Prey till the End (The Endangered Series Book 3)

by S. L. Eaves

  Quinn sets down the bottle of absinthe she and Dade have been sharing, meeting his gaze with an approving nod. “We're in.”

  Xan stares at the vase holding Jiro's ashes, “Jiro left us with some high tech gear, we'd be wasting it here. If these vampires are a threat to us, we have to eliminate them. It’s what he would want.”

  “I've got a few weapons I could modify for taking down vampires,” Rex adds.

  “Crina?”

  She looks around the room before finally yielding. “I’m onboard with relocating and investigating the deaths.”

  “Alright then,” Trying to hide my relief. It’s taking considerable convincing and Vega was supposed to be here to help make my case, but overall it’s going better than expected.

  “I just want to be clear that when it comes to the Pureblood's agenda. I'm not here on their behalf. I'm here for us. At the end of the day there's only one side I'm on.” Turning to Dade and Quinn, I say, “The plane you guys came in - can we use it?”

  Dade nods. “Should still be on the landing strip. We can have it refueled and ready to go within the hour if need be.”

  “Make the call. Need it to make two stops. One in... what was it? Henderson?”

  “Yeah, it's near Vegas. There's a bunch of private airports nearby.”

  “Great. And the other in Los Angeles. I need to take care of a few things before I can rejoin you guys in Nevada.”

  Chapter 12

  Bleary eyed from a long day of flying, I almost don’t notice the familiar scent when I step off the elevator onto my floor. I freeze in the hallway, staring blankly at my door while I wait for my brain to register what I'm sensing. The door itself looks innocent enough, no visible signs of a break in. But I can sense a werewolf nearby. I may not have a wolf’s strong sense of smell, but I can pick up enough to know one has been in the area recently and I’m fairly certain it’s still here.

  Where is my phone? I gently lower my duffle bag, simultaneously sliding the garment bag that’s holding the daylight suit and Catch’s sword from my shoulder. I dig out my Glock and check that it’s loaded. Then I find my phone. I’m wondering why the security alert hasn’t gone off until I realize the battery died. I should have charged it on the plane but instead left it untouched in the bottom of my bag.

  Damn.

  Okay. It’s probably Hailey with her werewolf friend. It's a long shot, but it's possible they tracked me. Is it though? After all the precautions I took?

  Only one way to find out.

  I slip the gun in the small of my back and fish the key fob out of my pocket.

  The door clicks and I enter a dark apartment. Door lock's intact. I've learned that doesn't mean much. The lights predictably respond to my presence as I cautiously inch further inside.

  Dim lights illuminate my kitchen. Someone else triggered those sensors. I consider reaching for the gun as the figure in my kitchen shifts and the outline in my peripheral takes shape. For a second I think my mind is playing tricks on me. I wish it were.

  “I don’t suppose you want to make this easy and just tell me what you want?”

  “Oh, I think you know what I want.”

  That voice confirms my suspicions. A chill runs up my spine as I turn to face him.

  Striden is sitting on a barstool, an empty glass rests on the counter beside him. The recessed lights give a soft orange glow to his silhouette. He turns on the stool and the lights react to his movement.

  Now fully illuminated, I’m able to see significant burn scars across his face, mostly on the right side, that continue down his neck. His hair is a light shade silver, glistening from the overuse of product, and his tan has darkened which only serves to accentuate his scars and his age. When he flashes that signature sinister sneer, wrinkles form at the corners of his mouth.

  “Freezer full of vodka, fridge full of blood. I knew immediately I had the right place.”

  “Striden.”

  “In the flesh.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  He laughs at that. “You need to keep better friends.”

  I should have moved after Vega paid me the initial visit. I’ve known this location was compromised and I chose to stay here. A conscious mistake. One which I’m now regretting.

  After a moment of silence, Striden continues, “You're not as surprised as I'd hoped you would be. You already knew I survived.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do the others?”

  I shrug.

  “Uh huh… that’s curious. Something happened, didn’t it? To have you living here like this, out of touch with your former clan…”

  “It’s no concern of yours.”

  So he doesn’t know what we are up to otherwise he’d know I’d just come from the mansion.

  “No, it was though, it’s made you difficult to find.”

  “You are a man of many resources, Striden. And you enjoy a challenge. I doubt it was that hard.”

  “You know why I’m here.” It is not a question.

  “I can make an educated guess.” I’m fighting to keep my voice calm, even.

  He slowly twists the lid off a half-empty bottle of vodka. I watch as he refills his glass. I’d been waiting for him to break eye contact.

  “Join me for a drink?”

  In a blink I pull the Glock from my back and fire at his head.

  He’s expecting it.

  He releases something from his other hand. A detonator. A series of small explosions erupt. Flashes emit around me. Something akin to a cluster of cherry bombs on steroids. Not enough to do any real damage, just enough to distract and disorientate. I can’t tell if I hit him, but he’s disappeared from the kitchen and I swing around as I sense movement through the smoke.

  I installed custom smoke detectors with very high tolerance levels so I could smoke inside without setting of the building’s alarms or sprinklers. It seemed like a smart move at the time and has served me well, but right now I'm wishing alarms were blaring as loudly in reality as they are in my head.

  Talons grab me from behind and throw me into the window.

  It doesn’t break. They are reinforced. I even made them bullet proof in the event of a daylight attack. Which won’t be an issue this time around, but it’ll make flinging me out a thirty-story window a challenge.

  The gun slips from my grip in the process and I roll towards it as I scramble to get my bearings. I’m picturing all the artillery I have stashed throughout the apartment. The place is designed like a mobster’s den. Guns tapped under furniture, behind the toilet…you’d think people tried to kill me on a frequent basis. Which for a while, they had. But since I’d moved in all the guns have been doing is collecting dust. I’d been remiss about cleaning them too, so wasn’t even sure how well they’d work. But this is all I can think about as I bolt to my feet. I have speed and home field advantage. And I need to make both work for me if I’m going to survive.

  I spin around expecting a wolf to be charging at me, but he’s still in human form, just his arms have begun to change. It takes great amount of strength and discipline to control the change. It also tells me he has something planned besides an all-out mauling.

  He kicks the gun behind him, smiles.

  I'm in the hallway that encircles the perimeter of the apartment. I jump up to the raised kitchen landing, it sits roughly a foot above the rest of the apartment and I can use any height advantage I can get. Keeping the counter between us, I retreat slowly as I wait to see what else he has up his sleeve.

  He’s being patient and I'm struggling not to look desperate. The shotgun under the couch in the living room has silver core bullets. It's my best option, but I'll have to get past him to reach it.

  I make like I’m charging at him; when he moves to intercept I spring from the counter, rapidly closing the gap between me and shotgun. By my calculations I can reach it before he gets to me. Using a column for leverage, I dive into the living room. Something hits me midair and sends a jolt through my bo
dy.

  The effect is temporary and not very potent. But it’s enough to drop me to my knees before I can reach the couch. I pull the taser probes from my skin, yanking the wires so hard they rip from the gun he’s holding, his right hand is completely human again. He’s not turning. Maybe it’s because of the confines of the apartment. He comes barreling at me, all five hundred pounds of wolf, odds are we both take the thirty-story plunge. He planned for this and is armed accordingly.

  It doesn’t take me long to recover. Striden jeers, seemingly disappointed, and leaps at me. It's his first mistake. One fueled by his temper and I'm quick to take advantage. I bolt straight up as he descends, hitting him in the neck and chest. My blow catches him off balance and launches him into the column between the hallway and the living room. It buys me the time I need.

  Instantly, I turn and dive for the couch, flip over the back, and slide my hand underneath. I feel the cool metal barrel, tear it free and reveal it just as his feet hit the cushions above me. The blow didn't deliver the damage I'd hoped. When I raise the gun he's there to meet it. His eyes widen. The pump of the Remington 870 slides back as it fires.

  In my haste I don’t have time to do much except point it in his general direction. The bullet only succeeds in grazing his arm as he leans back to avoid a direct hit. I’m expecting him to recoil. Which'll give me a chance to fire a second shot. Instead he reaches down and relieves me of the gun in one powerful sweep.

  He grabs me by my neck, squeezing it tightly as if forgetting I don’t need air. I hiss and claw at his arm. He tosses me into the windows again.

  This time something makes a loud snapping sound. I think it's my ribcage. I bounce to the floor and as I fight to gain composure, he meets me with a blow to the chest. If it wasn't my ribs before, it is now. I double over, leaning into the window for support. Before I have a chance to dodge his next blow a blade slices into my thigh. He pushes it clean through and I cry out in pain, falling to my knees.

  He lands a soccer kick into my torso and flips me onto my back immediately dropping to his knees as he does, pinning my legs under his. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other on the knife, which he twists as I writhe in pain under him.

  “Having fun?” his hot breath whispers into my ear. “Because I got to tell you, I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment and it’s glorious.”

  One primal instinct wolves have is a desire to play with their prey before they kill it. Usually through vicious and gruesome means. He’s demonstrating this behavior as I try not to give him the satisfaction of showing my agony.

  “Probably not nearly as glorious as I felt when I took out your brother.”

  The reaction I expected from that comment doesn’t come. Instead he maintains his control over the situation and laughs at my lame attempt to provoke him.

  “What’s the matter, can’t finish me off?”

  “If I wanted to simply kill you I would have come with a wooden stake. Or perhaps set this place on fire. You know how I love a good daytime blaze.”

  He removes the knife and brings it to my throat. I squirm under him but it’s to no avail. His knees press deeper into my thighs. I feel blood pooling under my leg and dripping from my throat. If I were a hundred percent, with pureblood in my veins I could put up more of a fight. At least I'd like to think so because this is downright pathetic.

  “You took my brother’s eye before you killed him. And while I’ve never liked getting my hands dirty with this savagery, I am going to enjoy digging yours out.”

  He brings the knife to my left eye and presses it into the inner tear duct. I try to yank away, he brings his other hand, the one that’s still all claws and fur, under my jaw to hold me still. The blade pierces my skin and I feel blood pool around the socket.

  “You really should cut my tongue out first,” I manage through raspy groans.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Activate self-destruct,” I command, as loud as I’m able.

  The various monitors throughout the apartment blink to life.

  “Self-destruct mode activated.” A robotic male voice responds, the screen displaying a digital timer counting down from one minute.

  Striden looks up at the screen, his face registers a mix of annoyance and confusion.

  “Eject!” I yell.

  For a split second the only response is a swishing sound. Striden looks from the screen down to me as a metal bar zips past.

  ***

  When I moved into this apartment there were several things that appealed to me: the location, the underground parking garage and its accessibility to the city’s tunnels (though that’s really a glamorous way of saying sewer system), its open floor plan, the discretion of the building’s management, and that the top five floors were designated penthouses - which, despite not being the top floor, it meant they required extra layers of security to reach them and each had its own floor. I liked the privacy. And the floor to ceiling windows that spanned the length of the exterior wall, recklessness aside, the view was worth the risk. The building’s owners were accustomed to dealing with celebrities and the services they provided their clientele fit my lifestyle. Plus they liked that I paid in cash.

  It’s funny how that sort of behavior – flashes of outrageous sums of cash up front – is considered socially acceptable in this city. It’s one of the reasons why I chose to live here. Paying everything in cash, nocturnal activities, expensive cars, need for privacy…it’s all considered par for the course in this town. Plus if someone spots me jumping across rooftops – something I haven’t done in a very long time – they won't even blink. They’ll assume it’s for a film.

  The only unit that was available at the time I wanted to move was the lowest of the five luxury units and wasn’t a true penthouse, which I was fine with. In fact it was preferable. I felt the penthouse thing was a bit of a cliché and might make it easier for others to find me. This location felt more anonymous. Plus, rooftop access at thirty stories is useless to me.

  So I purchased the apartment and made a number of modifications. Aside from the automation, motion sensors, the smoke detectors, the UV coating, infrared security system, voice activated bots – which is no longer as innovative as it was at the time – the biggest expense, and most difficult modification, was the escape hatch. However, it occurred to me that there could be an instance, under dire circumstances, that fleeing out the front door and into the elevator wouldn’t cut it. The only alternative being the stairwell, which in most cases would probably be the best means of escape. If I could leave the apartment.

  My initial solution involved running a zip-line from the building to a neighboring one across the street. The city wouldn't permit its installation. And it's a bit conspicuous. Had they approved it, I still would need a way to access it. So I came up with a creative solution. As an alternate exit I rigged a wire around the perimeter of the apartment. I installed a device that, when triggered, would launch a metal bar across the zip-line at two hundred miles per hour. At that velocity it would knock over anything in its path and be impossible for the average mortal to grab.

  At the other end of the zip-line is a wall panel; a piece of interior wall that marks the end of my apartment. When activated, the suction seal releases and the panel is free to detach when struck by a force at high speed, say a body. It would be ideal for tossing enemies, but the panel would give me a chance at survival if I had to take the plunge.

  I’d never tested it. I’d paid an engineer handsomely to design it and when the time came that he deemed it ready for installation, he’d shown up with a small team of assistants. All of them behaving like it was the most natural request in the world. Saying they’d worked on projects of similar scope before. That’s Los Angeles for you. I was just another Hollywood client rigging the set of an action film.

  The “self-destruct” prompt is merely a decoy. I didn’t want to inadvertently say the word “eject” and accidently trigger it and I knew the only time I’d need it
was if under attack, so I programed my apartment’s security system to launch a fake countdown figuring it would succeed in distracting my attacker(s) and also encourage them to flee. Once the self-destruct was activated I could then say eject to launch the escape hatch. There’s no way I would ever blow up or in any other way intentionally “destruct” an apartment in a downtown high rise. I am not Striden. Plus, it would bring way too much attention.

  ***

  My hand grips the bar and it wrenches me out from under Striden. I hit the wall panel with my shoulder, having attempted to turn midair. The panel responds to my impact by separating from the wall as designed. My last image of Striden is his mouth agape as he watches me disappear from his clutches, his human hand still holding the knife.

  In seconds I’m gripping the edges of the panel and tucking my knees in like a kid riding a baking sheet down a snow-covered hill. The contraption had been designed to propel someone of my size the distance of roughly one hundred yards, which would put me on a neighboring rooftop. There’s no way I’m going to stick the landing, but if I can connect with a rooftop I’ve got a chance at minimizing the damage.

  All the panel offers is something to cushion the fall. Crashing panel-first into a rooftop is the best outcome I can hope for. Crouching down, my focus is more on securing myself against the panel than where I am going to land, it’s not like I can steer the thing anyways. Both hands maintain a death grip on the edges, with one corner aimed forward as if pointing the way. I peer over it as I feel the descent accelerate and find I’m seconds from impact. And auspiciously, I’m going to land on a rooftop, which will make the fall survivable. Barely. I’m dangerously close to flying into the side of the building, possibly through a window.

  I hit the roof with such force that the panel and I flip end over end until there is no more surface to connect with and we are hurled over the side. I release my grip as the panel makes contact with an adjacent rooftop. It skids to a stop, but I’m unable to slow my momentum and continue to roll until I yet again run out of roof. I slam into the side of the neighboring building and plummet down on a dumpster.