The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  “I’m okay. Really.” Sam forced a smile, but Vincent wasn’t buying it. His own expression darkened a bit and he leaned in, his forehead resting on hers.

  “Shoot to kill. And no matter what happens, don’t let them take you. Do you understand?”

  Sam flinched, but nodded. Yes, she knew... Knew what would happen if they caught her... What they would do to her... Knew what Vincent was saying to her... No matter how many I kill, I have to save one bullet... for me... Such an awful thought, and yet in the seconds that passed after that thought completed itself in her mind, a feeling of overwhelming peace flowed through her body and her mind. She took a deep breath. “I understand, but... The mercury won’t kill me.”

  “No... But a bullet to the head still will.”

  Sam nodded again. “And you—”

  “Always.” Vincent gently touched the left side of his duster, a spot right over the heart where Sam knew there was an inside pocket. He reached up, brushing her cheek gently and flashing a roguish grin. “Ready?”

  Sam smiled back, her own adrenalin responding as she sensed the rush in his. Then she heard the growls, and they both turned to look.

  Two were coming from the West onto Havemeyer, two from the East, and in the road in front of the church were a handful of unchanged werewolves, most likely the security team Alice had spoken of. They were dressed too well, and for a moment Sam wondered if they were Prutzmann’s guys, and why his own guys would be a threat to he and Alice, and why—

  She stopped her thoughts, mainly because everybody was starting to move. Vincent rushed forward, stopping at the top of the steps with his weapon trained on the changed werewolves to the East. He fired once, hitting one full in the head and it dropped quickly. The second shot missed its mark and the werewolf lunged at him, the pair tumbling to the ground and rolling down the steps to the street. The suited men started forward and Sam acted quickly, raising her gun, aiming quickly but carefully at the rolling mass of Vincent and wolf. One... more... turn... Sam reached out for him, saying the words in her head... Vincent! Push it off you!

  Before Sam could even wonder if it had worked, if he had heard her, Vincent was on his back and pushing the werewolf away with all his strength, lifting it above him even as Vincent’s teeth gritted with the effort. Sam took the shot, hitting the werewolf in the side and watching it start to shudder about him. The security team stopped moving, transfixed with wonder, and nausea perhaps, as the werewolf melted before their very eyes. Sam didn’t linger, however, turning quickly and shooting down the third changed werewolf as it lunged for Vincent, who was still supine on the ground beneath the disintegrating werewolf. He wriggled free as the carcass deflated into a pile of fur, silvery sheen creeping through it as the hair also melted into the ground. Hopping over the third carcass, he leaped onto the steps and took a moment to gasp for breath.

  “Well that... was bloody disgusting...”

  “Yeah, I’ve been there, remember?” Sam looked at him pointedly, recalling an occasion six months ago when he was responsible for a werewolf melting over her. Vincent chuckled, clearly recalling the moment himself.

  The last remnants of the dead werewolves were spreading across the pavement, and the security team once again turned their attention to Sam and Vincent.

  “Remember what I told you.” Vincent spoke low, barely audible, but Sam heard him, nonetheless. She nodded, and the pair stepped apart, Vincent descending the stairs once again and positioning himself closer to four of the security team members. Sam watched as he raised his gun, hitting two of the team before the other two tackled him. The gun skittered across the pavement into the gutter.

  She felt the impact against her back like the proverbial ton of bricks, and she stumbled to the ground as the pressure of massive paws bore down on her back and the back of her thigh. She struggled to get her arm free, the weight of the gun tantalizing in her palm. Sam grimaced as the changed werewolf leaned forward, sniffing her hair and neck, the moisture from its nose leaving a trail along her hairline. She couldn’t breath, the pressure from the werewolf’s weight on her driving her chest against the pavement, giving her lungs barely enough room to take small gaspy breaths.

  Sam heard a gunshot, then two more, and prayed that it wasn’t Vincent. The werewolf above her snarled at someone, but she couldn’t turn her head to see who might be behind her... Probably the final member of the security team. Sam started calculating how she was going to get her arm around to get that bullet in her head, a thought at once terrifying... and electrifying... All of this would be over... No more LV, no more full moons, no more... She thought of Ben... Lenny... Frank Ronne... Ivan...

  Sam heard a pop, and the werewolf snarled again, a sound that quickly morphed into a squealing sound of pain and terror as the mercury within the bullet started to enter its system and the cellular destruction began. Sam could feel the drops of Mercury oozing from its body, plopping onto her back, her legs, splashing up from the pavement. Sam felt her stomach heaving, and swore she was going to punch Vincent for doing this to her again... right after she kissed him...

  Suddenly, the werewolf was being pushed off her. Air rushed into her lungs and Sam gasped like a fish out of water. Strong hands grabbed her arms and quickly got her to her feet.

  “Are you alright?” Sam whirled quickly, her mouth dropping open as her eyes opened wider than wide.

  Ronne smirked as he reached out, his index finger resting under her chin, pushing upwards to encourage her to close her mouth. “Yeah. Me. No time to explain.” Sam quickly closed her mouth. “You two need to get out of here now, before the area perimeter is established and secured. You don’t have much time, the Feds are on their way.” Vincent approached, looking between the two with a wary frown on his face. Ronne held out his hand, offering Vincent’s H&K back to him. “Found this on the ground. Nice gun.” Ronne turned back to Sam. “I would suggest getting out of the city if you have somewhere to go.” He nodded curtly, turned on his heel and headed back towards what must be formally a crime scene by now.

  Sam’s mind was whirling... What the hell was he DOING there? Vincent was looking at her expectantly, and Sam realized the answer to that question was not going to be found here, or tonight. They had to get back to the platform and... Sam looked at Vincent, her eyes wide and concerned. “Benny,” she whispered. Without another word, she took off running toward Marcy Avenue, with Vincent hot on her heels.

  42

  THE LIGHT ILLUMINATED the phone screen, revealing the lock screen and the time... a whole minute later than the last time Ben had checked it. He paused in the middle of his circuit of the platform, one of many laps he’d been taking since he heard the first howl. It served a dual purpose, not only helping him release some of the anxious energy building inside of him, but also giving him the opportunity to keep an eye on most of the streets below the platform, watching for any sign of movement. So far, any movements he was seeing were human, or at least in human form, and they were all focused on the fire scene a few streets over. It was still burning quite hot, and billowing black smoke was now rising from the site, drifting slightly to the East as the wind began to pick up. He hoped there wasn’t anything toxic in the smoke, because everybody in the eastern part of Williamsburg, northern Bushwick, and Queens after that was going to get a nose full when they came out to start their respective days.

  Ben glanced at his phone screen again... another minute... He sighed dramatically, pocketing the phone again and beginning his pacing. He walked to the end of the platform, looked down the staircase toward the street, and froze...

  Slowly working its way upstairs, step by step, the werewolf hadn’t noticed him yet, but it would only be a matter of time before it caught his scent. It was moving slowly, and seemed to be in pain, favoring its right leg. Ben carefully, quietly took a step back... then another... He wasn’t entirely sure what he hoped to achieve by walking away from the creature... After all, if it caught his scent and managed to get up the stairs fast
enough, it had him. There was literally nowhere for Ben to go, and the train... He turned quickly, leaning toward the tracks and getting a view down the line. He wasn’t sure, but he thought those might be lights coming... The light at the end of the tunnel, in this case, would really be a train. He chuckled to himself at the thought and looked back at the werewolf...

  The werewolf looked back at him. The eyes were flat and black, like the eyes of a shark, not a shred of white in them. They blinked normally, but there was a kind of second eyelid that partially moved across the eyes when the wind would blow. It was breathing heavily, no doubt from the exertion of trying to climb the stairs with the injury to its leg, which Ben could see now was quite severe. Maybe if he stayed very... still... the train was indeed coming... those lights were coming closer, and the screeching sound of the wheels on the rails was faintly echoing through the streets below, getting louder and louder as the train got closer and closer.

  Ben swallowed hard, more of a gulp really, and took another very careful step backward. The werewolf started to growl, a low rumbling that matched with the rumbling of the train wheels. Its teeth were showing now, glinting in the dim light of the platform. This was not good... Ben glanced at the train again, then at the werewolf, took another step backward. The werewolf’s growl hit a crescendo and it used its arms and good leg to launch itself the rest of the way up. Ben turned immediately and started running down the platform... to where, he had no idea, because the other end was quite literally a dead one. The train was poised to enter the station as Ben ran, followed closely by the werewolf. It was disabled, but not down and out, and halfway down the platform it got close enough to Ben to swipe successfully at his foot. Ben stumbled down on to the platform, and seconds later the werewolf was on him. Ben could hear the train screeching into the station, feel the vibration through his back as he lay prone on the platform, the werewolf on top of him. Saliva dripped from its mouth onto his cheek, and Ben, who prided himself on his strong stomach, could feel the chunks rising in his throat. He found himself wondering if vomiting on it would be an effective defense against the creature.

  The train’s wheels screeched sharply, and as the werewolf turned to look toward the source of the sound, Ben saw his chance. Gathering every bit of strength he could, Ben shoved against the heavily-muscled chest of the creature, pushing it off to his left and towards the tracks.

  The creature was off-balance, the only explanation Ben could think of for his efforts being as effective as they were. The werewolf tumbled off Ben, rolled off the platform and onto the tracks. The train’s brakes screeched as the driver tried to stop before hitting the creature, but it managed to scramble off the tracks and over to the other side of the platform seconds before the train pulled up.

  Ben jumped to his feet, still gasping for breath as he dove into the train as soon as the doors opened. He grabbed a seat on the right, straining in the glare of the interior lighting to see any sign of the werewolf on the other platform. Nothing.

  The doors chimed and began sliding closed, then reopened briefly before sliding fully closed. The train slowly started forward out of the station, and Ben finally felt himself relax back into the seat, his breathing slowing, his heartbeat settling. He looked around the car... There were only a couple of people in it besides himself. He heard one of them, a woman, gasp as they cleared the Marcy Avenue platform and the smoke and fire from the warehouse explosion came into clearer view. He hazarded a glance back at the site, a brief look he wished he hadn’t taken. The fire was spreading, putting local businesses at risk, but all Ben could think about was Sam... He felt his eyes begin to tear and he quickly shifted to a front-facing seat on the opposite side of the subway car. They were starting onto the Williamsburg Bridge, and he tried to focus on the city ahead of him, its lights twinkling in the hazy night air, tried to focus even as his mind laid it all out cold for him... They couldn’t have survived that if they were in there... not even having that virus could have saved them... and if they weren’t in there, where were they?

  Ben lowered his head, the tears threatening to spill over. He closed his eyes, willing those tears to stop. He just needed to get home, and then he could let it out... The whoosh of air and clatter of train wheels filled the car as the between-car doors were opened, the clatter becoming muffled once again as the doors were closed. Ben rubbed his eyes, wiping the moisture that had slipped out. His cheeks felt wet and sticky from the werewolf’s saliva, and he searched through his pockets trying to feel for a tissue, or salvaged wet-nap from lunch, or something that he could used to wipe the ick from his face. Not finding anything, he shrugged slightly, using the back of his hands to wipe his eyes again. He felt something light and feathery touch his hands and opened his eyes to see a tissue hovering in front of him. He took it, muttering a muffled thank you as he did, and promptly wiped his eyes thoroughly.

  “Benny?”

  Ben’s breath caught at the sound... He was almost afraid to look up, fearful that he was wrong, that in his grief he was simply recalling a memory... He swallowed hard and looked up...into those same big blue eyes that had so often looked at him just like that, all concerned and affectionate, when they were growing up on the Lower East Side. Ben quickly jumped up, throwing his arms around Sam and hugging her tightly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I find your lack of faith... disturbing.” Ben laughed through his tears and hugged her even tighter. It was his Sam, and she was alive. He released her just enough to get a good look at her. She had a brush burn on her chin, doubtless from hitting the pavement at some point... her hair was disheveled, and her eyes were red, more likely from the smoke than any crying. She’d clearly been in a fight, and that conclusion was reinforced when Ben turned and got a look at Vincent.

  The Irishman was leaning against one of the central poles, his shoulders slouched, his head bent. He looked rough and it was obvious to Ben that he had taken the brunt of whatever fight they encountered. Something more, though... the strain in the other man’s face was beyond simply the wounds he doubtlessly carried now... they were signs of another kind of wound, one that wouldn’t heal easily or quickly.

  Ben stepped toward Vincent, his hand outstretched. “Good to see you made it.”

  Vincent looked up slowly, staring at Ben’s hand a moment before he smiled and took the younger man’s hand. “More or less.”

  They were nearly across the bridge. Ben released Vincent’s hand and scooted over to the seats, taking one beside Sam. He watched her as she sat down... She wasn’t looking at Vincent, or talking to him, and yet suddenly Vincent chuckled, saying aloud, “Alright, love, I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” and he promptly plopped down on the other side of her. Ben glanced at the two... it was like a conversation had taken place that was all in their heads or something. He’d have to remember to ask Sam about that.

  Relieved and finally able to relax, Ben slouched in the seat, his head resting on the back of the seat. He reached up to scratch his chin... and winced, pulling his fingers back quickly. Blood. He glanced at Sam and Vincent... the two were leaning against each other, half-dozing as the train traveled down off the bridge and dipped down into the underground. Ben reached in his pocket, pulling out his phone and activating the camera so he could get a look at his chin.

  There, right where his jawline transitioned into his chin, was a good size scratch. It has reopened when he scratched it, hence the blood. Ben turned off his phone, pocketing it, and leaned his head back again on the seat.

  A scratch... Just a scratch...

  43

  A FLURRY OF SNOWFLAKES fell outside, covering the already snowbound city with even more of that blasted white stuff. They were calling it the Equinox storm, because of the time of year, and it had effectively socked-in Manhattan for the first day of Spring.

  Jack Hudson was not watching the snow, however. His eyes were fixed on the screen of his tablet and the Channel 2 news report airing live there...

  “... the fire that ripped
through historic sections of Williamsburg three days ago has indeed been ruled arson. Investigators announced today that accelerants and chemicals were found inside the storage units in what looked to be a makeshift meth lab. The fire, which cost the lives of three Queens volunteer firemen, has been estimated to have caused more than $20 million in property and personal damages. Persons of interest are being pursued in the investigation, and sources within 1PP have revealed that one of the suspects may be connected to the New York Police Department.”

  Hudson turned the news off and laid the tablet down on the desk. There was a quiet knock on the door. “Yes?” The door opened slowly, and Hudson smiled pleasantly at the face that peeked around the corner. “Ah, Frank... come in.”

  The door opened wider, and Frank Ronne entered. Closing the door behind him, he crossed the room quickly, sitting down across from Hudson. “I got your message, doctor.”

  Hudson noted the younger man’s tense posture, his eyes flicking around the room. He didn’t quite trust Hudson yet, and Hudson couldn’t blame him for that. Even after all these years that he and Vincent had been bound to each other, Vincent still didn’t trust him. Hudson chuckled and gestured toward the small refrigerator against the wall. “Something to drink?”

  Ronne shook his head. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

  “Alright.”

  Ronne hesitated a moment, before blurting out, “I’m sorry I failed.”

  Hudson frowned. “Failed how? Is Sam alright?”

  “She’s fine, as far as I know.” Ronne fiddled with the thumbtacks sitting in a glass dish on the desk, turning them and occasionally poking himself with little reaction. Hudson watched him curiously... bit of a masochist, this one... may need to be watched closely...