Table of Contents
Red
Acknowledgments
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 Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
About the Author
Red
The Marked Clan Series: Book Two
Maurice Lawless
Copyright © 2013
To Wallace,
How's that weather?
Acknowledgments
I’d like to thank the Office of Letters and Light for starting National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). Without that yearly kick in the pants, works like this might never get finished. Thanks also go to Sara Reine of Red Iris Books, for her infectious enthusiasm and marketing skills. Her work has helped turn a little thought experiment I banged out during a dreary October into my best-selling book to date. She may have a formidable medieval arsenal in her house, but she’s really a loveable psychopath. I promise.
Chapter One
He came straight to me from across the room. They always did—it was my scent. They smelled the woods on me—the leaves, the soil, the blood. I never had to look hard for a hunt when I was menstruating. This one was young, maybe no more than twenty. I almost felt sorry for him.
“Buy you a drink, Red?” he asked.
Cute. Do you have any fucking idea how many times I’ve heard that nickname?
My hair fell midway down my back in auburn curls. I pushed back a lock of it and gave him my best bashful grin. “If you’re trying to get in my pants, you’re going to have to come up with a better line than that, stud.”
He froze like I’d slapped him. In a way, I guess I had. People tell me I have the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I’ve always been like that, even before things like him took my best friend. Learning to kill them didn’t exactly soften me up much.
“Umm,” he stumbled. “Yeah, how about we start again? My name is Tyler.”
“Of course it is. Buy me a scotch, neat. We’ll chat.”
He sat down next to me. The lights from the dance floor lit him up in a hundred unnatural hues. He wore a loose fitting button-up shirt and slacks. I couldn’t see the intricate runes tattooed on his back, but I knew they were there. On a night like tonight they must have been on fire. The moon did strange things to them.
My drink came, and I sipped on it slowly. I’d nearly lost a chunk of my throat once going after one of them drunk. I’m a fast learner. Trying to get him drunk was a lost cause. They metabolize drugs quicker than I could spell their names. My best tactic was to get him alone, let him think he could have his way with me, and hope he gets hit with the bloodlust before he has time to snap my neck. So far I’d been lucky—their urge to fuck outweighs their urge to feed.
“What’s your name?” he asked. This one wasn’t very good at the seduction routine. Guess he spent too much time on all fours.
“Jane,” I lied. Just because he was about to die didn’t mean I wanted to let him know my real name. I never knew if my reputation would spread among them. So far it hadn’t.
“Do you like to dance, Jane?”
The game was on. I debated leaving my drink, but downed the rest in one gulp instead. “Sure,” I said, “Think you can keep up?”
His smile was predatory. Any normal girl would have made up an excuse to leave, maybe an invisible boyfriend they had to meet. I was doing the ladies of the world a favor dispatching this creep. We walked out to the center of the club among the dozens of sweat-slick bodies, and I let the music flow into me. I’m a sexy dancer and I know it. I used to go to clubs like this, pick out the youngest guy I could find, and then tease him until he came in his pants. I could slip and rub and grind a man to his knees on the dance floor. For all of his conversational awkwardness, Tyler held his own with me.
We moved together like we had practiced for months. His body molded against mine, picking up on each movement almost before I made it, slipping himself around me, and tracing his hands down my hips and lower back. I saw where his strengths were now. He was slick, and it got me the same. Shame he had to die—I had a feeling he fucked like a champ. Lord knows I hadn’t had a good one in a while.
The song ended, and I took a dive like I was drunk. The flush from our dance helped the ruse along. I let him catch me and help me back to the bar. I even giggled a little when he copped a feel of my ass. Jerk.
“Guess I had one too many,” I said. He laughed.
“I hear food is good for that. Want to get something? My treat.”
I shook my head. Can’t appear too eager, or they get suspicious. I was not about to let this pup lose interest and feast on another girl tonight. Thankfully, he bought it.
“Aw, come on,” he said, “It’s a full moon tonight. We can walk to that deli a few blocks down. It never closes.”
I’ve seen the commercials too, dickwad. I hiccupped, and he laughed at the look of genuine shock on my face. Maybe I really had drank one too many. No slap and tickle for this one tonight. Time for Plan B. I gave him my best innocent smile.
“Okay, but nothing funny. Let me just get my stuff at the door.”
We made our way through the crowd, and the son of a bitch copped another feel before we made it to the coat check. I showed the guy behind the counter my wristband and he handed me my purse. If he thought it felt a little heavy, he didn’t say anything. Discretion was the rule in clubs like this. It’s why their kind chose them and why I hunted them here.
The night air dropped on us like a blanket as soon as we stepped outside. It was humid and warm, easily ninety degrees even though the moon was out. I felt sweat beading up between my shoulder blades. Tyler wasted no time getting cozy. He draped his arm over my shoulders, pulling me close. He stood about a foot taller than me, and even as a normal human he could have broken me in half over his leg. I clutched my purse and felt for the familiar metal bulge. At five-foot-nothing a girl needs every advantage she can get. We walked a block in the wrong direction, toward a row of old houses that had recently been renovated into trendy flats. I knew where he was going.
I stumbled “accidentally” into a dark alley between two of the houses and Tyler was on me. His hands grabbed my ass and he ground himself into the front of my jeans. The hunt made him hard, and there was a lot to him. Holy fuck, why didn’t I get some before I went out tonight? Oh yeah—mankind’s abject unwillingness to dip their wick in a blood pool.
His mouth closed on my throat just under my earlobe, and I couldn’t help but shiver. He didn’t bite. Damn. That would have ended the tease quickly. He nibbled and licked and kneaded my ass with his hands. When he finally made it to my mouth, his tongu
e slipped inside like he was probing for oil. He had my pants undone not long after. I tried to fumble my purse open, but he pinned my hands above my head. The metal inside clinked as it hit the ground. Fuck!
“Easy there, lover boy,” I said. “Be gentle. No need to rush. We’ve got all night.”
He was beyond the point of being gentle. Apparently, he’d expected me to scream, to fight, anything other than encourage him. He gave up all pretense then, shucking his pants and turning me around to face the wall. If he’d been a normal guy, it would have been hot. Okay, I admit it still was, freak or not. Of course, my life was in danger so maybe the endorphins were just muddling up my brain. I had to get to my purse before he changed. I bent over to reach for it, and he took that as a further invitation. He tried to pull my pants down, but they got stuck. Thank god for my hips.
What the hell did he not understand about being gentle? Selfish fucker. The moon and his cock made him greedy. I shot my hand back, found the first thing that stuck out and squeezed. That disarmed him quickly. By the time I locked my foot around his ankle and shoved back, he was helpless to keep himself from falling. I reached into my purse and pulled out the cold metal cylinder.
“What the fuck?” Tyler said. He had stumbled over his pants and fallen bare-assed onto the ground. I zipped up my jeans and turned around. He lay there, cock bruised and writhing in pain. I couldn’t imagine what he must be feeling, but it wasn’t anything compared to what he’d feel next.
“What the fuck is right, shit-for-brains,” I said. He looked at me with inhuman yellow eyes that glowed in the moonlight. I knelt down and slammed the metal cylinder into his chest. It hissed its payload into his heart, and I stepped back.
“You’ve been a bad dog, Tyler—it’s time to put you down.”
His hands dug into the ground as he started to change. His skin went dark, and long claws split the tips of his fingers. His face grew longer, and his ears moved to the top of his head. Fur sprouted from his muzzle and down the length of his body. I watched with detached fascination. He couldn’t hurt me now, not with the injection I’d just given him. My blood kills them, you see. It was a damn lucky thing he hadn’t tried to fuck me on my period. It would have felt like dipping his wick in battery acid. It would have served him right, too.
He let out one final piercing howl and lay still. The wolf features receded, leaving regular old dick-for-brains Tyler. It took all my strength to roll his corpse over and rip open the back of his shirt. From the top of his shoulder blades to the small of his back, he was covered in the precise lines of Celtic knots interwoven with runes. The runes themselves were different for each one, depending on their maker, but the end result was the same.
I watched as the tattoo faded, then disappeared entirely. The only sound left in the night was my own heavy breathing. I didn’t have their boundless energy. Before I left, I knelt down and pulled out the small caliber pistol I’d strapped inside my pant leg. I flipped over Tyler’s body and put two bullets into his brain. It wasn’t really necessary, but it made me feel better. It connected me to Poppa in a way. My grandfather had done it old school, with just bullets. My way was messier, but it got the job done. There was something more…intimate…about shooting the bastards up with a piece of me that burned them to death from the inside out.
After Poppa passed on, and my uncle refused the mantle, I was left with the task of cleaning up after my ancestors’ mistakes. Lucky me.
I stepped on Tyler’s exposed cock one last time for good measure, and walked out of the alley for my car. Long live the Mackenzie curse.
Chapter Two
I woke the next morning in a cold sweat, with sheets tangled around my ankles. Sadly, this was normal for me. I slept a little better when I’d killed a wolf, but there were always more. I spent most of my waking hours now searching for them. The one I wanted most was gone, five years ago to the day. It was the day I lost Dreama. She’d gone to them after they corrupted her. If I ever found the one who did it, I’d make what I did to Tyler seem merciful.
I felt for the familiar lump under my pillow and panicked for a second when I couldn’t find it. I bolted up and took a deep breath when I saw it. I’d shifted in the night, and it lay exposed and gleaming on the other side of the bed—Poppa’s silver revolver. I held it to my chest, and the cool metal against my skin calmed me.
I’m still here, Poppa. Your Bonny Lass is doing her best.
It was Saturday, the first day after the full moon. That meant research, and to do that I’d need coffee. I got up, pushed my hair out of my face, and padded to the kitchen in my nightshirt. I didn’t have far to go—the whole second-floor flat consisted of the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. I tried to open the place up with some light colors, but there’s only so much you can do with four hundred square feet. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
I put some coffee on to brew and leaned against the counter. The flat was directly above my family’s tattoo shop, Celtic Knot. It had once belonged to my grandfather, and no one else claimed it after his death. There really was just my uncle Connor and me now. The rest of the Mackenzie clan had spread off to the four winds or died (some with more fanfare than others).
Sounds from downstairs told me the shop was gearing up for the day. Most of our business was at night, but we did have regulars with maintenance appointments and consults on artwork. I’d go down once I was lucid. The coffee pot dripped its brown ambrosia until it was all spent, and I poured a cup to take with me to my antique wooden table. Connor had been good enough to pop in and leave me the morning paper. He didn’t agree with what I did, but he also didn’t interfere…much. Night after night I’d come home covered in someone else’s blood, and he stitched me up with minimal questions. Whatever the reason, I was grateful he didn’t lecture me anymore. You don’t have to believe in boogeymen for them to find you.
The city had elected a new mayor—a woman this time. Good for her. I flipped open the front page looking for blood. There it was, on the bottom right column. “Man found dead outside local nightclub.” I pored over the details, but there really weren’t many. Cause of death—apparent gunshot wounds. Unknown assailant. Possibly interrupted sexual assault. Similar to other recent cases. Vigilante? Police want to hear from anyone who might have seen something. Blah, blah, blah.
If the coroner was worth his salt, he’d realize the bullets were post-mortem, but they wouldn’t find anything else. The injection spot would have healed instantly, and it’s not standard procedure to check if a victim has someone else’s blood in them. I couldn’t know for certain, but it’s likely my blood broke down just as quickly in their systems as most drugs. I certainly hoped so.
“Enough of the ego trip, PJ,” I said to myself. I took a long, hot sip from my blue Woodspring Communications mug. “Let’s find another one.”
Further down the page was an article on a missing teenage girl. She’d been found—dead. Her throat was ripped open. The rest of the article just had accounts from her friends at school and an obligatory call for witnesses to come forward. If anyone had seen that poor girl’s end, would they really want to relive it? Would they even believe what they saw?
I flashed to that night outside of Thermal, the night Dree disappeared. No, not disappeared. She changed. She became one of them, not just in body but also in mind. She was an animal now, thanks to them. She very well could be out hunting with them night after night, killing women like the one in the paper. Eating their flesh like so much raw hamburger.
A knock on my door startled me back to the here and now. “Bon?” a male voice called on the other side. “You up? We’re having some trouble with the POS.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said. “Let me get decent.”
“We’d probably get some more clients if you didn’t. You know these biker types,” he said. I could almost see his leprechaun grin on the other side of the door. I chucked the morning paper at it and it made a satisfying THUNK.
I emerged from my
cave twenty minutes later in jeans and a dark green Celtic Knot T-shirt. My uncle Connor was in his office (the small private room we used for more intimate work) going over a sketch with one of our regulars. The man didn’t have many bare patches left, from what I could see. At this rate the next one would have to go on his ass. Connor looked up and pointed to the cash counter. I nodded.
“You work in one IT job, and you’re free tech support for the rest of your life,” I grumbled to no one in particular. I unlocked the POS terminal and logged in. The problem was pretty obvious—we had no Internet connection. Without that, we had no way to process credit cards. I reached under the counter and pressed the reset button on our modem. Once the lights stopped blinking, I refreshed the network on the computer. Nothing changed. I rebooted the POS computer (what an appropriate acronym). Still, nothing happened. Fuck. With great resignation, I picked up the phone and called my old job. I didn’t even bother listening to the recorded voice—I knew the numbers I needed to press to get a real person. I caught myself chewing on my silver cross necklace and spat it out. I couldn’t wear it when I hunted, but I kept it on me at all times otherwise. It was my mother’s.
“It’s a great day at Woodspring Communications. This is Susan. How can I help you?”
In five years they still hadn’t changed the script. Why am I not surprised?
“Hi Susan. This is Peggy Mackenzie. I’m a Business Gold subscriber and we’re having some connection problems with our system here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Ms. Mackenzie. I’d be happy to look at that for you. Can you verify your service address for me?”
I gave her the address to the shop. I heard her typing, and suddenly remembered every screen she was looking at like I was leaning over her shoulder.
“Okay, Ms. Mackenzie. What I need you to do for me is to try rebooting the modem.”
I could feel the veins in my forehead warming. If I didn’t get my anger in check, soon my freckles would be eclipsed by an all-encompassing mask of red. It wasn’t Susan’s fault. She had procedures she had to follow.
Marked Clan #2 - Red Page 1
