The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series

by Craig Halloran

  When Smoke woke up, the music was no longer pumping through the walls, but his head was pounding like a set of drums. He sat in an office chair with his arms bound behind his back.

  “I told you that you couldn’t kill me,” said a rough voice. It was the red-headed deader that Smoke had filled with lead in the bathroom earlier. He’d changed his clothes and had a scarf wrapped around his neck. Murder was in his eyes. “Having a good time?”

  “Not really,” Smoke said. “This club sucks. Maybe you should switch to a classic country theme.”

  The red-haired European slugged him in the gut.

  A rush of air whooshed from his lips. The stinging pain watered his eyes. “You’re awfully temperamental for someone who thinks he’ll live forever. Have you ever considered taking anti-depressants? You seem so bitter.”

  The man drew back again.

  “That’s enough, Carl. There will be plenty of time to play with him later.” It was Vormus who spoke. He sat behind a nice desk, modern, with lots of metal and glass. The entire office was very contemporary in construction. Soft neon lit the wet bars, shelves, and cabinets. There were more men in the office, too, all the ones from the picture. Five in all. Slick, pasty, and shady. The stench of death was on them. “I still have some questions to ask this man.”

  Smoke rolled his head back. “I hope it’s trivia. I love trivia. What are the categories?”

  Carl backhanded him across the face. “Shut up.”

  Vormus held four fingers up. “Carl, please, be patient. I’m finding some pleasure in this fellow’s musings. I like him, such a change from the usual ones who beg for their lives.”

  Poking his fingers into Smoke’s temple, Carl said, “You might not be begging now, but you will be.”

  Smoke clammed up and looked away.

  “That’s what I thought.” Carl backed away and took a seat on one of the leather chairs. “Punk.”

  Smoke made a quick scan with his eyes. There were five men plus Vormus. His hands were bound with rope that bit into his wrists when he moved. His fingers were almost numb.

  Got to give them credit, they weren’t stupid enough to use duct tape.

  “So,” said the vampire, “we noticed you didn’t have any identification on you, but Carl says you are a veteran. Why don’t you fill us in on some details?”

  Smoke continued to size these super-deaders up. None of them were armed. All of them were cocky and pale skinned, with an air of invincibility. Just like Carl. Smoke was used to blasting away bits and pieces of normal deaders, but these … they were different.

  But everything has a weakness.

  “Well,” Smoke said, “my father was a crop duster back in Iowa, and when I grew up, I decided I didn’t like the smell of pesticide, so I came to the big city. And boy, imagine my surprise when I got here only to find that it’s full of pests. Isn’t that sad?”

  A couple of the goons chuckled. Carl started to stand. A scowl from Vormus sat him down again.

  “I’m sorry,” Smoke said to Vormus, “was that too much detail?”

  “It was something,” Vormus said. He checked his long nails. “It seems our scuffle chipped one. You know, it won’t take much time for my crew to track down your allies and kill them. I suggest you become more forthcoming.”

  “I don’t think you want my name. I think you just want someone to pick on.” Smoke eyed Carl. “Red over there picked the wrong fight with the wrong someone and lost. He’s just trying to save face, and here you are bailing him out. All because he screwed up.”

  “Your argument does have some merit, but though Carl might be one to start a fight, I don’t think his intentions were wrong.” Vormus stood up, walked around the desk, leaned toward Smoke, and sniffed the air. “I can smell the good in you.” He leaned back on the desk. “It’s quite detestable. In a place like this, you couldn’t be less noticeable to us wearing a skunk on you.”

  “Really? You can smell me?”

  “Like bad fish at dinner.”

  “You mean like good fish at dinner,” Smoke said, “because you say you can smell the good in me. So I’m like a well-seasoned Boston cod with a nice squeeze of lemon.”

  Carl jumped up with balled fists. “Let me shred this disrespectful scum, Vormus! I can’t take any more!” His voice was hoarse, probably because of all the new holes in his neck.

  Smoke gave the deader a sympathetic smile. “I can recommend some good cough syrup to clear up that itchy sound in your voice. It’s a family––”

  Vormus clamped his hand over Smoke’s mouth and squeezed. The vampire’s slender hand had the power of a vice.

  Smoke found himself staring into Vormus’s bright white eyes, unable to tear his gaze away.

  In a strong voice that could enchant a statue, Vormus said, “Who are you?”

  “John Smoke.”

  “Who sent you, John Smoke?”

  “Reginald.”

  “And who does Reginald work for?”

  “The Drake.”

  Vormus nodded. “I see. And why would a good man like you be in the service of an establishment as foul as The Drake?”

  “For money.”

  Staring deeper into Smoke’s eyes, Vormus said to him, “No, it’s not money. Be truthful now.”

  Squirming in his chair, Smoke said, “They have my friend.”

  “Ah, extortion. Such a classic motivational vehicle.” Vormus backed away. “Now it all makes sense. And why were you sent? As a spy?”

  “No,” Smoke said. His stomach was churning. “I was sent to kill you all.”

  Vormus threw his head back and laughed.

  The others joined in.

  Finally, Vormus said, “I can’t believe they’d send a mortal to take us. Oh, how desperate The Drake has become since our arrival. Well brethren, let’s send The Drake a message from us. Have your fun, Carl. Torture this man, whatever you want. Whatever remains, we’ll send to The Drake in pieces.” He patted Smoke on the head and finished by saying, “Thanks for the best laugh I’ve had in decades.”

  CHAPTER 10

  As soon as Vormus departed, Carl was the first of The Many to rise. Two of the others joined him. Their jaws stretched open wide. Fangs grew inside their mouths. Saliva dripped from their razor-sharp teeth.

  Smoke watched a new horror come to life, standing right in front of him. “Looks like you fellas missed your rabies shots. I know a really good veterinarian.”

  Carl smote him in the jaw.

  One of the men cackled like a hyena.

  Behind his back, Smoke’s fingernails sawed at the cords that bound him. The diamond dust that coated his nails was always a good trick, but could he break free in time?

  Keep ’em talking.

  “I don’t suppose I get any final requests before my execution?”

  One of the men slipped in behind him and clamped down on his shoulders. The long nails dug deep into his flesh. It was the one that cackled like a rotten teenager acting out some kind of cheap thrill. “You’ll be screaming out plenty of requests between the moments of torture.”

  Carl snapped his fingers and eyed one of the men sitting on the couch. “The case, please?”

  The man reached over the sofa arm and lifted up a burgundy leather case, one of the thick boxy ones that businessmen and accountants carry several files in. He tossed it to Carl, who snatched it out of the air and set it down. He popped open the latches on the top, and the case collapsed into a flat surface loaded with sharp, shiny metal.

  Smoke’s throat tightened.

  Lifting up a medical saw, Carl held it in front of Smoke. “I’m reneging on my promise to give you a proper veteran’s burial. You’ve pissed me off too much.” He reached behind him and pulled out a set of steel needles bound in black velvet cloth. “And I intend to make you apologize for every bit of it.”

  “Seems odd to me that a mortal like me would be able to get under your clammy skin. Perhaps you’re full of regret.”

  “Hah, h
ardly.” Carl lowered the needle and poked it into Smoke’s shoulder.

  Smoke clenched his jaws. Sweat burst on his forehead. His nostrils flared, and his chest labored for breath. “I love acupuncture.”

  With one brow hitched up, Carl drew forth another needle. “My, you really can’t help that big mouth, can you. But I’ll tell you what; this is going to be fun. That was only the first of many needles.”

  “You mean you aren’t going to bite me, suck my blood?”

  “We have all the blood we need.” Carl shoved another needle into the same shoulder, through one side and out the other.

  Pain shot through every nerve in Smoke’s body. Black spots burst in his eyes. He didn’t scream. He practically spat when he said, “You’re not very good at this.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It doesn’t hurt enough.”

  “That’s because I’m only toying with you. See, I’m slowing your blood flow so you don’t squirt everywhere.”

  One of the other members fetched a roll of plastic and started spreading it out on the floor. Two others picked Smoke up in his chair and set him down in the middle of the plastic.

  Carl picked up the bone saw. “It works pretty good most of the time, but it’s been a while.”

  The smaller, younger-looking one let out another shrill cackle.

  Smoke eyed him and then said to Carl, “And you think I’m annoying.”

  “I adore Julius’s enthusiasm. So should you. Okay gentleman, hold him still. I don’t want him kicking when I saw his leg off.”

  “I thought you were sawing my arm off?”

  “Oh, I just said that. You’re going to bleed everywhere when we—huh?”

  Smoke’s fingernails had cut through the last of the woven cord. Summoning his strength and fighting against the inferno inside his shoulder, he tore from his bonds and burst into action, rushing out of the chair, twisting from Julius’s grip, and charging Carl. He shattered Vampire Junior’s knee with a well-placed kick.

  With a wail, Carl crumpled to the floor.

  Smoke jumped over the steel and glass desk. Hiding under it, he stuck his fingers into his jeans pocket and fetched out a bright-green pill, popped it in his mouth, and clamped down.

  The Many slung the desk off him, shattering the glass.

  Smoke leg-swept one of them, only to see him bounce up again instantly. He ripped the needles free of his shoulder just as Julius attacked.

  Fast and strong, the younger fiend plowed into Smoke and pinned him against the wall, cackling like a wild hyena. “You just went from worse to worser!”

  Smoke rammed the needles through Julius’s throat. “How’s that for worser, idiot?”

  These junior monsters might have been hard to kill, but they were only average fighters. Bloody shoulder dripping, Smoke fought them off with anything he could get a hold of. He’d held up for a few seconds when they cornered him and got the drop on him and hammered away with their fists.

  Overwhelmed by their power, busted up and bloody, Smoke sagged to the floor.

  “Get up, you!” A bit bigger than the rest, this one picked Smoke up like a child and shoved him into the wall.

  Smoke hit the wall and bounced back through the cocktail bar.

  Carl braced himself against the wall. “You’re making a mess, everyone! Vormus won’t like it. Let’s finish him off without trashing this office. Have some fun, but be done with it.”

  With his energy drained, Smoke let the men shove him around like a rag doll. One would push and another one would hit him in a brutal game of tag. He addressed himself to Julius, who still had the needles sticking out of his throat. “What’s the matter, not speaking to me?”

  Julius punched him hard in the ribs and gave him a hard shove into the main office door. The deadbolt on it wasn’t locked.

  Carl was sitting on the tumbled desk. “Go ahead, Mister Smoke. Run. We’re having fun. We can allow you a few precious moments. Please, go ahead.”

  “You could hear a pin drop when Johnny stopped and locked the door,” Smoke replied. He shoved the deadbolt into place, sealing them all inside.

  “Johnny? Who the hell’s Johnny?” Carl asked.

  All of Smoke’s attackers glanced at each other. Some of them shrugged.

  Smoke staggered along the glass wall, where a fireman’s axe hung inside a glass case. He busted it out and took it by the haft. “It’s a song.”

  “About a fireman?” said one of The Many.

  “No,” said another, “I think it’s a scene from The Shining. You know, ‘Here’s Johnny.’”

  Nodding his head, the first member said, “I like that movie.”

  Smoke cracked his neck from side to side, his blood now racing through his veins. His pain was gone. Every limb ignited with fire. “It’s from The Gambler, you idiots, a made-for-TV cowboy movie starring Kenny—”

  “I thought the Indians carried the axes in those movies,” said the biggest one.

  Smoke attacked through the glass wall, chopping the big one down first. The axe bit hard into its knee and brought it down like a falling tree.

  One down, four to go.

  The fireman’s axe had a nasty pick on the back end, made to tear through walls. He tore a hole out of another member’s head. Fast as a wild tiger Smoke attacked, hacking down one member after another.

  Julius went for the bone saw on the floor.

  Smoke raised the axe high and chopped the little vampire’s hand off. His next strike cracked the monster’s cranium.

  Carl hopped toward the door.

  “Where are you going, Carl? I thought you said I couldn’t kill you?”

  Back against the door with fear in his eyes, Carl said, “That might have been a slight exaggeration.”

  Smoke split his face. “Shut up.”

  He pushed Carl out of the way and opened up the door. Down the corridor, Vormus was coming straight for him.

  CHAPTER 11

  “My, aren’t you the formidable one?” Vormus said, walking toward Smoke with an easy gait. He stopped several feet short and eyed the gory axe. “You might have mutilated my expendable men, but you won’t succeed with me. Of course, you’re welcome to try if you like.”

  “Just get out of my way.”

  “Oh, I can’t do that. You’re not dead yet. And I have to wrap you up into a present.”

  Smoke lunged. It was a clumsy telegraphed blow.

  Vormus swatted his efforts away. The snake-quick man was a match for everything Smoke threw at him. “This is childish. Put your rattle down and just submit. It’s been a long night, and you need your beauty sleep.”

  Like a burly lumberjack, Smoke kept at it.

  Vormus shifted from side to side. “Honestly, I can’t fathom how you beat my men.”

  Smoke puffed for breath. “Well, now I am tired.”

  With his hand, Vormus tossed back his long white hair. “Given your valiant efforts, I think I’m just going to crack your neck and kindly put you in a coffin.”

  Smoke sucked in a raspy breath in the steel office door frame. “Good, I could use the rest.”

  Vormus’s white eyes bore into his with hypnotic power. “Just rest,” he suggested. “Rest.”

  “I would, but I’ve got places to go and people to see.” Smoke cracked the haft of the axe on the metal door frame. It turned the handle into a sharp stick. Propelled by his vitamin-enhanced legs, he drove the sharp end of the handle into Vormus’s heart like a stake.

  The vampire let out a loud gasp. The glimmer in his eye went out. He sagged to his knees. “How, how did you do that?”

  Still filled with energy, Smoke replied, “It’s called possum Stateside, moron.”

  Vormus fell over with his jaw hanging open and no longer moved.

  Smoke strode back into the office, found some car keys, and made his way outside through the kitchen. He punched the button on the keyless remote, and the lights on one of the sports cars lit up—a red Jaguar coupe. He hopped
in, fired up the engine, found a classic country station on the radio, cranked it up, and peeled out. He was singing along to some solid country gold with The Guillotine miles behind him when the super vitamin wore off. He could barely lift his head up when he pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and passed out.

  ***

  Smoke’s head snapped up against the driver’s seat headrest. He wiped the drool from his mouth onto his shirt. His head was filled with tiny pounding hammers. Rubbing his temple, he popped open the door and spat blood. The sunrise glared in his eyes.

  Blocking the light with his hand, he noticed an older woman with honey-blond hair getting into her car and staring at him. She was in a business suit and held in her hand a white Styrofoam cup with a seven on it.

  Squinting, he started to turn away.

  “Sir, are you okay?” she said, approaching with caution. Her free hand was inside her purse. “Have you been in an accident?”

  “Not exactly,” he said with a grimace. “But I’m okay. I appreciate the concern.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Because you don’t look okay.” She eyed his shoulder. His shirt was caked in blood. “It looks like you were in an accident.”

  “Look, you seem like a decent lady—”

  “And you look like a decent man.” There was a spark in her brown eyes. “Real decent. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

  “I could use some change?”

  “You make an awfully handsome panhandler. Bloody, but clean. I like it.”

  “I’m guessing you’re a morning person.”

  With an enticing smile, she said, “I did Pilates at six this morning. Never miss a day.”

  Smoke nodded. “I appreciate the concern, but I really have to get going. Places to go and people to see.”

  She pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to him. “I’m Sherry. Call me. I’d like to have lunch or dinner with you sometime. Anytime would be great, actually. I’m very flexible, and so is my schedule.”