Prowlers: Wild Things

by Christopher Golden

  Anxiety twisted in his gut and Jack stared at the woman who was not a woman. She glanced around, looking bored, studiously avoiding looking at him. Trouble, Jack thought. Bowden's place is being watched.

  "Guess Jasmine didn't take kindly to Olivia getting away," Artie noted. "You want me to stay?"

  Jack thought about that one, but really, what could Artie do? "No, you go ahead. We'll come by Eden's when we get back to Boston. Hope things go all right with that truck driver."

  "Chet," Artie reminded him. "Yeah, me too. Take care, amigo."

  "See ya," Jack replied.

  His mind was racing, working out how the crappy plan he'd made with Olivia would be affected by Jasmine finding out where they were. Go upstairs, he thought. Get Olivia and Bowden, maybe a weapon. Come down and take out the female in the Toyota. Then he shook his head. Yeah, in broad daylight.

  But he could not just let her drive away and tell Jasmine where they were. Jack started up the steps, then took another look at the Toyota. The driver was not looking at him. Instead, she had glanced over at a well-dressed white guy who was exiting the vegetarian restaurant up the street. The guy was staring at something far above Jack's head, and then suddenly he looked right at Jack. Their eyes met, and the guy quickly glanced away.

  Clearly, though, that look was not coincidence. Two of them, then. Jack replayed the moment in his head as he started to open the outer door, and stiffened as he saw again the way the well-dressed guy had been looking up. Above him.

  Jack tilted his head back and shielded his eyes just in time to see the head and shoulders of a powerfully-built black man withdrawing from the edge of the roof, where he had been staring down. Swearing under his breath, his heart pounding, Jack rushed into the foyer and stared at the rows of buttons with names written beside them. The one for 3C had no name label. He pressed the buzzer, shaking with tension and fear.

  "Come on, come on," he muttered.

  Upstairs. They're already upstairs. Molly was upstairs.

  The door lock beeped loud and long. Jack was startled. He had expected Bowden to talk to him on the intercom first, so he could warn them. He considered buzzing again, but instead reached out and yanked the inner door open just before it stopped beeping.

  Pulse beating in his temples, entire body prickling with fear, Jack ran for the stairs. His right hand slide along the banister as he launched himself upward, taking the steps two at a time. As he ran he stared up, trying to get a glimpse of the third floor landing.

  What the hell were we thinking? Coming down into the city, into Jasmine's territory, without any weapons. All right, Olivia and Bowden are Prowlers, but what're two of them against an entire pack?

  Jesus, Molly.

  The stairs were narrow and steep. As he reached the second floor, Jack's foot slipped and he fell forward, rapping his shin painfully on the wooden step. He grunted, ground his teeth together, and ignored the sting of it. With a low curse he grabbed the newel post and pulled himself up, then hustled along the second floor landing, neck still craned back, trying to get a glimpse up at the third floor.

  Footfalls on wooden stairs. And they weren't his. Somewhere above him, someone was rushing down. Not just someone, though. Jack knew it had to be the Prowler he had seen on the rooftop. Horrifying thoughts and images began flashing through his mind. If there were two of them on the street, and one on the roof, who was to say that there weren't more inside already? Jasmine's pack could have been waiting in Bowden's apartment. Hell, they had to have figured Olivia would hook up with this guy when she escaped if he was as good a friend as she'd told Jack and Molly he was.

  Damn it, Jack thought, cursing himself for being so stupid, for not being more cautious.

  He ran alongside the railing that overlooked the stairs he had just come up, and tried to get a better view of the floor above. His boots sounded loud on the steps, clumsy and truncated as he took them two at a time once more. Bile burned, rising in the back of his throat, and his mouth was dry.

  As Jack rushed up the steps, he glanced to his right and through the bars on the third floor railing, he could see the Prowler striding toward the door to 3C. With no weapon, Jack knew he had no chance against one of them. He might get one good blow in, and then the thing would rip his head off. But Jack didn't want him getting inside that apartment either.

  "Hey!" he snapped as he hit the third floor landing.

  The Prowler he had seen on the roof turned to look at him, frowning. Twenty feet away, if that. Jack didn't slow down. He strode quickly toward the tall creature, whose false skin was smooth and dark, handsome if it weren't a façade.

  As Jack approached, the Prowler's expression grew angry yet also uncertain.

  "What's your problem?" the beast growled.

  "Me?" Jack asked, putting on a wild grin. He spread his arms wide and high, drawing the monster's attention to his hands. "No problem."

  Then he shot his foot up and swung a brutal kick right between the Prowler's legs. The beast roared in agony and doubled over. Even as he did, he snarled and glared at Jack in fury, lips curling back from suddenly longer teeth that were sharp and gleaming. Fur shot up through that smooth skin, tearing through it, and his face began to stretch. Jack could hear the click of bones restructuring themselves.

  But he wasn't listening. He followed through instantly on his first attack. The Prowler was crouched over in pain, changing out of both shock and anger. In a second the thing would tear into him, but Jack wasn't willing to give him that second. With a shout, he lunged at the beast. The Prowler lashed out with one hand, but only half-heartedly, still momentarily crippled by the pain between his legs.

  Jack didn't hit him. Instead, he ducked beneath its wavering arm, grabbed its wool coat in both hands, and twisted the monster. Jack used its own momentum to drive it right through the third floor railing. The balusters snapped and gave way and the Prowler shouted in surprise as it landed painfully on the stairs below then tumbled, limbs flailing, to the second floor landing.

  The Prowler groaned and began to rise, already fully changed now. He sprang for the stairs, limping slightly.

  "What's the ruckus, Jack?"

  In the heat of the moment, Jack had not heard the apartment door open. When he turned, Bowden stood inside the open door, staring at him with a dubious expression on his face.

  "Get inside! We've got company!" Jack rushed at him, pushed through the door, and started to slam it closed.

  A large hand slapped against the door, forcing it open again. The Prowler stood framed in the doorway, but he had transformed again, resuming his false human appearance.

  "I am done playing games with you, boy," the beast warned through clenched teeth.

  "Oh, back off, Knox," Bowden said tiredly. "You're not going to do a damn thing."

  Jack gaped at them, feeling stupid as he tried to bend the scenario into some semblance of logic in his head. Bowden sighed and ushered Knox in, shutting the door behind him. Jack and Knox stared at one another, violence thick in the air. The moment was broken by a voice from deeper within the apartment.

  "Why do I think you boys got off on the wrong foot?"

  Even as Jack edged backward down the narrow hallway, he realized that he knew that voice. As he stepped into the living room, his suspicion was confirmed. Winter sat next to Molly on a dark plaid sofa. The thin, elegant Prowler held a cup of tea in one hand and smiled pleasantly as Jack froze on the other side of the room.

  "Winter," Jack muttered.

  "Good to see you again, Jack. Sorry it has to be under such difficult circumstances."

  "Maybe you should sit down?" Molly suggested.

  But Jack still couldn't move, and he was certainly not ready to sit down. Winter's gaze suddenly went beyond him, and Jack flinched as he realized Knox and Bowden had come into the room behind him. He spun, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on Knox.

  "I saw some others out front, watching the building. I figured they were with Jasmine," he sai
d slowly.

  "Ah, now I see. Of course you would," Winter said. Then he glanced at Knox. "You can't exactly blame him."

  The big Prowler grumbled but nodded once and wandered toward the windows, sliding down into a torn leather chair.

  "They're with Winter," Molly explained. "They were waiting for us when we got up here. There are more on the way, including Bowden's roommates. The word is getting out. Looks like we may get those reinforcements we need."

  Jack relaxed slightly, letting some of the tension go at last. But Bowden was staring at him.

  "How'd you know? That they weren't human?"

  Back in the hallway, Jack saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Olivia emerge from the small kitchen just down the corridor. But she wasn't alone. Behind her, cane in one hand and a can of soda in the other, was his sister Courtney.

  "He sees things other people don't," she said with a fond smile. "Don't you, little brother?"

  "Court?" Jack rushed across the room, threw his arms around her and squeezed. He kissed her on the top of her head and then stood back to stare at her in amazement. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  All the pleasure went out of her face and Courtney glanced at Olivia before focusing again on Jack.

  "Talking to Olivia about her uncle," she replied. "And how we're going to keep him alive."

  Out in the streets of the city, the word spread.

  In the bars and restaurants, to deli owners and taxi drivers, to lawyers and accountants, to club kids who'd stolen or accumulated wealth over the years in order to avoid real work . . . all through the underground, the word went out. Guillaume Navarre was a prisoner and his niece intended to free him.

  But the whispers spread far and wide, and among those who heard them were some who dreamed of a return to the old ways, to a wild time when they roamed the land and their human prey cowered in fear. There were some who believed that Jasmine could bring them that dream.

  Throughout the city, the atmosphere changed. It became charged with the certainty of imminent bloodshed. Beasts on both sides abandoned their human lives that afternoon, unsure if they would ever reclaim them.

  They were wild.

  The hunt was on.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Clouds had rolled in late in the day and by nightfall a cold rain had begun to fall lightly across the city. Jasmine ignored the icy chill of the precipitation as she strode quickly along the sidewalk, delicious anticipation rising within her as she came in sight of The Voodoo Lounge. Several feet behind her walked a trio of bodyguards, members of her pack. Though none of them had dared to say so, she knew they all thought she was insane to relish the coming conflict.

  Jasmine cared not at all. Once she had learned that Olivia and the humans had escaped, it had only been a matter of time before they clashed. If it was to come, she thought, better it be on her terms. She was certainly not going to run away. Instead, she would bait the trap and let them come to her, the more public the better.

  There was something marvelous about it all. She knew they would come. They knew she knew. Yet what would they be willing to risk? That was the true question in this game of predator and prey.

  The line in front of The Voodoo Lounge was down the steps, along the sidewalk and around the corner, and most of the young revelers hoping to make it inside were human. The bouncers at the door were Prowlers, of course, as were most of the staff and a lot of the club's regulars. Yet in spite of her growing power, it was not Jasmine's place. Neutral ground, supposedly. But that was a joke. The owners of the club were part of her pack now, they had exposed their throats to her, taken a subservient position in the hierarchy. It was only a matter of time before she controlled all of the wild Prowlers in New York City. Even now, those who did not call her Alpha still bent to her will.

  As Jasmine made her way toward the front of the club, heads turned in line and voices hushed. The humans in line didn't know who she was, most of them, but they knew she was somebody. They stared and she let them, these human cattle. Jasmine wore a black leather duster than blew in the cold October breeze, billowing slightly behind her. Beneath it, she was dressed entirely in crimson, her copper skin set off by the deep red.

  She swept up the steps past the club kids waiting in line. Some voiced complaint but were quickly silenced either by their friends or by the glare of Jasmine's bodyguards. At the top of the steps, the bouncers inclined their heads and did not even meet her eyes as she passed them. The buffoons were so cowed they did not even remember to open the door for her. Jasmine grabbed the handle herself and pulled it open. Her bodyguards followed her as she went inside.

  It was after nine o'clock when she entered The Voodoo Lounge. The sound system played an elegant song by Sting, the music low and yet pervasive. Up on the stage, the crew was testing out the drum kit and tuning guitars for Thornbush, the band that would provide the evening's entertainment. At least until the real entertainment began.

  The crowd was already thick, massing at the bars on either side of the club. Despite the law, smoke curled and wafted on the air. As she moved amongst them, Jasmine marveled at the mixed crowd Thornbush had brought in. More female than male, more human than Prowler, but even so, the audience was a true mélange of creatures, of skin colors and lifestyles. Pierced and painted, or straight and well-coiffed, the crowd reflected the growing popularity of the all-girl band.

  But how popular would they be if the humans in this place knew that some of the members were Prowlers? Jasmine wondered.

  When all was said and done, in the aftermath of whatever happened here tonight, she planned to speak to the Prowlers in the band. It had occurred to her even when she was Tanzer's mate and not herself the Alpha that if members of their species had reached positions of power and visibility in the human world, they could be instrumental in wooing other Prowlers to the cause.

  Her bodyguards caught up to her, formed a kind of wedge in front of her, and shoved human and Prowler alike out of her path. Some of the humans grumbled, but the Prowlers caught her scent and either nodded in recognition of her presence or scurried quickly away. Which among them were loyal to her, she wondered, and which were members of the so-called underground?

  Human males all through the club stared at her as she went, and some of the women did as well. Jasmine soaked up their lust and fascination. There was power in it.

  In the far left corner of the club, not far from the stage, Alec stood with a small clutch of pack members, arms crossed, watching her approach. Jasmine smiled at him and Alec smiled back, though there was anxiety in both his expression and in the way he held himself. He was afraid. Her face flushed with anger and she realized that after the night was through, whether Alec survived or not, she was going to have to find herself another mate. He lacked the proper obedience and the proper respect. He was handsome, though, something exotic in his features and the dark curl of his hair. But there were always more handsome males.

  Her bodyguards stood aside as they reached that far corner. The other members of the pack also dispersed, giving her room to breathe. Alec tilted his head in an almost formal greeting.

  "Good evening, Jasmine," he said.

  "It is a good evening, isn't it?" she replied, her tone and the playful smile on her lips taunting him, mocking his caution. "Time for a party. Time to make a little mess."

  Jasmine looked past him, to where Guillaume Navarre sat grimly between two more members of her pack. He had no restraints save for the presence of so many of his captors and his belief — mistaken — that she still held his niece as well. With a coquettish smile, Jasmine tossed her red hair back and went to sit beside him. One of his guards moved over, giving her room, and Jasmine slid herself along Navarre's body as she sat. Mischief in her heart, she kissed his cheek softly.

  "Hello, bait," she whispered. "How long do you think before the mice arrive?"

  Navarre — or Cantwell as he preferred to be called — only glared at her balefully.

&nb
sp; Alec moved in close and looked down upon them. He kept his voice low, but despite that and despite the music playing, Jasmine was certain the others heard him speak.

  "Are you certain this is the way to proceed?" he asked. "There are safer ways. Easier ways. You could hold him anywhere in the city and put the word out, and still they would come."

  A snarl escaped her throat and her lips curled in anger. Jasmine glared at him and knew, then, that she was going to have to kill Alec in the morning. "I don't have to explain myself to you, pup," she growled.

  He stumbled back a step, as though driven by the force of her anger.

  Jasmine sighed and glanced around at the members of her pack gathered there. The others were spread throughout the club, in its shadowy corners, and mingling with the crowd, in search of their targets. They would arrive eventually.

  "None of you were in Boston when these humans killed Tanzer. They aren't like other humans. Of course, we have our friend Navarre here, and he will keep out of things as long as his niece's life depends upon it. So he cannot aid them, but they also do not want him killed."

  Of course, she knew that if he spotted Olivia, Navarre would try to aid her immediately, but that was why she kept him surrounded by those loyal to her. If he moved against Jasmine, her pack would kill him.

  "Navarre's insurance, in a way, but we have a great deal more insurance than that. We have a lot of allies in this room. So do they. But you know what else is in this room?" With a grin, she glanced at each of them in turn. "No one? Look around. There are victims in this room. Cannon fodder. They cannot blow up the building or set fire to it or attack with guns from the outside. They have to come in to get him. If they want to hurt us, they have to come in to do it. And there are all these wonderful, juicy victims in their way."

  Senses. It's all about the senses, Jack thought.