The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  Vincent maneuvered Prutzmann onto the bottom of their wrestling session and began to get the upper-hand. Courage and loyalty wouldn’t be of any use to Ben, though, if Sam got scent of him while she was changed... I have to get up there, as soon as possible.

  Vincent slammed Prutzmann’s head into the concrete pavement once, twice, three times. Finally, the other man’s hands began to loosen, his fingers releasing from Vincent’s throat. Vincent pried himself free, stumbled backward off Prutzmann, and immediately began to search for his gun. I don’t have time for this... I have to get up there, I have to get to Sam. Vincent spotted the gun over by the wall and crawled towards it.

  Prutzmann recovered quickly, grabbing Vincent’s leg and stopping his movement towards the wall and the gun. Vincent strained to reach for the gun, his fingertips brushing the handle. He could hear Prutzmann chuckling as he pulled Vincent back just enough to keep the gun out of reach. Vincent mentally prepared himself for the oncoming blow that Prutzmann had aimed at his face.

  This was going to take longer than he had hoped.

  32

  THE MORNING AIR WAS chill, even frosty, as Sam stepped free of the dark parking ramp and into the free air. She inched along, step-by-step, gun at the ready.

  The sun was coming up, bathing the concrete and brick buildings surrounding the parking ramp in warm pink light. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Her grandmother used to say that. Sam looked at the light for a moment, relishing the warmth, slight though it was, that accompanied the rosy color.

  Her back hurt. Funny... It hadn’t hurt since the accident. Her stomach hurt, too, as if she’d eaten something bad. She felt a bit faint and reached out for the barrier wall to help stabilize her.

  She could feel... Sam turned slowly around, her back facing the sun.

  The moon still hung high in the sky, large, round and tinted with deep shades of red, turning the otherwise bluish orb almost burgundy. Sam’s breath caught as she stared at the moon, the intense pull flowing throughout her body. Blood moon.

  Then everything was gray. Sam blinked once, twice, then several times rapidly, trying desperately to clear her vision. Gray, gray, gray... Just like it was in the bathroom when I... She could feel it in her eyes, the blackness spreading, engulfing the pupil, then the iris, then the sclera. She could hear, well, everything, the hairs inside her ear picking up sound vibrations from floors below; the fight on B Level, footsteps in the garage, car engines in the street below. Smells bombarded her nose: engine fumes, coffee, alcohol, iodine, butter and bacon, Ben... Wait, what is he doing up here? And, she could smell Weber. She was up here, and she was still human.

  Sam felt the shifting begin, that singular moment when her joints and bones and muscles began to move and become something else entirely. She stumbled, falling to her knees, her hands clutching at her stomach. She heard her gun drop to the ground.

  The first snap was in her lower back, barely a few inches from where she had broken it. Seconds later, Sam could feel her chest constricting, though the feeling of pressure building in her chest and abdomen caused a simultaneous feeling of expansion. She gasped for air as she looked up at the blood-red moon again. Oh my God, this is it...

  The pain came all at once, bombarding her entire body with an agony that Sam did not think was physically possible or conducive to life. She wanted to scream, but she could not seem to get enough breath to propel a scream from her body. She merely gasped and panted and moaned as the pain continued to hit her in wave after wave after wave.

  She drifted closer to unconsciousness, that black shade looming along the edges of her vision. Could she change if she were out cold? She’d forgotten to ask Vincent that. Vincent... For the briefest of moments, the thought of him eased the agony to an almost bearable level. Then his face faded from her mind as the pain intensified. Wait, was that even possible? How could it hurt more? At once, the constriction in her chest released and, as air found its way into her lungs, she screamed in agony, falling forward onto her hands and knees. Oh God... Grampy... Grampy, help me...

  Don’t fight it, Nepoata... You mustn’t fight it. Fighting brings more pain. Let it happen. Your heart is good, Samantha. Do not be afraid of what comes.

  Sam looked up from the ground, one last look at the moon with her conscious, human mind. Your heart is good... My heart is good. She willed herself to relax as she repeated the words over-and-over in her mind.

  The pain lessened slightly, either because she was relaxing or perhaps, because of the intensity and duration of the pain, her body had just adjusted to it. She could feel the movement under her skin... rippling, rearranging. Her clothing began to feel tighter as her muscles begin to pulse and enlarge. She could hear her clothing tearing along the seams.

  Still down on all fours, she panted. A movement caught her eye and she turned her head, slowly. Her vision was still gray, and blurry from the tears and sweat that had been filling them since this started, but she could see the shadowy figure of a person standing no more than two yards away.

  Sam squinted, struggling to see the figure more clearly. Damn it, Ben, if that’s you, you’d better get out of here while you can. She sniffed, hoping to identify the figure – Diane Weber.

  “Well, well, well... Here we are.” Weber stepped a few steps closer, then crouched down to bring her own face on eye-level with Sam’s. “Jack is going to be so disappointed he didn’t get to see you as you transcend.” She looked Sam up and down, her eyes narrowing. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Your body being ripped apart from the inside out?” Weber smiled and leaned in closer to Sam, her voice lowering to a warm, loud whisper. “Well, my dear, you haven’t felt anything yet.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a capped syringe, a small vial, and an alcohol swab. “I could stoop to the cowardly tactics of your friend, Vincent, and simply put you down with a silver bullet, but I have a bit more imagination than that.”

  Weber ripped open the alcohol swab, wiped the top of the vial, then pulled the cap of the syringe with her teeth. She spit out the cap as she plunged the needle into the vial and began to draw up fluid from the vial into the syringe. “I could have done that with your grandfather, too. Would have been quick and easy. No body to trace back to us. Just another missing person in a city of millions.” She pulled the needle free and pressed on the plunger, sending a squirt of fluid out the end of the needle and into the air. “I think it would have been a rather undignified death, don’t you?”

  Sam’s black eyes glinted, and she struggled to speak. Weber smiled and patted her on the back. “Now, now, don’t thank me. It was the... least... I could do.” She held up the syringe between them. “But now, I think we’re going to make things interesting again.”

  Weber quickly rolled up her sleeve, baring the depression halfway up her arm. She palpated the vessels, searching for a good vein. A large blue-green vessel quickly popped to the surface. “You see, I’ve fought for too long, done too much, to let some Zigeuner bitch try to take my place.” She carefully slipped the needle into the vein, depressing the plunger. The fluid steadily flowed out of the syringe until it was empty.

  Weber sighed and settled back onto the ground. “My only regret... is that I have to use this... shit... to help me turn. I don’t like using narcotics at all, even when I’m in pain.” She sighed again and laid back on the pavement. “One good thing... The pain isn’t nearly as intense as it will be for you.”

  Sam gasped. The pain was returning, and it was stronger now if that was even possible. She could feel her body breaking, shattering into pieces as the bones in her chest, arms and legs began to break, move and reform, making connections that would alter the very structure of her body.

  She could feel something on her face, something wet. She bent her head forward and watched as the drops of blood began to fall on the pavement in front of her. Sam started to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, dissolving into a guttural gurgle as her face began to distort. Her jaw began to extend, pulling her nos
e area forward with it as it lengthened.

  The movements of change throughout her body began to slow, with only a few pulsing movements fluttering under the skin. Sam lay very still on the ground, except for the panting breaths moving her chest up and down in quick whooshes.

  Weber blinked her eyes several times fighting the stupor induced by the narcotic injection, and struggled to see Sam.

  The newly changed werewolf lay upon the ground, the light covering of hair on her body catching the sunlight, giving her form a bronze cast. Her face was decidedly lupine, yet it retained a degree of the fine features and coloring of her human face.

  Weber looked at the young female’s face, relaxed now and framed by the dark mane of her hair, and conceded that she was rather beautiful, even for Gypsy scum.

  Weber could feel her own change coming, but it was coming slower than she expected, which could be a major problem if Sam woke up too soon. She squinted, trying to see more clearly if Sam’s eyes were open or still closed. Black eyes were difficult to see in the best light, but the dim shadows cast by the rising sun, and her own drug-induced haze, made it even more difficult.

  Sam was very still. Her panting had stilled, and Weber was not entirely sure she was even breathing. She sniffed the air, then chuckled. She wouldn’t be able to smell any change in her; if she was dead, she hadn’t been dead long enough for it to alter her chemistry at all. It wasn’t unheard-of for werewolves to expire after changing, but she needed to be sure.

  Weber rolled over to her side and leveraged herself up onto her hands and knees. Walking right now could be detrimental, so crawling over would have to do. She slowly moved over closer to Sam, stopping right beside her. She sniffed again, then carefully reached out and touched Sam on the shoulder. Nothing. Weber touched her again, harder this time. Still nothing.

  Weber relaxed a little, the tension easing out of her shoulders and back. She had time. She could feel the fire starting in her stomach, firing up the nerves of her spine into her brain. It wouldn’t be long.

  She glanced down at Sam and frowned. Something was different. Weber leaned forward, closer, closer, until her face was barely inches from Sam’s, then froze.

  Sam’s eyes were open.

  As the realization hit Weber that Sam was, in fact, conscious and awake, it was already too late to retreat. Claws were around her throat and, in seconds, Weber felt herself being lifted off the ground. Sam held her up, suspended in mid-air, her feet kicking as she struggled to breathe. Then she was flying, soaring backward across four parking spaces before hitting the ground and sliding into the wall.

  Weber choked, gasped, but found no relief. As a nurse, she understood the reason: her trachea had been crushed. She had minutes before her body would begin to shut down, before her brain would succumb to anoxia and be irretrievably damaged. Then death.

  The black color began to drain from Weber’s eyes and, as colored human vision returned, she watched Sam approach her. In a moment she knew, her death would be quicker. Sam grabbed her by the throat again, her claws digging in... and in. Weber went limp as her cervical vertebrae shattered, the tissues of her throat collapsing under the pressure of the claw, tissue tearing away as Sam pulled and, quite literally, ripped out her throat.

  Sam released Weber, and the blonde crumpled to the ground in a twisted heap. Blood began to pool rapidly as her heart pumped its final beats.

  Sam stepped back from the oncoming blood. It was over. The bitch was dead, and Ivan was avenged. Sam sighed a whimpering growl of a sigh that made her flinch. For a moment, she had forgotten what she was.

  Sam looked up at the early morning sky, her werewolf 's eyes seeing it for the first time. Even though the sky was colorless, it had a depth and dimension to it that rendered it more than colorful. The sounds reaching her werewolf's ears, sounds that had been sharp and grating during the change, now were clear and modulated.

  She could hear birds: pigeons perched on the nearby roofs scanning the ground below for breakfast; seagulls flying over the East River and out toward the Long Island Sound; red-tail hawks soaring above their Uptown homes. She took a deep breath, ready to relish the scents of the day – And froze.

  Someone else was on the roof with her. Every bone in her body tensed as she sniffed again. He was male, young, and most definitely afraid. She breathed deeply, trying to locate the source of the scent. It was strongest near the wall beside the ramp leading down. Sam began to move, cautiously yet deliberately, towards the source of the smell, sniffing, sniffing, trying to nail down the scent. It was familiar... It was...

  Sam stopped moving and her upper lip curled in what could only be called a smile. Benny. He’d stayed with her. Her wasn’t surprised, but moments later her mind filled with dread. She didn’t know what she was capable of in this condition, didn’t know how to tell him to get out of here before something did happen. There was only one thing she could do, and she really didn’t want to.

  Sam took a deep breath and moved quickly, covering the distance between herself and the wall in seconds. She placed her paws on the wall and lifted herself up onto it.

  From her perch, she could see Ben below her. More importantly, he could see her. I’m sorry, Benny... Sam took a deep breath, picturing the face of Diane Weber in her mind, hoping it conjured the look of a blood-thirsty rage she needed. Then she let loose her first howl, a baying, roaring, blood-chilling sound that promptly sent Ben stumbling backward and running down the ramp out of sight.

  Success. Sam smiled again and looked up at the moon fading in the bright morning sky. She would be changing back soon, just as the moon was quickly fading back to its soft bluish-white hue. She could feel the warmth again, knew that the body racking pain would return soon as she morphed back into her human self. For now, though, she felt... good. Sam threw her head back and let loose another howl.

  33

  SAM’S FIRST HOWL ECHOED down, bouncing off the concrete columns and reverberating back. Vincent swung his right arm, punching Prutzmann and slamming him into the nearby ramp wall. Prutzmann hit the wall hard, sliding down with a grunt. His eye was swollen shut and blood trailed down his face from a cut on his forehead. Still bare-chested, Prutzmann was bloodied and battered all over from their fight. Vincent started to smile and winced, dabbing at the cut on his lower lip. His left arm was hanging limply; a dislocated shoulder, for sure. Easily fixed, if he could just get a moment to snap it back in properly.

  Sam’s second howl rang out. Prutzmann looked up towards the sound. “Why are you here, Vincent? Is it just for her?”

  Vincent tried to keep his gaze focused on Prutzmann, but his gun, laying only a few tempting feet away, kept drawing his eyes. He could end this fast but lunging for it would open him up to Prutzmann and, with one arm useless, he didn’t want to chance it. The thought of him getting to Sam made him nauseous.

  “Hudson.” Prutzmann frowned at Vincent, a real accomplishment with his face as battered and swollen as it was. “That son-of-a-bitch sent for you, didn’t he? To kill Diane, to kill us. Didn’t he?”

  Vincent smirked in reply, keeping his gun within his peripheral vision as he stared down the other man.

  Prutzmann’s expression was a study in incredulity. “Since when do you take assignments from him?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Prutzmann glanced upwards again and smiled. “I bet you do.”

  Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet and leaned against the wall. “It’s probably been a long time, hasn’t it? Years, maybe? She is a very attractive woman. And when the heat comes... she will be on fire. I’m sure she will be an... incredible... lay... but is that really worth teaming up with the mad scientist?”

  Vincent moved quickly, closing the distance between himself and the gun in seconds. He grabbed the gun and aimed it at Prutzmann.

  Prutzmann stayed still, leaning against the wall and smiling away. “Hit a nerve there, did I?” His smile faded. “What about Weber? What will happen to her?”

>   “She’s already dead, John. If Sam figures out that she was responsible for Ivan’s death...”

  Prutzmann nodded somberly. “She’s dead either way.” Prutzmann looked over his shoulder. “So, Vincent, this is it, eh?”

  He glanced back at Vincent, his body turned partially away from him, allowing him to lean back on the wall propped on his elbow. He looked down at the gun. “Lethal injection and done?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m thinking... No.” Prutzmann quickly leaned back, flipping himself over the edge of the wall and out of sight.

  Vincent rushed to the wall, his gun at the ready, and looked over the edge: no sign of Prutzmann. “Happy landings, John,” Vincent murmured. He massaged his left shoulder, taking deep, measured breaths as he did so. It seemed like he’d done this a million times, yet every time made him a bit queasy. He moved his injured arm out to the side, and then used his right arm to lift it up over his head. Slowly, Vincent reached with his left hand to the back of his neck, then beyond to his opposite shoulder. The sound of a pop and the sudden relief of the pain told him that his shoulder was back in position. Vincent massaged his left shoulder a couple more times, carefully rotating the arm to check for flexibility. It was tender, but that would pass soon.

  With a final look over the wall to the place where Prutzmann had disappeared, Vincent started up the ramp at a run.

  As Vincent rounded the bend, he glimpsed a figure up ahead hiding behind the barrier wall. Ben. Vincent slowed. “Hey! You all right?”

  Ben turned and looked at him, his face pale and tense. He nodded his head with a jerky motion before replying. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He swallowed hard. “Sam... She...”

  “Yeah, I know.” Damn, the kid saw it... He saw her change. “Is she still up there?”