by Michele Hauf
“Yeah, Barker said that, too.”
“So I didn’t kill him,” she prompted, placing both feet on the floor.
The deputy’s pencil paused. “Kill him? Anybody say something about killing him?”
She stiffened. “He isn’t dead?”
“Oh, he’s dead as last Thanksgiving’s turkey dinner, but nobody killed him. At least, we didn’t see it that way.” He tapped his pencil against the pad.
“There was no...blood?”
Wariness crept into the deputy’s eyes. “Where did you say you were from?”
No blood. Had the vampire killed him or not?
“So, it was what? A heart attack?”
“Might be best if I ask the questions for now. Address?”
Seeing she would get nothing else from the deputy, she gave him her name and the address the pack used when humans got too nosy. After another ten minutes, he released her.
Outside, a crowd had gathered. For three in the morning, it was impressive. All the bar goers must have called their closest thirty or so friends to share what had happened, but for once, CeCe embraced the throng of humans.
Humans gossiped and she needed information.
It took her less than half an hour to learn that yes, they did think Mike Porter had died of a heart attack. She also learned that he’d been cavorting with some big-city hooker trying to pass herself off as a tourist who’d come down trying to get a piece of the treasure he’d stupidly told the world about finding.
Grateful that none of the people she spoke to seemed to tie the hooker in question to her, she dug a bit more, asking if anyone had seen the man Porter had been with before tonight. To her annoyance, no one seemed to have seen the vampire at all.
It was as if he was mist, had flowed in and left, completely unnoticed by anyone except her.
Which made her wonder what else he could do. Could he have killed Porter, then done something that convinced this group of humans that the death was natural?
How big of a threat was this vampire? And before he killed Porter, what had he learned? Had he already found and stolen the treasure?
“Damn it, Russell. Why did I let you talk me out of calling Karl?” she muttered to herself.
Now she was stuck. Her only lead on the treasure, Porter, was dead; Russell was AWOL; and somewhere in Cave Vista was a vampire who knew she knew he’d killed a human.
Killing humans was strictly forbidden. It was one of the three laws of peace laid out in the treaty that ended the vampire-werewolf war.
No killing of humans by either group.
No killing of werewolves by vampires.
No killing of vampires by werewolves.
Both groups were free to kill their own kind whenever and however they wanted, at least as far as the peace treaty was concerned. Werewolves had their own laws governed by the pack alphas. And alphas had the right to dispense with any wolf who broke one of those laws in any way they saw fit.
CeCe had no idea how or if vampires had any regulation on such things, but based on what she knew of them, she sincerely doubted it.
But bottom line, this vampire had broken one of the three laws and he knew CeCe was a witness. Would he break the second law to cover breaking the first?
Of course he would.
Chapter 3
Across the street from the bar, Marc sat cross-legged on the roof of a T-shirt shop.
Something had happened inside, something interesting enough to pull the residents of the small town out of their homes at...he slid a watch from his pocket...2:30 a.m.
He considered dropping onto the ground and mingling with the crowd, seeing what he could learn, but he’d gone to great lengths to ensure that none of the humans he’d encountered earlier would remember him. Seeing him again so soon might spoil his efforts.
A gurney appeared loaded down with a short, round-bellied form. The sheet was pulled up completely, covering the body’s face.
EMTs didn’t roll people around with their faces covered, not if they were alive.
It could have been any short, stocky occupant of the bar tonight, met with some ill fate, but Marc knew immediately it wasn’t. He knew immediately his only real lead was dead.
And he knew who was responsible...the female werewolf.
She must have come into the bathroom after he left through the window, found Porter passed out on the floor and killed him.
Why kill him? Had she learned where the treasure was and wanted to ensure that Porter told no one else? Or was she just crazed from being outsmarted by Marc? Had her frustration sent her berserk?
He’d heard of wolves losing all control when their canine halves were ignited. There was no reason to think her female form would make her resistant to the weakness.
He waited, expecting to see her hauled out in handcuffs or dragged out dead in her wolf form.
Another half an hour passed before she appeared. The crowd outside was determined; only a few had given up and gone home, and more, including local media, had shown up to replace them. The werewolf strolled among them seemingly free. People talked to her without fear.
So if she was responsible for Porter’s death, she’d managed to clean herself up afterward and cover her crimes.
He waited for her to leave the crowd and wander farther down the street, where he assumed she had left her car. Running along the rooftops above her, he followed. When she turned to go into a parking lot, he dropped down onto the concrete in front of her.
To her credit, she didn’t jump. She stood perfectly still and watched him.
He inhaled, checking for the scent of fresh blood. Just her normal werewolf scent of forest and things wild, plus the strange spice he had yet to explain, came back to him. His nostrils flared and his body hardened, but he pushed the annoying response aside, pretended it didn’t exist.
“What happened?”
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “You tell me.” Her fingers moved for no reason, like a cat’s tail twitching. He thought of the handcuffs he’d found in Porter’s basement, wished he had them with him to keep her from shifting.
“I can’t. I wasn’t there.”
“Weren’t you?” Her jaw slipped to the side, determination warred with anger in her eyes. “You broke one of the laws. Do you intend to break another now? It might not be as easy as you think.”
“Laws? Me?” He laughed. She was going on the offense, a smart tactic to throw your accusers off, if they were easily thrown off.
Marc wasn’t.
Within one exhale of her breath, he had moved forward, so he was in front of her, his shirt brushing hers. “What happened to the human? He was alive when I left. Stupid drunk, but alive.”
It was why Marc had left. Porter had passed out on the bathroom floor before he’d had a chance to question him. He’d tried waking him up, but the human had been out cold.
This time she laughed. “You expect me to believe that? Why did you kill him? Did he tell you where the treasure is?”
“Treasure?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back.
She shook her head. “Turn it over and perhaps I won’t report you to the pack.” Her eyelid twitched.
He angled a brow. “Quick to sell out what’s right for reward, aren’t you?”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m quick to do my job.”
“And your job involved treasure. Interesting.” He pretended to process the information, even though he’d had no doubt as to why she and her wolf friend were here. “Where is your friend? Why wasn’t he with you tonight?”
“I don’t owe you answers.”
“No, you don’t, but then I don’t owe you anything either.” He turned his back on her to walk away. Dawn was approaching. He had appearances to keep up. If she th
ought he had to stay hidden in the light, he could follow her and be at a complete advantage.
“I won’t let it sit. The laws of peace exist for a reason. I don’t know how you did it, how you covered up what you did, but killing humans is asking for discovery. It’s dangerous to us all,” she called after him.
He stopped and turned. “And, lest you forget, wrong. Taking a life, human, werewolf or vampire, is just wrong...isn’t it, little wolf? Or does the pack believe differently?”
“Of course—”
He raised one hand. “Not to give you the wrong idea. I have done all three and will do them again—if I think it is necessary. I’ve walked this earth for over two hundred years, long enough to know that nothing can be taken at face value. If you want to survive, the only law that really matters is the one that keeps you alive.” Without another word, he leaped onto a Dumpster and from there the roof.
Then he sprinted away to a spot where he could watch her, follow her and wait for her to screw up.
Werewolves always did.
Chapter 4
The next morning, CeCe pounded on Russell’s motel room door. When no answer came, she went to the office and claimed to have lost her key. The woman behind the counter, busy watching some talk show, didn’t bat an eye as she handed one over.
So much for security.
Key in hand, CeCe let herself into Russell’s room. The bed was made and the bathroom tidy. It appeared no one had been in or out of the place since the maid had visited the day before.
Uneasy, she walked around the room looking for any sign of what might have happened to Russell, but everything seemed in place. His suitcase was on the floor beside the bed and his razor was in the shower.
She had checked her messages ten times since last night―no calls to her cell or to her room.
Where had he gone?
Her mind went back to the bar...the dead human...and the vampire.
Her hand drifted to her phone. She needed to call Karl. He needed to know what was happening.
Her finger hovering over the keys, she hesitated. Russell had asked her not to call. He’d told her it would be admitting defeat, confirm both his and her positions as failures in the mind of the pack.
But that was before everything had gone south, before Porter had turned up dead and Russell gone missing.
She had to call Karl now. It was her duty.
She dropped her gaze to the floor. Dirty footprints from some occupant or another were clearly visible on the tan carpet.
If only Russell had left such a clear trail... She paused.
But then, of course he had, at least to a wolf.
Annoyed that she hadn’t thought of tracking him earlier, CeCe roamed the room. Russell’s scent was everywhere. She went to the door and stepped outside.
The heat was working against her. The best conditions for air scent tracking were cool, cloudy days with a light wind, but despite the oppressive heat, she managed to find two main trails—one leading toward downtown and one going the opposite direction. She could think of no reason Russell would have headed out of town, toward the woods.
She had a lead.
Karl could wait.
* * *
Leaning against a car bumper across the street from the werewolves’ motel, Marc folded the morning paper and set it aside. There had been no news of Porter’s death in it, but based on a conversation he’d had with a woman who had strolled by, the death had been natural causes.
No mysterious puncture wounds, no gruesome crime scene.
No reason for the female werewolf to accuse him except for her obvious prejudice against his kind.
As he pulled his wide-brimmed hat lower and adjusted his sunglasses, the female wolf stepped out of what he assumed was her companion’s motel room. He’d seen her leave another room earlier, then return to this one with a key.
Wearing pants and a loose-fitting top, she looked almost as out of place as Marc in Kentucky’s heat. He had chosen a long-sleeved shirt and pants to protect him from the sun, but wondered at the werewolf’s choice of clothing. The one-hundred-plus temperatures had no effect on a vampire, but the werewolf’s shirt already clung to her back, perspiration spots showing through. By noon she would be sweltering. The only concession to the heat she seemed to have made was a ponytail that swished as she walked.
Her stride was strong and determined. Perhaps a bit too determined for the slow pace of Cave Vista, Kentucky. More than one person turned their attention on her as she walked by.
When the werewolf entered the woods, he let out a relieved breath. The stress on his system of functioning in the full light of day was draining him. He would need to rest or feed soon.
The shadow of the trees would offer some relief.
The female moved along the path quickly. The roots, holes and half-rotten logs that broke up the path didn’t slow her even slightly.
Concern that here in the quiet of the woods she would hear him caused him to slow his steps more. He was forced to let her disappear from sight, to follow on faith that she would stick with the path and that eventually he would find her and whatever she was seeking.
As he turned a bend, a new smell froze him in place.
The unmistakable scent of dead and rotting flesh hung suspended in the thick, muggy air.
Marc gagged and spat. Vampires didn’t feed on the dead.
Where was the werewolf going? What had she done?
His instinct was to rush forward, but there was no reason. Whoever, whatever, he smelled was past saving.
* * *
The smell hit CeCe like a baseball bat to the gut. Rot, decay...decomposition.
Her pace slowed as she walked closer. She prayed that the stench came from some animal, that her nose telling her it was wolf was wrong, but as she stood over the body, stared at the too-familiar canvas shorts and blue T-shirt, she was faced with a nightmare.
Russell was dead.
She closed her eyes and fisted her hands. Why was he in these woods? Why hadn’t he come to her? Damn the young wolf for trying to prove his worth to a pack that didn’t accept him.
She’d accepted him. Why hadn’t that been enough?
Because she was nothing to him, not mother, not lover, barely friend. He’d needed more, a stronger connection, one he would only find through respect hard earned.
Anger came next...at the vampire. He had to have done this. She had yet to turn over Russell’s body, but that truth burned through her mind. This wasn’t natural causes. Wolves didn’t drop dead from heart attacks, especially ones as young as Russell. And a human couldn’t overpower a wolf, not without a gun with a silver bullet inside.
That left one option—the vampire.
Anger welled up and threatened to spill out, to blind her to everything except hunting down the vampire and tearing into him, seeking revenge...but the laws of peace forbade that. The laws of peace bound her to following channels, telling her alpha, letting him inform the vampires...waiting to hear if punishment had been meted out.
She gritted her teeth and forced back the wolf inside her. The animal growled and snapped, scratched at her mind for release, but CeCe held strong. Finally, her wolf took a step back and whined, let sorrow replace the anger, let CeCe feel it too. She lifted her head and howled.
Emotions spent, she stared down at Russell. Her eyes were damp and her throat was hoarse, but the worst wasn’t over. She had to search his body for any proof that tied the vampire to his death and she had to get him out of these woods and back to the pack—alone. She couldn’t leave him here for wild animals to feed off him.
Her mind focused and her wolf back under her control, she knelt.
She hadn’t seen or heard from Russell in more than twenty-four hours. Based on the condition of his room, s
he suspected he hadn’t been in it since that time either. Which meant he very likely had come here then and been killed soon after. The state of decomposition seemed to support this guess, further along than she might have suspected in a day, but the heat and humidity of the area would have sped the rate.
So, a day. She stored the information and moved on.
The next key piece of information was the most obvious. He had been killed in his human form. Contrary to what some monster movies showed, when werewolves died, they stayed in their current form. So Russell had been human when he was killed.
The easy part over, she knelt and placed a hand on his arm. She had to roll him over. It took both hands, and a pause to push aside the reality of what she was doing, but with minimal physical effort, she pulled him onto his side and finally his back.
Russell’s round human eyes stared back at her. Human. She blinked and tried not to see the lack of expression, the glossy look of death—just concentrated on the shape.
The eyes changed first, but Russell’s hadn’t. Which meant he hadn’t even tried to shift. Another small piece of data, but a piece that might prove important. After filing it away too, she shifted her gaze from Russell’s face to his chest.
This time what she saw wasn’t as easy to file away, wasn’t as easy to accept.
The flat end of a stake protruded from his chest.
A breath hissed from between her closed teeth.
The werewolf had been staked through the heart, like a vampire.
She reached to touch the weapon, then paused and leaned forward instead, sniffing the leather, searching for some unique smell that would identify the last hand that had been wrapped around the handle, but there was no smell—none, not even of the leather itself.
She sat back on her heels and frowned.
There should have been some scent, even if only Russell’s.
However, there wasn’t, and puzzling though this fact was, spending time on it now would get her nowhere. She pushed the question aside and concentrated instead on what she needed to do next.
