“Tayanita, Clarkston 2-4?” Her unit number was 24.
She picked up the handset and keyed it. “Clarkston 2-4, Tayanita.”
“Elderly caller reports somebody’s in the woods behind her house, fighting and setting off fireworks. She’s afraid they’re going to burn down her house. Two-nine-nine Andrews Lane.”
“Clarkston 2-4, en route.” Faith put the handset back in its clip on the side of the radio and hit the gas. She didn’t bother with lights and sirens, since it was hardly an emergency call. Weird time of the year for fireworks, though. Probably kids. That kind of thing usually was.
Since setting off fireworks was against city ordinance, she’d just go confiscate them and run the kids off. Once she got done dealing with that, it would probably be time to head back to the department for shift change.
Afterward, I’ll drop by the jail for an head count, Faith decided. Make sure none of them end up dead in the morning.
The house at 299 Andrews Lane was located on the outskirts of her patrol zone, next door to a heavily wooded lot. As Faith pulled up in front of the neat white farmhouse, a flash of red light went off in the depths of the trees, followed by a loud crack.
She frowned. Didn’t really sound like fireworks, but it wasn’t gunfire, either.
Faith pulled over and parked, then started to radio dispatch that she’d arrived. Before she could even pick up the handset, Rambo went out of his mind, barking hysterically right in her ear.
“’Bo, be quiet!” she snapped, glaring over her shoulder at the furious animal. “What’s wrong with you?”
The dog usually wasn’t a barker, but he refused to shut up this time. After trying and failing to hush him, Faith finally yelled, “Clarkston 2-4, 10-8 at 299 Andrews Lane!”
She could barely hear the dispatcher’s reply. “Ten-Four, Clarkston 2-4.”
Disgusted, Faith tossed the handset down, swung open the car door, and got out, ignoring Rambo’s deep-throated protests.
Grabbing her hat from the seat, she put it on and collected her heavy flashlight from its charger. Accompanied by the K-9’s despairing barks, she flicked on the flash and started toward the woods.
Blue light flared in the woods, followed by a hollow boom. She frowned and picked up her pace. That definitely didn’t sound like fireworks.
Seething with frustration, Jim watched another magical blast light up the woods as Faith strode blindly toward disaster.
A light show that intense had to mean they’d stumbled onto the vampire, who was doing battle with something just as powerful as she was. Which meant the woman Jim loved was about to get her pretty head handed to her.
And here he was without opposable thumbs to open the flipping car door.
Luckily the windows of K-9 units were tinted; Faith wouldn’t have been able to see in even if it wasn’t the dead of night. He called the magic and waited as it spilled over him in a wave of burning energy.
A moment later, he was human again, crouched in the rear of the car. Unfortunately, he’d already noticed they’d taken the interior handles off the rear doors. The only way out was the front, which meant he had to get through the metal gate between the seats.
Cursing his partner and the vampire equally, Jim dragged the gate open and started trying to worm his way between the car’s front seats. To his horror, he realized his shoulders wouldn’t fit through the gate’s narrow opening, no matter how he twisted.
Hell.
He glanced through the window. Faith had already vanished into the woods.
He had to get to her. Fast.
Jim seriously considered Turning into the Dire Wolf and ripping a car door off, but he wasn’t sure the back compartment was big enough. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to Change in a space that was too small for his seven-foot-six-inch Dire Wolf body, and he didn’t want to find out.
Growling, he transformed back into shepherd form and began trying to work his way through the gate. It was a painfully tight fit. Hooking his forepaws over the seat, he dug his rear toes into the carpet and pushed with all his strength. As he struggled, Jim glared at the car’s digital clock.
Another minute ticked by.
Cursing under her breath, Faith skirted a briar bush her flashlight picked out. It was pitch black under the trees, and she couldn’t see a damn thing. She wished the light was better, because it sounded as if people were trying to kill each other out here.
It was painfully clear from the sound effects that this was not just a couple of kids tossing fireworks in the dark. Voices chanted, grunted, and swore, and heavy bodies crashed around in the brush just ahead. Colored flashes lit up the trees, punctuated by rolling booms.
All of which sounded like Faith’s cue to call for backup. She lifted the shoulder mike of her belt radio. “Tayanita, Clarkston 2-4 requesting assistance at 299 Andrews Lane. Sounds like several males and at least one female in an altercation in the woods. Weapons unknown.” She paused, debating whether to wait for her backup to arrive or go on in and try to mediate.
A man screamed.
Hell with it. “Sounds like somebody’s hurt. I’m going to proceed.”
Without waiting to hear the reply, she clipped the mike back on her shoulder and pushed through the brush, ignoring the unseen branches that slapped her in the face. As she moved, she drew her weapon.
The crawling sensation on the back of her neck told her she was going to need it.
The bars dug savagely into Jim’s ribs, but he kept struggling with every ounce of his considerable strength. He had to get to Faith. Luckily, magical creature that he was, he was stronger than a normal dog. The bars began to bend, and he popped through at last, tumbling into the passenger seat.
Still no opposable thumbs. He had to transform again.
This time the magic burned when it came, an acid reminder of the risk he was running. If a werewolf tried to change form too many times in too short a period, he ran the risk of the magic escaping his control. He’d burn like Steve had, consumed by his own power.
Human again, Jim jerked the door open and threw himself from the car. He almost fell on his face as his depleted body protested the changes he’d forced on it.
Jim caught himself, realizing with a stab of fear he was pushing far too close to the edge. He couldn’t fight the vampire and her pet werewolf as a human, but if he tried to transform again, the magic might turn on him.
Then he remembered the shimmer of sunlight on Faith’s skin, the flash of her smile. If the rogue got to Faith, he’d rip her apart.
Teeth gritted, Jim called the power for the fourth time—and screamed as pain seared his cells. For a terrifying instant, he thought his magic had gone bad.
But at last his body began to grow again as energy from the Mageverse flooded into it, stretching upward and outward as fur rolled across his skin in an itching wave.
When the transformation ended, his knees gave under him, dumping him onto the pavement beside the car. Helpless, blind, and shaking with pain, Jim crouched there, fighting not to vomit.
Get your ass in gear, London. Faith is out there alone.
Reeling to his full seven-and-a-half feet of Dire Wolf height, Jim stumbled toward the woods.
He had to get to Faith. Saving her was all that mattered.
Standing behind the dubious cover of a pine tree, Faith wondered if somebody had slipped her an LSD mickey.
A few feet away, a woman crouched, tight leather pants hugging her long legs, her breasts barely concealed by a red silk top. But what held Faith’s attention was her hands, which glowed a ghostly blue as if she’d dipped them in something phosphorescent. The otherworldly shimmer threw strange shadows over her pretty heart-shaped face. Her long black hair whipped around her head, as though blown by a wind Faith couldn’t feel.
It was the same woman Faith had seen talking to Tony Shay at the jail.
A body lay at her feet, twisted in a pose of agony like a burn victim, though there was no sign of any fire i
n the clearing. In the light from the woman’s glowing hands, Faith saw two more corpses, both covered in the dark, wet gleam of blood.
Guess Cruise hadn’t been high when he’d babbled about witches after all, Faith thought. Now what the hell do I do?
The woman was faced off against a tall, muscular man dressed in scarlet armor. He, too, had glowing hands, not to mention an upside down pentagram tattooed on his shaved head. It shone bright red.
So did his eyes.
“Did you really think you could just sneak into our temple and steal our grail?” He laughed, the sound ringing with contempt. The glow intensified. “Sorry, you’re not that good. And now that Davidson’s taken care of the werewolf, I’m going to make sure you never have the chance to get better.”
“’Fraid not, lamb chop.” Something black bounded from the woods to slam into the armored man. He bellowed in surprise and went down under his attacker’s weight.
“I heal quick.” The newcomer laughed, the sound chilling as he reared over the fallen man. “A lot quicker than Davidson, anyway.”
“Fucker!” Blue light blazed, accompanied by a sonic boom that shook the trees and made Faith duck. When it winked out, she was left completely night-blind.
“Like I told you before, magic doesn’t work on me, asshole.”
The robed man howled in agony. Another salvo of flashing explosions.
Dammit, where was her backup? Faith hesitated, knowing she shouldn’t rush in without at least a dozen cops at her back.
Unfortunately, it sounded as if the robed man was being ripped apart just like his fellows, so she didn’t have that luxury.
Like her daddy always said, you didn’t stand around with your thumb up your butt when somebody was dying.
Heart pounding, Faith stepped out from behind the tree and leveled her gun at the trio as another flash illuminated them. The armored man was down on the ground, rolling around with the black thing on top of him. “Clarkston Police Department!” Faith shouted. “Everybody get away from everybody else—now!” Even as the words left her mouth, she thought, This is really dumb.
In a stunning display of strength, the armored figure heaved his attacker through the air, straight toward Faith. She ducked aside as he hit the ground with a curse and snarl, skidding across the leaves until he managed to dig in and roll to his feet, towering over her like a giant.
Damn, he has to be over seven feet tall, she thought. Incredulous, she backed way, flicking her flashlight full into his face. “What the hell?” she gasped.
Flinging up a hand to shield his eyes, he snarled. He had a mouthful of teeth every bit as long and sharp as Rambo’s. “Get that light out of my face!” he roared, his voice so deep and guttural it didn’t sound human.
He looked even less so. His head was elongated, forming a long wolf muzzle, his ears rising to tufted triangular points. His huge hands were tipped with curving knife-point nails, while his body was covered in a shaggy coat of fur.
Why is this asshole wearing a dog suit? Faith wondered, her sense of unreality increasing.
Not that it mattered. “Back off!” She pointed a gun toward that threatening muzzle.
From the corner of one eye, she saw the armored man reel to his feet and square off with the woman again. They snarled curses and started hurling what looked like ball lightning at each other. Every blast stopped short, splashing through the air as if hitting invisible barriers.
Dog Face took another step toward her, the claws that tipped his furry hands glittering in the strobing light. Despite logic, her gut told her those weren’t gloves. “You really should have stayed out of this, Weston.”
What she should have done is wait for backup. She was in way over her head. She bared her teeth at him anyway. “If you take one more step, I’ll shoot you dead.”
Dog Face grinned, exposing terrifying fangs that looked all too real. “Go ahead. I won’t die.” He took another step.
“Okay, that’s it,” Faith growled. “I’ve had about as much of this mumbo jumbo crap as I can take.”
She fired.
He jerked as the bullet thudded into his chest, but he didn’t go down. He must be wearing a bulletproof vest under that suit, she thought. His fangs flashed again in a chilling grin. “Ouch.”
Faith adjusted her aim for his head, but before she could shoot again, the perp lunged. One clawed fist closed around her gun hand, jerking it up toward the sky. The other hand grabbed the front of her uniform and snatched her off her feet.
“I warned you about this kind of shit, Weston.” He shook her back and forth like a doll. “You’re so fucking intent on proving you’re as good a cop as a man, you go rushing in when any guy with a single functioning brain cell would wait for backup.”
Faith gaped, recognizing the spiel. She’d heard it half a dozen times over the past year. And that phrase—single functioning brain cell. Only one man she knew used it. “Reynolds?”
It didn’t compute. Sergeant Keith Reynolds had been her training officer for six weeks back when she’d first joined the department. “Jesus, Sarge, what are you doing wearing that suit?”
He rolled his lips back from his fangs. “It’s not a suit, dumbass.”
Looking into those white teeth, Faith knew he was telling the truth. “Put me down.” She was vaguely proud that her voice didn’t shake. She grabbed his clawed hand with her own, tried to dig in her fingers. “Put me down now.”
“’Fraid we’re past that, Weston. You’ve been asking too many questions, and you don’t show the proper gratitude. I killed that bastard Cruise for giving you that shiner, and what thanks do I get? You immediately started trying to stir shit up. We can’t afford that.”
“What? Who’s ‘we’?” It just kept getting worse and worse. “You killed Cruise?”
He grinned and licked his lips with a long, curling, thoroughly inhuman tongue. “Oh, yeah.”
With sick horror, she remembered the man’s mangled corpse. Reynolds had practically eaten the poor bastard. “You son of a bitch!” She swung her legs up in a violent kick right at that long muzzle.
The werewolf let go of her gun hand and slapped her feet aside before they could hit him. His fist tightened in her shirt. “Now, that’s no way to talk to a superior officer.” Gaping jaws lunged for her throat.
Faith threw up an arm to protect herself. Fangs clamped into her forearm with the sensation of grinding bone and ripping flesh. She screamed in agony, shoved her gun against his chest, and fired.
He roared and dropped her. Faith hit the ground so hard she saw stars, but managed to scramble away anyhow. All her attention locked on Reynolds as he reeled backward with one hand clutching at his chest.
Well, he’d felt that, anyway. Good, the traitorous fuck. He’d betrayed the badge and murdered a man. She hoped she’d killed his ass.
No such luck. Snarling, Reynolds regained his balance and stalked toward her again. Faith reeled to her feet, her punctured arm jolting spikes of pain through her body as she moved. Blood rolled from the wounds in twin hot streams. At least the blood didn’t jet; he hadn’t hit an artery.
“You little bitch,” Reynolds told her, his lips rolling back from bloodied fangs. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Get away from her, you bastard!” A huge black figure barreled out of the night to slam into Reynolds, knocking him flying. As Faith scuttled back, clutching her arm, the two tumbled across the clearing. Accompanied by a chorus of vicious snarls, they ripped at each other like battling bears.
Reynolds’s attacker was just as big as he was—and, Faith saw in the light from the other battle, just as furry. Good God, she thought, there are two of them.
Stunned, disoriented, she fell against a tree and braced herself there, panting. Her left arm blazed with pain, and the blood still poured. She had to stop it, or she’d bleed out. Somehow she’d managed to hold on to her gun with her right hand, so she holstered the weapon and clamped her fingers over the bleeding wounds. If she�
��d had any doubt, the holes confirmed it hadn’t been rubber fangs that had ripped into her flesh.
Reynolds really was a werewolf. And so was whatever fought him.
To hell with this, Faith thought. I’m out of here. She turned and started to stagger away.
The woman—or whatever she was—had apparently bested her own opponent. The armored man lay blooded at her feet as she crouched over him, holding a long knife with a snaking blade.
Oh, hell, Faith thought with weary frustration. I can’t just run away and leave the poor bastard to die. Ignoring the mental voice that told her to do just that, she drew her weapon and leveled it. “Get away from him!” The pain in her left arm flooded her eyes with involuntary tears, but she blinked them away and snarled, “You heard me, lady, leave the guy alone. Get off him! Now!”
Where was her backup? Assuming she survived this, Faith was going to rip every cop on the force a new asshole. And she was going down the neck to do it.
The woman turned to glower at her. “My boys were right—you really are annoying.” Her hands began to glow again. In their shimmering light, her eyes narrowed with chilling determination. “Well, I’m just going to have to do something about that.”
Shit, Faith thought. First werewolves and now witches. She steadied her aim and fired.
The bullet hit something in the air and ricocheted away.
Didn’t that just figure?
Batting aside the rogue’s claws, Jim prepared to drive a fist into his opponent’s snarling muzzle. He bled from a dozen bites and deep scratches, but he was so juiced on adrenalin, he scarcely felt the pain.
From the corner of one eye, he glimpsed a blue glow backlighting a familiar uniformed figure. Faith stood pointing her gun in the vampire’s face as the bitch prepared to fry her with what was no doubt a death spell.
“Dammit, Faith!” Jim roared, leaping off the rogue. He’d never moved faster in his life.
Belatedly realizing she was in danger, Faith jerked back. Jim sprang, clearing fifteen feet in one hard dive. His arms snapped around her as he twisted in midair, protecting her with his body. The spell struck him in the back. She yelped as he wrapped himself tighter around her and took the brunt of their landing on his shoulders. They hit the ground hard and rolled, Jim curling around her, trying to protect her.
Master of Wolves Page 7
