When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2)

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When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2) Page 15

by Nicole Zoltack


  “Have you seen this firsthand?”

  He hesitates. “No. Like I said, it’s a rumor. But a cop with a penchant for blood and flesh? That would be a disaster. Plus…”

  “Plus what?” This is too much to take in.

  “Plus I knew you wouldn’t want to be like that,” he mumbles.

  It’s true. I’ll admit that.

  “But I’m not craving flesh or blood,” I point out.

  “And I’m glad.” His lips twitch like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t quite pull it off.

  “Why haven’t I heard about any of those killers? The bitten killers?” I ask.

  “Why doesn’t the whole world know about vampires?” he counters.

  “Fair enough.”

  I sigh and lower the gun, placing it carefully on the coffee table. My arms are sore from being held out for so long. The gun’s heavy in my hands. Man, one massive battle, and I turn into a wimp.

  “You said something about being able to help me?” I ask.

  I don’t bother to feel any hope. I’m too depressed and resigned. Diego’s right. I’m gonna get myself killed at this rate. Maybe that’s my destiny, to survive long enough for one of these creatures to kill me off.

  Not that I would ever go down without a fight.

  “You survived an attack. According to the rumors, the ones who put up a fight against him are killed outright. The ones who plead for him to spare them, for the sake of their families or just because they don’t want to die…” He pauses and swallows hard. “Those are the ones he bites and leaves to kill others in their wake.”

  “To kill their families,” I whisper, horrified. Fear not for myself but for others fills me.

  Rolf neither confirms nor denies this. “You obviously attacked him,” he says critically.

  “Yeah.” I swallow the bitter pill of disappointment. Rolf is not going to be pleased when he learns Amarok has the blade.

  “He bit you, but you didn’t turn. Why?” His eyes narrow, glittering with disillusionment and suspicion. “There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “Yeah, we gathered that already. Any idea what?”

  “Nope,” he says easily. Any disapproval has vanished. He wishes to use me, no matter what I am. “That doesn’t matter.”

  I sigh and rub my forehead. “Of course you think that it doesn’t matter.”

  “You need to focus on getting better so you can take out Amarok,” he says, desperation dripping in his voice. He’s almost salivating at the thought of the monstrous wolf being dead.

  Honestly, for what it did to me, I want it dead just as badly. Which makes me feel terrible. I should want him dead because of his horrific crimes committed throughout the many long years of his unnatural life.

  As a cop, I shouldn’t want to be judge, jury, and executioner. I should want to bring him in so he could be tried and sentenced for his crimes. After all, I did bring vamps to the station.

  Is this scenario any different? Who knows how long vamps live for, how high their body counts are.

  Can we keep and maintain Amarok within a jail cell?

  This is the whole point of the Special Investigative Unit.

  Besides, without the blade, I can’t kill him.

  Regardless, either way, I have to be able to track him down, again. I need to be at full strength for that.

  “How can I get better?” I finally ask Rolf.

  “Easy.” He flashes his impossibly white teeth. “You just need to drink some vampire blood.”

  Chapter 23

  My stomach drops, and I pray I don’t get sick. I can’t believe what he said.

  “Tell me I misheard you,” I beg.

  “Nope,” he says easily enough. “As vicious and bloodthirsty and terrible as they are—“

  “Whoa. What about your truce?”

  “What about it? Werewolves and vampires have fought over land many times before. Countless times before. We have a truce so that neither side has to have more die. It was not made out of love and understanding.”

  “It’s all about survival. You two hate each other.”

  “Yes.”

  “Vamp blood… what will it do?”

  “It will do either one of two things. It will either cure you of your ailments…” He gestures to my bandaged shoulders.

  “Or it will make me sick.”

  “Yes,” he says shortly.

  “There’s venom in their blood,” I say slowly. “Why would you think it won’t affect me?”

  “You don’t know enough about vampires.” He flashes his teeth, a low growl sounding from the back of his throat.

  “I know someone who survived the sickness. I don’t know if it’s because of the heavy-duty antibiotics or—“

  “Will you spout out the limited knowledge you have, or will you listen to what I have to say?”

  “Are all wolves so impolite and rude?” I snap. I’m cranky, tired, and in so much pain that it’s amazing I haven’t succumbed to it.

  He ignores me. “If a human comes in contact with a vampire’s blood or saliva, they have three days to be cured. The infection changes a human’s chemicals, their blood, and their body.”

  “Photosensitivity, weakness, seizures,” I murmur.

  Calinda died of the vampire poison. Gizmo might’ve, too. I’m not sure considering his head had been decapitated, too.

  “And a lot more,” Rolf adds grimly. “If treated, a person can be cured like that person you know. There is another way, though.”

  “That makes a person a vampire, right?”

  It’s a hypothesis, one I desperately, terribly don’t want to be accurate.

  “Yes.”

  Of course.

  I let out a frustrated, disgusted sigh. “Let me guess, they just have to drink vampire blood within those three days.”

  “Yes. They’ll gain the unquenchable craving for blood.”

  “And strength and speed,” I murmur.

  This is almost too much to take in. It’s one thing to accept that vampires are real. It’s another to realize all of their powerful attributes. Add to that equation that more can be created, well, that’s a recipe for devastation and disaster.

  “Yes, yes.” Rolf’s nostrils flare, and he waves his hand. “Their bodies heal from wounds due to the iron in the blood they drink.”

  “Really? Why can’t our bodies do that?”

  “It is a part of the infection that makes them vampires,” he explains. His tone suggests that I’m less than bright.

  I really hate his condescending attitude.

  “I’m not a vampire, though. I’m not infected. I don’t understand why you think drinking their blood will cure me.”

  Rolf shrugs. “It’s a gamble, but the vampires won’t kill you. There’s a reason for it, even if I don’t know what it is. I think you’ll be healed.”

  “If not, I’ll get sick and die.”

  “Unless you drink more blood.”

  “No. No way. I am not going to become a vamp.” I shake my head so hard that I grow dizzy.

  “It might be your only chance to get Amarok. If he moves away from Bethlehem, he will bring his reign of terror elsewhere. Can you live with yourself if he does that? How many more lives does he have to take before someone can bring him down?”

  “Bring him down yourself,” I snap. “Stop using me as your pawn. I’m not a blood bag or a punching bag. I might be human, but I have free will and my own mind. I only take orders from my boss.”

  For the most part.

  “Don’t you dare try to guilt trip me.” I’m livid. “Who do you think you are, telling me what to do when I almost died?”

  “You didn’t die,” he says calmly, but his eyes are flashing with his own anger. “I am trying to prevent the death of my species. Can’t you understand that?”

  I hate that he has a legit point.

  “You guys can go after him, too, though,” I say stubbornly.

  “The others don’t know I�
�m asking you. They’re content to just lay low and wait for him to move on.”

  “Why do you want differently?”

  “Because I care about werewolves and humans. No one else should have to die by his hands. And I think you’re the only cop who truly cares about humans and anyone else outside of that.”

  “I don’t care about vampires.”

  His teeth flash in another smile. “All the more reason why I entrusted you with the bullet and the blade.”

  I wince.

  “You opened your eyes to see the other side. You opened your mind to accept the supernatural as real. Some can’t handle that.”

  “Mental institution patients,” I murmur.

  Not two weeks before I first encountered a vamp, I heard that a woman had been driven to the nearest inpatient behavioral unit. She’d been ranting and raving about vampires.

  Maybe I should go pay her a visit.

  “If you wait to heal normally, how many more will Amarok kill in that time? Your shoulders might not even heal properly. What if your rotator cuffs have been damaged? Your ligaments torn?”

  I swallow hard. Dean never mentioned imagery to me. Then again, maybe he did, and I don’t remember.

  “You’ve really thought this through, huh?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “Fine. I’ll try it.”

  It’s crazy. It’s reckless. It might get me killed.

  So might going up against Amarok again.

  But I could also be involved in a freak car accident and go out that way.

  I might as well do everything in my power to try and help as many people as possible—human or wolf.

  Am I terrified? You bet. I’m worried, anxious, petrified.

  But I’ve always been driven, and I won’t back down now.

  “You going to get me that blood?” I ask hopefully.

  “I can’t.” He holds up his hands, his expression sheepish but serious. “I seriously can’t. I’ve really gone out on a limb to involve you as it is. If I go ahead and do this, too, it could very well start a war between werewolves and vampires. You don’t want that, do you?”

  A war between vamps and wolves?

  Of course not!

  “I really do think I hate you,” I mumble.

  “I can live with that, but can you live like that?” He nods to my bandages. “It’s possible Amarok will hunt you down. He doesn’t leave live victims outside of the ones rumored to turn into his minions. Without being in tiptop shape—”

  “There’s no way I can survive another round handicapped like this,” I mumble.

  I exhale a deep breath, ignoring the growing bit of anxiety and worry forming an awfully tight knot in my stomach. Fear can’t enter the equation. It just can’t.

  “All right then,” I add. “Can you at least point me in the direction of the nearest vamp?”

  A faint sound from faraway sounds, and Rolf straightens, rigid as a board.

  “What was that?” I ask him, confused and even more anxious now.

  “I’m being called. I have to go.”

  “But—”

  He’s already gone.

  Great. Amarok. Vamp blood. A possible feud between vamps and wolves.

  What else can go wrong?

  Chapter 24

  “How in the world am I supposed to get…” I trail off.

  One, I don’t normally talk to myself. Okay, I do sometimes. And, yeah, I’m one of those people who sing loudly in the shower, but I try not to make it a habit.

  But two, I realize I had in my possession vamp blood.

  From on Blake Damon.

  Only I gave the blood to Henrietta. She’s crazy thorough, so I’m willing to bet she used up all of the blood from the vial.

  There’s a quick way to find out.

  I call her up and put her on speaker. No way am I going to hold a phone to my ear in my condition.

  “Clarissa!” she answers, bubbly as ever. “How are you? Honestly, I have to tell you that I hope you are far away from Bethlehem. My uncle is on the warpath, and he’s not the happiest with you right now.”

  “I’m sure,” I mumble.

  Her uncle is none other than Lieutenant Reynolds.

  “Anyhow, I bet you’re calling about that blood you gave me. I’m still running tests on it. I’m not sure what all it is. It’s so strange. When I add human blood to it, the vampire blood consumes it until it’s gone.”

  “So it infects the human blood?” I ask.

  “Or it transforms it into vampire blood. The amount of iron is sky high, much higher than a human body can handle.”

  “It’s possible to have too much iron?”

  “Too much of anything will kill you,” she says cheerfully.

  “You do realize how wrong it sounds for you to be so chipper?” I grumble.

  “Loosen up. You sound really uptight. What’s going on?”

  “What is everyone saying about me?”

  “Diego and Angelo are trying to cover for you, but I’m not sure anyone believes it. Mercedes is convinced you jumped the shark. Rex thinks you got yourself in a bad way with the vampires. My uncle is really breathing down his neck. Everything, it’s a mess. A total mess.”

  “Angelo is covering for me?” I can’t be more shocked.

  “I think he doesn’t want drama. He has enough of that at home.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “So what is going on with you?” Henrietta asks. “If you don’t mind my prying.”

  I grin. “I’d love to tell you, but then everyone would know.”

  “I can keep my lips sealed!”

  “You’re lucky the corpses can’t talk because they probably know more about your love life than your boyfriend does!”

  She bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I guess I do talk a lot. I’m sorry I don’t have more to tell you about the blood.”

  “That’s all right. Say, speaking of the blood, do you happen to have any leftover from your testing?”

  “Not a drop! You don’t happen to have any more, do you?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Henrietta takes over the conversation, talking about anything and everything. I’m terrible, only half listening. I’m hungry, but I don’t want fruit or something else simple like that I need something with sustenance. Then again, I’m not sure my stomach will tolerate a heavy meal.

  A knock sounds at the door.

  “I have to go. Someone’s here.”

  “All right,” Henrietta says. “You take care, and if you do need someone to talk to, remember you can tell me.”

  “Tell you and everyone else you mean,” I tease.

  Laughing, we hang up.

  During the call, I sat down on the couch, and I lean forward. The door’s unlocked.

  “Come in,” I call.

  The door opens. “I have a pizza delivery.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “I didn’t order any.”

  The delivery guy recites my address and then says it was ordered and paid for already.

  “Who bought it?” I ask, shocked. The aroma of spiced sauce, cheese, and fresh dough has my mouth watering.

  The guy doesn’t answer and holds out the box.

  “Can you put it on the coffee table for me?” I ask, hating that I feel so weak.

  “Sure.” The guy does, hesitates, and then leaves.

  Whoops. I don’t have any tip money on me.

  I open the pizza. Plain cheese. Not what I normally order, but it’s easy to eat, and I devour two slices. Even though I want more, because pizza has never tasted so divine, I better not push my luck.

  All right. Now that I have some strength in me from the carbs, I’ve got to figure out how to get vamp blood.

  Another knock on the door sounds. This time, the person doesn’t wait to be invited in.

  Diego bursts in. “Come on.”

  I stand. It’s getting easier to do that without applying pressure on my wrists and pushing myself up. “Where are we going?”

/>   He takes my hand and has an easier time getting me into the car this time. I’m almost not surprised that he brings me back to the park. A feeling of dismay and angst washes over me as we walk over toward near where I faced down Amarok.

  If you can call it facing him down. I got my ass handed to me on a silver platter.

  “Why are you bringing me here?” I ask, dizzy and disoriented.

  “You’ll see why in a second,” he says grimly.

  Just then, the next hill comes into view. There’s a spike in the ground.

  Attached to the spike is a head.

  Dread churns my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have had both slices of pizza.

  Pushing through my disgust and tinges of fear, firming up my resolve, I approach the spike. My fingers tremble only a little as I lift an eyelid.

  A bright red eye would stare at me if not for it being lifeless.

  “A vamp head,” I whisper.

  Who did this? Blake Damon the vamp hunter? I doubt he would leave a vamp’s head out for display like this. Amarok makes a lot more sense, given his perchance to not live near vamps.

  Regardless, this gives me an awful, twisted feeling of dread and fear in my stomach. This goes beyond killing. This is some seriously messed up stuff.

  Considering all of what we’ve been dealing with lately, that says something.

  Chapter 25

  Diego runs a hand through his black hair. He has it slicked back today. The style looks good on him, not that I’m about to tell him that.

  “I can’t keep this under wraps for long,” he announces. “I have to call it in.”

  “How did you find it?”

  He mutters something in Spanish under his breath.

  “No comprendo,” I say.

  I took four years of Spanish in high school. That’s not nearly enough to be fluent, especially when the speaker talks as fast as a squirrel on speed can collect nuts.

  “I was trying to find whatever hurt you,” he says, clearly embarrassed.

  My heart nearly stops. Through gritted teeth, I say, “I hope you’re not that stupid.”

  “I prefer fearless.”

  “More like powerless,” I snap. “You have no idea what I went up against, what you wanted to go against.” I jerk my head toward the staked vamp head even though it sends sharp, shooting pain down my neck to my shoulder. “If he can do that, what do you think he can do to you?”

 

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