Matthew felt like a voyeur at a train wreck. Plus, the stupid questions just wouldn’t stop rolling off his tongue. “You’re not scared?”
The doctor snorted. “Of course not. Your kind has lived peacefully with mankind since the dawn of time.” Wasn’t that woman at the next pump done? Matthew had been feeling her stare and looked over at her horrified expression.
They hadn’t been talking loud, but hadn’t exactly been secretive either. Most people lived in their own little worlds. They pumped their gas and left. Ms Nosey looked like she was about to have kittens. He hoped she left soon. The gas station was turning out to be a busy place. Cars steadily pulled in and left. Why didn’t she?
Brandon’s nice guy moment ended with a wicked glint in his eyes. “How do you account for both regular and urban legends? I hate to tell you, doctor, but life isn’t singing teapots and wardrobes. The big bad wolf wasn’t the hero of the story.” Ms Nosey gasped softly. She might have deserved it, but Matthew stared hard at Brandon, hoping his brother-in-law would get the hint to lay off.
“Every group has its bad apples. Prisons are full of convicted human felons. That doesn’t make humanity evil.” He stepped closer to the truck, coveting the Big Ben clock. “Besides, Dr. Theodore Drake has gone a long way in settling the medical community’s’ fears of blood born infection with his reports on the supernatural’s medical needs. Whoever he is, the man is a genius.” He looked pleadingly at Matthew, “Are you certain you can’t make another? My wife would love this on her patio.”
The pump clicked off. Brandon replaced the nozzle and pressed the button on the pump that would finish the sale and spit out a receipt. He muttered a mild curse, whether for the doctor’s persistence or for the pump, Matthew didn’t know. “I’ve got to go inside for the receipt.” Brandon left for the building, meeting the three werecats as they left, their arms full of chips and soda.
Matthew kind of liked the persistent doctor. Mentally he calculated what he’d need to reproduce the sculpture. He shook his head. Essentially, he was homeless. He didn’t expect to be able to go back for his things, much less his car. For all he knew, his welding stuff was going into storage for an indefinite period. “I’m in the middle of relocating.” Or he might have to sell it all just to buy the basics. Strangely, the idea of starting over from scratch didn’t bother him like it would have once.
Naomi gave him a defiant stare as she approached. “I found money in one of the kitchen drawers.” Matthew nodded, remembering putting a portion of gate money aside with the half-formed idea of buying presents for one of those kid charities. He could write it off on his taxes. He shrugged, thinking the money well spent. His cats deserved the treat as much as any other.
Car doors slammed, brakes squealed. Matthew turned sharply to hear the thump of an ancient caddy impacting a body. Brandon rolled under the impact, clutching the small body of a child close to his chest.
“My baby! No!” screamed Ms Nosey. All Matthew could see as he sprinted across the parking lot were small arms and legs wrapped around the wolven. Thankfully, they seemed okay as he straightened up and pried the kid from his chest.
Young people piled out of the Caddy, fear and shock written all over them. “Put my baby down!” The soccer mom from the pumps screamed, making everyone turn to stare at the hysterical woman.
With all his new super powers at his disposal, time still slowed down as the woman waved a gun at Brandon. The silver in her ears and on her neck took on a more sinister note. “Monster! Put him down!” everything happened at once. The doctor tried to explain, his hands waving in the air to get her attention. Matthew tried to throw himself in the way as Brandon pushed the child to the asphalt. It was all too little, too late. The woman’s gun went off like an explosion. Three times. Brandon jerked backwards as each bullet impacted the left side of his chest.
Matthew scrambled to his feet, watching the other man touch the wounds in confusion then stumble to his knees like a scene in a movie. The world suddenly resumed its normal speed. The screaming and panicking customers were a cacophony in the background. He shoved someone aside to kneel over Brandon. The man’s dark brown eyes were open, still alive, suffering. Blood stained his mouth as he choked on a breath.
“I smell silver,” whispered Naomi. “Silver bullets.” She didn’t have to. Matthew could smell the acidic flavor of the metal’s traces in the blood. Someone yelled to call nine-one-one, but the expression on Naomi’s face told him that any ambulance wouldn’t arrive in time.
Chapter Fourteen
Diana Weis, alpha female of the Anderson County Pack, set her coffee cup down and tried not to look at her unexpected guest with the same hostility that she felt simmering in her family. Still, Victoria Hunter represented both the psychics that had tried repeatedly to kill her offspring in the past and she the life that two of Diana’s children had been deprived of. Her boys had been broken when she’d gotten them. She and Adam had spent years loving them, patching the breaks inside caused from the previous alpha’s abuse and sadism.
Then seven months ago Carter Hunter showed up chasing one of their warden’s bonded mates, a modern day Van Helsing, trying to rid the world of evil, one monster at a time. Bradley bit the Hunter on the same night they lost their beloved Packhome to fire caused by that corrupt Church of the Clean.
Poor Bailey was shot and Bradley bit Carter trying to protect his Pack members. Diana still wasn’t sure on all the details of what happened between Tamara and Carter, leading up to the attack. But Carter had been loyal since then and neither one wished to talk about it. That Carter turned out to be Bradley and Brandon’s full-blooded older brother by blood was another thing no one wished to talk about, Diana included. Yet here was the woman who’d given birth to her sons. And Diana wanted nothing more than to throw her out on her impeccably dressed, mannered, pretty ass.
“Thank you, Mrs. Weis, for allowing me to visit my son.” Victoria Hunter had already said this, but they’d been staring at each other over cooling coffee for eight minutes. Diana checked the clock on the stove. The readout changed and now they’d been here for nine minutes.
“I’m still confused over that one. I thought that once a psychic Changed to the furry side, your people considered them dead.” So much for the new policy of understanding and politeness she’d been striving for.
Victoria blanched. Honest to God, she turned that white and pasty color that one usually only read about in books. She bent her head, hiding her face behind the long elegant bob of expertly colored hair. It was vain, and another mark on the petty side, but Diana hadn’t had a reason to color her hair since she’d taken on the job of alpha. “I…that is what I was raised to do,” Victoria murmured. She took a tiny sip of the tepid store bought coffee. No gourmet here at Packhome. It was standard honest fare, like the inhabitants.
“So? Why haven’t you?” Diana took a sip of coffee. She remembered not being so much of a bitch when she was younger. She’d been a doormat back when she’d been married to her first husband, Richard Ridley. She’d been striving for independence when she met Adam. Still, she’d been nicer back then, until defending her brood against the Wolven Council, the judgment of her husband’s old Pack, and years and years of teachers who could never understand her boys’ natural dislike of sitting confined in a class all day long. “Well?” Diana prodded.
Victoria’s head snapped up. A fire lit her eyes that was more befitting of a woman who’d married and raised men to hunt the supernatural. “My being here goes against everything in life I was taught to honor and uphold.” She leaned forward, that same fire snapping angrily. “I mourned two of my children as dead. Then my husband. Murdered by the same werewolf that my husband told me had killed my babies. They were four years old. Mauled so badly that he had to bury them in an unmarked grave.
“Months ago, my oldest son was bitten by another werewolf and asked me for help for the same band of monsters that ran with my husband’s nemesis. And yet, here I am.”
> Diana nodded and took another sip of coffee. She was a mother who’d lost children. She could understand and empathize. Hell, she was an empath and could read every guilty, angry emotion that was pouring off of Victoria Hunter. But in the end, Diana Weis wasn’t just a mother. She was the Pack Mother, the Canis Matra, and she would defend every member as though they’d been born of her body. Even Carter. “So,” she asked again. “Why are you here?”
“Because this time, I will mourn no one until I see reason for it with my own two eyes.” It was an acceptable answer.
“Your people will never accept that,” Diana wanted no illusions here. “And I have to admit, my own people are not exactly thrilled with your presence.”
“I can imagine.”
No, she couldn’t. The woman had no concept of the ugliness her presence dragged back to the surface. Brandon, and now Bradley, had scattered, rather than deal with this woman’s presence. She had no idea how Seth was frothing at the mouth for the woman’s blood. Her youngest of the first batch of her adopted sons needed someone to blame for Rick’s death at the hands of Victoria’s nephew working on behalf of the Church of the Clean.
Rick had been ‘purified’ with silver powder introduced into his bloodstream little by little as his torturer slowly carved him up with a silver hunting knife. Rick had loved helping others. Loved his job as a teacher at the local middle school, where he could reach kids with a troubled background. He’d wanted to make a difference. Rick’s death had been as senseless as it had been horrifying.
Loss and pain made her gasp. Pain like she’d experienced months before when Rick had died. Gripping her cup, she rode through it, tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t notice Victoria come around the table to lay a hand on her until the woman’s concern seeped through the pain. Victoria jerked her hand away, taking a breath. Tears sheened in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s not a strong gift for me.” Meaning that Victoria Hunter had some basic empathic or telepathic ability. Diana shook her head, and pressed a hand to her chest as if to stop the hole that had opened there.
“You!” the kitchen door hit the wall and Karen stormed through. Tears poured from her eyes. Her red nose and splotched chest made Diana’s chest almost collapse in on itself as realization dawned. Oh, God no. Diana sucked in a grief stricken sob as her daughter pointed an accusing finger at Victoria. “This is all your fault. He left because of you.” Karen wrapped her arms around her body. Her legs and bones going to jelly as she slid to the floor. Karen leaned forward rocking back and forth and keened for her mate.
* * * *
Bradley enjoyed the hunt as lady fortune smiled on him. This was the third on the list of Worley Research Centers that he’d compiled while making the effort not to sleep. He had no desire for another go around with Nicole. Well, his body was somewhat interested, but his mind and heart was not playing. So that made him only a third sick?
He shook his head. Mind on the current job. The building itself was the remains of an old shopping center in the mid-sized town of Greenville, Texas. From what Morgan had told him and from his previous two trips, one to a scarily similar location in Wisconsin and another in California, whoever funded Worley Research wasn’t interested in appearances or security. This place was as shoddy as the others. Pretending to be a local out for a stroll and walking around the unfenced perimeter, he opened all of his senses. The trash held scents of fairy, a zoo of animal shape shifters, and vampire.
Carefully avoiding the ridiculous cameras that turned out to be cheap fakes with blinking lights, Bradley stroked his fingers over the lock and gave it a dusting of fairy magic. As expected, it clicked open. Keeping tuned to the electrical and magical energies of the area, he was reassured that there were no real cameras hidden nearby. The doorway turned into a creepy shadowed hallway that the flickering fluorescent lights had little effect on. Hearing voices, he ducked into the nearest room, relieved when it turned out to be a storage closet of dusty chemicals and the rusted frames of commercial mops.
“Man this is shit work.” The nasally voice and wheezy breath made Bradley think of every nerdy, geeky spoof he’d ever seen on television.
“Awww. It’s not so bad,” said a slightly, only slightly, more manly voice. “It’s a paycheck. And some of them freaky chicks are hot.”
“You’re the freak,” replied nasally as the back door opened and shut behind them. Bradley moved fast, not knowing how many more basement-dwelling-mama’s-boys were around. He dashed across what was apparently a main thoroughfare area to a cheaply partitioned off room. Inside, he hit pay dirt. Grisly pay dirt. Jars of specimens lined the shelves of a glass door cooler. Embalmed body parts, including claws and tentacles, some poor guy’s testicles, embryos—Bradley suppressed a shudder and stopped looking.
A red glow caught his attention and he moved to a table with a heat lamp. Two egg shaped gems sat on giant decorative holders.
Footsteps alerted him at the same time a tearing, searing pain tore through his chest. Bradley fought for breath, touching his chest at the same time. He was shocked to see no blood marring his hand. The pain burned through his veins, making him stumble. He grabbed at the table, missed and knocked a fragile vase over. Blood spurted from a fresh gash in his hand. His vision blurred; he barely felt the hand wound. Worse was the wrenching and ripping that he felt through the Pack bond. Wrenching, tearing, then a gaping nothing where his brother used to be.
Bradley screamed. Forget those trapped here, forget Morgan’s egg, forget everything. Gasping, he leaned over the table, knocking an iridescent egg over. Absently he grabbed at it, stopping the roll before it tumbled to the floor. Cold numbness made him cradle the egg to his heart while he bled all over the place.
He transported back to Packhome, not caring who he blinded with his clumsy use of fairy power. At his feet Karen’s single grief stricken note of pain was not quite a howl, but not a human woman’s sob either. She took one look at him and rose to her knees, throwing her arms around his waist. Someone else might have taken the gesture as confusion on her part. Bradley didn’t. They’d been through too much, he, Brandon, and this woman. Through it all, he held on to the warm gem, the only solid reality left for him.
“Find him for me,” The hoarse plea ripped out what was left of his insides. Bradley nodded, his senses automatically picking up on the stranger in their midst. His eyes met hers. He remembered. Too little, too late. His fault, as always.
Then like the coward he knew he was, Bradley transported out.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’m a doctor. Let me help,” their new friend from the pumps crouched on Brandon’s left side, checking vitals.
Naomi shook her head. “It’s in his heart. Silver disintegrates in shape shifter blood. It turns into a poisonous acid that eats the tissue.”
“Then we have to work fast.” Calm descended over Matthew. He looked up at the doctor. “Can you get the bullets out?”
The doctor nodded, jumping to his feet. “My new Teflon kit. It’s just for supernaturals. No metal, no chance of silver poisoning. It’s in the trunk.” He ran.
Naomi grasped his arm. “Matthew. He’s wolf. And it’s silver in his heart.” She shook her head. “Maybe, maybe, his alpha could stabilize him while the doctor removed the bullets. But it’s in his heart. The poison will spread fast. He’ll be dead in minutes.”
He pushed her aside, filled with a certainty that he could help. He could fix this. Setting his hands on Brandon’s right shoulder, he pushed energy into him the same way he’d done during the fight last night. Immediately the wolf in him rejected the power. Matthew wasn’t his kind and the wolf wanted no part of him. Brandon seized, blood bubbling out his mouth.
Trust in your instincts. Do not doubt. Ramses voice sounded in his head, quelling the insecurities that wanted to bottle up the power before it could do more hurt than good. Then, Nathan’s hands covered his and Matthew could feel the path that bridged between cat and wolf. The supernatural t
ie bound the panther to the wolf Pack. The panther was bound to Matthew in a way that he couldn’t explain. The panther, the lioness, and the tiger were his.
There were too many people hovering. Accepting that he couldn’t change that, he made room for the doctor by moving his and Nathan’s touch to Brandon’s right shoulder. Matthew immersed himself in the power, giving himself over. He let go, aware that Nathan kept one hand on their injured friend and one on Matthew’s shoulder.
Life was breath and blood was power. It beat with a music all its own. Power and magic. Life and death. It beat, like a heartbeat, only a music that he had to strain to hear.
Mindful of the emergency surgery the doctor was throwing himself into, Matthew tilted back the dying man’s head and blew. He wasn’t passing oxygen, but this was just as vital. The parts of him that were many and cat understood and vied with one another for a taste of what was left of the injured man that wasn’t wolf.
The ancient spirit of a giant cat inside Matthew and the injured man looked at one another down the link Nathan supplied. Finally, in the split of a second that seemed like an eternity, the cat roared its assent and left, fleeing Matthew for a new host. The transfer felt as if a portion of Matthew’s insides were ripped away. Dimly, from far away, he heard the doctor say that he’d gotten the last bullet.
In the wake of the cat, Matthew pushed power, dumping his reserves into Brandon. As powerful as the cat was, its new host was fatally injured. The body needed encouragement to heal. Matthew was working on instinct now; vague memories of memories directed him. He gently let go of Brandon’s head and picked up the doctor’s discarded scalpel, using the instrument to slice across the meaty part of his own forearm.
Positioning his arm, Matthew directed the blood flow into the chest wound. His magic infused blood soaked into tissue, stimulating sudden new growth in the wound. Vessels knit back together properly. The heartbeat, weak but true.
Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V Page 14
