The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true!”

  “No, I believe the story. I don’t believe that you hadn’t worked for it.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Think of it from Valentine’s perspective. You’d worked really, really hard for that.”

  “Sure, I guess. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. But ever since then? We’ve been best friends. And no,” John held up a hand, “I didn’t get him to do my homework for me. It’s just — we looked out for each other. I couldn’t be there for every fight, and he couldn’t be there for every test. But we’ve got each other’s backs.”

  Danny swung her feet from the edge of the bed. “I never would have … thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “For the story. Now I can see why Valentine likes you too.”

  “I could have made the whole thing up.”

  “You just said you didn’t!”

  “You don’t know that. Say. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.” Danny tossed her hair back, stretching, then tugged the blanket close again.

  “Val really went on a date with you?”

  Danny looked back at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He gestured with an arm at her. “Seriously. Look at you. And look at Val.”

  She gave him a flat stare. “It’s not going to work.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t even want to know the pickup line you’re trying. Probably, ‘be unique and different, say yes.’”

  John laughed. “I’ve already told you. It’s not like that.”

  “So now I’m not good enough for you?”

  The smile didn’t leave John’s face. “Damn girl. Val’s got his work cut out for him. No, I mean, you’re — well. You’re you. And Val. He’s.” John cleared his throat. “He’s heavy.”

  “He didn’t look so heavy.”

  “It’s okay! I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—”

  “What?”

  John sighed, the smile falling away. “I wish I knew where he was. He keeps popping to mind, like a song you hear on the radio and can’t get out of your head.”

  Danny nodded. “Me too, John. Me too.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Let me text him again.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Christ, Carlisle. Stay with me.” The big van roared down the street. “Carlisle. Melissa!”

  Val risked another look over to the passenger seat. Blood soaked through Carlisle’s jacket. Her hands had fallen away from the gunshot wound. “Carlisle.”

  She opened her eyes then. Her voice was faint, hard to hear over the engine. “I’m still here, Everard. You got to promise me something.”

  Val gripped the wheel harder. “Sure. What?”

  “Try not to kill us on the way to the hospital. I,” and she coughed, “don’t need that on my tomb stone.”

  They approached the entrance to the hospital. Val stamped down on the brakes, the van squealing sharp and clear. He sawed at the wheel, swinging the vehicle around in an arc, tire smoke blowing black around them. He nailed the gas again, horns blaring around him as he cut through traffic into the entrance to the hospital. He scanned ahead, spotted the big sign touting Emergency Room. He lined the van up, keeping the accelerator pressed to the floor, his knuckles white against the wheel. Alarmed pedestrians turned to stare as the van roared towards the hospital entrance. He slammed on the brakes again — spongy with heat, the tires chattering against the asphalt as the van slewed to a halt. Tire and brake smoke drifted out from under the van. Val killed the engine.

  “C’mon.” He unbuckled Carlisle’s belt. “I’ll get you out.” He jumped out, ducking around the front of the van to Carlisle’s side. He yanked the door open, catching her as she rolled from the seat. “Hey!” He looked around for some help, and spied an orderly pushing a man in a wheelchair. “You! I need some help here!”

  The orderly took in the blood staining Carlisle’s jacket and ran to them. “Put her down.”

  Val eyed the man. “Now’s not the time. We need to get her inside.”

  The orderly held his hands out. “Sir. If the bullet’s still in here, moving her’s going to—”

  Val shouldered past the orderly and into the entrance to the hospital. The entryway had tired furniture around the walls, filled with the tired faces of the desperate, waiting for the bad news that would set them free. He saw a reception desk, walked up to it carrying Carlisle. She’d passed out, her head hanging loosely back against his arm. “I need a doctor.”

  The nurse at the counter didn’t respond to Val, grabbing a phone from the desk in front of her. “Emergency at the desk. I need a doctor here stat. GSW, female, looks mid 30’s. Yes.”

  “She’s a cop.”

  The nurse nodded at Val, still speaking into the phone. “Possible police shooting. Of course.” She placed the receiver back in the cradle, and nodded to the orderly who’d followed Val inside. He’d found a gurney from somewhere. Val laid Carlisle on the gurney, then grabbed the foot of the stretcher. “Where to?”

  “Sir—” The orderly clipped the straps together over Carlisle to hold her in place.

  “Stow it. You go in front, clear the way. Where?”

  “The ER. Through that door.” The orderly jogged ahead, Val pushing the stretcher after him.

  • • •

  Val sat in a chair outside the OR. They hadn’t let him in, and Val hadn’t wanted to let Carlisle go until a doctor had placed a calm hand on his arm and promised he would take the best care of her.

  Pack.

  He rubbed his face with his hand. His shirt was stained with blood — Carlisle’s blood. He’d been waiting out here for a while. In the TV shows, it always seemed so quick. They didn’t tell you that a person could be in surgery for hours. Hospital security had come to talk to him earlier, a fat man in a too-tight uniform. Val couldn’t remember what he’d said to the man, but it’d been enough; he was left to wait outside the surgery.

  He hated hospitals. Ever since Rebekah’s accident—

  No.

  He wished he could take back time. A thousand times, he’d wanted to trade places with her. There’d been a lot of blood then too—

  No.

  Hospital security had talked to him then as well, and then the police. So many interviews. Endless questions. He hadn’t had good answers then, and didn’t have good answers now. If they hadn’t been so far from a hospital. If she hadn’t been early. If the car hadn’t broken down. If he hadn’t had those drinks—

  No. This memory does not live in the sun.

  What the hell?

  He stood up, pacing the corridor. His thoughts didn’t feel like his own. His body was changing — there was no denying it anymore. He didn’t know what was going on, but it wasn’t good.

  Was it?

  He flexed his arm, looked at the muscles in there. Days ago, his arm had been — well, there was no use hiding from the truth of it. His arm had been fat. He turned his hand over; it looked like a stranger’s hand, muscled and strong. The nails were clear. He felt his belly — or where his belly used to be. Still a bit fat, but his torso was mostly up and down now, rather than bulging at the bottom.

  He didn’t feel tired all the time anymore.

  Maybe it was good. If only he could talk to someone about it. He hadn’t heard back from Doc Philips yet, but he wanted to know what the results of his tests were. Or if he could talk to John. John did this fitness stuff for a living. He’d know what was going on, whether it was normal.

  If only he’d answer his phone.

  Val wasn’t sure how his day had ended up like this. If he was being honest, he wasn’t having the best of luck. He smiled to himself — aside from his date with Danny, that is. That had been great, right up until when it wasn’t. He didn’t know where she was, but that man at the station—

  Pack mate.

  —said she’d been taken to the hospit
al. He stopped his pacing, then looked up and down the corridor. Getting his bearings, he headed back towards the emergency front desk. Carlisle wouldn’t be going anywhere, and if Danny was here — well.

  He grinned. It’d be great to see her again.

  • • •

  “Danny Kendrick.” Val looked at the nurse behind the desk, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

  “I heard you the first time. There’s no need to bring that attitude in here, young man.” Her ID said Mavis.

  “Sorry.” Val gestured at his shirt. “It’s been a bit of a day.”

  Mavis eyed his blood-soaked shirt. “What relationship do you have with Miss..?”

  “Kendrick. I’m her…” Val mentally fumbled for the right word. “Friend.” Lame, Val. He winced as soon as the word left his mouth.

  “I see. Well, Mr..?”

  “Everard. Valentine Everard.” Val stuck out his hand. The nurse looked at it, then reached up and moved a hand sanitizer dispenser closer to Val. He held his hand out a few long seconds, then coughed, pumping the hand sanitizer a few times.

  “Mr. Everard, we can’t disclose patient details unless you’re family.”

  “Sure.” Val tried for a smile. “What if I was her brother?”

  “Her brother friend?” Mavis didn’t smile.

  “You have any brothers?”

  The nurse looked at him over her glasses. “Only child, Mr. Everard.”

  “Right. Brothers can be friends.” He mentally smacked himself in the head.

  She nodded. “I see. Mr. Everard? If you’re her friend, or her brother, why don’t you just call her? All you young people seem to have phones these days.”

  Val smacked himself in the head for real this time. “Of course.” He reached in his pocket, pulling his phone out. Fragments of glass fell out onto the waiting room floor, the crack in the glass front showing bits of the phone’s now broken electronics. He put the phone on the desk between them. Mavis leaned forward, and they both stared at the remains of the phone for a moment.

  “You said you’ve had … how did you put it? A bit of a day?”

  Val looked up at her. “Yeah. It’s really not going quite as well as I’d hoped.”

  Mavis looked back down at his phone. She sighed. “Mr. Everard. Perhaps you should take a seat.”

  “Mavis? I don’t want this to come out wrong, but have you ever heard of love at first sight?”

  She sighed again, taking off her glasses and letting them hang by their chain around her neck. “This isn’t much of a place for romance, Mr. Everard.”

  Val looked around the waiting room. “Oh heck, Mavis. It wasn’t here.” He grabbed the pieces of his phone together. She reached under the desk, pulling out a trash can. He dropped the pieces of his phone into the can, dusting off his hands. “It was earlier this evening. There was this girl.”

  “I’ve heard that these stories start this way.”

  Val couldn’t be sure — was that a slight smile? “She actually asked me out. Can you believe that?”

  “Times aren’t as old fashioned as they once were. My husband … never mind. Go on.”

  “It sounds corny, but we met at a bar. I thought she wanted to meet my friend. But it was me, Mavis. I took her to a steak place.”

  She frowned at him. “Buffet?”

  He chuckled. “That’s what she thought too. No. This is a little place uptown. Anyway. We were there earlier tonight. After dinner, I was walking her home. And — I guess she saw something. We got in a fight.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Oh! Not with each other. We were…” Val gestured with his hands. “Mugged, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “I don’t think it was a typical mugging. Not that I’ve been mugged before. She came here. I was taken to the police station. To make a statement. We got separated — I came back here with one of the police. She was shot.”

  “You came in here with that officer?”

  “Yes ma’am. I mean, I guess so. I came in with Melissa Carlisle. Ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am. That’s what I used to call my school teacher. Terrifying woman.” Mavis nodded up at the single small TV in the waiting room. “I heard about that business. It’s all over the news, something horrible at the police station. You probably saved that brave woman’s life.”

  Val thought on that for a few moments. “It just needed doing. Mavis, you know those guys who never call? You don’t hear from them? The old trick where you don’t text for a couple days, to show you’re not too keen on a girl?”

  Mavis pursed her lips. “I certainly do.”

  “Mavis.” Val placed his hands on the desk between them. “I haven’t been able to call Danny. To say — to tell her. To let her know. That I’m keen on her. You know.” He looked down at his feet.

  Mavis flipped through a stack of boards on the desk in front of her. “Mr. Everard, you certainly wouldn’t have heard it from me, but there was a young woman brought in here earlier. Head injury, I think. She was taken down that way. Emergency ward. Now,” and she held up her hands to stop Val before he could interrupt, “She might not be there anymore. But if she is — you should hurry. Don’t keep a lady waiting, Mr. Everard.”

  Val grinned at her. “Thanks, Mavis.”

  Mavis looked at his back as he jogged away through the large double doors leading to the emergency ward. She put her glasses back on, pulling her paperwork back in front of her, then looked back up. She smiled to herself, and got back to work.

  • • •

  Val saw the janitor pushing the floor polisher. The man’s stained overalls were a signature of the trade the world over. He was a bigger guy, which was a bit unusual, but the greasy hair fit right. As Val walked down the corridor towards the janitor, he checked the rooms to the left and right for Danny. Beds filled with accidents, stories of just one too many things gone wrong. Burns, cuts, crashes, broken bones. Just not the injury he was looking for.

  For just a moment, he caught the eyes of the janitor. And stopped cold. A savage twist of pain came from his left arm.

  Fight.

  The janitor’s hands held the floor polisher immobile.

  Kill!

  Val’s lips twisted into a snarl, his eyes bright. The janitor’s lips pulled back from his teeth. The man grabbed the floor polished firmly in both hands, spun on the spot twice, and with an almost nonchalant ease hurled the heavy machine at Val. It whirred through the air, the cable playing out behind it, and caught him in the chest. Val was bowled to the ground.

  Faster than he could breathe, the janitor was on him. Val took in his wild eyes, the name tag. Jimmy? Really? A punch caught him in the side of the head, knocking his head against the tiled floor. He heard the hard crack of breaking ceramic. He threw a punch back, knocking the man clear off him. He got to his feet, snagging the floor polisher with one hand. The overhand twist brought it up over his head and into—

  The janitor rolled, the floor polisher hitting the ground. Ceramic tiles shattered, the head of the polisher breaking and spinning off. The janitor jumped at him, and they locked together. Val strained, his biceps bulging under his shirt— fuck, he’s strong! The janitor had Val’s left wrist held in his right hand — he bent his head forward, and bit down on Val’s wrist. Val yelled, his grip slacking every so slightly—

  They tumbled together, crashing through a wall leading into one of the wards’ rooms. A woman screamed. Regular beds, curtained for privacy. Machines. People. Plaster dust floated around them, sticking in red and gray to Val’s wrist. They broke apart, and Val scrambled through the dust, his fingers catching — yes! — something. He held the metal tray in both hands, and swung it edge-first into the janitor. The dust gave him a split second of advantage, the edge of the tray hitting the other man in the side of the head. He swung again and again, blood flecking the curtains around them.

  With a hollow gong, the janitor bashed the tray out of Val’
s hands, reaching for his throat. He roared, the sound primal.

  No man should make that sound—

  The first gunshots broke out. The staccato of weapons fire sounded like — what had Carlisle said? She’d called it a firefight. Val stared at the janitor, holding his eyes for a few heartbeats.

  “So.” The man spoke thickly accented English. “Oni prixodjat dlya vas.” He stepped back from Val, and they circled each other in the dust. “Or for me.” He ran a hand, the arm thick with muscle, through his greasy hair. “You and I. We will finish this another time, da?”

  And then he was gone — running out of the ward.

  Fight. Kill!

  Val’s heart was pounding in his chest. He looked around, took in the frightened faces of the people around him. Listened to the gunshots.

  “Fuck. Danny!” He ran back out into the corridor, checking the rooms quickly. More faces had appeared at the entrances to the wards, but he didn’t see her — there.

  Pack mate.

  Danny was crouched down behind a bed, a man standing unsteadily in front of her.

  “Val?”

  The voice made him do a double-take. “John? My God! John!” He stepped forward, grabbing John in a bear hug.

  “Easy! Easy, tiger.” John pushed him back. “I don’t have any underwear on, you know? Also, my ribs hurt.”

  Val held him at arm’s length, the grin coming easy. Then he let go, coming around the bed. Danny and Val looked at each other, then he reached down and grabbed her into a hug. “I’m so sorry.” He held the back of her head. “I should have stayed with you.”

  She hugged him back then her hands pushed — gently — against his chest. “It’s okay. Valentine. Seriously. What the hell’s going on out there?”

  The gunfire was louder now, and they could hear screaming too. They listened as the hammering of weapons came from the direction of the emergency waiting room.

  Val held his hands out, palms forward. “Okay. I’ll — shit. There’s not a lot of time. Short version.”

  John nodded, fumbling for some crutches. “Short version’s good. Where the hell are my pants?”