The Huntress (Lupus Moon Book One)

by Kevin Sorrell

  Neiland watched on silently, slowly rocking in his chair.

  "When I got back to Philly," Alex continued, "I found my daddy's journal. He'd been bitten a year earlier while on a business trip to Romania, and after his first transformation, he'd spent the next several months and several hundred thousand in company resources trying to find a cure. Nothing worked--until finally, he found something did. Or so he thought." Alex crossed to the door and entered the cabin, going to the dining room table, where her coat and weapons lay. Neiland came in after her.

  "You said his blood was thick and black..." Neiland said, leaning forward in his seat, thinking back to the throwing knives he found at the high school.

  "Lycas are violently allergic to silver," Alex said, anticipating his question. "Introducing it to their bloodstream causes immediate sepsis and hyper-coagulation, turning their blood black and viscous. If the lyca gets the silver out quick enough, the damage remains localized, but if it stays in too long, or you wound them in the right place, the poisoned blood can spread throughout their body before their regenerative abilities kick in, triggering chronic, catastrophic liquefactive necrosis."

  Neiland cocked his head to the side like a puppy trying to understand its master. "So, you're saying--"

  "Their bodies rot to goo," Kristen interjected, walking in. Neiland turned to her in surprise. "That's why Carly said I killed Nelson. I stabbed him in the neck with that arrow..."

  "Right in the jugular," Alex said, impressed. "He took it out but it was already too late. He died a slow, agonizing death."

  "Good. They all should," Kristen said, walking over to the wall where Alex had been standing. She paused, then snatched up her father's shotgun and spun on Alex, pumping a fresh round into the chamber. "Including you."

  "Whoa, hey! What are you doing?" Neiland said, jumping out of the rocking chair. He moved for Kristen, but she stepped back and brought the barrel up. He thought better of it and remained in place, raising his hands.

  "She just said the werewolf scratched her in the tent. That means she's one of them." Neiland turned and looked at Alex through new eyes. He thought back to how she looked in the jail cell--the sweating, the tremors. The intense pain. His expression soured. He stepped away from her.

  "You lied to me," Kristen growled, angrily shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  "I never lied to you," Alex said calmly.

  "Bullshit! I knew there was something off about you! And now my dad's dead because of you! And Jenny--"

  "I didn't kill her."

  "You might as well have. You got the same sickness. How come my dad had to die, but you're still alive?"

  "You can put the gun down, Kristen," Alex said, her voice steady, yet stern. "It really isn't necessary."

  "You don't get to tell me what's necessary!" Kristen barked back, inching closer with the shotgun, bringing it within a foot of Alex's chest. Alex narrowed her eyes. She tried to do this the nice way... In a flash, she lashed out and snatched the barrel of the shotgun, yanking it--and Kristen--into a vicious headbutt. Kristen released the gun and tumbled back onto her ass, grabbing her forehead. Alex spun the gun around and popped the chamber open, spilling the shells onto the floor. The empty gun soon followed, landing with a heavy clunk at Kristen's feet.

  "Don't you ever point a gun at me again, little girl, or I'll take you out for good," she said, shooting a look at Neiland to make sure he understood as well. "And I won't need the monster inside me to do it." Neiland stood in place, staring back at her crazily. He didn't know whether to try and detain her or run for his life.

  Alex cut her eyes away, going back to the table. She leaned against it. Heaved a sigh. Calmed herself. "Most people think lycanthropy is a curse. Dark magic, passed down from victim to victim through a bite or scratch. I guess in the absence of anything more concrete I can see why that is, but it's simple science. It's a virus--a mutation of something we have no knowledge about. It attacks your DNA and alters it, changes your body's chemistry completely. As such, we thought is could be rewritten, eradicated completely using gene therapy." She glanced down at Kristen, still rubbing her head. Their gazes locked. "We were wrong about that, too. Mostly." She turned to face the others. "The gene therapy worked, but we were only able to destroy half of the virus. The other half had corrupted my DNA so throughly that to go any futher..."

  "Would kill you," Neiland finished. Alex nodded.

  "As a result, I can still transform, but only halfway," she said, reaching into a compartment on her belt and pulling out a small, plastic pouch filled with power--just like the one she'd gulped down in the police evidence room. "I keep that part of me in check with an organic compound derived from aconitum vulparia and formulated with enzymes from my own body." She tossed the pouch to Neiland. He looked it over curiously.

  "Aconitum what?" Neiland asked.

  "Wolfsbane," Kristen spat out, getting to her feet. "Daddy used to keep some around. Made sure I knew all about it. I just though he liked the flowers, but..." She trailed off, eyes glistening. "But I guess there was more to it." She looked up at the others. Noted their expressions. Tired of looking and feeling weak, she scrubbed her tears away with her hand, walked over and took the pouch from Nieland. "So this...stuff," she said, shifting to focus away from her, "it keeps you from turning into a werewolf like the rest of them?"

  "If I take it regularly, yes," Alex replied. "Couple doses a day during the cycle keeps me good, but if I get too worked up or go too long with out it..." She left the sentence open-ended, trusting that Kristen would understand. "When your daddy found me, I had almost mastered controlling the beast. But I had slipped up that day, and forgot to take my medicine. He could've killed me that day, but luckily Dr. Cook showed up with an emergency dose and settled me down. He saw potential in me to help the cause, and I was all too willing after what happened with my own daddy, so we all started working together. He and the others taught me how to use my instincts to hunt while Dr. Cook perfected my treatments. I learned so much from that man."

  Alex glanced back at the items on the table. "He gave me purpose. A reason to live. He basically saved my life--twice." Her head sank. "I wish I could've saved his once."

  The packet of powder landed on the table before her. "Me, too," Kristen said, walking to the guest room.

  "Kristen--"

  She slammed the door. Alex sighed, turned to find Neiland eying her.

  "Any other secrets we should know about?" he asked.

  "Are you serious?" Alex asked, taking a step toward him. She noticed him take a step back. "After everything we've just been through, you're gonna treat me like the enemy now?" Neiland responded with a cold, appraising stare. Alex shrugged. "Fine. No. That's pretty much it."

  "Right," Neiland said, narrowing his eyes. "In that case, when morning comes, I'm taking you back to your car. After that, we're done. Don't worry about keeping your word to the reverend. I'll see to it that Kristen's taken care of."

  "And your town?"

  "I'll rally with some others. We'll make sure it's protected."

  "I see," Alex said, her jaw tightening. "Sounds like you have it all figured out."

  Neiland let his eyes linger on Alex for a second before moving for his room, making sure Alex saw him pick up his service weapon from the end table. He closed the door behind him.

  Alex heard the lock engage.

  THIRTY

  Neiland killed the engine on his patrol car. He looked over to Alex, riding shotgun with Kristen in the back. They had parked in a space downtown, across the street from Alex's Corvette.

  "This is stupid, Craig. You need my help. No one is going to believe your story. You didn't even believe me when I told you."

  "You're right," Neiland said. "They won't believe me. That's why I'm going to show them this." He pulled out the cell phone he used to record Alex's fight with Wallace the previous night. "If this doesn't work, nothing will."

  Alex studied his face. He seemed confident. Good. He'll
need that, she thought. He still has no idea what he's in for. Hell, even I don't know. Since arriving in Weeping Springs, Alex had been using her heightened sense of smell to try and figure out how may lycas there were in town, but she had only picked up a few different scents. Either there weren't that many of them, or they were doing a good job of hiding. There was also the possibility that she was just never in the right place at the right time to pick up a scent. In any event, the stung Tristan had pulled with Wallace last night in the police station and with the girl in Baines' church was more than enough to convince her the problem was much greater than they had ever anticipated. Alex turned in her seat, locked eyes with Kristen. "I made a promise to your father to take care of you and keep you safe. If you want, you're more than welcome to come with me and--"

  "I don't wanna go anywhere with you," Kristen said in a low, deliberate voice. It was clear the impasse of the previous night still existed. Alex thought better to push things.

  "Fine," she replied, removing the pouch of spikes from her left wrist and offering them to Kristen. "Here." Kristen looked at the spikes strangely. "C'mon, don't act like you don't know what these are, or like you didn't steal one of them yesterday. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Kristen's eyes flew up to Alex's. "Only reason why I didn't say anything is because I thought it was good for you to have some kind of self defense," she added.

  Kristen eyed the spikes once more. Gently pushed them away. "I'm good."

  Alex paused for a moment. She registered the slight, slipped the pouch back on. "Are you really sure this is what you want? 'Cause it seems the both of you are making a huge mistake. The full moon is tonight, and every lyca in this city, regardless of when they were turned, or if they even know they've been turned, will be out in the streets looking for blood. And since I'm sure Tristan knows I'm still alive by now, I'm pretty sure the blood they'll be looking for most its mine."

  "We'll take care of it," Nieland persisted. "Just make sure I never see you in this town again. You're one of those things, I don't care what the percentage is. My orders will be to shoot you on sight, just like the rest of them."

  "Well, at least we're clear," Alex said with a smirk. "Just know this: I'll be all over these streets tonight--if I want."

  "Your funeral," Neiland said, cranking the engine. Alex took that as her cue. She gathered her things and climbed out of the unit.

  Neiland put the car in reverse, casting a final, stoic look at Alex before pulling off, vanishing quickly around the corner. She glanced across the street to her baby, perfectly untouched.

  THIRTY-ONE

  The Ryman residence was a quaint ranch-style family home high in the hills above Weeping Springs. Surrounded by a lush, green pasture, it's beauty was unrivaled by the neighboring homes--especially on clear, bright, sunny mornings such as today--and the distance between them allowed for an amazing amount of privacy. The immaculately-cut lawn led up to a pristinely-kept front porch, complete with a wooden swing near the front door--the same front door that had been ruthlessly smashed in.

  Inside, the place was a monstrous mess. Shattered bits of porcelain littered the hardwood floors, while the ornate curtains adorning the living room had been torn asunder. The glass table in the kitchen had been smashed, and every piece of furniture was broken, splintered, or horribly scratched. It was the complete and total destruction of a family's way of life.

  And then there were the Rymans themselves. Bloody, mutilated carcasses were strewn about the living room--Mr. Ryman, Mrs. Ryman, their teenaged daughter and son... Amid the devastation, emanating from a corner of the ransacked room--

  Wild, animalistic sex perverted the peace. Tristan pumped away at Roxy, lying prone on her back in missionary, their bodies in a half-changed state. Their passion was palpable. Roxy reached around her lover, plowed the thick, flexing muscles of his back with her claws. The deep, bloody grooves began to heal immediately--

  Tristan threw back his head and growled in lust. As the two continued to fuck, heavy footsteps approached. They swelled until Lucas was in the room with them. Even in his human form, his huge, muscular frame bathed the environs in his intimidating aura.

  "Tristan," he said, his baritone voice coming off a bellow even though he intended it a whisper. Still, the quasi-beasts continued to rut. "Tristan!"

  "Cant you see I'm a bit busy?" Tristan snapped over his shoulder in an unnatural tone, never missing a punishing stoke. Roxy yelped in pure bliss.

  "I can, but it'll have to wait." Tristan glared at Lucas. It was unlike his beta to be so indignant, unless he had a good reason to be. And he did. "It's Wallace--and the hunter," Lucas continued. "We have a problem."

  THIRTY-TWO

  They weren't much. A motley lot at best. But time was running out, and they were all Neiland had. Those gathered before him on this chilly evening, occupying the main room of the Weeping Springs police department, would either be the saviors of their town, or simply among the first to die in her conquest. He was hoping their call for help would have garnered more volunteers, but at the same time he wasn't surprised. He wasn't so sure he'd be there himself if it wasn't his duty.

  The hodgepodge army consisted of the force's six officers, including Peters and Webber, Mason from Hagley's and his smaller, mousier hunting buddy Crumbler, along with a few other local hunters and several random townspeople, all armed with pistols, rifles, or shotguns. Kristen was one of the few splashes of estrogen in the precinct, manning a corner while clutching her father's shotgun. She had brought along the bolt-action rifles as well and give them to others to use. She watched as Mr. Deatley, the town gunsmith, had set up shop and was operating out of another corner of the station, melting silver items brought to him by a line of worried townsfolk into bullets of various sizes and shapes.

  Neiland had shown them all the video. He started with his fellow officers and Dr. Ackerman, who was aghast at what he witnessed when he was called to the station the previous night to examine and pick up the remains of Chief Wallace. After they were convinced--some so moved they immediately began to pray and cross themselves--Neiland had sent them out to sweep the town and speak with any and everyone they could, ordering them to stay inside that night, lock all their doors and windows, and hunker down with their families and any personal arms they possessed. He also asked them to solicit volunteers, something he had gone out and done himself. He had anticipated pushback, so he had taken the liberty to forward the video to each of the officers' phones to use as they made their rounds.

  The thought had occurred to Neiland that he was creating a panic situation by doing so, even risking tipping their hand if one of the citizens they spoke to was a member of Tristan's pack, but it was a gambit he was willing to wage if it kept as many townsfolk alive as possible. The greater good, as his father had always instilled in him. Neiland hoped his father was right as she climbed into his own chair so everyone could see him.

  "Everyone, can I have your attention, please?" The makeshift militia moved into formation around him. Neiland heaved a sigh. "By now, as you're all aware, Weeping Springs is under attack. We can worry about how and why this is happening tomorrow, but right now, we are this town's only line of defense. We've already lost several of our own to these things. Let's make sure we don't lose any more." He paused, watching as Kristen drifted from her corner to the edge of the crowd. "I met with each of you earlier and gave you your assignments. Please stick to them, and I'm confident we'll be alright."

  "How confident?" Mason asked, as surly as ever. A few of the others mumbled their agreement with the question.

  "Extremely," Neiland replied, his tone carrying an undercurrent of warning. Mason studied him. Chuckled to himself. He wasn't fooled. The rookie detective had no idea at all. "As you also saw from the video," Neiland said, moving on, "these things can, and likely have, infiltrated all areas of civilian life, so be careful of who you're around. Someone in this room could be one of them, so keep a close eye on your partners when the full moon hi
ts. Otherwise, you might not know who's what until it's too late."

  The townsfolk exchanged suspicious looks amongst themselves. Crumbler cut a side-eye at Mason. "Joel, if you don't..." the big man said, catching himself. "How long you known me?"

  "Seventeen years." Mason responded with a cocked head. "Sorry," Crumbler said, casting his eyes down.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Growls and grunts filled the air as bodies both semi- and fully-nude cavorted on the floor of the mill. The participants were comprised of individuals from all walks of life and intermingled with members of Tristan's core pack: Travis drug his rough tongue across the delicate throat of the mayor of Weeping Springs, while Slasher and Carly made out with the chatty women Baines observed in Hagley's diner. A few feet away and in the center of the affair, Elsie, the butcher's wife, rode Lucas, grinding her creamy white flesh down against his rich dark brown. Lisa used her strong grip to pleasure the husband of the family Alex encountered as she drove into town while his wife, full breasts spilling over her ripped-apart bra, pulled her young, eager son in for a soul-searing kiss...

  Roxy mounted Tristan atop his throne, plumbing the depths of his throat with her tongue as he drew one hand up her toned back, the other grasping a handful of her bulging ass. He slapped it, gently pushed her off as he rose, commanding the attention of his brethren.

  "Tonight is a special night, brothers and sisters. For far too long, our kind has been forced to live in the shadows, on the fringes of society. We've been hunted, maimed..." He stepped down to floor level. "Murdered. We have tried to live quietly, to keep to ourselves. But again and again, the aggressors have shown that they will not stop until each and every one of us has been destroyed. They forced our collective hand, so tonight, we take a stand." Tristan moved amongst the lascivious crowd. "No more will we be treated as abominations. Tonight, we begin our mark to becoming the dominant species--and set an example to any of those who wish to join us of what we can do when we unite out power. Mark who you will, kill at your leisure, but whatever you do, leave no doubt..." He nodded to Slasher and Travis, who stood and walked over to a bank of windows covered by burlap sacks that had been torn open and sewn together to create ad hoc sheets. They ripped them down, bathing the lycas in the light of the full moon as it shone through.