Her pale mouth worked as tears ran down her face. “I just—I need to call my mom. And my hand hurts.”
He wasn’t in the mood to listen to her whine. “Join the club. As for calling Mommy, I don’t think so. Like it or not, you’re in this with the rest of us.”
Her big hazel eyes flicked from one to the other. “In what?” Her voice was so faint, he could barely hear her.
Nobody answered.
“How long is this going to take, anyway?” Frank demanded coldly.
Reynolds shrugged. “Took me about an hour before the bite kicked in. But that was me.”
“Did it hurt?” The question came from Tim Morrison, a rookie who’d joined the force the year before. His face was almost as white as Doris’s.
The werewolf curled a malicious lip. “Yeah.”
“Asshole,” Frank muttered.
Reynolds straightened away from the fender of the car he leaned against, the movement so sudden Doris flinched. “We need to get a couple of things straight before anybody gets any bright ideas.” His gaze locked on George’s, cold as an ice pick. “I’m going to be the leader of this little pack, got that? You do what I say.”
The bite seemed to be pouring acid through George’s blood. Pissed and reckless, he sneered. “Says who?”
“Says Celestine.”
That thought pierced even the pain with its ugly implications. “You’re full of shit. You saying she authorized this?”
Reynolds didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash. “She needs more werewolf muscle.”
It was just the kind of double-cross Celestine was more than capable of pulling, too. Which meant they didn’t dare jump him. If they killed the vampire’s pet when he was acting on her orders, she’d gut the lot of them. George frowned, feeling cheated. Like it or not, they’d better keep their collective hands off until they knew for sure.
“Shit!” Suddenly Tim bent double, his face contorted in a spasm of pain.
Taylor grunted, his beefy face paling as he grabbed his bitten thigh. Others groaned or shouted. George gritted his teeth as the pain intensified to a raking, burning blaze.
“It hurts!” Doris moaned. “God, it hurts! What’s happening? Somebody get a doctor!”
A broad, unpleasant grin spread across Reynolds’s face, as he watched the girl drop writhing to the debris-littered ground. “And on that note, I think it’d be wise to get furry myself. Show you how it’s done.” George figured the bastard was probably afraid of being caught human when they all changed.
With that, Reynolds transformed, his body growing to its full towering werewolf height, sable fur spreading over his skin in a silken wave. This time George actually saw it happening—for about half a second before fire roared up from his own guts.
The pain ripped a scream from him before he could drag it back. George bent double, vaguely aware of the others dropping to the ground to writhe in agonized convulsions.
Doris started shrieking, her voice high with agony. Light blazed across the clearing.
Before the chief could tell her to shut the hell up, Something came barreling out of nowhere and slammed into him—something not physical, yet huge and glowing with power. It closed clawed fists in his guts, ripped, twisted his arms and legs like taffy, pulling him mercilessly. He burned, vomited, pissed himself at the agony.
And then…
Like a light going out, the pain was gone.
George collapsed, shocked and shaking, bracing himself on hands and knees as he fought to get his bearings.
That idiot Doris was still screaming, and the whole area was lit up with blazing blue light. Alarmed, George turned toward her.
The clerk was burning like a witch at the stake. Ghostly blue flames leaped from her eyes and mouth as she screeched. “Help me! Somebody help me!” Her mouth twisted into an animal howl. “Hel…”
Then she was gone. Vanished. All that was left was tiny blue sparks, floating on the breeze like the remnants of a campfire.
“Shit,” George breathed. His voice sounded all wrong, a deep, growling rasp. Startled, he looked down at himself.
His body was huge, covered in black and gray fur.
Staring wildly around, he realized he was surrounded by werewolves—two blondes he thought were Tim and Dave, a couple of heavyset ones that might be Young and Taylor, a red-furred one that had to be Granger. And Reynolds, who stood staring at the spot where Doris had disappeared. “Huh,” the werewolf said. “Wonder what the fuck happened to her?”
“We need to talk,” Jim said.
In the middle of fixing sandwiches for them both, Faith looked around. Her heart sank at the expression of determination on his handsome face. Something told her this wasn’t a conversation she was going to enjoy.
She hid her alarm and turned to put the sandwiches on two plates with chips and pickle spears. “About what?”
He got a couple of beers out of the fridge. “Us.”
Oh, great. Just great. “You want to have sex again?” She carried the sandwiches to the table.
A grin flashed across that handsome face. “Yeah, actually. But first I want to talk.”
“So, talk.” Faith sat, watching as he did the same.
“There’s this werewolf thing.” He picked up his BLT and took a healthy bite.
Her lips twitched. “Another one?” She crunched into her sandwich, the wolf in her growling in approval at the taste of the crispy meat.
“’Fraid so. But this one could actually work to our advantage. And right now, we need all the advantages we can get.”
“Granted.” She picked up her beer, took a sip. “What kind of ‘werewolf thing’ are we talking about here?”
He hesitated. “It’s a little complicated.”
“Jim, it’s been my experience that all werewolf things are complicated.” She licked mayo off her lips and tried to ignore the heated glance he gave her mouth.
“Good point.” He went silent and applied himself to his sandwich, obviously working up to whatever he was about to say. Oh, peachy. Anything that required that much buildup was probably bad news.
“My people have something called the Spirit Link,” Jim announced after several meditative bites. “It’s a bond couples can form—another one of those magical gifts Merlin gave us. Magekind couples have the Truebond, which lets them read each other’s thoughts, but ours is more spiritual and less invasive.”
“Couples?” As in married couples? She put her beer down with a thump. “Jim….”
He just charged right over her interruption as if reluctant to give her an opening. “We don’t read each other’s minds like Truebonded Magekind.
“A Spirit Linked couple senses each other’s emotions and intentions—you just instinctively know what your partner is going to do.”
Curious despite herself, Faith asked, “Just how do you go about forming one of these things?”
He shrugged. “As I understand it, you just kind of transform together, calling your power while touching. Then you just sort of…blend your magic, and the Link forms. People have been known to Spirit Link during combat.” Jim gave her a grim smile. “It’s supposed to come in handy.”
“Yeah,” she drawled, “I can see where it would.”
Jim cleared his throat and put down his sandwich. He actually looked more nervous than he had when he’d told her about the bite. Then he’d been afraid for her, but now he was visibly worried about her reaction. “It carries physical advantage in a fight, too. You basically blend your magic during the moment you transform, and it strengthens you both. You don’t have to worry about losing control of the magic, either. My dad says you steady each other—”
“Are you asking me to marry you?”
To her amazement, he actually blushed. Then he tilted up that strong chin and gave her a defiant look. “Yeah.”
Ron had proposed on one knee, flipping open a little velvet box that had probably cost him two months’ salary. Of course, it had meant exactly nothing, so
the cost of the ring scarcely mattered.
“You can’t be serious,” Faith told him with a growing sense of panic, pushing her sandwich aside. “We’ve known each other less than a week. You can’t just—”
“I’m in love with you.”
The bald words took her breath. She stared at him for a helpless moment before she managed to speak. “The Burning Moon.”
His steady, demanding gaze didn’t even shift. “I started falling for you the first time I saw you.”
“At Johnson’s Kennel? Jim, you were a dog.”
“No matter how many legs I happen to have, I’m always a man.” He sighed as she stood and started clearing off the table. “Look, I know it’s a big step. Dire Wolves mate for life. And when one member of a Spirit Linked couple dies, the other usually follows soon after.”
“Well, now that’s comforting!”
“I realize you need to think about this.”
With an effort, she softened her tone. “Actually, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”
His silver gaze bored into hers. “Then consider this. You would never have to wonder if I was deceiving you. Even if I was the kind of bastard Ron was, you’d know my emotions. You’d feel what I feel.”
“Jim, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
The werewolves howled as Sergeant Randy Young swaggered up to a pine tree, wrapped his furry arms around it, and heaved. Wood groaned as if the pine were protesting. Roots popped and cracked. With a triumphant roar, Young ripped the tree out of the ground and let it fall with a thunderous crash.
The heavyset were laughed, his jaws gapping as the others clapped their big clawed hands. As Reynolds had expected, they had begun to see the possibilities in being werewolves.
Immortality would be nice, but being Supermen didn’t exactly suck either.
“All this,” Reynolds called over their shouts, “and you can still enjoy a good steak—without bursting into flames when the sun comes up.”
Frank’s laughter cut off. Reynolds concealed his rising tension. He’d expected problems from that one—Frank was a hothead.
Ayers’s calculating stare was no surprise, either. The chief was looking for a weakness. Reynolds had to make sure he didn’t find any.
“That’s all well and good.” Frank stalked across the ruins toward him. He stopped muzzle to muzzle with Reynolds and peeled his lips back from his fangs. “But you didn’t fucking ask. You just jumped us!”
Reynolds smiled faintly, coldly.
Then he popped his claws and punched them right into Frank’s gut. The werewolf bent double with a strangled cry of agony and collapsed in a heap.
“Jesus!” Taylor gasped.
Coolly, Reynolds knelt and rolled Frank over on his back. Panting, the were looked down in horror at the deep, bleeding rips in his belly. “What’s wrong with you, you fucking psycho!”
“What did you expect, dumbass? You challenged me.” Reynolds gave him a deliberately chilling smile. “I figure you’re gonna bleed out in half an hour tops.”
Frank stared up at him in shock. “You bastard!”
“The good news is, if you Change right now, you’ll survive.” He grinned. “Oh, wait—you don’t know how, do you?”
The werewolf threw back his head and whined in pain. “Shit, Keith. What the fuck do you want?”
Reynolds bared his teeth. “Obedience.” He looked up at the horrified weres standing around them. “From now on, I’m in charge.”
“Yeah. Whatever, man. How do I Change?”
Point made, Reynolds told him.
Jim had offered Faith his very soul, and she’d kicked him in the teeth.
Anger buzzed through him like a high voltage electric line, snarling and popping. Almost steaming with it, he channel surfed on the ancient TV, but there was nothing on except crap. Stupid crap. Depressing crap.
He hit an image of Bogart in a tux, brooding over a glass of whiskey. “Of all the gin joints in all the world…”
“Sap,” he snarled at the screen, and changed the channel.
“Want a beer?” Faith called from the kitchen doorway, looking guilty.
“No.” The growl sounded distinctly basso. It occurred to him he was a little too close to Changing, but he didn’t give a shit.
Something jangled cheerfully from his pants pocket. He knew from the ring it was the encrypted cell Charlie had given him.
Great. Just great. He dug it out of his pocket. “London.”
“Why the hell haven’t you reported in? I was starting to wonder if the fucking rogue had eaten you.”
Charlie sounded almost as foul tempered as he felt. Perfect. “That pussy? Not likely.”
“Is he dead?”
“Almost got him today. Had him on the ropes, but he rabbited.”
“Why the hell did you let him do that? You should have chased him.”
“I did. Got hit by a car.”
Charlie started cursing with considerable verve and vulgarity. “Screw it. I’m sending Jennings.”
“Dammit, I said I’d take care of him!”
“Then do it! Or are you waiting for him to die of old age?” The phone went dead.
“Asshole.” Jim stuffed it in his pocket and looked up to find Faith watching him warily. “I’m tired of fucking around with Reynolds. Any ideas how we can find him?”
“I don’t…” She broke off, frowning. “I seem to recall that he likes to get a beer and a sandwich at the Silver Bullet.”
“The bar where Tony got into that brawl?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “The owner lets cops eat free. And there’s a woman he sees there—Sheri Miller. Waitress, about five-six, blond.” She held her hands out in front of her, cupping large, imaginary tits. “Gets very big tips.”
Jim indulged in a cynical snort. “And he loves her for her mind. Sounds like just the woman I need to talk to.” He got up and headed for the door.
“Wait a minute—I’m not going to the Bullet in shorts.” Faith made for the stairs, obviously intending to change.
He didn’t break step. “You’re not going at all. They know you there, remember?”
“Now, wait just one minute!” Hurrying after him, she caught him by one shoulder and turned him around. There was outrage and worry in her eyes. He felt just petty enough to enjoy it. “You’re not going after him alone.”
“Aren’t I? I’m the Alpha, Faith. I’m more than capable of handling him with no assistance whatsoever.”
“I don’t care.” She folded her arms and glowered at him. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go against Reynolds without backup. Any rookie cop would know better.”
“I’m your Wolfmaster, Faith. You don’t ‘let’ me do anything.” He stalked out the front door and slammed it behind him, then bounded down the porch steps. He didn’t look around when he heard the door open, instead striding toward the convertible.
As he vaulted over the driver’s door, a flash of red leaped into the opposite seat.
Faith, in Irish setter form, curled a defiant lip.
“If you shed on those seats, you’re vacuuming it up.” He started the car with a violent twist of his wrist.
FIFTEEN
Korbal stood in the hallway, staring down at the mangled bodies of the grail guards. They looked as if they’d been ripped apart by wild animals.
A sensation of sick dread spread over him, not for the guards’ deaths—the incompetent bastards had failed him—but for what he knew he’d find inside the grail chamber.
It was the end of everything.
Mechanically, he stepped over the bodies of his men and looked through the chamber’s open double doors. As he’d known it would be, the grail was gone.
His knees went weak, and he sagged against the doorframe.
The battle for the grail had broken off at dawn. Korbal and his men had fought the Magekind to the last possible second, until the sun weighed on him like a lead coat as its radiation ate into his magic.
At
last Arthur and his men had fled. Even their witches had gone with them just before the sunlight rendered them all powerless. With bare seconds to spare, Korbal had conjured a lair behind the nearest wall and transported himself into it.
But the battle had been only a distraction. While Arthur’s men kept him busy, Arthur’s pet monster had taken the grail and killed his men.
The last time the creature had attacked, five of his best guards had gated after it. They’d never returned, and his attempts to follow their magical trail had been blocked by their killer.
Two had survived, only because they’d stayed behind to watch the grail. They had described an assault by a wolflike monster who had appeared out of thin air to slaughter two men before gating away.
Whatever it was, the creature had not been one of Geirolf’s creations. Its lingering scent trail smelled of the Mageverse, not the demon’s dark magic. Logically, it had to be one of Arthur’s.
Korbal had no doubt the creature had been responsible for the theft of the grail. The same overwhelming scent of wolf and Mageverse filled the corridor, mixing with the blood reek from his murdered men.
The only question was, why weren’t Korbal and all his people dead? The Magekind should have destroyed the grail the moment they had it in their possession. Why were they holding off?
A gasp of horror drew his attention. Glancing over his shoulder, he met the eyes of the female vampire who stood in the corridor.
“The grail?” she asked, her voice high with fear.
“Gone.” He lifted one hand in a complicated gesture, sending out a spell to the minds of his people. “Arm and armor yourselves. We meet in the Sanctuary.”
The wind whipped Faith’s long ears and combed cool fingers through her Irish setter fur, but she was too focused on Jim to pay it much attention.
Just like a man, she told herself. He hadn’t gotten his way, and now he was acting all pissy.
Except she kept seeing that flash of hurt in those pale eyes when she’d turned him down. That wasn’t just wounded ego.
Oh, some of it was, she decided, watching a fine muscle flex in his handsome jaw. And she really couldn’t blame him. After all, Jim had asked her to share something more intimate than marriage, and she’d blown him off.
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