“Opportunity?” Dean slurred. “For what?”
“To become a part of the pack, of course.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The memory faded as the old man stirred from his place on the couch.
I didn’t have any choice, Dean mused as he continued to stare at the man – his victim. He unconsciously rubbed his left arm, touching the months’ old scar that always seemed to tingle at the approach and wane of the full moon. Soon enough, this poor bastard would be resigned to the same fate as him, becoming little more than a slave to the moon as it brought out the beast inside of him.
Or maybe not.
A memory stirred in the back of his mind, a conversation he’d had with Strike – the leader of his pack and the one who’d bitten him. The fucker had been giving him the rundown on hunters, trying to scare him into sticking around, giving him some bullshit speech about strength in numbers. Dean hadn’t been paying much attention, but something Strike had told him came screaming back into his brain.
If he recalled correctly, Strike had said something about hunters being immune to the curse, just one of the unique qualities that made them extremely dangerous. Dean had blown it off as bullshit at the time, but what if it hadn’t been a lie?
He hadn’t believed hunters existed at all, but the man lying before him proved otherwise. If so, then who was to say the rest of Strike’s story hadn’t been true as well?
Even if this man was immune, though, Dean had no clue how it worked. Strike’s speech hadn’t been nearly that detailed. But maybe it didn’t matter. He was a skilled biochemist, after all. He’d worked alongside some of the best scientists in the country at his father’s company. Where there was immunity, there was the potential for a vaccine, and along with that came the hope of a cure.
Holy shit! Could it be possible?
Strike had assured him there was no going back, but did that even mean anything? The guy hadn’t exactly struck Dean as Mensa material. The asshole was probably lucky to be able to measure out the drugs he sold to help front his little lycanthrope night club.
He thought back to what he’d told Coop, about how he wanted to end this hell of an existence. But what if there was a light at the end of the tunnel that didn’t involve his death? What if he could be human again? He could never make up for what had happened to his parents, but he would happily devote the rest of his life to trying.
For perhaps the first time since he’d been bitten, the haze of depression around him began to clear.
His attention focused more sharply on the older man, his gaze zeroing in on the large wad of gauze at his shoulder. It was soaked through with blood ... hunter blood, perhaps the key to his redemption.
As the thoughts and possibilities swirled through Dean’s mind, he pushed aside the guilt about his escape the previous night. No time for that. There was work to be done if he was to save this hunter’s life and, in return, possibly his own.
3
Ro tried to relax as the full moon rose, but she was too restless. Not helping matters was the incessant buzzing from her phone.
With a near audible snarl, she ripped it from her pocket, looked at the screen, and sighed. Another fucking text from Kane.
Where are you at? I’ll join you, we’ll bag that whelp together, and then we can celebrate back at my place.
The guy just did not get the fucking hint.
She angrily typed out a message back to him. Listen, Kane. Last night was a mistake. It should never have happened and won’t happen again.
We’ll see, came the response.
What the hell, she thought as she stared at her phone. Did the arrogant bastard think she was playing hard to get or something? She locked her screen, made to turn it off, but then – remembering her father’s mistake – merely set the phone to silent before shoving it back in her pocket. She didn’t want to be caught in a bad situation with a powered-down device, even if that meant having to deal with Kane.
She chided herself for being an idiot, but realized she wasn’t entirely to blame. The approach of the full moon had both of them on edge. Like all hunters, their senses and instincts heightened as the moon’s apex approached. It was something they shared in common with their prey. The only thing they shared in common. Unlike werewolves, they didn’t change form and become bloodthirsty beasts. If anything, they served as nature’s yin to the whelp’s yang, a vicious cycle that had existed for centuries.
Unfortunately, that cycle had its downsides, especially when combined with Ro’s worry for her father. In a moment of heightened emotion, she’d left herself vulnerable and fallen for Kane’s charms. One moment they’d been having a heated discussion about which route to stake out, the next they’d practically torn each other’s clothes off, just barely making it to the bed.
The sex itself hadn’t been bad, she mused. No point in lying to herself about it. It wasn’t the deed so much as the person that was the issue. She’d regretted it the moment he’d collapsed atop her, flashing that smug grin of his as if he’d just bagged a trophy of some kind.
Enough of that jerk. She pushed all thoughts of the other hunter out of her mind. She couldn’t worry about him now, not when there was work to be done. Almost four weeks and all she had to go on was the hope that the whelp who’d taken her father was territorial. With any luck, it would make an appearance in the same area, giving her the chance she’d been waiting for.
She wore her usual hunting garb – dark t-shirt, leggings, black work-boots, and her long leather jacket. Her gun belt and knife were both strapped to her side.
The streets were eerily quiet, and pedestrian traffic was light considering the time of evening. Just as well, she thought, less collateral damage in case things get bloody.
She stopped in front of the building where the Mason family had been murdered. Of all the killings that had taken place in this area, theirs had been the most prominent. An affluent and influential middle-aged couple, they’d been killed in their Upper West Side brownstone. The safe had been broken into, the whole place ransacked, all valuables stolen. Officially, the police were looking for the couple’s son and his chauffeur / bodyguard. Both were wanted for questioning, but the excessively brutal nature of the killings, including the way the bodies had been partially eaten, suggested something the police weren’t about to admit: the murders had a supernatural cause.
And those particular murders had occurred just a few blocks from the alley where she was sure her father had been taken. That couldn’t be a coincidence, especially since the events had both occurred during a full moon.
As she examined the front of the fancy brownstone, with its stately façade and relatively well-kept exterior, she remembered her research. The Masons came from old money, greatly supplemented by Dixon Mason’s success in biopharmaceuticals.
Dixon Mason? What the fuck were his parents smoking?
Ro didn’t understand much of the research his company had been involved in, but she knew enough to understand that it had made them even richer than they’d been.
According to the police report, there was no sign of forced entry. Based on the blood pattern analysis, the robbery had occurred prior to the actual murders. It was Kane’s theory that some whelps may have somehow infiltrated the victims’ home while in human form, perhaps posing as household help, robbed the place just before the full moon, then let their wolf forms loose to play, thus ensuring no witnesses and little chance of the crime being tracked back to them.
She looked away from the building, a faint tingle at the base of her neck, and glanced in the direction of the alley where she’d found the blood stains. The street was mostly residential, more brownstones with gated grounds, far from the bustle of the main thoroughfares. She began walking again, feeling drawn toward the place where her father had last been. As she did, the feeling got stronger. Something was near. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it yet, but she was certain it wasn’t just her imagination.
She
reached out with her senses, keeping alert. The ability to sense prey was perhaps her one real advantage, a gift handed down by her forebears, an ability that allowed her and her kind to survive in a world where monsters prowled the night.
The closer she got to the alley, the stronger the feeling got until she felt as if her entire body was electrified. A whelp, no doubt about it.
She slowly approached the mouth of the alley and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Despite her senses, she was walking into a dead end with limited visibility and against a creature whose physical prowess eclipsed hers many times over.
The atmosphere seemingly crackled with energy. The beast was so close, she could feel its presence, the hairs on her arms standing on end.
Then she heard it – a low guttural rumbling just barely audible above the sounds of the city. She couldn’t see the beast yet. The growl had come from somewhere near the end of the alley.
A small part of her wished she had taken Kane up on his offer just so she would have backup. But she wouldn’t lose her nerve now. She was descended from generations of werewolf hunters, daughter of one of the best there ever was. She could do this.
She crept along the side of one of the buildings, keeping her back to the wall and her gun arm outstretched. There was limited cover in the narrow space and, even with her hypernatural senses, she knew the wolf’s sense of sight and smell would more than make up the difference. Chances were it was already aware of her presence, getting ready to stalk her in anticipation of an attack.
Despite this, she moved further into the alley, the sounds of safety and civilization melting away as the darkness of her surroundings engulfed her.
The rumbling growl she’d heard earlier had ceased, the silence now all-consuming, almost as if she were underwater. She willed her breathing to slow, so that all she could hear was the thunder of her heart pounding in her chest, and reminded herself of the pattern that wolves used.
They were ambush predators, preferring to stalk their prey. Despite their size and strength, they often didn’t attack head-on unless injured or cornered.
Which is exactly what I’m doing to it now, she mused with a grim smile, her finger tightening on the trigger. That’s it. Come to mama bear. I got a nice bowl of porridge for you and it’s just right.
Within the space of less than a second, the shadows in front of her coalesced into a massive shape. The beast leapt forward with a roar and, even though she’d been anticipating the attack, she was still taken by surprise from its ferocity and speed.
It closed the distance between them faster than she anticipated, forcing her to jump to the side just as it slammed a massive clawed hand into the side of the building where her head had been only moments before. She turned and fired, but missed. Even in the narrow confines of the alley, the wolf was moving too fast to provide a solid target. Fortunately, where senses and reflexed failed, instinct and training took over.
Swift though its movements were, she tracked it and kept firing, trying to anticipate where it would be as opposed to where it was.
There came a sharp yelp of pain and then the shadows became still again as it retreated, just as quickly as it had come. Her body thrummed with adrenaline as she attempted to steady her breathing. She swept the alley in front of her with her pistol, feeling its slightly diminished weight.
Damnit! Almost empty. One, maybe two bullets left.
She didn’t want to chance it. Ro pulled the spare magazine from her belt, ejected the empty one, and then accidentally dropped it in her haste. She winced as it hit the ground with an audible clink, giving away her position as surely as if she’d set off a flare.
Dad would definitely tan my hide for that one.
It took her a scant second to pick it up and reload her weapon. Moving as quickly as she dared, she headed toward where she’d last glimpsed the beast’s massive form. At least she’d nicked it. Unfortunately, judging by the way it had moved, she doubted she’d done more.
Badly injured or not, though, it was still close. The tingling on her neck told her as much.
Further in, the gardens on either side of the alley proved to be problematic, the gates and plants inside providing long shadows in which half a dozen whelps could potentially be hiding, much less one.
Her senses were honed, but it was more an early warning system than a GPS. She’d need to conduct this one carefully if she wished to flush out the whelp before it attacked again.
She barely breathed, not wanting to reveal her position as she turned toward the first garden, off to the right of the alley. A small light was on inside of it, near a door leading into the building. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to see that there was likely no monster wolf hiding in...
Ro drew in a hiss of breath as she spied what appeared to be eyes staring at her from near the ground behind the garden gate. She almost opened fire before realizing it was just a poorly placed garden gnome.
Stupid son of a...
She made it a point to remember to kick the damned thing over once the wolf was dead. Would serve the owner right for nearly scaring the shit out of her.
In that instant, movement registered from her left. She turned a moment too late, cursing herself for letting her focus waver. Before she even had a chance to aim, a massive fist – no, a paw – backhanded her across the face. She saw stars and the world around her momentarily greyed out. Her training kicked in and she instinctively dove to the side before it could finish the job. Rolling to her feet and shaking off the blow, she realized with a silent curse that her weapon was lying on the ground, well out of her reach.
As for the wolf, it stood where it had attacked her, still cloaked in shadow, little more than a massive shape against the darkness. She could hear it growling softly, far too near for comfort. Why wasn’t it attacking? It had her dead to rights, could have killed her before she so much as said “boo.” But it merely stood half hidden in the gloom of the alleyway.
Maybe I wounded it worse than I thought. Sadly, that was probably little more than wishful thinking. Though it remained unmoving, its massive silhouette, towering far above her head, didn’t give her the impression that it was badly hurt.
She eyed her gun, situated directly between them, and shuffled a foot toward it.
The wolf matched her motion, shuffling a single step forward into the moonlight where she could see it clearly. No matter how many times she’d seen a whelp, the sight never failed to impress.
Nearly seven feet tall, its head was that of an exaggerated canine, like someone had fed a German Shepherd an insane cocktail of steroids. Teeth, some up to three inches long, poked out from its extended snout from which copious amounts of drool dripped. A thick neck topped a massive, fur-covered body rippling with muscle. Though it was more than capable of running on all fours if need be, she knew a whelp’s true menace came in their ability to walk and fight bipedally. Their incredible strength was augmented by hands ending in wicked talon-like claws that could tear through flesh as if it were paper.
She looked up and met its gaze, its red eyes tracking her as they both stepped into the moonlight. The moon. She could see it reflected in its pupils, the edge of its profile just visible, giving the creature’s face a strange glimmer of ... intelligence. For one strange moment, she found herself matching its stare, almost lost in its eyes.
Goddamned rookie mistake if ever there was one, her father’s voice said inside of her mind, shaking her from the reverie. Forcing herself to look away, she glanced down.
Her gun was still out of reach. If she lunged for it, she would surely lose – a suicidal move at best. Instead, she moved her hand slowly toward the handle of her silvered knife. It was better than nothing, but just barely. She was much more adept with the gun. The knife was her backup, only to be used in a pinch – which was exactly what she was currently in, she supposed.
It was doubtful she’d even be able to draw it in time, much less line up a shot and throw
it straight into the monster’s heart just as she’d been trained. Problem was, she’d never done so in battle before. She’d always relied on guns. Now, she realized they’d become her crutch.
Never again, she swore to herself. If I survive this, I’ll make sure I’m as strong with a knife as I am with a pistol. Hell, I’ll even carry a freakin’ silver machete if I have to.
That was all the time she allowed herself for introspection. Her situation required action, not words.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, the crackling power in her blood surging through her. In one swift movement, she unsheathed the knife and threw it at the center of the beast’s chest. Her aim was true!
Sadly, the beast was faster and moved to block the attack. The creature howled in fury as the razor-sharp blade struck its hand dead center, slicing through fur, skin, and muscle as if they were butter.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ro took advantage of the distraction to lunge for her gun, but was still a hair too slow. More quickly than she thought possible, the wolf recovered and launched itself at her, pinning her down. It took a moment to pull the knife from its paw and toss it away, eliciting a small cry of pain.
The whimper quickly gave way to a growl and it lowered its face to within inches of hers, its rancid breath mingling with her own.
It was over. She’d failed and now awaited the fatal blow, the moment when it would rip her throat out with its teeth, then maul her to pieces with its claws. She’d seen the remains of enough victims to know to expect a bad death.
Rather than being overcome with fear, though, she was half-surprised to find that a part of her was grateful – that she actually welcomed the release from this never-ending life of hunter versus prey. Hers had been a difficult, lonely path – one of friends forever kept at arm’s length and potential lovers kept even further away. These were feelings she’d never shared with her father. Even though he, too, lived this life, she’d never once seen him indulge in self-pity, not even when her mother had died. He’d have certainly laughed at her and called her weak.
Lycan Moon: An Urban Fairy Tale (Lycan Evolution Book 1) Page 3
