Taken by the Others

by Jess Haines

  Through the haze of my anger, a wild thought crossed my mind. Maybe I could use this disaster to my advantage. I stood up straight and forced myself to appear as calm and rational as I didn’t feel, after a couple of deep breaths to steady my nerves.

  “Look, he’s only shifted because he’s upset. He thinks I’m dead or kidnapped or whatever. Once he sees me, he’ll calm down. Even when shifted, most Weres have enough of their human intellect left to keep from doing anyone harm unless they’re deliberately provoked. Right now, I’d say he’s about as upset as he could possibly be. Shooting him won’t solve anything. Follow me up there if you want, but if he doesn’t get some reassurance, he’s not going to shift back anytime soon. Besides, why not avoid a potential bloodbath when the S.W.A.T. team gets here? I don’t think anyone wants that.”

  O’Donnell put a hand on my shoulder to show his support. He was ashen pale, but determined. “I’ll go up there with her. I’ll take the heat if Sergeant Vega has a problem with it. He won’t be here for another twenty minutes. This can’t wait that long.”

  The other cop shook his head. “You know I can’t let you do that. You can’t go in there.”

  “Watch me,” I said, sidestepping around him and rushing up to the front door.

  I ignored their commands to come back, and heard O’Donnell reassuring the other cops, following rapidly in my footsteps. He could get in a lot of trouble for this. So could I, for that matter.

  Either way, I sorely hoped what I’d said outside was true. Chaz was the leader of a werewolf pack. That meant he was bigger, faster, and most importantly, smarter than the average shifted Were. He might be hotheaded, but he shouldn’t be so out of control that he wouldn’t recognize me. If he didn’t, Officer O’Donnell and I would be mincemeat.

  Chapter 16

  The rookie was braver than I gave him credit for. His voice was firm and confident, but his hand was trembling as it hovered over his piece. “Are you sure he won’t attack us?”

  I kept the lead, taking the stairs up to my floor slowly, more because I was tired and didn’t feel so hot than because I was worried.

  “Pretty sure. If he didn’t kill or attack anyone right off, chances are he’s ‘himself’ enough to keep from hurting us.”

  “Okay,” he said, quieting for a minute. We were almost to my floor when he blurted out another question. “Why are you dating a Were?”

  A perfectly valid question. Pity he had to sound so disgusted and horrified when he asked it.

  “He’s good looking, makes good money, a perfect gentleman, and saved my butt more times than I can count. He’s not a bad guy. Just is what he is.”

  The officer nodded, not seeming completely satisfied, but at least he stopped asking questions. Guess he was one of the “Weres are okay to work with, not okay to sleep with” crowd. Go figure.

  When I pushed open the door on the landing, the first thing I spotted were pieces of splintered furniture lying against the wall a few yards away. Light was spilling into the dim hall from my apartment. I hoped those splintered wood shards weren’t part of the door. Explaining the property damage to my landlord wasn’t an appealing prospect.

  Suppressing my fear was difficult with O’Donnell’s rapid breathing punctuating the unnatural quiet. There should’ve been a radio or TV blasting from one of the other apartments at this time of day. Had the police gotten everyone out? Were they in hiding? Or had Chaz given in to his baser instincts and hunted my neighbors down?

  “Chaz?” I called out quietly, knowing he must have heard us on the stairs. He should’ve had enough time to get himself under control and shift back to human, but I wasn’t going to take any chances of startling him if he was still shifted. That could be deadly.

  A low, plaintive whine drifted into the hall. Way too deep to be a dog.

  I started forward, not rapidly, but not wasting any time either. When O’Donnell hissed at me to wait, to slow down, I ignored him.

  I didn’t have time to be pissed off about the bullet holes in the wall or the splintered door frame. A gasp was startled out of me at the sight of the monstrous, hulking form lying battered and bleeding in the corner. Chaz was curled up near the couch, blood streaming down the gray fur of his shoulder. Massive claws dug deep furrows into the carpet, flexing with each spasm of pain.

  Ice blue eyes met mine when the great, shaggy head lifted, another whine drifting from his throat. I slowed, hands at my sides, fingers splayed and palms out to avoid triggering any fighting instincts. Chaz’s ears flattened, showing his fangs in a silent snarl when O’Donnell appeared in the doorway behind me. The cop’s hand was plastered to his gun, his knees shaking so badly I could hear them rattling. This must be the first time he’d seen a Were in their half-man, half-animal form. O’Donnell’s fear could mean an itchy trigger finger or might provoke Chaz into attacking. Not good.

  I spoke quietly, trying to pull Chaz’s attention off the terrified kid. “Chaz, what happened?”

  A growl escaped him, setting the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. My fear dissipated as Chaz lowered his head and stopped showing his teeth, a gruff, less irritated sound escaping him. With little cries of pain, he levered up to four paws, limping closer to me. Right now, we were nearly eye level. When he stood up on his hind legs, he’d have to stoop so he wouldn’t bump his head on the ceiling.

  The cop took a step back, gun clearing the holster as I reached out a hand to Chaz. I hissed at him to put the weapon away while I got down on one knee, examining wounds mostly hidden behind fur and blood. One of the rounds hadn’t gone very deep, and I could see the hint of the metal shining through the mask of blood. It was difficult to tell how bad it was with his muscles rippling in an involuntary effort to dislodge the bullet.

  “Chaz, come to the kitchen so I can get more light.”

  The kid rapidly backed out of the way. It was painful to watch Chaz limp, making little pained sounds with every step, the few feet from my living room to the kitchen. I watched just long enough to see him settle to the ground and then ran straight to my bathroom. I tore open the medicine cabinet and raced back with a pair of tweezers.

  “For God’s sake, don’t just stand there. Help me!” I snapped at O’Donnell as I passed him the second time.

  He came out of his frightened trance, skittishly following me to the kitchen. He was staring at Chaz like he was afraid the Were was going to turn around and bite him.

  “Get some warm water and towels from under the sink. Chaz, don’t move. Sorry, this is going to hurt.”

  Chaz whimpered like an injured puppy–a very large injured puppy–but stayed as still as he could while I prodded at the wound. The bullet was lodged in muscle, not very deep. He was lucky the rest of the shots had gone wild. I should be able to get it out. Lucky me, I’d get to pull them out of the plaster next.

  His muscles twitched and jumped under my fingers while I worked. Careful as I was, with the way his body was reacting, it wasn’t easy to find an opportunity to pluck the metal out. When he let loose with a deafening howl of protest, Officer O’Donnell jumped so badly I thought he’d smack his head on the ceiling. Okay, okay, I jumped, too. The sound was pretty unnerving.

  I whispered soothing nonsense things while I worked, trying to focus on pulling the stupid hunk of metal out. I also tried to ignore the cracking of the kitchen tile as claws repeatedly flexed while I dug around, trying to get a good grip on the slug. After a few more hair-raising howls, a bit of pulling, and a few unfortunate slips of the tweezers, I finally dug the bullet out.

  O’Donnell pressed the warm, wet cloth to Chaz’s shoulder as he lay panting on the linoleum. I was thankful the policeman didn’t seem squeamish about Were blood. Some people still thought you could catch lycanthropy just by touching infected blood, though that theory had been disproven long ago. The virus is passed through fluids, yes, but it has to work its way into your bloodstream through a bite or an injection of tainted blood.

  I stared at the bullet
. Hard to tell. I went to the sink to get the blood off my hands and the piece of metal. I had to be sure.

  A rinse revealed the unmistakable gleam of silver shot. No wonder his body hadn’t expelled it or started healing yet. Cops were supposed to carry regular rounds and switch to silver after it was confirmed they were dealing with lycanthropes. From what I understood, they didn’t carry anti-Were equipment unless they’d been tipped beforehand. Too expensive to do otherwise.

  How did this happen? How could they have known to be prepared with silver shot?

  I turned back to the two, eyes narrowed. I was too angry to appreciate the irony of how scared O’Donnell looked. He was leaning to put pressure on the wound and at the same time holding as much of himself as far away from Chaz as he could. Like he was afraid he’d catch something if he got too close. “Chaz, can you shift back?”

  He slowly lifted his head from his paws and shook it, unnerving O’Donnell even more.

  “Too badly hurt?”

  A nod this time.

  “Jesus. He understands us?”

  Chaz turned back to just look at him. O’Donnell backed up a step, putting his hands up. “Okay, I get it.”

  I moved to take his place putting pressure on the wound, worry settling in since it was still bleeding. I’d seen him take much worse damage fighting other Weres, but nothing hurt a lycanthrope like silver. Made me wonder who knew enough about me and my personal life to set up something like this.

  That thought in mind, I turned my attention to the windows. The shades were up, sun shining merrily in the sky, oblivious of the little drama that had played itself out. Somehow, someone had been able to get pictures of the inside of my apartment. I was willing to bet there was a camera set up in the building across from mine. Someone was watching me.

  I dragged O’Donnell by the wrist so he’d take over holding the cloth to Chaz’s shoulder. Once I was sure he wasn’t going to move again, I stalked over to each of the windows in every room, pulling down the shades, making sure the blinds were all closed. Once that was done, I dragged a duffel down from the top shelf of my bedroom closet, then proceeded to pull out the things I would need.

  Guns. Amber Kiss perfume. Cross. Armor. Belt with stakes. Enough fresh clothes for a couple days, ass-kicking boots, trench coat. Officer O’Donnell appeared in the doorway as I was putting on some sneakers. “I need to call in the guys downstairs. You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up and brushing my hands down my pant legs. I’d caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror when I was grabbing some stuff in the bathroom, and wondered why the hell Devon had tried hitting on me today. I looked like I’d been on a three-day bender, then left forgotten in the rain to sleep it off in the mud next to the stoop. My hair needed a wash so badly it had lost some of its natural curl. There were bags under my eyes deep enough to carry luggage, and my skin was so pale I looked like a ghost. There was a bloody handprint on my stomach, probably left by me when I was tending to Chaz and wasn’t paying attention.

  O’Donnell didn’t look much better than me. There was blood streaked on his nice blue uniform and on his hands. I only noticed since he gestured at the duffel on the bed. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready to leave. I need to call someone, then I have to go.”

  He put on his cop face. It isn’t as impressive when you look like you’re on the verge of having hysterics. “You can’t just walk out of here. There’s going to be questions; nobody knows what happened to you last night. Besides, don’t you want to get your car out of the impound? One of the meter maids found it on the street yesterday and had it towed. Grady and I caught ten kinds of hell for leaving you to go chase that speeder.”

  I groaned, slapping my forehead and making the short length of chain on the cuff jingle. Silly me, I’d forgotten about my car. “Crud, yeah. Okay, I’ll stick around long enough to answer questions. I’ll have to pick up the car later.”

  Some of the immediate panic left his face. His relief would have been comical if I wasn’t so pissed off right now. “It may be better if you wait with the wolf.”

  I nodded and picked up the duffel, walking out into the living room. Chaz was huddled where we’d left him in the kitchen. His head was on his paws, and half-lidded eyes were watching the doorway to my bedroom; a hulking mass of muscle and fur strong enough to tear through the walls to find me if he had a mind for it. His ears perked up but otherwise he didn’t move.

  I tossed the bag next to the shattered door and sat down on the kitchen tile, leaning against Chaz’s uninjured side. He gave a rumbling sound of contentment when I rubbed the soft fur between his ears. He used to scare the hell out of me when he was shifted. After all the time we’d spent together, not to mention his saving my life, it was easier to be tolerant.

  O’Donnell stayed in the bedroom, using his walkie-talkie to let the other officers know it was safe to come up and to put their weapons away. I wondered darkly which one of them had shot my boyfriend. My threat of a lawsuit earlier wasn’t idle. I’d make it a point to note down their names and badge numbers for use later.

  “Don’t get up when the rest of the cops come in. One of them shot you, right?”

  Chaz lifted his head just enough to nod, then twisted slightly to look at me. It was a pain in the butt he couldn’t talk.

  “I have a question. This is important. Did the guy who shot you already have silver bullets or did he switch out his ammo after you shifted? Did he come prepared?”

  Chaz blinked those bright, luminous eyes at me before nodding again. Well, that answered that question. Conspiracy theory time.

  “Okay. Try not to scare them when they come up here. Do you want to press assault charges?”

  He growled. I took that as a yes.

  Patting him lightly on his good shoulder, I levered back up to my feet and started making some coffee. Before long, a bevy of uniforms trickled in, all of them watching Chaz nervously. A couple kept their hands on the butts of their guns, but none of them had their weapons out. O’Donnell gestured for them to come away from the kitchen so he could speak to them in quiet, hushed tones. One of them looked mighty pissed. That one kept gesturing angrily in our direction, talking in a harsh whisper. Likely none of them realized Chaz could hear and understand everything they were saying.

  I had a few mugs poured before they were finished talking. “Anybody need cream or sugar?”

  I fixed the drinks and passed them around to the officers. They quieted once I brought the coffee around, shifting uncomfortably in the living room and looking unsure where to start. On the bright side, Chaz was being good, staying down like a gigantic, sleepy wolf. He didn’t look quite so threatening that way. The occasional flash of his teeth was the only outward sign of his efforts to restrain his temper, ruining the image of a rather large but mostly harmless guard dog. He settled down after I gave him a nudge with my foot on the way to the kitchen.

  I picked the bullet up off the counter as I grabbed the last mug, my own, and took a seat on the couch. The officers were huddling on the far side of the room, as far as they could get from Chaz without looking too conspicuous. None of them but O’Donnell were willing to come anywhere near the kitchen.

  “I guess you guys must have some questions for me. Before we go into that, can I ask one of my own?”

  O’Donnell answered me. “Sure. Shoot.”

  I leaned forward and carefully set the bullet down on the coffee table. Right in the middle where nobody could mistake the gleam of silver. “Who told you guys to be prepared to deal with a shifter?”

  One of the cops rubbed his chin, looking nervously at Chaz. His badge said D. VEGA–the infamous Sergeant Vega perhaps? Was he the same one mentioned in that newspaper article about Royce saving my butt? I was willing to bet so. He was reluctant, but answered me soon enough.

  “An assistant to Mr. Royce called last night and said there was possible lycanthrope involvement in your kidnapping. Since we had that complaint from you a
bout the break-in the night prior, the captain advised us to load up silver shot before coming down here.”

  Huh. Royce said jump and the police asked how high. Why would he say Weres were involved in this mess when he knew as well as I did that Max was behind everything? Was he trying to get my boyfriend out of the way because Royce thought I wouldn’t touch him as long as I was committed to somebody else? If that was the case, he needed a serious reality adjustment. There were a heck of a lot more convincing reasons I wasn’t interested in socializing with the vampire. I’d worry about it later.

  “Whatever’s going on, it has nothing to do with Weres,” I said, balancing my coffee mug on my knee. “The guy who tried to break in and the one who kidnapped me are vampires. Some yahoo named Max Carlyle is orchestrating the whole thing.”

  Chaz gave voice to a thunderous growl that caused everyone in the room, including me, to jump nervously.

  I hushed him while Sergeant Vega, carefully ignoring the angry werewolf huffing a few feet away, said, “Ma’am, we’re going to have to take you down to the station for questioning.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! I just got home, feel like shit, haven’t showered in two days, probably need a doctor, and you want me to come down to the station? My life is stressful enough as it is. You can ask me whatever you need to know right here.”

  O’Donnell hid a smile behind his coffee mug. The rest of the cops were rolling their eyes; a couple were smirking. Seems a few of them were glad to see Vega taken down a notch. For his part, the sergeant looked like he’d just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.

  “We need to know what happened so we can figure out what to do about it,” Vega said. “If there’s some psychotic vampire out there kidnapping women, we can’t leave him on the streets. We have databases and files, sketch artists who can draw up the perp so we know who to look for. None of that is here.”