Bitten

by Kelley Armstrong

  A plan formed in my head as I watched Olson sleep. Even as I contemplated it, I rebelled at the thought. I hesitated, then forced myself forward out of the trees before I could change my mind. I crept to the side of the car, then pulled my fist back and smashed the driver's side window. Even as Olson was bolting awake, I was reaching through the window. I jerked the seat belt. It slid through my fingers as it tightened around him. He snapped his head back, away from my hand, but I was already reaching past him. Leaning into the car, I grabbed the seat belt buckle, twisting the metal and breaking the plastic, jamming the buckle closed. Then I pulled my head out of the car.

  Olson whipped his head around, following my hand as it moved past him. He looked up at me. For a moment, he just stared, fixing me with the wide eyes of a coward bracing for the first blow. Even as I stepped away, he flinched. When he realized I was backing off, his brow furrowed, then his eyes lit up with a flash of malevolent cunning and he started to smile. Keeping his eyes on me, he lowered his right hand to the seat belt lock. He pushed the release button, but nothing happened. Realizing what I'd done, he grabbed the seat belt strap and yanked, but it was locked tight against his chest.

  I knew what I had to do, but again I hesitated. Could I do it? Thoughts of Jose Carter flashed in my brain. This was different, I told myself. This wasn't some human con man, but a killer. Still, what I was about to do was beyond what I'd done to Carter. Way beyond. This was Clay's territory. Could I do it? Detach myself from my feelings and do it? Olson's a killer, I told myself. More than a killer. A sick pervert who'd preyed on little girls, little girls like the one I'd been so many lifetimes ago. I closed my eyes and concentrated, feeling the serpent of anger whiplashing through my body.

  Olson struggled against the seat belt, but it held, the fabric made to withstand more punishment than even a werewolf could deal out. I ignored him and focused all my energy into my left hand. It started to throb, then twist, the pain shooting up my arm. I opened my eyes and watched. When my hand was half changed, I stopped. With my right hand, I reached into the car and grabbed Olson's right wrist. I slashed it with the claws on my left. He screamed, a high-pitched rabbity squeal. A red line opened on the underside of his wrist. Blood gushed. I grabbed his left hand and did the same. He screamed again and squirmed wildly. Blood sprayed the steering wheel and dashboard.

  "Moving will only make it worse," I said, keeping my voice calm and willing my hand back to normal. "If you want the bleeding to slow down, hold your hands up."

  "Wh--wh--?"

  "Why? Why am I doing this? Or why am I telling you how to slow it down? I shouldn't need to answer the first. Obviously you know who I am. That's answer enough. As for the second, I'm not trying to kill you. I just want information. If you give it to me, I'll undo the seat belt. You can bind your wrists and probably have time to get to the hospital. If you don't tell me what I want to know, you'll be killing yourself."

  "Wh--" Olson gulped. "What do you wa--want to know?"

  "Again, I shouldn't have to answer that. But since you might be going into shock and not thinking too clearly, I'll humor you. Where's Clayton?"

  I won't report the rest of the conversation. Olson was in no shape to bargain or argue and he knew it. As I expected, he didn't give a damn about the others. Only his own life mattered. He told me everything I needed to know and more, babbling madly as if every word he spoke would improve his chance of survival.

  When he was done, I left him sitting in his car. I thought about undoing the seat belt and giving him a fighting chance to escape. After all, I'd promised him that. I'd never reneged on a deal before. Then I thought of all the girls he'd victimized and imagined all the times he'd made promises to them, promising not to hurt them, promising never to do it again. He hadn't kept his promises. Why should I?

  I walked away and left Victor Olson to bleed to death in the forest.

  CHAPTER 33

  CONFRONTATION

  I stopped at a gas station and called Stonehaven. The first two times, the machine picked up. On the third round, Nick answered. He was half asleep and I had to repeat myself twice before he clued in that I wasn't somewhere in the house. No one had noticed my disappearing act yet. I gave him instructions and had him write them down then read them back to me. By then, he had finally realized what I was saying and what I planned to do. I hung up when he started yelling.

  Ten minutes later, I was knocking on the front door of the mutts' hideaway. It was a rundown cottage set so far back in the woods that no light penetrated the canopy of trees. As I stood on the front step, I listened for the rustle of the wind or the chirping of crickets, but heard nothing. The silence and the dark were complete.

  Several minutes passed without a response. I knocked again. More minutes ticked by, but I didn't doubt Olson's directions. This was the right place. I could feel Clay here.

  I pounded on the door. Finally the barest shimmer of light shone from between heavy front drapes. Footsteps sounded on a wooden plank floor. I looked down at the door handle and saw it was broken. Above it was a hole and fresh splinters where a dead bolt had been. Did I really expect the mutts to buy or rent a cottage when they could break into one? How stupid I'd been. How much time I'd wasted.

  The door opened. I glanced up. It took a second to recognize the man standing there was Karl Marsten, partly because of the dim lighting and partly because of his attire. He wore only pajama bottoms, his bare chest showing muscles and battle scars normally hidden by expensive shirts. He squinted and blinked at me, then swore under his breath and quickstepped out the door, closing it behind him.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he said in a whispery growl.

  I looked around him at the closed door. "Afraid I'll wake up your wife?"

  "My--?" He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then turned back to me, his scowl smoothed over, studied nonchalance firmly back in place. "I'm sure this is a wonderful plan, Elena, but I really must advise against it. If you go in there, you'll leave in chains or a body bag. Neither would suit you."

  "So you came out here to warn me? Wow, chivalry isn't dead after all."

  "You know me better than that. I see an opportunity, I take advantage of it."

  "So you'll let me leave in return for ... ?"

  "What I came for." His eyes glittered, something hard piercing the sangfroid. "Territory. Promise me that and I'll let you go. I'll leave, too. One less 'mutt' for the Pack to worry about."

  "To hell with the others?"

  "Daniel would do the same to me. I didn't hear my name being bandied about in that deal he offered you at the coffee shop."

  I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. I'm not leaving."

  I reached around him for the door handle. Marsten grabbed my wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

  "Don't be stupid, Elena. You're not getting him out that way."

  "What way?" Daniel's voice was smooth and cool as he swung open the door. He met Marsten's eyes. "What way, Karl?"

  "Sleeping soundly enough, Danny-boy? Christ, the whole Pack could be howling on your doorstep before you woke up." Marsten threw Daniel a contemptuous look and pushed me into the cabin. "It's an ambush, you moron. Elena wouldn't show up alone. Get your flunky out there searching the woods. Make himself useful for once."

  I don't know if Daniel argued. I was too busy picking myself up off the floor after a shove from Marsten that sent me flying across the room. Before I could recover, Marsten had a knee on my back and had pinned me to the floor. I expected to be tied up. I wasn't. Maybe Marsten didn't think I posed enough of a threat. Moments later, footsteps sounded behind me. I smelled LeBlanc join Daniel and Marsten.

  "Olson's gone," Daniel said.

  "Gone for good, I would assume," Marsten said. "How else did you think she found us? It's a great loss for the cause, though. One never knows when a kiddie raper would come in handy."

  "He had other--" Daniel began, then snapped his mouth shut. "Thomas, outside. Look for the others."r />
  The front door slammed behind LeBlanc.

  "That's one loyal pup you've got there," I said, lifting my mouth from the floor. "You know he tried to kill me at the airport. Before I left for Toronto."

  A moment of silence. Then Daniel laughed. "Nice try, Elena. Sowing dissension?"

  "Doesn't seem like I need to."

  "Now, now, Elena," Marsten said, knee pressing me further into the floor. "As much as we all admire that tongue of yours, this is not the time to use it."

  "Don't forget who's downstairs," Daniel said. "You're in no position to defend him now."

  I shut my mouth and calculated how long it would take Jeremy, Antonio, and Nick to arrive. At least fifteen minutes to wake up, dress, and get into the car, another thirty to drive here. When LeBlanc came in after ten minutes, I knew he hadn't found anyone. The others wouldn't have arrived yet.

  "No one out there," he said, knocking dirt off his boots.

  "Take the car," Daniel said. "Drive around and make sure. Look for a vehicle by the side of the road. They would have driven."

  For a moment, LeBlanc didn't move. I thought he was going to tell Daniel where to stuff it. Instead, he grabbed a ring of keys and tramped out the door. This time he was gone at least twenty minutes, during which neither Daniel nor Marsten said a word. When LeBlanc finally returned, I managed to turn my head to the side and saw him grinning.

  "What?" Daniel said.

  "Oh, you're gonna love this. The cavalry has been detained." He turned his shark's grin on me. "They're on Pinecrest, just off the highway, enjoying the hospitality of the local P.D. Cops nailed them. Don't know what for, but they're taking the car apart bolt by bolt. What do you think of that?"

  "I think it's bullshit," I said.

  His grin broadened. "Green Ford Explorer? Three guys? All dark-haired. Two over six foot, thin? Oldest shorter than me, quarterback shoulders? When I drove by, the young guy was trying to slip into the woods. Cops grabbed him and had him spread-eagled when I circled back."

  "Bullshit," I said.

  LeBlanc laughed. "Not quite the same air of certainty that time."

  "Enough," Marsten said, yanking me to my feet. "They won't be detained forever." He jerked my wrists behind my back and clamped one hand around them. "Tommy, bring our other guest upstairs. Time to move."

  LeBlanc turned to stare at him. "Move? This is what you guys wanted, isn't it? To take down this 'pack'? We've got two here. The last three on the way. Three against three and we've already been forewarned. We have the upper hand."

  "Bring Clayton upstairs," Daniel said.

  "What the fuck?" LeBlanc looked from Marsten to Daniel. "This is it. Showdown at the OK Corral. Killing time. Don't tell me you guys don't have the balls--"

  "We have more brains than balls," Marsten said. "That's why we're still alive. Now get Clayton. We have him and we have Elena. That guarantees you'll get your fight soon, with odds of our making, not theirs."

  LeBlanc shot a glare of pure contempt at Marsten, marched into a side hall, and vanished.

  I gritted my teeth and focused on my plan. Were the others really detained by the cops? I didn't believe it. I couldn't. But I'd seen the police presence out here. If they'd come roaring down the highway, driving the very vehicle that the police had expressed such interest in the other day ... ? Why hadn't I warned Nick?

  Okay. Relax. Time to switch to plan B. If only I had a plan B.

  As I was frantically working on an alternate plot, Marsten swung me around. Daniel sat on the arm of an overstuffed recliner that stank of mildew. Two figures emerged from another room. One stumbled forward and tripped. A flash of gold curls glinted in the dim light.

  "Clay!"

  Without thinking, I dove toward him. Still holding my wrists, Marsten swung me backward, jolting my arms so hard I gasped. Clay was on his knees, hands bound behind him. He struggled to lift his head. He met my eyes. For a second, he stared, his eyes struggling to focus. Then recognition broke through the drugged haze.

  "No," he whispered, his voice paper-thin. "No."

  He made a move, so slight I barely saw it. Behind him, LeBlanc's foot came up and kicked him square in the back, sending him sprawling face first to the floor.

  "No!" I shouted.

  I lunged at LeBlanc. Again, Marsten yanked me back, nearly dislocating my shoulders. I didn't care. I kept pulling. LeBlanc grabbed Clay by the handcuffs and dragged him to his feet.

  "Leave him there," Marsten said. As LeBlanc sauntered by, Marsten whipped out his free hand and snagged something from LeBlanc's waistband. His gun. "Aren't you ever going to outgrow your security blanket?"

  LeBlanc grabbed for the pistol. Marsten held it out of reach.

  "A werewolf with a handgun?" Marsten said. "This is a sorry day. Brilliant idea, Daniel. Turn a bunch of human killers into werewolves. Now why didn't I think of that? Maybe because ... it's stupid. You're never going to wean him off his weapons, Danny-boy."

  To my left, I could hear Clay breathing. I forced myself not to look at him. While Marsten and Daniel discussed their next move, I cast a surreptitious glance at my watch. Five-fifty. If the cops had stopped Jeremy, how long would they hold him? How much longer did I have to wait? Was that all I could come up with for a backup plan? Wait it out until help arrived? Not good enough. For all I knew, they could be taken to the precinct and kept there for hours. Jeremy would be frantic, but the only alternative would be to kill the police and he wouldn't do that unless absolutely necessary. He'd know Daniel would hold Clay and me as hostages, not kill us--at least not right away. Since the danger wasn't immediate, Jeremy would wait out the police procedures. Yet by the time he arrived, we might be gone. No, strike that. We would be gone. Daniel was already gathering his wallet and car keys.

  I looked at Clay. He was still lying facedown on the floor. His back was a quilt-work of purple, yellow, and black bruises with red welts and cuts sewing the pieces together. His left leg buckled awkwardly to the side, as if it was broken and he'd been forced to walk on it. His back rose and fell with shallow breaths. I looked at him and I knew what I had to do.

  "We had a deal," I said, turning to Daniel. "I'm here. Let him go."

  No one answered. Marsten and Daniel stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. An hour ago, this was exactly the reaction I'd anticipated. I'd planned to show up at the front door and turn myself over to Daniel. They'd be shocked, of course. Somewhere between the surprise and the eventual self-congratulations, the Pack would arrive. My version of the old Trojan horse trick. Only the warriors weren't coming. The gift was in the enemy camp and there was no taking it back now.

  "Don't. You. Dare." Clay's whisper floated up from the floor.

  He raised his head enough to glare at me. I looked away. Everyone else ignored him. For the first time in Clay's life, he was with a group of mutts and no one was paying the least attention to him. They'd stolen not only his strength, but his dignity. It was my fault. I was supposed to stay with him in Toronto, but I hadn't. What had distracted me so much that I'd gone to work and left Clay behind? A marriage proposal from another man. My stomach clenched at the memory.

  I turned back to Daniel. "You wanted me, you have me. You wanted Clay on his knees. You have that. Now live up to your end of the bargain. Let him go and I'll go with you willingly. Right now." I twisted to look over my shoulder at Marsten. "Make sure he leaves Clay here and you'll get your territory. When Jeremy shows up, Clay will tell him that I made the deal. He'll honor it."

  More silence. Marsten and Daniel were thinking. I was offering exactly what they wanted--territory for Marsten and my willing self for Daniel, sealing his revenge against Clay and the Pack. Was it enough? They didn't want a showdown. Time was already ticking past, each second increasing the likelihood that Jeremy, Antonio, and Nick would arrive. I'd fight before I let them take me out of here. They knew that. They'd have to subdue and restrain me, then haul both Clay and me into the car.

  "No deal."

 
I jerked my head up. The answer had come from Daniel's direction, but it hadn't sounded like him. From behind Daniel, LeBlanc stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

  "No deal," he repeated. His voice was soft, but it sliced through the silence.

  Marsten gave a low chuckle. "Ah, the peasants revolt. I suppose--"

  Before he could finish, LeBlanc's hand darted from his pocket. Silver winked in the lamplight. His hand shot in front of Daniel's throat and sliced sideways. For a millisecond, it appeared as if nothing had happened. Daniel stood there, looking slightly confused. Then his throat split open in a slash of crimson. Blood spurted. Daniel's hands flew to his neck. His eyes bugged disbelieving. The blood gushed over his fingers and streamed down his arms. His mouth opened. He blew a bubble of pink, like some macabre bubble gum, then slid to the floor.

  I stared at Daniel, blinking, as unable to believe his death as he. Daniel was dying. The mutt who'd plagued the Pack for over a decade, who'd outwitted plots by both Clay and me to make him screw up enough to deserve execution. Dead. Not killed in some long, dangerous fight. Not killed by Clay. Not even killed by me. Killed by a new mutt with a knife. Killed in an instant. In a trick so cowardly and so completely human that all Marsten and I could do was gape.

  As Daniel lay gasping and dying on the floor, LeBlanc stepped over him as if he were a fallen log. He held up the switchblade. It was almost clean, discolored only by specks of crimson.

  "No deal," he said, advancing on Marsten.

  Marsten snatched the gun from the table and pointed it at LeBlanc.

  "Yes, I know. I said real werewolves don't use weapons. But you'll find I'm quite adaptable, particularly when it comes to saving my own hide." Marsten smiled, lips curving, eyes ice-cold. "Is this your 'showdown at the OK Corral'? Knife versus gun? Any bets on the outcome?"