by E. S. Moore
Blood spurted from my gums as I gave in to the hunger. The man tried to fight me off, push me away, but it was no use. He pleaded for his life, cutting his throat with every heavy gasp of air. He smelled of smoke and alcohol and sweat.
But most of all, he smelled of fear and blood.
I ignored his protests and pleading words. I wiped my knife on his shirt, cleaning off his speckles of blood. I didn’t need it there to hold him. I had only needed it to make sure his blood was pure.
Leaning forward, I licked the blood trailing down his neck, tasted it as I might a fine wine. It was sweet on the tongue, even mingled with his rancid sweat. He gurgled something inarticulate, then opened his mouth to shriek.
All that sprang forth was blood.
15
The blood dried quickly. It was nearly invisible against my shirt and coat as I sped down the pavement. My hunger was sated, but I was not satisfied. In fact, I was sick to my stomach.
There was no doubt the man had been swine. His removal had made the streets the tiniest bit safer, though it would be a miracle if anyone noticed. There was no telling how many other women he had stalked like that, how far he had gone. Tonight could have been his first and last time out. Or it could have been one in a hundred.
In the end, it didn’t matter. No matter how corrupted he might have been, he had still been a man, a Pureblood whose mind had been tainted, though his blood had not. I could have scared him, tossed him around a bit, cut him, and then let him go. A good scare might have set him straight. I mean, I had just cut a werewolf some slack just the other day, why couldn’t I have done it for this guy?
I knew why, of course. I had to feed. It was what I had gone there to do in the first place.
Instead of scaring him off, I did what I needed to do. I tossed his corpse into a garbage bin, his body drained. Someone would find him eventually. Would anyone care?
The fact of the matter was, I was angry. Normally after feeding, I felt a bit disgusted with myself, worried about my soul and so on; but for some reason, this kill bothered me more than it should have. It weighed on my mind, made me question my reasons for going out like I had.
I knew I wasn’t fully in my right mind. The moments after a feeding were oftentimes filled with ecstasy. There was a sort of high that went along with the blood. It cascaded through my body, burst through my brain, and sent shivers down my spine as I drank. It was a drug.
And like any other drug, there was always a downside to the high. Coming down was hard, sometimes crippling, and it happened far too fast. No more than fifteen minutes had passed before I started regretting my actions.
I licked my lips. I could still taste the stalker’s blood on them. My gums were sore, but my teeth had retracted back to normal. I had washed the blood off my face as best I could before heading back to the Honda; then I used wet wipes I kept under the seat to clean the rest from my face and hands. A werewolf would still smell it on me if I got too close, but I didn’t plan on getting close enough to anyone for it to matter.
I had been stupid. I should have gone to Tremaine’s mansion first. I could have hunted afterward. And who knows, there was always a chance one of his Pureblood servants would happen upon me. They I could kill without regret.
But it was too late now. I was full, my senses tingling with fresh blood. Now it was time to get to work.
A truck pulled up close behind me. Its headlights lit up the road. I glanced over my shoulder in irritation. The truck was coming up on me fast, so I swerved to the edge of the road to give the asshole room to pass. The driver was straddling the yellow center line, sticking straight on it like he was on tracks. No other cars were on the lonely stretch of road.
The truck pulled up next to me and kept pace with me as we raced down the road. We were both moving far too fast, and I had to swerve closer to him every few seconds to keep from hitting a pothole or a fallen branch or some other obstruction. No one bothered keeping up with these lesser traveled roads much anymore.
I growled under my breath and glanced into the cab of the truck, hoping to catch the driver’s attention. I wanted him to either pass me or let me back onto the main part of the road before I crashed into something.
There were two men in the cab. The passenger had a short, spiky haircut dyed purple. Multiple piercings ran along his ears, nose, and lips. It looked like he had been trimmed in metal. He had a knot of scar tissue in the middle of his forehead like he had at one time had a close encounter with a werewolf. It looked like a large chunk of his flesh had been torn away and had healed. Badly. I couldn’t make out the driver.
The passenger grinned at me and leaned partway out of the rolled-down truck window to blow me a kiss. His skin was discolored and lumpy.
The driver growled something to his passenger, and a large, meaty hand reached out and yanked the pierced man back into his seat. After a few heated words, the pierced man flipped the driver off with both hands before turning his double bird to me. He spat at me and cackled.
Before I could return the favor, the truck finally picked up speed. I followed the spiky-haired passenger with my eyes, just barely resisting the urge to draw my gun and shoot him. It might be hard to hit a moving target, especially since I was trying to control my own vehicle, but I was a pretty damn good shot. If nothing else, I was sure it would scare the shit out of him.
A growl came from right beside me. I turned my head just as a large mass of fur, teeth, and claws leaped from the back of the pickup and hit me hard in the side. The force of the beast’s body striking mine sent us both flying from my motorcycle, which promptly tipped over and went sliding down the pavement, throwing up sparks in its wake.
The wolf landed on top of me, just barely keeping a hold on my arms as we went tumbling over and over at the side of the road. We came to a stop twenty feet from where he had struck me, our crashing tumble hindered somewhat by the soft grass and brush that lined the road.
I bucked as we came to a stop, hoping to throw the wolf off me, but it managed to regain its balance just before I could throw it. It pinned me to the ground, gaping maw hovering mere inches from my face.
My coat was tangled around me, restricting my movements. My sword was digging into my side, and there was no way I could draw it, either of my knives, or my gun without disentangling myself first. I kept one arm pressed into the wolf’s throat, pushing at it with all my might, keeping it from closing its teeth around my face or tearing out my throat.
The wolf howled, lifting its head for an instant before diving back toward me. My arm gave a little and its gnashing maw closed a hairsbreadth from my nose. It reared back once more and I quickly adjusted, jabbing three fingers into its throat as it started forward. Its howl turned into a strangled, hacking cough.
The moment I felt the wolf’s hold on me weaken, I arched my back and used my legs to piston my hips off the ground. The stunned werewolf lost its grip on me and started to fall to the side. It just managed to get a claw down into the ground before falling completely over, halting its movement, but I had enough leverage to buck it off me the rest of the way before it could fully regain its balance.
The werewolf hit hard on its side but was back on its feet just as fast as I was. I came up in a flurry of black leather, my coat unwinding from around me. By the time I reached my feet, my gun was in my hand.
The wolf growled and charged me. I sighted it down, but it was too close. It hit me just as I pulled the trigger, and my gun went spinning from my hand as we fell into another deadly roll.
We came to a stop, me on top this time. The wolf swiped at my face and I was just barely able to jump back before the claws would have taken my eyes. It rolled over and I noticed for the first time that the thing wasn’t a mere “it,” it was definitely a “he.”
The werewolf paused a second to size me up. I was sure he had a grin on that maw of his, though it was impossible to tell. He sure as hell seemed to be enjoying himself if the rest of his body was any indication.
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br /> He charged before I could reach for my sword. I dodged the attack, just barely missing getting disemboweled by his razor-sharp claws. Instead of my gut, his claws caught my coat and tore right through the tough leather.
“Goddamn it,” I said, spinning around to face the wolf. I was more pissed at him for ripping my coat than attacking me. I was going to have to pay to get the damn thing fixed.
The wolf stood, slavering. I wasn’t sure the thing knew what he was doing. He looked hopped up on something, eyes wild and fierce. His coat was mangy, ratted in places, and looked as though he hadn’t washed in years, if ever.
It was then I saw the scar in the middle of his forehead. It matched the one I had seen on the passenger’s face almost exactly. It was a bare spot, void of fur, and the scar tissue was knotted and pink.
I didn’t have time to consider the implications. The wolf came at me hard and I quickly stepped to the side just as he dove for me. He caught nothing but air, and I was able to take the moment it took for the beast to get back to his feet to pull out both of my knives. I didn’t wait for the werewolf to turn around. Each knife left my hand almost as soon as it entered it. They spun end over end and embedded themselves in the werewolf’s back.
He hardly even noticed.
The wolf turned and howled at me, saliva dripping from his jaws.
“What the fuck?” I said, taking a step backward. The silver should have paralyzed him. Werewolves couldn’t shake off silver like that. There was no way the damn thing should have been standing. It was impossible.
No matter how impossible it might have been, the wolf was doing more than just standing. He came at me again, his gait only minutely hindered by the knives in its back. Hell, I wasn’t even sure he felt pain.
I drew my sword and fell back into a defensive retreat. What the hell was I going to do against the thing if silver didn’t stop it? I was sure if I could manage to cut off his head or scramble his brains with a bullet, the wolf would die. Then again, who knew? Things weren’t exactly happening like they should have been as it was.
As the wolf approached, I swung my sword in an upward arc, hoping to catch him off guard and disembowel him. He altered his course at the last moment as if anticipating the move; then he went tearing past and around me.
A mournful howl lit up the night, and it took me a moment to realize it was coming from my attacker. The wolf looked at me, half crazed, half lucid, and then charged again. He was panting, whimpering deep in his throat. Maybe he did feel pain, after all. That was something at least.
I sidestepped the newest charge and kicked something on the ground. It clattered away from me and came to a stop a foot away. I glanced down and saw my gun. Moonlight glimmered over its oiled surface.
I dodged the wolf’s next attack, catching his claw with my sword. The wolf dropped back with a snarl, blood dripping from his wounded hand. The silver still didn’t seem to be affecting him, but at least he could be hurt.
I snatched my gun from the ground as the wolf flexed his massive, clawed fingers. A drop of dark blood fell from the wound and splattered on the ground. He growled low in his throat and took an angry step toward me.
“Fuck you,” I said, raising the gun. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger.
The bullet took the wolf square in the scar on his forehead. He staggered back, and for a heart-stopping instant, I was sure he was going to come right back at me.
Instead, the wolf blinked once, took a step toward me, and then fell flat on his face. He was dead before he hit the ground.
I took a deep breath and lowered the gun. What the fuck had just happened? I glanced down the road, certain the truck would be idling just within sight, but as far as I could tell, it was gone.
But that didn’t mean it would stay gone. The other two could be back at any minute to pick up what they would believe to be a well-fed wolf. All they would get would be a dead one. I wasn’t about to be here when they returned.
I hurried over to the wolf and removed my knives from his back. I cleaned them on his mangy fur and sheathed them, along with my sword. I kept my gun in my hand and kicked him once for good measure. He was definitely dead.
I wished I could have seen who he had been when he wasn’t a wolf, but that would require him to change. Dead werewolves stayed in whatever form they died in, so this was all I was going to get.
I hurried over to my Honda. It was lying on its side, the engine having died when it hit the pavement. I righted it and winced when I saw the long scrape along the right side where it had hit the ground and skidded. I touched the scratch with my fingertips, baring my teeth at the gouge I felt there. I had half a mind to put another bullet or two into Mr. Furry for damaging my bike, but that would just waste bullets. He was as dead as he was going to get.
The motorcycle started up okay, at least. As far as I could tell, the damage was only superficial, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t pissed off about it. Someone was going to pay for this. Big time.
I pulled onto the road, paying my dead friend one last glance before tearing out into the night, more pissed off than I had been in quite a long time. I wanted nothing more than to seek out the truck and kill both the driver and passenger, but that would have to wait. I had more important things to do.
16
I parked my Honda behind the backstop of an old ballpark that hadn’t been used in what looked to be ten years. Tall grass swayed with the night breeze, and the stench of a rotting animal nearby crinkled my nose. The place was isolated and dark, the perfect place to leave my motorcycle while I scouted House Tremaine.
I was anxious to get moving, but something kept nagging at the back of my mind. It had bothered me all the way to the ballpark, kept prickling just beyond my consciousness. I sat there, trying to figure out what it was.
A car drifted by, its headlights illuminating much of the baseball diamond, though I was well hidden behind the backstop. It would take someone actually shining a light directly on me for anyone to see me there. The night was still young. I had time to think.
It wasn’t such a surprise I was attacked on the road. It happened quite often on back roads. Joyriding wasn’t something anyone ever did during the night anymore. It was just as bad as walking down a dark alley in the seediest part of town at midnight. You were just asking for someone to come try to tear your throat out.
No, it wasn’t the fact I was attacked. It was the scar.
While I wasn’t able to make out exactly what had caused the scars on both the passenger of the truck and the werewolf, I was sure I knew what they meant. Who else slapped marks on their foreheads to let others know whom they belonged to?
“Jonathan.” I whispered his name as a curse. The Luna Cult had tattoos right where those scars were. If the wolf and his friends were members of the Cult sent out to kill me, then they might have tried to remove the tattoo in order to hide their identities in case they failed.
But those scars had been old. It was doubtful that they had removed them for this purpose only. So then why had they done it?
I tried to make a connection. I knew my attackers had something to do with the Luna Cult. It would be too big of a coincidence otherwise.
I just couldn’t figure out why they would remove their tattoos like that. The tattoo was a mark of pride for the Cultists. For some, it was who they were. I seriously doubted a Cultist would remove his tattoo for any reason.
But then why?
Maybe when I was done with House Tremaine, I would have to pay Jonathan a little visit.
I turned away from my bike and started toward the road. My footfalls sounded far too loud in the eerie quiet of the abandoned ballpark. Not even a dog barked in the distance.
Tremaine’s mansion was a few blocks away, nestled in a quiet section of the rich district. I made my way there, sticking to the darkness provided by trees and gently rolling hills. I moved quick and silent, head on a swivel. Anyone could be out there watching me.
Many of the residen
tial districts of Columbus had undergone severe changes in scenery after the Uprising. Families were booted from their homes so the vampires could take over, live at their leisure. The Major Houses built mansions on sprawling properties that might have at one time been entire neighborhoods. Most of the lesser Houses simply moved into large estates already in place.
House Tremaine was one of the latter. I passed it often enough when working my way deeper into the vampire residential districts. A hill dotted by pines and oaks served as its backdrop. A large pond decorated the front yard and oftentimes, revelers could be seen from the road, slipping in and out of the water before heading inside to feast on blood.
Tonight, however, the pond was as empty of revelers as the sky was of clouds. I could just see the front door where a man was talking with a woman in the spill of light cast by the front window. I couldn’t tell if they were vampires, werewolves, or Pureblood servants from where I was, but I was pretty sure they were a part of the House, not some visitors.
The girl turned her face away and the man reached up and cupped her face in his hands. He leaned forward, kissed her, and then buried his teeth in her neck. She writhed against him but didn’t fight back. After a few minutes, she slumped in his arms and he carried her back inside.
I felt sick to my stomach. I knew the girl wanted to be fed upon, knew she probably enjoyed it in some sick way. Vampire bites weren’t like in all the old stories. There were no pheromones in the saliva or anesthetics or anything like that. The bites hurt. Badly. Only the sick and perverted could enjoy that kind of pain.
I used the trees to slip unnoticed onto the hill at the back of the property. I stayed well back from the House, not wanting to be spotted by the werewolf sniffers I knew would be lurking. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, but that didn’t mean anything. Anyone could be lurking somewhere in the dark. A vampire could be pretty damn still when they wanted to be.
