The Bloodline Series Box Set
Page 10
“Feeling a bit frisky tonight, are we?”
The smooth tone and slight Irish lilt of the familiar voice was oddly comforting to Sam. And that oddly comforting feeling irritated her immediately.
Sam slid her arm away from Phil as she answered, “What are you doing here, Vincent?”
Vincent reached for her glass, sniffed it and set it back down as he motioned to Phil, “I’ll have one of the same.”
Phil hesitated before he grabbed another rocks glass and poured the generous portion of whisky into it. He slid it onto the bar in front of Vincent. “Ten bucks.”
Vincent was incredulous. “Ten bucks? Jesus, you could buy a bottle for that!”
“Go buy a bottle... somewhere else.” Phil stared at Vincent; glared more like.
Sam bit her bottom lip as she struggled not to laugh. Vincent glared back at Phil then suddenly smiled.
Uh-oh. Sam watched Phil lean back away from the bar, clearly expecting that a swinging punch might come his way soon. Instead, Vincent reached into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar-bill. He tossed it on the bar and grabbed the drink.
Vincent turned to Sam, “I need to talk to you.”
“So, talk.” Sam took another sip from her glass.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine, thank you for asking.”
Vincent nodded, “I see. Do you think it is, shall we say, wise to be out and about when we are in transition?” He glanced around at the club, then down at the bar surface. He poked at the surface a couple of times and watched as the iridescent rainbow of colors swirled in the glass.
“I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” interjected Phil as he leaned forward again, his hand brushing against Sam’s arm, his tone intimate and inviting.
The moment had passed, though, and now Sam found his overtures simply irritating. “No, thanks.” She shifted her weight, pulling her arm away again, and turned completely around.
Leaning back against the bar, Sam looked out at the assortment of people dancing and flirting in the bar area and beyond. “Vincent, I ask again, why are you here? Are you following me?”
Vincent drained his drink, replaced the glass on the bar. “Maybe I like to party.” He paused as an attractive bimbette in a short skirt sashayed by. “This doesn’t really seem like your thing, though.”
“Oh, and you know what my thing is?” Okay, now this guy is really starting to piss me off... Like I am incapable of taking care of herself... Dammit, I’m a cop, a detective for heaven’s sake... Sam shifted her weight again, feeling the cool of her Lorcin against the skin under her pant leg, and struggled against the overwhelming urge to smack Vincent and shoot the bimbette... not necessarily in that order.
Suddenly, Sam felt hot breath against her neck and ear and heard a hoarse whisper:
“I have a thing that -”
Sam whirled quickly, grabbed Phil by his too-tight shirt and lifted him up off his feet and halfway across the bar. His face was barely inches from hers as she spoke, her voice deep, throaty and almost unearthly: “I. Said. No.”
“Wow, lady, is it that time of the month?”
Oh no, you did not just go there... Sam heard a low rumbling, growling kind of sound coming from somewhere. What is that noise?
“You could say that.” Vincent struggled not to laugh as he glanced around at the few clubbers who had taken note of the incident. “Sam, let him go.”
Sam released Phil and quickly walked away into the crowd. She headed for the staircase leading up to the second-floor gallery.
“Trouble does have a way of finding you, doesn’t it?” Vincent had followed her and was mounting the stairs two at a time.
“I can take of myself. I’m not worried about me.”
“I am.”
Sam stopped abruptly at that, her momentum nearly knocking Vincent backward down the staircase. “Why? Why are you so concerned, huh? What is your deal? You think I’m going to wolf-out in front of everyone, start biting people? Are you really that eager to put me down?”
“I don’t want to put you down, Sam. I’m not going to put you down.”
Sam was quiet for a moment, the sincerity of his words striking her. The tension in her body eased slightly. “Well, if you want to protect someone, go sit with Ivan.”
Vincent looked down before replying quietly, “He’s the one who told me to look after you.” He watched the effect the words had on Sam; she seemed to wilt in defeat as he watched, silently nodding her acceptance of what he had said. She walked over to the catwalk railing and leaned on it.
Vincent ran a hand through his hair before he leaned beside her. “I know... it isn’t much comfort to know, but it does get better. You’re converting now, it gets the entire body in an uproar. Once the conversion is over...”
“You mean once I’m a full-blown werewolf.” Sam rubbed her neck, her head. “I was the one growling back there, wasn’t I?” Vincent nodded in reply. “Swell.”
Vincent looked out over the crowd on the dance floor below. “So why did you come here?”
“The moon is awake, so I am awake.” Sam shrugged, shook her head, “I couldn’t sleep anymore. This isn’t... my thing.” She glanced at Vincent. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I came in here. I just had this feeling... in the pit of my stomach...” She shrugged again and returned her gaze to the humanity crowding the floor below.
Two men were working their way through the crowd with some purpose, leaving irritated patrons in their wake.
The man in front was clearly the leader of the pairing. His stocky build was trimmed out in a Gotti-esque suit, what remained of his black hair lacquered down on his head. He walked with his arms pumping, swinging at his sides, a march-like movement that, coupled with his rotundity, suggested that of a small tank moving through the crowd.
Steps behind him was a tall, lanky man. His red suit hung off his skinny frame and, with his white silky shirt and long ginger ponytail, gave him the appearance of an extra from an Adam Ant music video. He reached his hand into the pocket of his too-big suit jacket and pulled out a small gold pill box. He opened it and took out a small white pill, placing it on his tongue with relish. He nudged the stocky man in front of him. “Vega?” The stocky man turned back at his name and looked down at the proffered pill box and the half dozen white pills nestled inside.
“Too early, Red,” Vega chided, though he did so as he reached in and took a pill for himself. He placed it on his tongue and closed his eyes as he swallowed. Red smirked, closed the pill box and pocketed it.
The two men continued their push through the crowd, working their way up to the bar.
“She growled?” Bobby Vannelli chuckled and shook his head as he leaned on the bar. He smiled at the bartender standing across from him. Phil always knew how to pick ‘em. He had broken up how many fights because of Phil’s misguided romantics? Too many to count.
Bobby drained the remains of the beer in front of him; he was working, but one beer halfway through the night was little more than a thirst-quencher for a man like him. He’d take a hit of the mouthwash in his pocket before he went back out front to watch the door. This time of night things were slowing down considerably, but a few stragglers would be standing outside hoping to win their way in one way or another.
Bobby chuckled again; Boobs and bribes... the lot of the nightclub bouncer. He sighed and stood up to his full six-foot-eight-inch height, his tight black tee shirt straining across his solidly muscled chest. He ran a hand over his smoothly shaved head and nodded to Phil. “Take it easy, Ph—.”
Bobby was cut short as the crowd behind him surged forward toward the bar, propelling Bobby into the glowing bar and sending shots of color spiraling and streaming around him as his hands and arms made contact.
The surge of humanity ebbed, and Bobby pushed back from the bar, turning to see what had happened. His eyes drifted down, taking in the two figures standing close in front of him: Vega and Red.
Bobby gr
inned as he leaned his back against the bar, his arms crossed in front of him. “Careful, you two.”
“Fuck off!” Vega smirked as he looked up at the bouncer.
Bobby glanced at Red, noting the flush on his face and the bleary look in his eyes. He looked back to Vega; same flushed skin, but Vega’s eyes were sharp and filled to brimming with fury.
Bobby was taken aback, but years of working the doors of the hottest and lowest clubs and bars in the city had taught him how to hide his emotions well. These guys were clearly on Molly... Shit, I hope they aren’t flipping it with something... X is bad enough, but you start blending that shit with LSD or ketamine...
Bobby chuckled lightly, trying to keep his outward cool, well, cool. He reached out, grabbed Vega by the lapels of his suit jacket and lifted him off the ground, the shorter man’s feet dangling about a foot off the ground. “Now, really, was that necessary? You boys need to calm down and take yourselves out of my club, or we’re going to have a problem.” He lowered his voice slightly. “I don’t know what you two are on but keep it in check. We don’t judge shit like that here, but if you start disrupting our night, we will have no choice but to... handle it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby saw a flash of movement right before he felt pain on the left side of his head. He looked down as the broken pieces of the shattered scotch bottle fell to the floor, along with the contents of the bottle dripping down his shoulder and arm. He reached up, touched the side of his face and looked at his hand. Blood. He sighed, looked to his left and at the source of the attack.
Red dropped the remnants of the bottle to the floor and took a step back.
Bobby rubbed at his forehead. The hit was bad, surprisingly bad, concussion bad. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up as straight as possible, hoping that his imposing physique would be enough to deter them from further assault... and that one of the guys at the front might see him and head in pronto. “You boys... are about to have... a very bad night.” Bobby’s vision went blurry for a moment and he shook his head, trying to clear it enough to keep the two men in focus.
Then he heard it; a low rumbling sound. It seemed to be emanating from the short one’s throat or chest, maybe both. It was like a...Growl. Shit. Bobby looked up and into the short man’s eyes – flat and black, like the eyes of a shark. The growling sound grew louder and louder, the pitch raising and sending the sound into a clear howl.
Over the howl, Bobby could hear the screams and struggles of the people around him as they pushed and shoved to get out of the nightclub, or at least as far away as possible from whatever was going on in front of him.
The “whatever” going on in front of him was more horrific than anything he had ever seen, and he had seen a lot.
The short man was clawing at his clothing, pulling it from his body in pieces and shreds. The shape of his head was changing, the skull elongating, the jaw bending and stretching to accommodate longer, thicker teeth. Exposed skin began to darken as the hair on the body grew longer and thicker.
Bobby heard a cracking sound; he knew that sound, had heard it many a time when it was necessary to impose order by any means. That was the sound of bones cracking. A lot of bones cracking. Repeatedly.
Bobby felt a wave of nausea crash over him. It could have been the sounds or the head injury, or the realization of just what was happening in front of him and its utter implausibility. A werewolf... this man is turning into a werewolf right in front of me. God save me, he is actually turning into a werewolf!
Bones continued to crack, cartilage snapped, tendons hummed as they stretched and realigned like guitar strings being tuned. Vega’s rib cage expanded, reformed; his shoulders dislocated and shifted forward, the elbows pulling the arms into a dog-like crouch position as the hands lengthened. The legs followed suit, snapping and bending until the hips nearly disappeared, the knees became the new hips and the heels of each foot became the new knees. The head continued to stretch and reform, becoming more and more wolf-like. Vega-wolf stood up to full height; the change had added some inches to him, and he was now nearly on eye level with Bobby.
Bobby suddenly recalled that there had been two of them. He glanced to his left where the other one had been.
Red was nearly complete in his change, his body covered with thick ginger hair. He had grown taller with the change as well, his chest on-level with Bobby’s head.
Bobby leaned back against the bar. Was this how it was going to end? Not a mugging or a robbery or a gang fight... but death by werewolf?
Vega-wolf suddenly focused on Bobby and the corners of his, its, mouth turned up. Maybe these things read minds, too?
Vega-wolf took a step forward and reached for Bobby, his clawed hand going for his throat. Bobby held his breath, his eyes drifting closed.
Nothing happened.
Bobby opened his eyes. The Vega-wolf’s clawed hand or paw, or whatever it was, mere millimeters from his throat, the long sharp claws nearly brushing his carotid and jugular. Something had stopped it.
“The man was right...”
Bobby turned toward the voice. A female voice, high and pleasant. He focused in on the woman standing nearby. Pretty face, great body and the clearest, bluest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. Then he realized... she was stopping the arm! This attractive little woman was holding the arm of this... thing... as if it was nothing.
“You guys are about to have a very bad night.”
The Vega-wolf turned to look at the woman.
All was quiet and still for what seemed like an eternity to Bobby. Then she smiled, a pearly, beautiful smile that oddly enough made Bobby’s blood chill.
Everyone started moving at once and Bobby felt himself pulled backward over the bar. He turned and came face-to-face with Phil. Bobby opened his mouth to speak, but the pained wolf-like whine of one of the werewolves stopped his voice somewhere in his throat. He and Phil shared a look of apprehension before they peeked over the edge of the bar.
The Vega-wolf’s foreleg hung limply by its side. The creature had staggered back away from the bar as it awkwardly tried to reach for its dislocated shoulder with the other limb.
Bobby squinted, trying to focus enough to see if he could spot the other guy. Always a bouncer...
Crack! Crack-crack! Bob looked back toward the Vega-wolf as it snapped its shoulder back into place. It growled angrily and turned toward the bar. Oh shit...
Oh shit! Sam took a couple of steps back and felt the edge of the bar slam against the base of her shoulder blades. The Vega-wolf growled again, its mouth open, teeth glinting in the flashing club lighting. Sam quickly bent over double and grabbed the Lorcin from her ankle holster.
The minute her hand touched the weapon, the Vega-wolf started moving. Sam raised up, bringing the gun up with her and aiming for the Vega-wolf’s chest.
The Vega-wolf hit hard. The impact knocked the wind out of Sam and sent her flying some twenty feet across the room. The Lorcin flew farther, hitting the floor near the end of the bar and sliding several more feet before disappearing underneath a table. Shit, shit, shit... Sam struggled to get a breath and watched as the Vega-wolf moved toward her.
Vincent reached inside his duster and pulled out the two H&K 9 millimeters. He looked at the Red-wolf, which was nearing the end of its change and was only a few feet in front of him. He couldn’t take them both out... and save her as well. Fuck! Vincent backed away from the Red-wolf and trained both guns on the Vega-wolf. “Here, doggie!”
The Vega-wolf stopped and whirled around; its mouth twisted in a snarl. Guess it didn’t like that... Vincent fired off two shots.
The first shot hit the Vega-wolf in the left shoulder, sending it reeling around; the second missed completely, lodging instead in the wall behind the bar. The Vega-wolf focused in on Sam again.
“Throw me a gun!” Sam pulled herself quickly along the floor and slid around the edge of the bar. The room was growing quiet except for the low growling breaths of the Vega-wolf.
Sam slowly got to her feet, looked up over the edge of the bar – and into the rage-filled eyes of the Vega-wolf!
Sam felt paralyzed as she stared into the eyes of this warped creature, this used-to-be-human. Like me. For a brief second, she felt pity, real pity, for it. Like her, it never asked for this to happen. Like her, it was cursed with something it couldn’t control, something that would cause it to destroy, to kill, and worst of all, to enjoy it. For one brief second, she thought about letting it live.
The Vega-wolf’s scowl relaxed slightly, its eyes softening slightly, the smallest smidgen of humanity that was still inside of it seeing her for what she was, something weak and vulnerable that should be protected.
“SAM!” The sound of something heavy sliding on the bar drew Sam’s attention away from the Vega-wolf for a moment. She reached out and grabbed the H&K 9-millimeter that Vincent slid to her down the length of the bar. Colors flashed briefly as her fingers touched the surface, sending a magical glow out around the weapon as she lifted it. She raised the gun, pointing it directly at the forehead of the Vega-wolf. The expression on its face changed quickly... it almost seemed incredulous.
I’m sorry. Sam fired, and the Vega-wolf quickly dropped to the floor.
Sam lowered the gun to her side and stared down at the creature she had just killed. The bullet had dropped it quickly, but the chemical changes brought on by the mercury attacking the body caused it to convulse like Franco had before.
Vincent walked up and stopped beside her. He watched her face as she watched the body disintegrate before her eyes. Seeing a werewolf put down when you’re just a human was freaky, to be sure. However, watching it for the first time while in transition or after you had converted... that was mind-searing. It could break you, as Vincent had seen it break many a person over the past ten years. Or it motivated you to protect those you loved and to find some way, some way to control it, to stop it, to cure it. As it had motivated him.