by C. Gockel
Her stomach growled.
Sighing, Victoria rolled her eyes. She entered a back room filled with crates and boxes stacked atop pallets. Shelves full of assorted containers bore a coating of thick dust. Exposed duct work and pipes covered the ceiling and walls.
Silently, she padded forward, using the stacked pallets as cover. Her nocturnal vision adjusted to the dimness. Her eyes cast a golden glow, illuminating her path. Her hands shifted to claws tipped in wicked nails, and her teeth elongated to sharp canines.
The soft sob of a child drew her onward. She hid behind a large steel drum. The pungent goat-scent permeated the entire area along with the stench of urine and feces. The fetid aroma overwhelmed her sensitive nose. Still, she caught the unmistakable underlying scent.
Human children.
She peered over the edge of the open drum. The container was filled to the rim with black fluid. Curious, she dipped a finger into the liquid and lifted it to her nose for a quick sniff. When she identified it as ink, her face contorted into a grimace of distaste.
Victoria extended her thoughts to Freya. Goddess, what is this sick bastard?
It is an abomination, Priestess.
Four wrought iron cages hung on chains suspended from the ceiling. Three contained small children: two boys and a girl. At a glance, they were between the ages of three and six. Shock hit her in the gut, leaving her winded and paralyzed for precious seconds. A wave of nausea assailed her. The thought that she'd almost refused to come to their rescue appalled her.
The heavy clomp of hooves on concrete alerted her to the monster's location on the far side of the room. A bipedal creature stepped into view. It stood over ten feet in height. A pair of curved horns flared from its skull. Red-rimmed eyes were deep set within its elongated face. It had a broad nose, a small mouth that formed a nasty grin, a bearded chin, and elven ears.
Male genitalia dangled between hairy legs that belonged on an ungulate. Cloven hooves created a distinctive clomp on the concrete. Thanks to Margaret's nightmare, that sound was indelibly burned into Victoria's imagination. As long as she lived, she'd remember the poor girl's absolute terror as the beast approached her bedroom door.
Wiry black fur covered his entire body. A thick mane grew on his head and shoulders, thinning across his sides and arms, only to thicken again upon his thighs. He had a five-fingered hand tipped in razor-sharp nails. A whip-like tail grew from his tailbone, and the beast stood hunched over due to the curvature of his spine.
Hostility vibrated throughout her, and she primed for violence. She hesitated out of fear for the youngsters. She doubted her ability to take on the immense beast in a one-on-one fight and win. The creature outweighed her by hundreds of pounds. If she died here, the knowledge of the goat man's location died with her. She needed help and regretted her decision to send Rand away.
An unexpected wave of fear and panic knocked Victoria off-balance. Gasping, she fell backward. She immediately identified Jasper as the source of the distress. She swallowed an instinctive snarl, instead producing a strangled gurgle in the back of her throat. Her wolf surged to the surface, threatening to burst through her skin.
A second later, Rand's fury roared across the pack bond. Adrenaline surging, Victoria crouched behind the barrel and struggled to regain control. Through an act of willpower, she managed to impose a degree of composure. Scrambling, she headed for the rear entrance, intending to call her pack mates once she reached safety.
Sides heaving, she stepped into the alleyway. A blinding burst of pain slammed her, and she stumbled. Rand is hurt. Her shoulder struck the side of the building and kept her from falling. She dug her phone from her pocket, but her hands shook so hard she fumbled. It took her two tries to clear the screen saver. Before Victoria had a chance to dial, the phone's screen lit up with an incoming call from an unknown number.
She answered automatically. "Hello?"
Only silence and the crackle of white noise emerged from the speaker. She started to speak again, when a man's rough voice asked, "Victoria?"
She froze, and her blood ran cold.
Jake Barrett.
Chapter Eight
Her grip on the cell phone tightened, knuckles turning white. Twisting, she scanned the area around her but saw no sign of hunters. Surprisingly, she caught a glimpse of the Rottweiler peering at her from the far end of the alley. The dog had defied her command and followed her.
"I know this is your number." Jake's tone conveyed strength and authority.
He sounded so damn much like Victoria's own father that it hurt to hear. She struggled to wrap her dry mouth and tight throat around words. "Is Rand still alive, Barrett?"
"Rand knocked around a couple of my men. Didn't kill anyone. I know him well enough to know he could've." His intonation remained perfectly cool and reasonable. "He took a shotgun blast to the chest. Unfortunately, he took off in a pickup before I got there."
Victoria released a held breath, dissipating awful internal pressure. It went without saying the hunters hadn't been using silver slugs or Rand wouldn't have survived a direct hit. Let alone escaped.
"Why would he attack your men?" Victoria asked even though she instantly supplied her own answer. Jasper. Rand must've been defending the teenager.
"That's the crux," Jake said. "I've got your boy."
Fear impaled her heart. Victoria sank to a crouch, kneeling on the wet pavement while her wolf fought to drag her through a full shift. Thunder filled her ears, and she thought the storm had returned until she realized the sound was a growl rumbling deep in her chest.
They spoke simultaneously.
"Barrett, where is Jasper? So help me, if you've hurt him—"
"The boy is unharmed. As long as you do what I say, he'll be fine."
Her grip threatened to crush the phone. Fumbling thanks to her claws, she wedged the phone between her shoulder and jaw. "So, the mighty Hunter King has sunk to taking children hostage?"
Jake's voice thickened with irritation, the first crack thus far in his impenetrable veneer. "I didn't go after the boy. We caught him shadowing us."
"What do you think Daniel would think of you right now?" The snarl never wholly left her throat, so the demand reverberated.
"Don't you dare speak my son's name, bitch." His control cracked, betraying smoldering fury.
"I'll tell you, he wouldn't think very highly of you." She ignored his warning. Taunting the man wasn't the smartest thing. Her fear for Jasper drove her to recklessness.
Grinding teeth, a noise like stone on stone, crossed the phone line. He exhaled, and her imagination supplied the image of broad flared nostrils breathing fire. When he spoke, his tone was smooth once again. "My son is dead. Someone has to be held accountable. I expect you to surrender yourself. Once you have, I'll let the boy go."
Fuck. The man terrified her. No matter what Jake Barrett did to her, it couldn't be worse than the suffocating guilt she lived with every day. The weight of her own culpability in Daniel's death crushed her, a feeling verging on self-hatred. Too many people on both sides had already died because of her failure. She would do anything to protect the final surviving members of her pack, including sacrifice herself. Perhaps it was fitting that Jake Barrett should be her judge, jury, and executioner.
"Fine. I'll surrender to you," she said. "I want your word that Jasper and my pack go free without any further retaliation."
"Agreed." A hesitation ensued.
She thought her ready agreement had surprised him. She stepped into the silence before he could continue. "We have another problem."
Jake's volume shot up a couple telling notches. "We do, do we?"
"The monster you're hunting is here."
His voice hardened with suspicion. "What makes you think I'm after anyone other than you?"
The bones in Victoria's hands crunched as she forced her claws to retract. She gnashed her teeth in irritation. "On the street you were surprised to see me."
"Maybe I was surpris
ed you made it so easy."
"Maybe," she shot back. "Maybe you're not interested in killing the murdering bastard. Oh, he's got three little children in cages. No reason that should concern–"
"It's not smart to keep needling me, Victoria."
Victoria's phone lit up with an incoming call from Sylvie. "I've got another call I have to take."
"Don't you dare–"
With a smirk of satisfaction, she put him on hold and accepted the other call. "Hello?"
"Rand's been shot," Sylvie said without preamble. "He got away, but the hunters have Jasper."
"I know." Victoria composed her voice to offer reassurance. "I've got Jake Barrett on the other line."
Sylvie fell into stunned silence. A full thirty seconds passed before she said, "You put Jake Barrett on hold?"
"What's he gonna do? Kill me twice?"
"No. He may take his frustration out on you before he does."
Victoria flinched. Sylvie's stinging reminder punctured her bravado and deflated her ego. Her head dipped in shame. The Skald had the right of it. She'd foolishly allowed wrath and pride to get the better of her. She exhaled. "I'm sorry. You're right. Let's make this quick. Is Rand going to be all right?"
"Yes, he's badly hurt, but he'll recover. It'll be hours before he's recovered enough to be of use to you."
"Where are you now?"
"A few miles north of that tire recycling facility."
"I thought you and Paul were supposed to have left town," Victoria said, her tone heavy with irony. "What happened?"
Sylvie's voice lilted. "We stopped for gas."
Despite the direness of the situation, Victoria laughed. "Take everyone and head to Santa Fe. This time, please, do what I ask."
"What about you and Jasper?"
"I'll take care of it."
Sylvie hesitated. "How?"
"Sylvie, please, trust me," Victoria pleaded. She didn't have time to argue or explain. Her newfound leadership style entailed indulging her people's questions. She ran her pack as a democracy with an elected president rather than the autocratic dictatorship of a larger war band.
"Of course, sweetie. Call soon so we don't have to worry."
"Thank you," Victoria said in heartfelt relief and gratitude.
"No, thank you."
They said their goodbyes and concluded the call. Victoria switched back to Jake. The first sound she heard was the rasp of his breath on the line. His impatience and frustration coalesced as a palpable force.
"Let's stop playing games, Barrett," she said. "Are you hunting the child thief or not? I know where it is. It's got three young children in cages. If you're not going to help me kill it, then say so."
Silence ensued. Victoria imagined those thick gray Barrett eyebrows knit into a scowl of consternation. She smirked. The man had devoted his life to hunting and destroying the monsters that preyed on innocents. There was no way he would walk away from this fight.
"Yeah," Jake rumbled. "A friend of mine brought the matter to my attention. It's why I'm here. We've been looking for it for a few days without any solid leads."
"It's enshrouded in some sort of magic," Victoria said. "That makes it difficult to locate." Her supposition was conjecture, but the facts thus far supported the conclusion.
"How'd you manage to locate it then?"
"Deductive reasoning and a keen nose.”
He snorted softly. "How did you get pulled into all this?"
"My goddess sent me."
"Of course she did."
The amusement in his voice irritated the crap out of her. Unaccountably, tears welled in her eyes, and her voice cracked. "The first little girl the beast took, her name was Margaret. It murdered her parents, shoved her into a filthy sack, and drowned her in a drum of ink."
Jake growled. The sound was indistinguishable from a wolf's, and if she hadn't known better, she'd have assumed him to be one of her people.
Her anger burned so hot her wolf was about to burst through her self-control. "It murdered her for what?" she asked. "The poor girl was innocent."
"Have you seen it?" He bit the words short.
Victoria drew a deep breath and described the goat-creature to him, going into great detail. His knowledge of the occult was far superior to hers. Her father had once called Jake Barrett a walking, talking encyclopedia of the arcane and obscure.
He cut her off mid-description. "Sounds like a krampus."
"A what? Never heard of it." She shook her head even though he couldn't see her. Her mind was so deep inside the conversation her awareness of the external world faded.
"It's an Old World devil," Jake said, adopting a brisk manner, devoid of animosity or any hint of the bad blood between them. The man possessed an amazing ability to compartmentalize. "Originally from Germany and Austria, but its kind has spread throughout Europe. It's a child thief. It steals children who have been naughty and then punishes them. It feeds on guilt. I've never heard of one in North America before."
"Do you mean 'devil' literally or is that a figure of speech?" Victoria adjusted her stance, flexing her knees to stop them from cramping.
"It's complicated."
She scowled. His evasion sounded like a total... hedge. They'd attained a degree of concordance though, a certain unity of purpose she was loath to disrupt. Besides, what ultimately mattered wasn't what it was, but rather how to destroy it.
"Does it have any weaknesses?"
"Not like your people do to silver."
She winced at the pointed reminder. "How do I kill it?"
"Tell me where you are," Jake said. "I'll kill it."
His vicious conviction sent chills coursing along her spine. She absolutely believed that he'd do as he said. The man had a reputation as a ruthless killer who possessed powerful magic. He demolished any and all obstacles in his path. He never failed.
She gave him the address.
"Wait until I get there," Jake said in an unmistakably autocratic tone.
Her brow drew together. Under the best of circumstance, Victoria disliked being told what to do. Being ordered about by her enemy didn't sit well. "I'll think about it–"
Loud barking erupted from the far side of the alley. Startled, Victoria looked toward the sound and lowered the phone. The Rottweiler stood at the end of the building. His posture bristled with aggression.
"What's wrong, boy?"
"What's happening?" Jake asked.
She took a breath and caught the musky scent of goat. Her panic spiked as cloven hooves clattered on the pavement behind her. Snarling, she twisted and looked up in time to see a huge fist launching straight at her.
The krampus walloped her face. The bones in her nose crunched like crushed potato chips, detonating pain inside her skull. The blow knocked her over, and the phone went flying. She crashed to the ground and landed in a heap on the pavement.
Head swimming, she rolled and attempted to stand. The whole world tilted at a crazy angle, and she followed it sideways. Hooves clomped toward her. Vision blurred, she stumbled, walking on the side of her feet.
The Rottweiler's furious barking rushed closer. He growled. A heavy thud, and then the dog released a high-pitched, piteous yelp. He made no further sounds.
"No." Victoria's heart wrenched for the poor dog. A sorrowful moan tore from her throat. Why hadn't he obeyed her?
Clomping again, moving closer. Scrambling, she shook her head. Her sight cleared enough for her to make out the beast's enormous form which loomed over her. A growl rumbled in her throat. She swung but missed, so her fist whizzed through empty air.
The krampus swooped in closer. His fist slammed into the side of her head.
The world went black.
Chapter Nine
The throbbing in her head obliterated her ability to think. The pain became an excruciating pressure inside her skull that built and built. She moved with care, fearful the smallest movement would upset a delicate balance and burst her eyeballs. Groaning, Victoria pried
open one eyelid to discover her body folded into a pretzel–her head bent forward, her knees jammed against her chest.
Cold iron bars crushed her on all sides. The confining cage was the right size to hold a child. She had no room to stand or maneuver. Thanks to her accelerated regeneration, her broken nose had already returned to its normal shape. The persistent headache told her not much time had passed. She healed fast.
As she raised her head, the bony fingers of a cramp dug into her neck. A soft moan tore from her throat. Ignoring the pain, she struggled to rearrange her limbs. Eventually, she achieved a more comfortable position on her knees. She checked her pockets and confirmed her cell phone had been lost in the alley.
Victoria occupied the last cage, formerly empty, in the row of four. About ten feet away, she spotted a workbench laden with sharp implements: knives, pokers, and even a pitch fork. Another steel drum full of ink stood beside the table. She didn't see the krampus.
To one side, a boy with a tear-streaked face watched her. The child stank of urine and feces. Her stomach heaved. She tried to keep all hints of anger from her face, lest she scare him. The boy's eyes were bloodshot, and chunks of dried snot clung to his skin. Even in his unkempt state, he looked like his mother.
"Are you Michael?" Victoria kept her voice soft.
Eyes widening, he stared at her and nodded. "How did you know?"
"Your mother is watching over you." Victoria wedged her fingers into the front pocket of her blue jeans and fished out the fire truck she had taken from the apartment. Twisting her arm, she pushed her hand through the bars and stretched far enough to offer Michael the toy.
After a moment's hesitation, he reached out his hand and took it from her. "The monster is going to kill me next," he said, staring at the truck. "It's already killed two other kids."
In the other two occupied cages, a male and a female watched them with wide, fearful eyes. The little girl looked about five years old. She pointed toward the drums full of black ink and spoke in a trembling voice. "The monster made them drown."
Victoria gagged on rage, hot fury blinding her reason. The children's fear evoked the protective instincts of her she-wolf. Her humanity dangled on a fragile thread. She clung to her self-control with stubborn determination and resisted the reflex to transform into a wolf. The last thing she wanted was to frighten the youngsters more.
