by E. S. Moore
Nathan hit Davin full in the back, sending both of them flying across the room. Davin screamed once and then fell abruptly silent as Nathan tore out his throat with his bare hands. Before he could finish the job, another wolf attacked him from the side and they went tumbling head over heels together, slamming against the wall.
I came in next, not bothering to watch the fight. Nathan could take care of himself, I was sure. I swung my sword with all my might, hoping to catch the distracted Count unaware and lop off his head with one swing. He ducked as if he felt the strike coming and rolled forward, nearly crashing into a pair of wolves with a death lock on each others’ necks. Tremaine flowed to his feet and turned to face me, rage contorting his features.
Or I thought it was rage at first. He sloughed off his leather jacket like a second skin. Thin, membranous wings sprouted from his back before the jacket even hit the floor. Bone cracked and groaned as they unfolded behind him, spreading out a good five feet to either side of the vampire. His face twisted, fur sprung from the tops of his ears, thickened on his face. His nose snapped and folded in like an accordion, as if someone had hit him square in the face with an invisible piano.
A full-fledged shapeshifter. Fuck!
I charged Tremaine before he could take flight. His transformation had taken only a few seconds, and had stopped at the wings and altered facial features as far as I could tell. He looked like some sort of giant bat-man. If he were to live for a few hundred years more, he might even learn to complete the change, though he would never be able to lose mass to shrink to the size of a real bat. I wasn’t going to give him that chance.
Tremaine kicked his coat into the air, aiming for my face. It forced me to hesitate for an instant to bat it down, but that instant was enough.
He lifted off the ground and coasted upward above the melee, his wings beating the air. He let out an ear-splitting shriek and hovered just out of reach of my sword.
I didn’t have my gun to shoot him and he seemed to know it. It could be anywhere, including in the clutches of a crazed werewolf. I expected to be shot in the back at any moment.
Tremaine flew around to flank me. I kept my sword high, refusing to relinquish my guard. If he was going to attack, he was going to have to get through my defenses. He didn’t have a weapon other than his teeth and hands. He would have to get in close to fight me, and all I would need to do was prick him.
Tremaine shrieked again, this time louder. The sound of his call was like fingernails on a chalkboard, amplified over a hundred speakers all turned up to ten. I fell back a step, wincing in pain. I nearly stepped on a werewolf who had just finished off another wolf. He looked up at me, one eye glistening with Madness.
I immediately recognized the caved-in features of Jonathan’s head. He got to his feet, wobbled ever so slightly, and took a threatening step toward me. Blood caked his fur, and the eye on the bad side of his head was swollen shut.
It was then I remembered my knives. I had come to rely too much on my gun and the longer reach of my sword during the frantic fight.
I grabbed one of the knives from my belt and flipped it over in my hand so that the silver touched my fingers. The burn was nothing compared with what I would feel if Jonathan were to lock his teeth around my throat. I reared back and let the knife fly. Jonathan jerked back, but I wasn’t aiming for him.
The knife hit Count Tremaine in the membranous portion of his left wing. He let out a shriek and flapped his wings frantically. He was just barely able to keep himself aloft. He glowered at me, seemingly impervious to the silver of the knife.
It didn’t matter. That wasn’t my goal anyway.
I pulled my second knife and flipped it over in my hand. Jonathan watched me warily but didn’t attack. Even with the Madness, he still held on to some semblance of control. He was far stronger than I ever would have imagined.
Tremaine’s wings increased their beat. He shrieked again, this time in panic, as he tried to fly away. No matter how frantically he beat his wings, he couldn’t gain altitude, couldn’t propel himself forward and away.
The second knife took him in the other wing, puncturing a hole clear through it. He cried out and plummeted to the ground. He hit hard, one of his useless wings bent under him. It snapped like a twig.
“He killed Simon,” I said, staring hard into Jonathan’s one good eye. “Take your revenge.”
Jonathan howled and charged Count Tremaine just as the vamp regained his feet. Jonathan hit him square in the chest, his claws embedding themselves on either side of the vampire’s head. The enraged wolf squeezed with all his might, muscles bulging. Tremaine’s features shifted from bat to human and back again. He beat his broken wings frantically, tried to pummel Jonathan with them, as well as with his hands.
“The Oath,” he said, his voice coming out contorted from his batlike mouth. “You swore the Oath.”
Jonathan snarled at him, unable to form words in wolf form. I’m pretty sure he told him to fuck off.
“You can’t do—” Tremaine’s words cut off as his skull caved in. Blood and brains shot everywhere, splattering all over the front of Jonathan, over the fighting wolves. One of his eyeballs rolled across the floor and came to a stop at my feet.
I didn’t wait around for the aftermath. As soon as Tremaine’s headless body hit the ground, I made for the door, hacking away at any wolf that came anywhere close to me. One of the wolves that had been blocking the door was dead, and the other was off fighting elsewhere. I made straight for the exit, not bothering to snatch up my knives or search for my gun. I could come back for them later.
I ran for the front door. The fighting went on behind me, wolves howling and snarling as they fought. None of the wolves followed me. I burst through the front door and was standing beneath the angry light of the full moon within moments of Count Tremaine’s death. No clouds were in the sky. The night seemed as bright as day.
I paused for only a moment before taking off running again. All I wanted to do was get home and take a shower. I was covered in blood and gore, and wanted to be rid of it before it somehow found a way into my bloodstream. There probably wasn’t enough to taint me, but I wanted to be sure. I felt sick from having it all over me, and after what I had witnessed, I couldn’t stand to have the stuff on me any longer.
A long, mournful howl lit up the night, and I turned long enough to see a very large werewolf standing on top of Tremaine’s mansion. His eyes were on me, and in the moonlight, I could see his teeth glistening. I could have sworn he was smiling.
“Adrian.” The name slipped through my lips and a chill coursed throughout my entire body.
He seemed to hear me despite the distance. He nodded once and then turned, vanishing over the rooftop. I stared after him wordlessly, my body cold as ice. Seconds passed and Adrian didn’t appear again.
Part of me wanted to go after him. Part of me knew if I did, I wouldn’t live through the encounter.
Without waiting to see if anyone else would appear, I turned and fled from the massacre raging on behind me, wondering if I would be the only one to survive.
31
I sat idling outside The Bloody Stake. The parking lot was full. Laughter drifted out when a young couple opened the doors and walked out, arm in arm. No one followed them.
I watched them get in a car and drive off. I considered pulling out right after them and going home. I didn’t want to be there. I knew what waited for me inside, and I really didn’t want to have to face it.
Five nights had passed since the events at Tremaine’s mansion. Adrian hadn’t come for me, nor had any of the wolves. I didn’t even go back for my weapons or in search of my coat. I had others. I didn’t need them.
But then the letter arrived, placed on the front stoop. I never saw who left it, but I had a good idea. It wasn’t too hard to figure out, what with his signature and all at the bottom of the page.
I shut off my Honda and frowned. After tonight, Ethan would get to work on repairing it. The s
cratch looked obscene to me now. It was a constant reminder of a week I sorely wanted to forget.
“What the hell,” I said. What did I have to lose? I would just go in, see what he wanted, and get out. I needed some downtime, time to relax before starting all this craziness again.
The inside of the Stake was loud and obnoxious like always. Mikael was in his usual spot; he winked at me as I came in. It was a telling gesture. He knew I was responsible for the fall of House Tremaine, though he didn’t know how close I had come to failing. If I had anything to say about it, he would never know.
I scanned the crowd until my eyes fell on a certain hooded form sitting alone at a booth. I picked my way across the floor, an old coat I had stopped wearing years ago dragging on the ground behind me. No wonder I had shoved the thing into my closet and bought a new one. The damn thing was too long.
I slid into the booth, unsure what to say. Jonathan kept his head down, staring into a beer he hadn’t even touched. Another beer rested in front of me. The silence hung over us like a cloud, waiting for the first word to blow it away.
“So,” I said, first to breach the silence. “House Tremaine is truly dead.” I took a sip of the beer. It was warm. It had sat there for quite a while. I set it aside, not liking the taste of it. I was hungry for a drink of another kind, though I hadn’t been able to bring myself to hunt. I had seen enough blood lately. I didn’t need to spill more.
“The sorcerer survived,” Jonathan said, never lifting his head. “We have him locked away for now. He isn’t talking. We’ll break him eventually.” He took a sip of his beer. “There might be one or two more that survived. I’m not sure.”
“They might know my face.”
“They might,” he said. “But they still don’t know who you really are. I never told them. No one did.” The last came out pained.
In his letter, Jonathan had told me the results of our raid on House Tremaine. None of the Pureblood Cultists survived. Nathan and Jonathan lived, but that was all out of our little group. The Purebloods in the basement were freed, but they would probably die anyway. They had endured so much, there was little hope of recovery for most.
“What of the mansion?” I asked. “Did you burn it?” I felt ashamed asking. That was the sort of thing I should have known. I hadn’t been out of my house since the battle.
Jonathan shook his head. “The mansion is already occupied. It was claimed just after I went through the place with the Cult, making sure no one else was hiding somewhere in its depths.”
“Figures,” I said. Vampires were quick to capitalize on the fallen. “Do you know who is there now?”
Jonathan took a deep breath and looked away. “Adrian has taken up residence with a few of his wolves. He didn’t take part in the battle. He wanted us to kill Tremaine. We did his job for him.”
I tensed, waiting for more. I could still feel that last lingering glance on me, the power of his eyes. He was still loose and he knew who I was.
“But I see no reason to go after him,” Jonathan finished.
I just about choked on my tongue. “Even after what he did?” I had to fight to keep from shouting. Bart glanced in our direction, then turned his back to us to polish a glass I was sure was already clean.
“He is one of my kind,” Jonathan said. “He could have taken part in the battle, but he didn’t. He gave us the chance to take down Tremaine without getting involved himself. I think that gives him the right to make a life for himself.”
I wasn’t so sure I agreed. The bastard had nearly gotten us killed. “But he defected from the Cult, knows where your Den is located. What happens if he decides to come finish you off ?” And there was that whole bit about being resistant to silver. I wasn’t so sure I was ready to divulge that information just yet.
Jonathan shrugged. “We will keep an eye on him. If he tries something, the Luna Cult will step in. Just promise me you won’t go after him unless he does something worthy of your attention.”
I cursed softly under my breath. Why the hell should I promise anything to him? Jonathan was a goddamn werewolf. He may have promised in his letter never to reveal my location, reveal who I was, but he was still the enemy. I had to keep reminding myself that, and it was really starting to piss me off.
“I can’t promise that,” I said. “If he steps in my way, I will be forced to take care of him.”
Jonathan and I sat quietly at our table for a long time. I tried the beer once more but gave up on it. It wasn’t sitting well in my stomach. I felt like I was going to puke and I didn’t know why.
“I have your things,” Jonathan said. He reached down beside him and picked up a bundle. “I think this is everything.”
I took the bundle from him and glanced at its contents. My coat was there, as was my gun and two knives. Damn it. He was making it even harder to hate him with every moment.
“Thanks,” I muttered setting my things beside me.
We stared at our beers, refusing to meet one another’s eye. We had barely survived a fight for our lives together, and yet this seemed to be the hardest thing we had ever done. Why the hell was I feeling so awkward?
“Thank you,” he said after awhile. “For everything you have done.”
“I did it for myself. Not for you, not for the Cult, and sure as hell not for Adrian Davis.”
“Still,” he said. “The Luna Cult as a whole owes you our thanks. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”
I shrugged off his thanks and resumed staring at my beer. Why was I still there? I had my things back, and it seemed like we had both said all we needed to say. I could up and leave anytime I wanted. I could put all of this behind me. My life would be the better for it.
But I sat there, unable or unwilling to move. It didn’t feel right to turn my back on him. Not now. Maybe not ever. We had worked well together, as much as I hated to admit it. Sure, things could have gone better, but in the end, we had won. House Tremaine was no more. The Luna Cult was safe and intact.
And more importantly, I was alive.
Eventually, Jonathan pushed away from the table and stood. He favored his left leg slightly, leaning to the right. I didn’t ask him what had happened. He would heal eventually. I might be grudgingly accepting of him now, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way forever.
“If you ever need anything from the Cult, feel free to get in touch. You will always be welcome in the Den as long as you don’t bring violence with you. No one will stop you, not even Pablo.” I could hear the smile in his voice as the last.
Jonathan took a deep breath and looked around the room. No one was watching us. He turned back to me, head lowered, and then pulled back his hood. I couldn’t stop the gasp that rose to my lips.
His head was whole, round like it should. It was the same face I remembered, just complete. His glamour hid his bruises, hid the hideous scar on the right side of his face. Seeing him like he was meant to be was like looking at an entirely different person. I had to admit, he looked good that way, though a deep part of me wasn’t so sure I liked seeing him as a real person.
He smiled and it looked genuine. “Thank you,” he said as he lifted his hood, covering his face. “You have shown me more than anyone what I should be. I can never thank you enough for the life you have given me.”
I sat speechless. What could I possibly say to that? I wasn’t a hero or someone’s savior. I was a killer. Deep down, I knew eventually I would lose my humanity because of what I did. It was only a matter of time.
But right then, it didn’t matter. His praise felt good, though I would never admit it.
Jonathan’s hand fell on mine, and even though I knew I should, I didn’t move it. It felt warm, solid. “I hope to hear from you again,” he said. The calluses on his palms felt strangely exhilarating against the back of my hand. “May peace find you, Lady Death.” He whispered the last so softly I almost didn’t hear it.
He turned and walked out of The Bloody Stake without another wor
d. I watched him go, wanting to say something, but incapable of speech. When he was gone, I found myself alone, fingering the back of my hand where he had touched me. The sensation of his hand on mine was gone, vanished like moonlight at the dawn, but the memory of his touch lingered, scored itself deep into my mind.
That couldn’t be good.
I gathered my things and walked out of the bar, knowing that even though Count Tremaine was dead, things were definitely not okay.
I wasn’t so sure they would ever be right again.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
the next Kat Redding novel,
TAINTED NIGHT, TAINTED BLOOD
coming in July 2012!
1
The body lay crumpled in the driveway, a heap of cloth that could have been anything if not for the distinctive smell that drifted on the light breeze. If I had simply been driving by, minding my own business, I might not have even noticed it. It was halfway up the paved drive, almost blended in with the darkness.
But I had been looking for it, and the corpse assured me I was in the right place.
Countess Telia was known for her cruelty. She hadn’t been active very long, at least as a minor power of her own. She was the head of one of the newest Fledgling Houses, a vampire who tortured dozens of Purebloods to the point of insanity just for the fun of it. Once she was done with her playthings, she would release them, letting her victims return to their families to suffer their final days crippled and mindless.
It appeared this time she had gone too far.
I parked my modified Honda DN-01 just off the road and hid it behind some trees. The motorcycle was completely black, including the piping, so it would be hard for anyone who wasn’t expressly looking for it to see it. Even a vampire would have a hard time picking it out of the shadows.
