The Midnight Hunt

by L. L. Raand

  “Your guards are unhappy,” Drake said.

  “They’re too protective.”

  “Do they have reason to be?”

  Sylvan shot her a glance. “Why are you so curious?”

  “You interest me.”

  “Really?” Sylvan’s brows rose. “Why is that? Or do you just have an unnatural fascination for animals?”

  “Is that how you see yourself? An animal?” Drake stepped through the double doors out into the morning. She saw Sylvan take a breath as if testing the air, her eyes scanning the street in all directions. Wary.

  Guarded. Inborn, instinctive movements.

  “In my heart, I am a wolf. What would you call me?”

  “I’d call you a Were.” They came to the end of the ER turnaround and Drake touched Sylvan’s bare arm to direct her. Hard muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. Sylvan’s skin was hot and unexpectedly silken, almost as if covered in invisible fur. Drake slid her fingers up and down without thinking. Sylvan tensed, and from very close behind her, Drake heard a growl. Niki. Irrationally, Drake wanted to ignore the warning—she wanted to keep caressing that velvet steel. Good sense prevailed, and she reluctantly removed her hand. “The diner’s down this way.”

  Laughing quietly, Sylvan asked, “Why aren’t you intimidated?”

  “She’s letting me know that if I threaten you, she’ll hurt me, right?”

  “Yes.” Sylvan hid her surprise. She hadn’t expected the touch, and she definitely never expected to like it. Ordinarily she would not allow a stranger so deep into her personal space, and she would never have tolerated even casual contact. But Drake’s hand on her arm hadn’t felt foreign or threatening. Drake’s slowly stroking fingers had seemed to caress her deeper than skin. “Doesn’t her aggression bother you? It does most humans.”

  “Could she stop her reaction if you told her to?”

  “No. She’s my second, the highest-ranking wolf in my Pack. Her strongest drive is to protect me. She can’t do anything other than be who she is.”

  “Then it doesn’t bother me.” Drake slid her palm along Sylvan’s forearm. “Here’s the diner.”

  Sylvan glanced down at Drake’s hand on her arm. “You don’t want to tempt her.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” Drake wasn’t sure what she was doing.

  She had no desire to antagonize Niki, but she resented being warned away from Sylvan. “I trust you to let her know that I’m completely harmless.”

  Sylvan held the door for Drake. “I never lie to my wolves.”

  Grinning, Drake followed Sylvan inside. The long railroad car-style diner was half full of people in hospital attire. Sylvan asked for a corner booth, and after she and Drake slid in, Niki and Andrew took the one across the aisle. Sylvan’s guards sat on opposite sides of the table, at the outer edge of the bench seats where they could quickly step into the aisle and block access to her.

  “Does it ever bother you?” Drake asked. “The constant company, the…surveillance.”

  Sylvan shook her head. “From the time we’re young, we’re surrounded by Pack. The pups sleep in piles. They nurse from any lactating female. Any Were in the Pack will protect any young, regardless of who whelped them. We’re all connected. To be isolated would kill us.”

  “Do you mean that literally?”

  Sylvan grew very still, so still that Drake actually had trouble seeing her, as if somehow she were no longer sitting across from her.

  The Alpha had gone to ground.

  “How many Were medics do you have like Sophia working in the human health system?” Drake asked, trying a different tack.

  “Why do you ask?” Sylvan replied.

  “Because—” Drake paused to order breakfast from the middleaged waitress who plunked heavy white ceramic mugs brimming with dark, oily-looking coffee down in front of them without being asked.

  When the waitress moved across the aisle to take Niki and Andrew’s orders, she continued. “If it’s as few as I think, then it’s not enough to take care of any substantial medical crisis.”

  “We don’t, as a rule, require medical care.” Sylvan tried the coffee.

  “This, however, could be lethal.”

  Laughing, Drake took a sip. “Sophia says caffeine doesn’t do anything to you.”

  “She may never have tried this coffee.”

  Drake leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Why are the police asking about humans with Were fever? I don’t remember reading anything about it in med—” She grimaced. “Well, of course I wouldn’t have learned anything about it in medical school, because no one knew anything about any of the Praeterns until just recently.”

  “Were fever is very rare, even among Weres.”

  “What is it, exactly?”

  Sylvan considered her response while the waitress set plates of food in front of them. Drake was right—they did not have many Were medics. Before the Exodus, the Were medics worked in secrecy to cover up the uncommon instance when a Were was brought into an emergency room for care. Most often, this happened when a Were was involved in an accident or an altercation that led to police involvement.

  The police and emergency service personnel routinely brought the injured to the emergency room, but unfortunately, a Were was likely to heal their injuries halfway through treatment. Every wolf Were carried a health card that, when scanned into any database anywhere in the world, would alert a central clearing station at Mir Industries. A Were medic would be sent to intervene. Feral cat, rodent, and other less common Weres did not interact with the human population enough for accidental discovery to be a problem.

  If she was facing an outbreak of Were fever, she would not have enough medics to cover it up. And if humans somehow became infected, it would be disastrous. Even so, she couldn’t risk revealing too much.

  Until she understood exactly how widespread the problem was, she wasn’t going to expose her Pack and all the other Weres to retaliation.

  “Anything I could tell you would be meaningless to you.”

  “Look,” Drake said, “we’re the largest medical center in the region. Any case that looks out of the ordinary is going to be turfed to us from the local hospitals. If I know what to look for, I can triage. Start early treatment. I’ll call your medics, if you want me to.”

  “We don’t know what it is,” Sylvan said, hoping that the appearance of cooperation would quell Drake’s concerns. “We only know what it does. It kills nearly a hundred percent of the time, and quickly. Once the fever starts, it escalates within hours—sometimes even faster. We don’t know if the fever is the cause of the cellular breakdown or the consequence, but most of the infected suffer system-wide collapse. Seizures, bleeding, endocrine storm.”

  “And those who don’t succumb immediately?”

  “Almost all become rabid and eventually die too.”

  Drake frowned. “What’s the cause of death if not the cellular breakdown?”

  Sylvan’s eyes narrowed, the blue shifting to gold. She pictured Misha, struggling alone, while she stood by doing nothing. Her wolf clawed at her insides, raging at her impotence. “We execute them.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Drake whispered. “Who decides that?”

  “I do.”

  Drake breathed out slowly, trying to wrap her mind around the idea of killing a sick patient. Not just a patient, someone who was like family. She wouldn’t have the guts.

  “Still think we’re not animals, Doctor?” Sylvan asked bitterly. She wasn’t sure why the shocked expression on Drake’s face bothered her so much. She didn’t expect a human to understand the threat of a rabid wolf to the Pack. She wasn’t even sure why she tried to explain.

  “I think we need to find a cure,” Drake said vehemently, surprising Sylvan yet again.

  “Don’t you think we’re trying?” Sylvan snapped. “Seventy-five percent of the resources at Mir Industries go to this research.” Her frustration broadcast and Niki rose abruptly, stepping toward them with a rumble. Sylv
an raised her hand a fraction and telegraphed, Stand down, Imperator. All is well.

  Niki rumbled again and slowly returned to her seat.

  “Of course, I’m sorry.” Drake rubbed the back of her neck. “What about humans? Similar symptoms?”

  Sylvan said nothing, in total agreement when her wolf howled a warning. Some things the humans could not know, because if they did, they would surely try to destroy her and all like her.

  “Should you suspect you have a case of Were fever, I and the Timberwolf Pack will be in your debt if you call us before you do the police.” Sylvan stood, telegraphing Niki to get the bill. “I appreciate your desire to help us, Dr. McKennan, but I’m afraid you can’t.”

  Drake rose as Niki put money on the table. She met Sylvan’s eyes.

  “Thank you for breakfast. I’ll get it the next time.”

  “I’m afraid there won’t be another time.” Sylvan watched Niki and Andrew pacing agitatedly nearby. Her wolf was so close to the surface, so ready to fight, she was in danger of driving her guards to lose control. She was out of time. “Good-bye, Doctor.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sylvan and Niki climbed into the Rover’s rear cargo compartment. Andrew got in front next to Jonathan, a wiry blond male just out of his teens who sat behind the wheel. Sylvan leaned forward between the front seats. “Drive to Nocturne.”

  “Yes, Alpha,” Jonathan said crisply and edged away from the curb into early morning traffic.

  “There aren’t enough of us to protect you there.” Niki’s displeasure filled the too-small space.

  “It’s daylight. Francesca is the only one who will be awake.”

  Sylvan glanced out the tinted window and saw Drake McKennan on the sidewalk in front of the diner, watching them pull away. Her wolf stirred, growling softly as if telling her she had unfinished business.

  Sylvan ignored the tug in her groin. She’d take care of that her way.

  Her wolf snarled.

  “First the human, now this,” Niki snapped. “You take chances, Alpha. We can’t afford to lose—”

  Sylvan bounded across the small space. If she didn’t know how close Niki was to breaking, she would have forced Niki onto her back, under her. Instead, she grabbed her and pulled her close, tucking Niki’s head beneath her chin. “Everything will be fine.”

  Niki rubbed her cheek against Sylvan’s neck, breathing deeply.

  “At least let me come with you.”

  “No.” Sylvan stroked Niki’s hair. “I trust you with my life, with the lives of our young. Trust me on this.”

  “Always, Alpha,” Niki whispered.

  ———

  Club Nocturne, a one-story, flat-roofed building with opaque black windows and flat black paint on its plywood front, sat on the waterfront in the middle of a cracked concrete parking lot with foot-tall weeds growing in the crevices. During the day, the place appeared abandoned despite a few cars and motorcycles parked haphazardly in the enormous lot. It didn’t look much better at night, when a few spotlights tucked under the eaves threw just enough light to point the way to the front door. No flashing neon signs indicated that this was the most popular nighttime hangout in the city for Vampires, their blood hosts, and other beings, human and otherwise, looking for sex or more dangerous thrills.

  When Sylvan walked into the murky interior, a couple of human bikers in dirty denim and dusty leather perched on stools at the bar, drinking beer at eight in the morning. The bartender was Francesca’s human servant—a balding ex-professional wrestler named Guy. He wore a leather vest over bare skin to show off the tats that covered his chest and arms, but mostly to display the puncture marks in his neck and nipples. Francesca or whoever she’d most recently loaned him out to had been very hungry and Guy was obviously proud of his service—the Vampire who had fed from him would have healed the punctures unless Guy had requested that they not.

  “She’s busy,” Guy grunted. Like many Vampires, he didn’t care for Weres. The two predatory species disagreed as to who was at the top of the food chain. Vampires liked feeding from Weres, claiming that the Weres’ wild blood gave the Vamps a greater high and triggered more intense orgasms than human blood. Some Vampires seemed to think that made Weres prey. Considering that Weres were the only species that could tear a Vampire’s heart out bare-handed, Sylvan didn’t think so.

  “Tell her I’m coming down.” Sylvan didn’t break stride as she leapt over the bar and into the alcove behind it. By the time she reached the hidden staircase to Francesca’s lair, Guy must have communicated with the Mistress of the City, because Sylvan heard the faint hiss of multiple locks sliding open. Sylvan shouldered through the door and loped down the stairs into the elaborate chambers below. The door locked behind her.

  Like all master Vampires, Francesca did not become catatonic during daylight hours and could usually be found at work or play in her suite beneath the club. The door to her private quarters slid open and a naked man and woman exited. The woman sagged against the man, who stumbled slightly as the pair turned and staggered away down the hall. Both wore a glazed look that Sylvan assumed was related to the fresh punctures in their necks. Francesca had been feeding, to their obvious pleasure.

  Francesca lounged on a divan in the sitting room adjoining her boudoir. Like all Vampires, she was slender and painfully beautiful, with an etched porcelain air of delicacy that belied her incredible strength. Her full, rose-tipped breasts were clearly visible and barely contained beneath a diaphanous dressing gown open down to her navel.

  Her lustrous eyes were deep turquoise, her scarlet hair falling in artful tangles over milk white shoulders.

  “What a nice surprise.” Francesca had closed the door to her bedchamber, but the blood scent was rich and fresh.

  Sylvan was not attracted to human blood or Vampire blood. She was there for one reason. Francesca would willingly meet her most urgent needs, at least temporarily, and without the risk of developing any kind of attachment to her. Theirs was a mutually beneficial relationship completely devoid of emotional complication.

  “I’m sorry I gave no notice.”

  “You’ve been very busy,” Francesca said, moving over to make room for Sylvan on the maroon brocade divan. “It’s been months since you’ve been by to visit.”

  “I’m sure Councilor Gates has kept you up to date on the proceedings,” Sylvan said. Zachary Gates might be the official face representing the Vampires to the public, but Francesca was not only the Chancellor of the local Vampire seethe, she was Viceregal of the Eastern Territory. Everyone in the Praetern Coalition acknowledged her as the power behind the throne. Sylvan sprawled on the divan, stretching her arms out along the back. “I don’t want to talk politics.”

  “Your timing is excellent,” Francesca murmured, dropping a black silk pillow with gold fringe on the floor between Sylvan’s spread thighs.

  She knelt on it and pushed Sylvan’s T-shirt up. “I was just feeding when you arrived.” She looked up at Sylvan as she opened Sylvan’s jeans, her lids languorous, her mouth curved in a sensuous smile. “But I hadn’t finished. I’ve yet to satisfy my other needs.” She leaned forward and ran her tongue over the ridges in Sylvan’s abdomen. A fine line of rich silver pelt erupted down the center of Sylvan’s lower abdomen and disappeared into her jeans. Francesca teased the satiny line that marked a dominant Were when aroused or challenged.

  “I see you’re ready.” Francesca ran her nails over Sylvan’s belly and Sylvan shuddered.

  “Do it.” Sylvan raised her hips and Francesca stripped her jeans down her legs. Her clitoris rose, engorged and stiff. She growled softly when Francesca fingered it. Francesca murmured approvingly as Sylvan’s sex glands, the firm nodes buried in the flesh framing her clitoris, swelled in response to her teasing.

  “I can’t ever remember these being so full.” Francesca massaged the glands with her fingertips, forcing Sylvan’s clitoris to jerk. Licking gracefully along the shaft, Francesca sighed as if savoring rare ambr
osia.

  “You’re too ready for me to linger, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t.” Sylvan’s claws extended. “Just drain me.”

  “Oh,” Francesca whispered. “I will.”

  Unhurriedly, Francesca parted her crimson lips, giving Sylvan a fleeting glimpse of her incisors, before she drew Sylvan’s clitoris deep into her mouth. Sylvan tensed, steeling herself. With infinite care, Francesca bit down on the rigid shaft and began to suck. Her incisors pressed the sex glands into the bone beneath.

  Groaning, Sylvan arched off the sofa, her claws gouging through the fabric into the wood frame. Each pull of Francesca’s powerful throat ripped the fire from her blood. Her sex beat heavily between Francesca’s lips, pumping her power down Francesca’s throat. The Vampire scored Sylvan’s midsection with scarlet nails. Sylvan panted, struggling to contain her furious wolf as Francesca pulled harder at her flesh, drinking her essence. This was not what her wolf craved but all she would permit. The physical relief was intense but not sexual—and as much pain as pleasure. Sylvan never climaxed from Francesca’s ministrations, but she found some brief respite from the wild hunger that drove her. Enough so that her urges no longer threatened to plunge the Pack into chaos.

  “More,” Sylvan gasped when Francesca started to withdraw. Her clitoris was still rigid, her sex glands tight and aching. “Empty me.”

  Francesca resumed sucking, shuddering as she absorbed the potent mixture of Were pheromones and sex kinins. A minute later, when Francesca would have stopped, Sylvan curled her hand around the back of Francesca’s neck, claws extended to hold her in place. She had to release the hormones overwhelming her system, and she didn’t dare risk true release with another Were. The sex frenzy could too easily become mating frenzy, and she did not want to risk activating the mate bond. Only a Vampire as powerful as Francesca could drain her enough to temper the heat. “More.”

  After what seemed like a long while, Sylvan’s clitoris softened and Sylvan relaxed, lethargy suffusing her.

  “Sylvan,” Francesca sighed, her voice heavy with satisfaction.

  “Even you aren’t strong enough for me to take more.” She rose gracefully, parting her dressing gown along the split that ran up one side, and straddled Sylvan’s bare stomach. She was slick and hot against Sylvan’s skin, her clitoris a hard knot against Sylvan’s belly.