Crusader (MPRD Book 2)

by Andrew Chapman

  “It’s a werewolf?” I said with surprise. “He’s doing that to a werewolf? No wonder you were worried.”

  She laughed.

  “I think somebody decided that art should imitate life,” she said. “Once rumors starting getting around that you had a werewolf fuck buddy, the novel was going to be written one way or another.”

  “You’re not a fuck buddy, sweetheart,” I said. “You’re my mate.”

  “I know, but I think people are having a hard time getting that. I think people believe we’re just having sex.”

  “Let ‘em,” I said. “I don’t care.”

  “I love that about you,” she said, kissing my cheek.

  I handed the book back to her and kissed her forehead.

  “Come on, we need to get what little sleep we can,” I said.

  “Okay, boss.”

  “Boss?” I snorted as I launched myself at her, bearing her to the mattress and covering her face in kisses. She squirmed and giggled, pretending to fend me off, until our lips met. She slipped her arms around my neck, pulling me close as the kiss deepened.

  “I thought we had to go to sleep,” she whispered.

  “We do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to kiss my puppy.”

  I kissed her some more before snuggling close and pulling the covers up over us.

  “Goodnight, puppy,” I said softly.

  She squirmed around in my arms until we were face to face and kissed me again.

  “Goodnight, my master.”

  CHAPTER

  33

  John and Anna’s plane left the ground and flew into the Paris night, taking with them the last-minute instructions I’d given them. I was glad that we’d managed to get them away first. John had booked us on a charter flight that would take us to a barely-there airstrip a few miles west of Poenari Castle.

  The plane was a small two-propeller civilian job that I didn’t recognize. An older model, definitely, but it looked well maintained. It had been chartered through another friend, loosely affiliated with the Ministry.

  We piled on board and the plane taxied down the runway and climbed into the air. Once we were airborne and well clear of Paris I started to rummage through my things.

  “Okay, let’s get into something more appropriate,” I said.

  The plane’s tiny toilet was useless for anything other than its intended function, and the cabin lacked anything even remotely approaching privacy, so I was treated to a view of Eva as she pulled off her t-shirt to reveal a lacy red bra that barely contained the pale globes of her breasts. I deliberately turned my back on her, focusing instead on Marie. She had, I was pleased to see, decided to forgo the lingerie and was wearing a simple black sports bra and matching panties. The soft, clingy material hugged her skin, clearly showing off every curve. She smiled when she saw me watching and winked at me. I winked back and dropped my trousers. She licked her lips and winked again, to my silent laughter.

  I stood in front of her, giving her what privacy I could as she stripped off her underwear and climbed into her fighting suit.

  We were headed for a private airstrip, so we didn’t need to avoid attention. On went my black combats and my gunbelt, body armor and boots. Bolt had changed into a Russian tiger-stripe outfit and I was pleased to see that both of our Swiss companions had donned unmarked combats. Eva was wearing Australian-style ‘jellybean’ DPM and Jeurgen was in a knock-off of the US ‘digital’ camouflage.

  Cam was the only one who hadn’t needed to change. He was sitting staring out of the window and I had a sudden image of him leaning out, the wind rushing through his fur, mouth open, tongue lolling out. That gave me a little smile.

  We started on our weapons. I swore softy when I opened my case to find that I’d brought the SMLE with me. I really should have sent it home with John and Anna, or arranged to have it transported through the British embassy. Oh well, too late to do anything about it now.

  Eva and Jeurgen had unpacked a pair of compact SIG SG553 machine pistols with impressive-looking hundred round double-drum magazines. The little weapons were only 5.56mm, but the extra firepower might be telling if it came to a shootout.

  Within very short order we no longer resembled the amoral Sir John and his retinue: now we looked like hunters again.

  I gave Marie my full attention as she checked over her weapon. For someone who joined the Ministry off of civvie street she had picked up the military attitude very quickly. Her movements were quick, economical, but thorough as she unloaded her rifle, cycled the working parts, and reloaded.

  I finished checking my FAL, running my hands over the old, worn weapon and checking every aspect of the action. This beast had brought me through more trouble than I cared to remember.

  Yeah, okay. So I was getting nostalgic over my weapon. Sue me. In my line of work you need to be close to your weapons. Tech nerds have their computers. Petrolheads have cars. Trainspotters have… trains.

  Soldiers have weapons.

  Bolt was busily doing important things to his Dragunov sniper rifle. The Russian made weapon was accurate, in my experience, most of the way to the moon and Bolt was the best at what he did. Just having him around made me feel better about our chances.

  I don’t deal well with religion, seeing as I have a tendency to start arguments, but Bolt’s devotion to the Islamic faith didn’t bother me one whit. Cam’s a Christian, so is Marie, at least nominally, so with our Swiss friends I was decidedly in the minority on this mission.

  “Penny for your thoughts, boss?” said Marie.

  “Hmm?” I said, coming out of my reverie. “Oh, just meditating on the meaning of life.”

  “Any insights?”

  “We are born, we die. The bit in between is called life. Enjoy,” I quoted.

  She smiled warmly.

  “You enjoying your life?”

  “Yeah, I think I am,” I said. “I spend my time battling an enemy way stronger than I am, an enemy that’s cunning and dangerous and insidious.”

  I gave her a sly look.

  “Then I go out and fight vampires,” I finished.

  “Think you’ll ever win against your enemy?”

  “Ah, she had me beaten the first day we met. All I had to do was figure it out and surrender gracefully.”

  She reached out and lay her hand over mine, gently squeezing.

  “I love you, Jack,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too, Marie.”

  We sat like that as the plane made its way east and the sky steadily lightened. We were going to be dropped off just inside the border. Our contact had promised us transportation to our ultimate destination, which was nice.

  I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. One of the earliest lessons that my instructors pounded into me had been this: get rest whenever you can. Once the battle starts you won’t have time.

  Within a few moments I was asleep.

  CHAPTER

  34

  I was in the vampire club. Lucia was sitting next to me. Marie was dancing on the stage, displaying her lupine body for a group of vamps. As I stood up, a cry of dismay on my lips, she unbuckled her leather thong and threw it into the audience. Feeling like I was moving through treacle I struggled to walk to the edge of the balcony. Marie, naked except for her collar, was being led off of the stage by her leash, where the vamps were bidding on her.

  A slow motion cry of rage escaped me as one vamp possessively fondled her breast. I gripped the railing and threw myself over. I landed heavily, with a boom that reverberated around the club, shattering several of the polished floorboards. The vamps applauded and whistled.

  The rage boiled up my throat and escaped in a bloodthirsty roar. My anger fizzled along my skin like electricity, lashing from head to foot and back again.

  And then I changed.

  My muscles swelled, my bones cracking and rearranging themselves, my body growing taller, broader, heavier. My clothes split and fur sprouted over my skin. My jaw exploded in pain
as the mandibles lengthened, the teeth growing sharp points, my vision changing, my hearing sharpening. I am become Death. I am become Wolf.

  I strode forward into the suddenly terrified vampires, claws slashing left and right, eviscerating, decapitating, dismembering. And then there were none, just dead bodies, just severed limbs, blood and guts.

  Marie was kneeling on the floor, looking up at me in awe. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the stage. I had iron gray fur and bright yellow eyes, a look of intense savagery on my face.

  When I looked back to Marie she was staring at my crotch. I followed her gaze. My erection was big, thick and engorged, bigger than as a human, I was ready to fuck and I wanted my mate. She whimpered softly and I growled in response, in warning.

  Still whimpering she turned around, going to all fours, looking back at me with fear in her eyes. I growled again, lower, longer, and she lifted her tail, presenting herself to me, her male, her mate, her alpha, her master, her owner.

  I sank to my knees and gripped her hips. I slammed into her with every ounce of my strength and she screamed. I dug my claws in, pounding her body in a vicious, brutal assault, her yelps and whimpers lost in my roar of triumph as I raped her. No, not rape. The female belonged to me, her body mine to do with as I pleased.

  “Boss?”

  My eyes flicked open instantly. My heart was pounding in my chest and my hands were trembling.

  “We’re nearly there boss,” said Bolt, looking out of the window.

  I took a deep breath, feeling my heart slow down, and stretched. Marie giggled. I turned to look at her and she glanced downwards.

  “Nice dream, Jack?” she asked quietly.

  I realized that I was aroused, and my stretch had made that fact very obvious. I sat up quickly, my face burning.

  “You better have been dreaming about me,” she said with a wink.

  “I was,” I managed to say.

  She caught the tone and frowned.

  “Everything okay, Jack?” she asked.

  I shook my head and picked up my gun.

  “It’s not important. How long till we land?”

  “About five minutes,” she replied.

  I could see she still wanted to know more and I mentally implored her to let it go.

  The dream had been disturbing enough for me; I had no idea how she would take it. I wondered what it meant. Did it mean that I thought I wasn’t man enough to satisfy her? She hadn’t seemed particularly happy with what I was doing, so was I unconsciously afraid I was putting her in danger? What was more disturbing was that I had been turned on by the dream. Violent rape—no matter what the wolves said, Marie’s body wasn’t mine to do with as I pleased—was not my particular fetish, and now I felt slightly sick. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Jack?” she asked.

  I managed what I hoped was a reassuring smile. I knew I could never hurt her like that, so why was my subconscious throwing that up as a fantasy?

  “I'll tell you about it later,” I said.

  She seemed to be mollified by the answer, so I tried to put the image out of my mind and regain control of my emotions.

  “Just tell me one thing,” she said quietly. “Tell me it was me that put that tent in your pants.”

  I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had flicked towards Eva. Damn, I was dreaming about brutally assaulting her and she was worried I was dreaming about other women.

  “Yes it was you, love,” I said, smiling. “It’s always you, every day. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  The plane lost altitude with a lurch and we all scrambled to get sat down.

  “Sheesh, smooth flying,” muttered Bolt as he climbed past me.

  The plane lurched again, and then seemed to drop like a stone. I could see out of the window, though, and knew we were just coming in to land. The trees rushed up towards us and then we were over a badly maintained, barely paved runway. The wheels hit with a shudder that shook the entire cabin and we were on the ground. Any landing you can walk away from, right?

  The plane taxied, bumping over the rough ground, and came to an abrupt halt.

  “Sorry, folks,” said the pilot, leaning back and looking out of the cockpit into the cabin. “This thing handles like a stoned cow with three legs.”

  I was a little surprised to hear the drawl of an American accent. I usually have trouble telling the many US accents apart, but thanks to knowing Siren I knew this one. Our pilot was a Texan.

  I stood up and walked to the cockpit.

  “You’re a long way from home, Captain,” I said.

  “So’re you, buddy,” he replied.

  “True. We’re supposed to be meeting someone out here.”

  “Yup, that’s him over there by the Huey,” he said, pointing out of the windscreen. “And, hey, just in case you were thinkin’ of askin’, I din’t see nothin’, din’t go nowhere, din’t fly nobody.”

  “Thanks, bud,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  I pulled a thick wad of Euros out of my pocket and handed them to him.

  “I’d appreciate it,” I said, “if you could see your way clear to spreading these around. For the sake of the economy, of course.”

  Hell, I wouldn’t need the cash where I was going, and we had plenty more anyway.

  “Well thanks, buddy. I know just the place that could use some financial stimulus.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Bolt had opened the door by then and my team was starting to ferry our equipment outside. I was grateful that Anna and John had taken most of our luggage with them back to England, so we were lightly burdened.

  I shook the pilot’s hand and bid him farewell.

  CHAPTER

  35

  Outside we stood back and watched as the plane turned, taxied to the end of the runway, and accelerated away. I gave the Huey a once over. Certainly it was a sight to behold. At some point in its life it had been painted a bright red, but now the paint was flaking and scratched, and what was visible was covered in a layer of dirt, grime and oil. The Bell UH-1 was still the most reliable helicopter I’d ever seen, so I wasn’t worried about the exterior.

  “Does anyone know how to fly one of those things?” I asked.

  There was dead silence for a few moments, and then Jeurgen gave an embarrassed cough.

  “I’m learning, but I’m not much good,” he said.

  “Okay, fair enough, you can be my copilot then,” I replied.

  “I thought you were about to say we’d sent our only pilot home with his wife,” said Marie with a smile.

  Bolt let out an explosive breath.

  “And I thought I was going to have to fly it for a minute there,” he said with a smile. “I hate helicopters.”

  “Trust me, Bolt,” I said airily. “I can do anything.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  We grabbed our bags and crossed the dilapidated airfield to the helicopter and the waiting man.

  “Hello?” I said.

  The man rattled something off in a language I didn’t understand.

  “I’m pretty sure that was ‘I don’t speak English’,” said Bolt.

  “Crap,” I said. “Okay, parlez-vous Français? Sprekenze Deutsch?”

  The man was shaking his head.

  “Fuck,” I said sourly.

  Bolt said something that I guessed was in Farsi and the man gave him a blank look.

  Jeurgen started speaking and the man’s face lit up around his massive mustache. A brief conversation later and the man was beckoning us towards the helicopter.

  “You speak Romanian?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said the guardsman. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  I couldn’t come up with a response to that so we started loading the chopper. The owner was beckoning me towards the open maintenance hatch. I took a look at the engine and was pleasantly surprised. The engine was in good repair, all the hoses were supple and intact, and the oil was both fairly clean
and to the right level.

  “Ask him how much he wants for it,” I said to Jeurgen.

  There was another conversation.

  “Ah, he was under the impression that all you needed was to rent the helicopter. He needs it for the tourists, see?”

  “Whatever price he wants, pay the man,” I said. “Bolt’s got the money.”

  I went around to the pilot’s seat and climbed in. The controls had been translated into Romanian but it didn’t matter. I knew what each meant and reading wouldn’t be high on my list once we were airborne.

  With the headphones on and the pre-flight checklist finished I was ready to leave. Everyone was in the passenger compartment apart from Bolt and Jeurgen, who were arguing with the owner, despite the fact that only two of them understood each other. Finally a thick wad of notes changed hands and Bolt climbed into the chopper.

  “We own this rust bucket,” he said. “I hope you’re happy. Tilehurst is going to throw a fit when he finds out how much I just paid for it.”

  “Tilehurst doesn’t have to know,” I said. “We can just bill it to the Vatican. It’s their show, right?”

  Jeurgen climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and sighed.

  “That is one happy man,” he said. “I just gave him enough money to by ten of these helicopters.”

  “As long as he’s happy, that’s the main thing,” I said, waving through the cloudy windshield.

  The engine started with an ease that was reassuring and the big rotors started to turn.

  I craned over my shoulder and gave a thumbs up to my passengers, getting several variations on an ‘okay’ in return.

  “Okay,” I said to myself. “Let’s get cracking.”

  The Huey rose into the air, blowing dirt, dust and trash around in it wake. I guided the chopper up, over the trees, pointed the nose in the right direction and felt it leap beneath me as I let it have a full head of steam. Hueys may look like a modern helicopter’s fatter, older, drunker brother but they’ve got some poke to them. Soon we were skimming along above the trees at a respectable speed.