The Wereling 2: Prey

by Stephen Cole

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  Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin and New York

  First published in Great Britain in 2004 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY

  This electronic edition published in July 2010 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Text copyright © Working Partners Ltd 2004

  The moral right of the author ahas been asserted

  All rights reserved

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 4088 1383 6

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  Also by Stephen Cole

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  The Wereling trilogy

  Wounded

  Prey

  Resurrection

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  The Thieves trilogy

  Thieves Like Us

  The Aztec Code

  The Bloodline Cipher

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  To Jill

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The full moon shone in on Tom Anderson through the truck window. It felt like a searchlight, hunting him down. He shifted his weight on the rough, pitted leather of the back seat, squirming clear of the blazing light while still pretending to be asleep.

  He hated hitching rides, especially at night. The moonlight put him on edge, made him feel shivery and sweaty and caged in. Feigning sleep spared him the ordeal of making conversation with the over-curious truck driver.

  Not that he was exactly the focus of attention around here, with Kate up front in the passenger seat. There was no doubt in Tom’s mind that it was Kate who had brought the truck screeching to a halt on the highway out of Philadelphia. Tall and slim and dressed all in black, her long dark hair whipped about by the cold November gusts, she was like a secret weapon in the world of thumbing lifts.

  Good job. They needed to get to New York fast.

  Opening his eyes a fraction, Tom snuck a look out of the window. Beyond the trees that lined the Palisades Interstate Parkway he saw about a billion pinpricks of light stacked in long, tall grids against the night. They were nearing the city – but maybe not fast enough, Tom decided, as the big, bearded driver stole another lingering glance at Kate.

  ‘So, how come a sweet thing like you is hitching, anyway?’ The trucker kept smiling to himself, like he was quietly smug at being able to balance his oversized gut on his knees and make conversation at the same time.

  ‘Well …’ Kate shrugged. ‘Hitching’s cheap … and I guess me and Tom just enjoy the freedom.’

  Freedom, Tom thought bitterly. Sure: freedom to creep and crawl through this horrible new life that had been thrust on him. Freedom to live in fear, constantly looking back over their shoulders. Waking and wondering if today was the day their pursuers would catch up with them at last.

  They had to keep moving, to keep one step ahead. But since they didn’t have the cash for a bus ticket past Philly, Kate – practical and determined as ever – had dolled herself up and they’d hit the highway. He knew she hated to hitch, loathed the way these long-distance drivers looked her over, like wolves salivating over their next meal.

  Nice analogy.

  Tom shifted irritably in the seat once more.

  ‘You kids are pretty young to be on the road, now, ain’t you? How old are you, sugar?’

  ‘We’re both eighteen,’ Kate answered. ‘Taking a year out before college next fall.’

  Life on the run has made you a pretty good liar, Kate, Tom decided. Kate was actually seventeen, and Tom was a year younger. He’d been looking forward to his eighteenth birthday pretty much all his life. He’d always imagined it would be the day he’d walk out the front door and suddenly find himself a man, ready to make his mark in the world.

  That was before he’d got tangled up with Kate and her family, and found his future screwed to hell.

  Found himself a freakin’ werewolf.

  ‘So …’ There was a pause as heavy as the gold chain around the trucker’s neck before the next question: ‘Is Tom your boyfriend?’

  ‘Not really,’ Kate said, turning her head away to look through the window. ‘No.’

  Tom indulged himself in a bitter half-smile. How could Kate ever begin to think of him as boyfriend material, knowing what he had become? Knowing that if they ever did get together …

  He imagined the look on the trucker’s face if Kate told him the whole story: that her whole family was lupine – werewolves; creatures believed lost to legend, but in reality part of an active and totally secret subculture whose population stretched clear around the world. That, as a pureblood female, Kate’s latent lupine nature would be woken if she mated with another ’wolf. And that Tom had been kidnapped by Kate’s family and held prisoner in their house while they turned him into future son-in-law material – turned him ’wolf too.

  The plan hadn’t worked. Kate didn’t want to embrace her lupine heritage. The thought of it turned her stomach. She was determined to stay human. So she and Tom had escaped. But in doing so, they’d made many enemies in the lupine community – including Kate’s crazy mother, Marcie Folan.

  The real joke in all this, Tom reflected, was that with all they’d been through trying to stay alive, he had never felt closer to anyone than Kate.

  ‘So you and Sleeping Beauty in the back there …’ The trucker was trying to sound casual. ‘You’re just good friends, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Kate replied, a hard, tired edge creeping into her voice. ‘But Tom is pretty special, you know?’

  Special.

  Uh-huh. More special than anyone could’ve guessed, Tom thought wryly.

  He was what the lupine community termed a silverblood – someone with exceptional resistance against the ’wolf-change. They’d turned him in the end, but he’d come out of the whole process a wereling. ‘Very rare,’ Kate had informed him, quoting some ancient, secret text: ‘A wereling is a resister whose humanity and compassion prevails in the ’wolf.’ Which seemed to mean that when the change was on him, Tom could hold on to some struggling, screaming human part of his nature that loathed what he had become.

  But each time Tom changed into the lupine state he wondered if this would be the time he would lose control and give in to the intoxicating power and strength of being ’wolf …

>   The dark landscape was suddenly neon bright under the orange-pink glare of streetlights. The truck swerved hard and took an exit on to the Henry Hudson Parkway.

  ‘So, this is Manhattan,’ Kate observed. Her habitual deadpan voice made it hard to know if she was impressed or just plain bored.

  ‘Sure is,’ enthused their driver. ‘She’s a sight, ain’t she? Day or night.’

  Tom had to agree. On one side was the wide dark stretch of the Hudson River, and on the other, buildings so high the moon barely peeked over them. As they continued their journey and turned off the Parkway into a crisscross of streets and avenues, Tom felt a sense of genuine awe. It was like he was travelling through a canyon of metal and glass, dwarfed by the gargantuan size of the skyscrapers all around him.

  Their driver turned a corner and gave a huge pantomime yawn. ‘Say, it’s almost two already. Need a place to stay tonight?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  ‘Hey, c’mon. I got a real comfortable place, sweetheart. I even got room for your special friend there, too.’

  Kate’s voice hardened. ‘I said, no thanks.’

  ‘Hey, how about a little gratitude, huh?’ The trucker’s voice got throatier. ‘I’ve brought you all this way. Reckon you owe me something in return.’

  Tom clenched his fists. He’d been tense before, but now he could feel his heart beat harder with anger. He was about to speak out when he caught sight of Kate in the rearview, subtly shaking her head at him. ‘Not here,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Would you let us out, now, please?’ she asked the driver.

  ‘Now, why would you want to break up the party?’ The big guy pressed a fleshy hand down on Kate’s thigh.

  ‘Let go of her,’ Tom snarled, grabbing hold of the man’s thick arm.

  ‘Yeah?’ The trucker took a right turn and broke Tom’s grip easily as he did so. ‘What you gonna do about it, squirt?’

  ‘He’ll turn you into dogmeat,’ Kate snapped, ‘unless you stop this truck and let us out right now.’

  ‘Him?’ The big man tossed an amused glance back at Tom. ‘You’re breaking my balls, sweetie. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a real man.’

  ‘I might have a surprise for you,’ Tom leaned forward and hissed at the driver. ‘And you don’t want to know how real I am.’

  Kate was winding down the window. ‘And unless you want me to scream down all Manhattan, you’ll pull over right now.’

  The driver swore under his breath and slowed right down, swinging his rig to the side of the road. ‘Who needs this? Go on, get out of here, you teasing little bitch.’

  Tom grabbed their stuff and got out. Kate followed him, without a backward glance at the red-faced driver. With an impotent blare on his horn, the man dodged back into the ragged traffic pushing down the avenue.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Tom asked her as they crossed to the sidewalk.

  ‘Of course I’m OK,’ she said crossly. ‘You shouldn’t have interfered, I can handle jerks like him.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Tom said, a little stung.

  Kate sighed. ‘It’s the full moon,’ she reminded him, more gently. ‘The more stressed out you get, the more you lose control, the easier it is for the ’wolf to get a hold on you.’

  Tom looked down at his scuffed boots, feeling the prickle on the back of his neck from the moonlight. He knew she was right. ‘So what do we do now?’

  Kate had already taken her guidebook out of her rucksack. ‘I guess we start looking for the nearest hostel.’

  ‘Can we afford one?’

  ‘Nope. Not really. But at this hour I’d sooner find somewhere reputable to crash for the night.’

  Tom sighed. ‘Too bad Blood’s not here to lend us an apartment. A bit of luxury would be nice right now.’ They’d made one good friend during their crazy time in New Orleans – Adam Blood, a high-class realtor and head of a small network that kept tabs on the dark side of the city. They both owed him their lives. But when he’d taken a stand against Marcie Folan, Blood had gained a formidable enemy. His life had been in great danger, so he’d gone into hiding.

  ‘Wonder where he is now?’ Kate murmured a little dreamily.

  ‘Living it up in the sun, somewhere.’ Tom forced a smile. ‘Lucky bastard.’ Shivering a little, he pulled up the collar of his denim jacket and walked to the corner of the street to find a street sign. ‘West 107th Street and Manhattan,’ he called to Kate.

  She nodded and unfolded the gatefold map at the back of the book.

  Tom shoved both hands deep in his pockets and pushed out a deep breath. The moon had placed an itch under his skin, like ants were crawling inside him. He paced up and down, avoiding the eyes of people drifting along the street. Any one of them could be a ’wolf, out looking for them. The lupine community was tight-knit despite the distance it spanned, and once the word was out against you, you weren’t safe anywhere. ‘Do you realise how many people there must be in Manhattan alone, never mind the boroughs?’

  Kate knew what he was getting at, and swiftly rolled out her stock answer: ‘If Jicaque’s here, we’ll find him.’

  Jicaque. Pronounced, ‘Zhi-kar-key’ – or should that be ‘Holy Grail’? He was the fabled medicine man with a tongue-twister name who might – might – be able to reverse Tom’s lupine condition. From Kate’s researches into lycanthropy, Jicaque seemed to be the only chance they had. Unfortunately he was also about as easy to find as smoke in fog.

  ‘Too bad your on-line contact couldn’t be a little more precise as to where Jicaque’s staying,’ Tom remarked.

  ‘He’s working on that,’ Kate replied.

  ‘Is he? Anyone could’ve sent that e-mail.’ Tom smoothed a clammy hand through his short dark hair, cold sweat spiking it up. ‘We’ve been tricked that way before. The ’wolves could’ve hacked into his account. Or hacked into him, forced him to spill those passwords you agreed …’

  ‘You know, Tom, you’re right,’ Kate said wearily. This was an old argument. ‘We don’t know we can trust the guy who gave me the info, he’s just a name in a chatroom. And say we do manage to find Jicaque – we don’t know that we can trust him either. But since it’s the only lead we’ve got …’

  Tom threw up his hands. ‘Yeah, yeah. You’re right, I know.’ His insides felt cramped and jumpy. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s got to be the lamest apology I ever heard.’ Kate gave him a faint smile, then nodded toward the moon. ‘But I guess it is your time of the month, huh?’

  Tom shot her a dark look. ‘You don’t want to make jokes like that when I’m feeling like this.’ But Kate was grinning at him, and he found himself smiling back. ‘Come on, sick girl. Found any hostels?’

  ‘I have a better idea,’ she told him. ‘Scratch that: I have a cheaper idea.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘We’re right by Central Park. We could camp out there for the night.’

  ‘Just you, me and fifty muggers. Nice idea.’

  Kate shrugged. ‘We could bed down in some bushes. It’s only a few hours till dawn. Then we can get up and start the search.’

  ‘If we haven’t frozen to death first,’ grumbled Tom.

  ‘Well, let’s hear your great idea.’

  Tom sighed, and swallowed hard. ‘I … I guess if we lay close together it might not be so cold.’

  Kate’s green eyes were cool and enquiring as she looked him over. ‘Tom Anderson, is this some kind of sneaky come-on?’

  ‘Get over yourself!’ Tom protested, and turned away so she wouldn’t see him blushing.

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  It was weird to see the dark, hunching shadows of so many trees suddenly rise from the centre of the city. The park was quiet and gloomy as they crossed its borders and headed inside.

  The wind had dropped, and the landscape held itself as still as the moon. As they pressed on, Tom’s senses kicked into overdrive. He drank in the sweet scent of the damp earth and dewy grass. Upwind, a loaded trashcan was brimming over with bad smells.

&
nbsp; Further up the path they were taking he heard a twig snap, and caught a tang of sweat and desperation. Tom could almost picture the figure: some crackhead, turned animal by his need for a fix, shivering in the foliage and psyching himself up to strike should someone pass by.

  The moon seemed to shine brighter, and as its light needled Tom with greater strength, he felt a moment’s kinship with the crackhead. The animal inside him was desperate for release, to strike out and taste blood, to bring on the change.

  ‘Tom?’ Kate was looking at him, concerned.

  ‘Not this way,’ he whispered.

  They changed direction.

  For several minutes they pressed on quietly, searching for somewhere to bed down.

  ‘How about here?’ Kate suggested, gesturing to a small huddle of trees and bushes.

  But as she started to explore, cracking and rustling through the foliage, Tom hushed her. He could hear footfalls on the wet grass, distant shouts and ragged breaths, getting closer. ‘People are coming,’ he hissed.

  Kate looked around, but it was too dark to make out anything clearly. ‘Should we get out of here?’ she asked.

  Tom peered more deeply into the gloom. Across the open parkland he could see a kid no older than himself, who seemed to be running for his life. A gang of about ten people was tearing along after him, jeering and calling. Tom could smell the fear on the boy, felt his own heart start to pound faster, matching the rhythm of the kid’s footfalls.

  ‘Tom?’ Kate tugged on his sleeve.

  ‘They’re chasing him down. Like it’s a hunt or something.’ He turned to her, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, his breaths coming fast and shallow as though it was him running.

  Kate hesitated, then shook her head. ‘Leave it, Tom. It’s not our fight.’

  ‘I – I can scare them off,’ he said, staggering like a drunk, his voice slurring as the change crept closer. ‘Just scare them, that’s all …’

  ‘Tom?’ Kate grabbed hold of his sweaty face with both hands, tried to make him look into her eyes. ‘Tom, no. Don’t do this.’

  But a familiar heat was coursing through Tom’s body. He knew there was no turning back now. He saw the desperation in Kate’s eyes turn to resignation. Then she moved forward to yank his jacket off from his back. He fell to his knees, fumbling feverishly with the buttons on his brushed cotton shirt. Too late. His torso was already swelling up, and the heavy fabric splitting at the seams.