been aiming for. He was already gone.
There was an exclamation of Shit! which reverberated off the walls. Then the man turned and saw the two on the steps. He raised his gun.
Jason was the quicker. He drew his pistol, aimed and fired a deadly clean shot. It hit the man’s head and exited through the back of his shattered skull. So they’re using hollow-points. The man slumped against the wall, blood and grey matter splattered against the bullet riddled door.
Davis started, the look of fear escalating over his face and the scent of fear heavy in the air. He began to scramble down the steps, but stumbled. Jason took advantage of the situation and went to fire. The magazine was empty. He uttered a small curse under his breath and ejected the clip. He snapped the new one into place just as Davis scrambled to leave. The gun discharged and buried a bullet in his upper thigh.
Davis let out a scream of pain and immediately crumpled on the step. Blood oozed through the fabric of his blue jeans and mingled with the faint discoloration around his crotch from the urine stain. He clutched at the wound. His gun pressed against his thigh.
“You fucker!” Davis cried out. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and his teeth clenched against the pain. His face burned red in places, pale in others. Jason was sorry the bullets in this clip weren’t hollow points, but he lifted the gun anyway to deal another blow.
“Hey!” someone from the foyer called and before Jason had a moment to turn and look, a bullet hit his left arm. The katana clattered to the floor as the bullet tore through the flesh just above the elbow.
Jason’s cry of pain was a scream and became muffled by a clenched teeth grimace. Fresh blood covered his body, sticky and wet. His gaze flew to the one who had fired the shot, totally forgetting the whimpering Davis on the steps below him.
Davis craned his head, finally able to see beyond the hurt and his tear-blurred eyes. Blond-haired Michael stood near the foot of the steps. His expression was undeniably furious.
“No!” Davis tried to scream at Michael, to warn him, but all he got out was a choked whisper.
Simultaneously, the men lifted their guns. Michael’s aim was off and missed Jason by less than a foot. The bullet hit the wall behind him and splintered the wood and spilled drywall from within.
Davis moved back, away from the gunfight, holding his injured leg. His Beretta fell useless and clattered down a few steps. He couldn’t stand. Instead, he forced himself to crawl up the steps. The landing was just a hand’s reach away.
Jason was preoccupied. The man advanced as Jason’s own bullet missed him and joined the other bullet holes in the blood splotched door behind Michael. Jason snarled loudly and ignored the searing pain burning throughout his arm. He grabbed the banister with his empty hand and ignored the pressure on his injured arm as he hoisted himself.
Davis watched with a combination of disbelief and awe as Jason leapt over the railing and landed, unharmed, in the front foyer. The look on Michael’s face could only be described as sheer shock.
Jason approached Michael swiftly. The man overcame his shock and fired once more, but even at close range, the bullet missed. Jason couldn’t believe the guy’s incredibly bad luck and aim. Jason hurled himself at the man and threw him off balance. The handgun fell out of his hand and hit the floor. It slid across the hardwood and far out of reach.
Davis managed to move himself out of sight on the landing, behind a wall where a dark corridor begun. He listened to the commotion and turned his head just enough to catch a side view of what was going on. He vaguely, for a moment, wondered if Simon was standing somewhere in the shadows, like some sort of demon, watching the fight take place. It seemed the kind of thing that would excite him. Davis head swam with the pain.
Jason pulled him by the collar of his shirt and hoisted Michael to his feet with one bloody hand. Their faces were inches from one another, and Michael’s scared blue eyes were caught by the yellow of Jason’s gaze. He was trapped.
“You shot me.” He spoke slowly and accusingly, his voice dark and deep. His grip crushed against Michael’s throat. The man tried to stammer something, but Jason didn’t wait for an answer. He needed no answer and with one swing of his arm, he threw Michael back. The young man’s head hit the wall near the door and bounced back. A look of pain spread across his face.
The pain in Jason’s arm increased as he leaned forward and pulled Michael back to him. His right hand still held the silenced pistol. He brought it up and fired three rounds into the hunter’s chest.
The young hunter’s eyes went wide and fluttered a moment as if they were going to shut. He staggered back and stared down at the gaping wound in his chest. His hands went up to touch the wetness on his shirt. He let out something like a laugh.
Jason, meanwhile, watched him. He felt no compassion, no forgiveness for the man in front of him. The hunter staggered back a few more steps.
Michael laughed again, a horrible and hysterical laugh. He sank back against the wall. A stain of blood spanned downward as he sank to the floor. One of the bullets had gone clean through.
“You…shot…me,” he said, with a chuckle, a bit surprised. Blood spurted from his mouth, and Jason took a step back. He watched him with disgust. Michael was dead a second later. His eyes stared at nothing.
“It was no more than you deserved.” He said to the dead man and turned his gaze elsewhere. He heard voices from the kitchen and he narrowed his eyes toward the hall. He would have to make himself scarce.
He stared back up the steps. Davis was no longer there and Jason grumbled silently to himself. No matter. He’d track him down sooner or later and give him his dues. A crackle ran through the radio on the man’s waist. Jason eyed it angrily.
“Eric? Sean? Where in the fuck are you? Eric?” The voice blared, lividly. Jason looked at the man’s belt with distaste and one more shot from the gun silenced it.
A sadistic sneer spread across his face as Jason turned down the nearest hall and turned into a darkened room. The body of a slain hunter lay face down outside the door, and bare footprints in his blood were scattered everywhere.
* * *
“Wait.” Rose’s arm shot out and prevented Aidan from moving forward. She concentrated hard as she listened. She thought she had heard a noise, but wasn't sure. She was glad when Aidan obeyed and stood where he was.
“What is it?” the boy said. His voice was still loud and Rose flashed him a warning look. She held a finger to her lips in a motion for silence.
“I hear something” she whispered. “Stay here.” She crept forward a few steps down the corridor. Her bare feet were silent.
Rose held her breath and kept her eyes open as she peered around the corner. She had heard footsteps and had heard voices,
but she saw nothing. She waited, and when it seemed that she had been wrong and moved to motion Aidan forward, a silenced gunshot sounded and she jumped back. She ducked down, her back to the wall.
Who is it this time? Rose wondered. She stopped the tears from burning in her eyes and she listened. Someone stepped out of the room and Rose heard the door shut. The musky scent of man wafted toward her, combined with that of the sick and all too familiar scent of fresh blood. She sniffed again and this time could smell a feminine scent she immediately recognized as Mary.
Rose exhaled and closed her eyes. How many more were going to die before it was all over? She turned her head so she didn’t have to face toward them and glanced toward Aidan. The boy stared at her and mouthed, “What is it?”
Rose waved him silent then checked the handgun she still carried. It was already cocked and the safety was still off. She held it close to her chest as she waited. Male voices sounded very clear to her advanced hearing. She listened carefully.
A deep voice spoke first. “Any sign of her there?”
A man spoke in a quiet voice. “No. No, it wasn’t her.”
“Damn it,” the deep voice said and there was a pause. She heard a gun cock back. Rose inched away, down the wall. Her palm was sweaty and the grip of the gun was wet.
“We haven’t finished the entire upper floor yet. Davis was supposed to do it, but you know him,” Quiet Voice said.
Deep Voice laughed. “Yeah, I know him too well.”
“Guys!” A voice called suddenly from somewhere down the steps. It echoed up the stairwell and reverberated through the hall. Shadows moved as someone else joined the two. Rose shifted uncomfortably where she was and Aidan watched. Fear stunk around him.
“Keep your voice down,” Deep Voice said rather angrily at the new arrival. Footfalls sounded as New Arrival approached the other two. His voice soon joined theirs.
“Sorry. Simon sent me this way. He tried to contact you by radio, but you have them turned off,” he said in a softer voice.
Sweet Moon Dreams Page 22
