by C. N. Owens
“So, you admit it then?” Nate asks.
“Of course. I drugged her and then cut off her finger with shears.” Vlad sneers, looking proud of what he did.
I stand, kick the chair out of the way, and walk to the back wall of the interviewing room, trying hard to keep my cool. “Where’s her finger?”
“Finger?” Nate asks in the middle of a sigh. “Where’s your head, Trent? Vlad, who did the rest?”
“Who has it, the vampires she was with?”
Vlad shakes his head, still smirking. “It’s precious, how oblivious you are. Laird was just transporting her back to her owner.”
“No one gives away information like this. What’s the catch?” Nate asks, still not following the conversation.
“No catch.”
“Okay then”—Nate tosses a clear bag onto the table—“why don’t you tell us what this is?”
“Picked it up at a flea market.” His salt-and-pepper stubble parts, exposing his yellowed teeth once again. He’s enjoying this interrogation. Either he knows that he’s too low on the food chain to make a difference, or he’s high enough to know he won’t stay locked up long.
“I’d like to hang on to this,” I say and push the contents out of the bag, grasping it from the outside so I don’t get my prints on it. It looks like a cross carved out of driftwood; a lock of braided black hair keeps a small bone inside a cavity cut into the wood.
“Not until forensics has processed it,” Nate says, snatching it away. “What is it for?”
“Doesn’t matter. If you know about her, then he knows about it right now, and it’s only a matter of time.”
I stand and lean on the table, close enough to head-butt him. “Don’t fuck with me.”
Vlad smirks. “You’ve got no power here, you gave it up.”
Anger mounting, I growl and jump around the table, kick Vlad over in his chair, and hit him twice in the face before Nate pulls me off and drags me out of the room.
“Calm the hell down! We need to build a case against this guy, and beating him up won’t look good to a judge.”
“He’ll never see a judge,” I hiss. “Can’t you tell how well connected he is with these vampires? He’s fearless. If we lock him up, they’ll come for him.” I groan, shaking my sore hand. “He’ll never set foot in a courtroom.”
Nate lets me go and looks off across the large room. He freezes, his expression changing. “Trent.”
“What?” I respond, frustrated. I look around to see the massive prisoner standing behind us, his handcuffs, broken, hanging on his wrists like ugly silver bracelets. In his right hand, he holds a gun. In his left, a cop hangs by the shirt, whether unconscious or dead, I can’t tell, but what stands out the most is this giant man’s missing index finger.
Nate and I raise our hands. “Settle down, buddy. That gun is way too advanced for you,” I say.
Maybe now’s not the time for sarcasm. He smiles, drops the officer on the floor, and raises the gun at me. A few other officers duck behind cubicles with guns aimed at the hulking brute.
Bento smiles. “It’s nice to see you again,” he says, his voice a menacing growl.
The nerve of this prick. “Do you remember what I said? What would happen, the next time we were together?” I say, feeling the rage build.
“And here we are,” he says.
I look around at all these people, these potential victims, and sigh. Goddamn it.
“Bento,” a commanding British voice says. It was loud but didn’t echo. It carried through the room with so much power it might have been in HD… It made my ears ring.
The big man looks behind him and steps out of the way, bowing.
A figure stands cloaked in a black robe. He’s nothing but upright fabric, the boatman taking a break from his job on the River Styx. His arms and hands are invisible but come into view when he pulls back his hood—I know this vampire.
“Ah, Sergeant LaPore. Is it still sergeant?” Red hair, glacier-blue eyes, marble skin. His weathered face is the only proof of how old he was before he died. This is Raoul, Cassie’s creator.
I look to Nate—his gun is unholstered and at his side. We make eye contact and I shake my head. “Agent LaPore.”
Raoul’s expression becomes a pleasant smile, like a grandfather playing with a toddler. “My apologies,” he says. He closes the distance between us and stops next to Bento. “I need your help. You brought in some children earlier today. I’m looking for one in particular. May I see them?”
“How did you get in here?” Nate asks.
Raoul looks to me, ignoring my partner. “You could’ve been great.”
“You know we can’t let you see those kids,” I say, straightening my stance. This guy is way too old to be weakened by the sunlight… He’s playing with us.
“Then you know you can’t stop me.”
“If I can’t, why are we still talking?”
“Good point!” He moves to walk between us, and I’m ready for him. I draw my sword and slash upward; it cuts a diagonal path across his body that slices him open from his stomach to his forehead. Beneath the layers of fabric, he is wearing leather armor, but I got his face good. He stumbles backward, and Bento tenses, diving for Nate and hitting him so hard that he flies into the air and crashes into a cluster of cubicles.
Raoul clutches his split-open face with his hands and then looks up seconds later and smiles, completely healed. “Boy,” Raoul says with that same booming voice, “I have been a swordsman since before your family lineage began.” From behind his head and the center of his back, he draws his trademark double-edged bastard sword. He comes at me, slashing high, and I manage to block, but with the second assault, he skewers my shoulder. He lifts me up into the air by the blade and backhands me with such force my neck cracks in several places. He tips the blade downward, and I slide off, tumbling to the floor.
“Bento, kill them all. Spare this one, for now.”
Moments pass. Drifting in and out of consciousness, all I hear are the screams and wails of people as they are being ripped apart by something huge. Its heavy footsteps shake the floor, and it huffs and snorts like a bull.
Seconds later, I’m lifted up by my neck. “Where is she?” Raoul roars, fangs bared, his face inches from mine.
“Home, probably sleeping.”
“Not her!”
I let out a wail as Raoul slides his fingers into the wound in my shoulder. Knowing what’s about to happen, I think hard, trying to forget about anyone other than Cassie.
“You will tell me one way or another,” he says with a growl before biting down on to my neck. I’m reminded why I should be afraid of vampires. In a whirlwind, everything goes away. It’s like a nightmare, a culmination of all my fears: falling, drowning, burning. My vision turns black and my breaths grow weak. This creature is sucking me dry, removing my life with no accounting for pain, no illusions… only death.
I hit the floor. I’m still alive, but everything is silent and black. First, my hearing comes back. White noise turns to gunfire… lots of it. I open my eyes and see Raoul kneeling over me, holding up his hands as though he’s trying to stay dry in the rain, but it’s not rain—it’s bullets.
Between shots, Nate drags me away and shakes me. “Wake up!” he yells over the gunfire. I sit up, in agony, but begin to feel adrenaline prod me awake.
Behind me, Raoul stands and then, like an apparition, glides toward the officers—five or six—that are firing on him. “Bento, finish them!” he yells before he cuts two down and disappears.
“What the—” Nate asks, his voice high-pitched.
“Talk later,” I say. I stumble to my feet, draw my pistol, and take aim in the direction of where I last heard Bento.
A giant beast stands in his place, so tall its shoulders almost rub the ceiling. It has bristly black hair and yellow eyes. A blue-uniformed arm hangs out of its mouth.
We both turn and run. Nate
gives me the signal to follow, diving through a set of doors and sprinting down a wide hallway and into a stairwell. The heavy metal door clicks shut. “This stairwell was a fallout shelter.” Nate pants, bent over and gasping for air. “Foot and a half of reinforced concrete.” We jump backward as the metal door buckles inward. I pull my gun again but can’t raise it; the pain in my shoulder is almost unbearable. The creature pushes at the doorway, trying to force his way in, and the concrete groans and cracks but doesn’t budge.
“Where the hell were you hiding that blade?”
“Don’t smell it.” I try to laugh.
With bought time, Nate drags me down the steps and out to the parking garage.
I drop onto the curb and stretch out on my back, starting to feel the full magnitude of the pain as my adrenaline rush subsides. Above, I can hear loud banging; the building shudders and groans. Nate tells some approaching officers what is happening, and they scurry off, pulling a patrol car around at his request.
The officers grab me by my good arm and shove me into the waiting cop car, its lights already flickering in preparation for a quick trip to the hospital.
“I’ll catch up with you, Trent. I don’t know how, but I’m going to try to get those kids out.” He swings the car door shut and runs off, back into the building.
Chapter 13
Trent
That smell.
That Godforsaken antiseptic smell that taints the air of hospitals around the globe… It permeates the nostrils, triggers migraines, and sticks with you for a week.
I open my eyes when I realize that intermingled with this powerful stench is the scent of rose hips.
“He’s awake.” Cassie looks down at me from the left side of the bed. Her eyes are wide, and her smile bears her fangs.
Nate appears moments later on the right.
“You look like shit,” I mumble to Nate, noticing that his face is bruised up and his arm is in a sling.
Nate laughs. “You caught the worst of it. How are you feeling?”
“My head is killing me, but whatever drugs they have me on has me nicely buzzed.”
“Poor baby,” Cassie says and then mouths the words You okay?
I nod. “You like me again.”
“I never stopped.” She smooths my hair back, studying me with her bright-green eyes. “What did this to you?”
“Your boy, Raoul.”
“And he came in with whom?”
Nate clears his throat, and Cassie straightens her back.
“Right,” she says, but I can’t decipher the nonverbal conversation they are having until Cassie turns to face the door. “Someone else is here to see you.” A smile forms on Cassie’s face as she gracefully walks to a single chair near the windows and helps someone stand.
A knobby-kneed, pale-skinned girl in a hospital gown shoves something into her pocket and walks over to me, rolling her IV stand with her. She looks hesitant, almost unsure what she should do as she stops at the edge of the bed.
“Weren’t the roles reversed just a few days ago?” Leila laces her thin fingers with mine. She cuts her eyes at me and cocks her head. It only lasted seconds, but it felt like the room went silent for a week, between the time she took my hand and when I had the breath to respond.
“I reckon they were.” I smile. “How are you feeling?”
She remains silent for a moment and then wets her lips and gets a better hold of my hand. “I’m feeling a lot better, now. Thank you.” She winces and raises her other hand to hide a sweet gummy smile. “They are sending me to a temporary home in a few days.”
“That’s really good. You’ve earned a little peace. I spoke to your friend, Natalie. I told her you were okay.”
“Oh, thank you,” Leila says but doesn’t seem excited to hear the news.
“I went up to visit her after the doctor saw me,” Nate says from the other side of the bed. “I figured it would raise you up a bit if you saw how good she’s doing.”
“It definitely helps.” I move my hand to her thin forearm and give it an affectionate squeeze.
There is a knock on the door and a short white-haired nurse appears with a wheelchair. “I’ve given you more than enough time. Leila, you need to get back to your room.”
Leila anxiously looks to the nurse and then back to me. “If I can get out later, can I come down and talk to you?”
I smile and nod. “I’d like that a lot.”
She resists another smile and leans over the bed and hugs my trunk, keeping well clear of my shoulder, before Cassie draws her away.
“Sorry for keeping her so long,” Nate says, but the nurse is unmoved. “I told her I would only have her for a few minutes,” he continues, “but it’s going on two hours.” Nate chuckles as Cassie helps Leila walk back to the wheelchair and sit down.
“We couldn’t get someone to wake up,” Cassie adds, walking back to the side of the bed, straightening out the hem of her deep-purple dress. “Now, continuing on, who came in with Raoul?”
“He came in with Bento.”
“It can’t be possible. Raoul isn’t that reckless,” she murmurs, her attention trailing off as though she is trying to convince herself, deep in thought.
“Are you sure?” Nate asks.
Cassie nods. “I’d like to think I know my maker well enough not to do something so stupid, but he’s surprised me before. Centuries ago, Raoul and I learned a lot about werewolves, while we hunted them almost to extinction. They are human just like you during the day, although a little harder to kill. It’s the change that renews them. It gives them an unnaturally long life.”
“This is ridiculous. You hunted them? Why?” Nate says.
“My maker… He saw them as a nuisance. They are unstoppable once they change, nearly impossible to kill… So we hunted them during the day. That occupied a century of my time. No ordinary werewolf can change during the day. It’s the moon that causes the change; it calls to them.”
“Well, you aren’t supposed to walk around in the daylight, but you managed to do it,” Nate points out.
I remain an observer, still buzzed on pain killers.
“Yes, well, wait, what are you talking about?” she says.
“Monticello Avenue. I had to clean up your handiwork this morning.”
“How did you know that was me?”
“A witness described a short woman with pale skin, brown hair, bleeds from her eyes… You fit the description. Why couldn’t it be my friend’s nutty undead girlfriend?” He makes a grunt, which sounds like a failed attempt at a laugh. “I guessed.”
“You are definitely a detective.” She laughs. “This is all so funny. I wondered who it was that Trent wanted me to meet.” She grips my arm with a cold hand.
“And I’m guessing you won’t be willing to answer for your crimes?”
She giggles, unfazed by Nate’s cavalier attitude. “Killing child pimps? That’s hardly a crime. I did you a favor killing them.”
God, she is sex wrapped in flesh, I think, while watching Cassie carry on her act of not knowing what he’s talking about. Luckily, she’s dominating the conversation and I don’t have to really add anything. I’m a horrible liar.
“Vigilante justice, that’s what it’s called, and it’s illegal.”
“We exist outside your laws.” Her smile never fades, but her voice grows serious.
“No one’s above the law,” Nate says.
“Then arrest me.” Still smiling, she extends her pale arms before him over the bed.
Nate stands for a moment, going eerily quiet.
I laugh when I see Nate wobbling in place, overcome by Cassie’s gaze. “Cassie, behave.”
She looks away, her devilish smile ever present and ever so seductive.
Nate blinks and then looks back at us. “She’s dangerous,” he mumbles as though drunk, pointing a shaky finger at her.
“You have no idea,” I say.
�
��Aww, no handcuffs? I haven’t been restrained in so long,” she says, laughing gently. She could snap a set of cuffs as though they were made of cheap plastic.
“Cassie,” I say, watching Nate growing increasingly irritated.
“Okay, I’ll stop.” She giggles again.
Nate sighs. “Well, if you still aren’t convinced, I brought these.” Nate produces some pictures taken from the security cameras at the precinct and hands them to her.
Cassie studies the images for a long time. “The time on this photo is accurate?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nate says.
She looks at the pictures again and drops them on the bed. “Well, I guess this confirms it. This is Bento, Raoul’s pet, and there’s the man himself. I know what he’s after.”
“What is Bento?” Nate asks.
She looks down at me and takes my hand. “He’s the only male alpha werewolf left in the world.”
“What does that mean?” Nate asks, his voice still lined with aggravation.
“Only an alpha can shift during the day.”
“What about all that moon-phase shit you were just talking about?”
“Nate, you have about five seconds to lock it up,” I interrupt, knowing full well what this tiny Italian girl is capable of when she’s pissed off.
“It’s okay, he’s cocky. I like that in a man.” Cassie goes quiet for a moment. “For an alpha, emotions cause the change, not the moon. Because of that, alphas with a weak will don’t survive long; it becomes overwhelming when they can’t control the beast. It makes them easy to find, too. Just follow the carnage.”
Nate laughs and snatches the pictures away. “This sounds so stupid. I’d call you a fool if I didn’t see it for myself.”
“For that, I’m glad—you need to take this seriously. An alpha werewolf is a dangerous thing. They are the only ones that can make more werewolves—beta werewolves.”
“Cassie, why am I just now hearing about this?” I ask, trying to play along.
She smiles. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know. Alphas are born with the curse. For males, it’s more difficult to pinpoint, but only a few families breed female alphas. They are extremely rare. An alpha could be born into a family, but they wouldn’t know what they have until the child comes of age. That’s when they begin changing.”
