Maybe Ro did it. Maybe she convinced those hunters to go after Strike and his asshole friends. For all I know, I’ll wake up tomorrow just fine, feeling like an idiot because I have to dig my stupid ass out.
He stepped from the lab and into the secured area beyond it, holding Ro’s image in his mind and wishing he’d said something more meaningful before leaving her, than merely “good luck.”
He absentmindedly pulled the security door shut, then stepped toward the cage before looking down in horror and seeing how long his nails had become.
There was no time left for foolish longing for a girl he could never have, no matter how complete – how human – she made him feel.
Dean slammed the door of the cage behind him and began to work on the cuffs and collar, the task made difficult by hands that were rapidly becoming things meant more for rending flesh than finesse.
He had just slipped the collar over his neck when the first of the spasms hit and he was driven to his knees, the change fully taking over.
♦ ♦ ♦
Damnit!
Ro didn’t need to look at the clock on the dashboard to know she was going to be late. The moon rising in the rapidly darkening sky told her that much.
Still, she realized she should consider herself lucky she’d gotten this far. On a hunch, she’d taken a guess that her father had probably used Coop’s car to move him and then dump him off. The deed done, he’d abandoned it ... presumably in the first spot he’d found, as she’d spotted it less than a block away from the pier.
Not overly cautious of him, but that lent credence to her suspicion that Kane was in on things. Probably waited for him and they drove off together upstate.
Amazingly, she’d spied the keys through the window, lying there right on the front seat. One hard boot to the glass later and she was in business. A small part of her wanted to think that maybe Coop smiled down on her from wherever he was now, but she knew better. No. This was her father’s doing, one small bit of arrogant sloppiness on his part. She knew him too well, could practically see in her mind what had happened. Once he’d finished with Coop, her father had left him for her to find. That done, his focus had almost certainly turned entirely toward Dean. What did he care if some filthy whelp lover’s car was jacked afterward?
It had been, but she doubted he suspected it was by the last person he probably wanted to see tonight.
Her thoughts were surprisingly clear as she raced north on the interstate. The moon full, she expected to be torn between the need to hunt down those Los Colmillos bastards and save Dean. If anything, she thought she’d be tortured by her decision, driven near mad by her hunter instincts.
Instead, she was laser focused. Perhaps, she mused, as she pushed the accelerator harder, it was because she was going after a wolf after all. However, it wasn’t to kill him. It gave her pause to wonder if she’d been wrong about her instincts all along. Maybe hunters were just drawn to werewolves, and it was Guild propaganda that had convinced them that their senses were meant only for tracking and killing.
It was heresy to even think those thoughts. To voice them would be more than enough to bring her before a Guild tribunal but, after tonight, she suspected that wasn’t going to be an issue. Whatever future lay before her, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be with her father, Kane, or the Guild.
The only question still nagging her was: how far was she willing to go? Perhaps, just as important, was how far gone her father was. However, seeing what he’d done to Coop, she had a feeling he wouldn’t let little things like boundaries bother him. It was something she’d long suspected, but never wanted to acknowledge.
She thought back to all the times she’d heard him muttering under his breath about her mother, the few times he’d gotten too into a bottle following a hunt and let his lips get away from him.
“Rowan, you’re just as pretty as your mother, but I hope to God you don’t take after her.”
“Should’ve shot her myself. Would do it, too, if I ever got a second chance.”
“Your mama died because she was weak. A hunter can’t be weak. Those who are get weeded out, one way or the other.”
She’d always thought it was because he was lonely and lashing out. Now she wondered if that wasn’t the case. Coop’s only crime had been to be a good friend, and her father had butchered him for it. What other failings would he consider to be worthy of death? Betrayal by a loved one, perhaps?
She didn’t know what lay before her this evening, but she had a feeling that hard choices would have to be made ... choices that, even as she continued to drive, she couldn’t be certain she’d be able to live with.
Assuming she survived the night.
♦ ♦ ♦
“You sure this is the place, Kane? Looks like a goddamned dump to me. I swear, if we don’t bag anything tonight...”
“Shut your goddamned yap already,” John snapped as the foursome walked up the long driveway. “This is the place, all right.” He turned to Kane, who had taken the vanguard along with him. “This the best you could find? Two idiots with ball sacks where their brains should be.”
Kane shot him a look. “Relax, Sinclair. Hammer and Buck both trained with me. They know their shit.”
Bullshit was more like it, John thought. He regarded the two big men for a moment, noting the scars on the one called Hammer. That one looks sloppy as all hell. And what the fuck is up with that name? He think this a funny book or something?
His companion didn’t fill John with great confidence either. His eyes kept darting to spots they’d already covered. Reacting, not acting. Good way to meet an early grave.
“Hell, yeah, brother,” the scarred man said to Kane. “Now let’s do this. It’s hammer time!” The other two laughed with him as if that was the cleverest thing they’d ever heard.
John spat on the ground disgustedly. Every generation of hunters liked to complain that those who came after them were watered down, of lesser quality. He had always considered that merely a rite of passage but, looking at his companions, he began to wonder if there wasn’t some truth to that after all.
Fine. Use them as cannon fodder, he told himself. Anyone named Hammer has gotta be considered expendable. He turned and glanced once more at them, listening to their bullshit bravado, wondering how it would hold up once faced with three hundred pounds of fangs going for their throats.
That remained to be seen, but he was certain of one thing. If any of them turned tail, tried to cut and run on him, he’d shoot them in the back as certain as the night was long. Would probably be doing the world a favor, too.
The further up the driveway they walked, the greater the tingle John felt at the base of his spine. He knew the others sensed it, too. This was the right place. Even had he been blind, he’d have recognized it. There was a whelp here and it was close.
The only question now was how close.
Strong as the feeling was, he didn’t sense any movement out there on the lawn other than from his companions. Sounds weren’t right, either. Crickets were still chirping and he could hear the occasional squawk of a bird. They weren’t afraid.
That meant the whelp was most likely somewhere inside. But where? It was a big place and he hadn’t been privy to a tour during his stay there. Rowan had, but he had a feeling the fool girl wouldn’t have told him had he ordered her to.
That was fine, though. She had a surprise waiting for her down at the pier. He briefly wondered if that fella had stayed alive long enough for her to find him. Possible, but unlikely. Didn’t matter. He didn’t care either way. That was one son of a bitch who’d aided his last wolf.
As for his girl, hopefully that discovery, along with the shame of knowing her so-called big score had been ignored by the Guild, would be enough of a wake-up call to straighten her out. If not, then he’d have to do it himself.
John hoped there was still something salvageable left in Rowan. She’d shown promise as a hunter and it woul
d be a shame to let that potential go, especially when the alternatives were two dull-witted jackasses named Hammer and Buck. But if not, then so be it. She could join her mother if it came down to it. He’d given her every chance in the world. His conscience would be clear.
They reached the porch of the dark house. There was still no sign of movement, nor any indication the place was still lived in, but John’s senses told him different.
“What do you think?” Kane asked, shining his flashlight in a window.
“I think you need to stop giving our position away and get us in there. You scope out the inside when last you were up here?”
Kane switched his flashlight beam to red so as to not screw up their night vision. “I thought you were in there for two goddamned months. Don’t you know the layout?”
“I was sick and drugged. All’s I remember is a big staircase and the bedroom they kept me in. I was too stoned to know much else.”
When Kane didn’t reply, John pressed, “So? Did you get inside or not?”
He seemed annoyed when he answered, “Didn’t get that far. Door was locked.”
John sneered. “So?”
“So, breaking and entering is a felony.”
It was all he could do to keep from punching the arrogant prick in the jaw. “Get to your fucking point.”
“I’m a cop.”
John stared at him incredulously. Was this guy shitting him? They were so close to the kill and this guy was bringing legalities into it?
“We ain’t got time for no search warrant,” the scarred one, Hammer, chimed in, causing his brainless buddy to chuckle.
“Let me make things clear. What we’re doing tonight is also called breaking and entering and, when we bag that whelp, it’ll be murder in the eyes of the law.” John narrowed his eyes and focused on Kane’s. “Is this going to be a problem, detective?”
Kane’s face hardened for a moment, but then broke into a smile. “Hells no.” He turned and kicked open the door in one swift move. “Fortunately for us, I’m off duty tonight.”
34
The wolf strained against its bonds, not caring how badly they dug into the flesh beneath its fur. It was famished, the empty ache of a deep hunger growling in its stomach and rising up its throat. It needed to be free. Needed to feed.
Whoever had dared tie these bonds to its arms had been foolish, sloppy. Though it only barely understood those concepts, what it did know was that they were loose. Once it began to pull and strain, it realized they wouldn’t hold for long. It made quick work of them, then turned its attention to the collar around its neck.
Struggling too much caused it to gag. It didn’t like that feeling one bit, so it grasped the chain with its clawed hands and raged until the metal gave and it was free.
It leapt at the walls of the cage, but found them secure. Enraged, it shook at the bars, rattled the door. It needed to be out, needed to kill and sate the gnawing hunger.
Long claws clinked against the bars, its fingers grasping the cool metal. Its growls deepened to a roar as it pulled and shook, anything to escape the confines of the cage.
It worked tirelessly, endlessly probing for weaknesses. Eventually its relentless attack succeeded in loosening one section’s mooring to the cement floor and the creature felt the slightest give. It gave no notice to the time that passed. It could have been minutes or hours – all it cared about was being free.
Over and over again, it attacked the weak spot until finally the metal began to groan and give way. Little by little, the structure began to acknowledge the beast as its superior. The cage was weak, whereas he was strong, dominant.
There came a final groan and a section of the cage ripped free of its moorings. The wolf stepped atop the broken bars and pissed upon them, marking this site for all others to know. Unchallenged, it bounded forward with no further hesitation.
It spied the door leading out of this place, had a vague remembrance of its strength, and charged with everything it had. A yelp of surprise followed when it swung open with the barest of hits, sending the wolf tumbling onto the floor. Quickly shaking it off, the creature raised its head in a howl of triumph, unaware that its victory had been a result of Dean’s failure to properly secure the lock as the change took hold of him.
It glanced around at the area it was in. Equipment it didn’t recognize, items filled with strange fluids. It caught the slightest scent of blood and, for a moment, was tempted to tear the place to shreds seeking the source. But its keen nose told it that would be a mistake. Whatever was here smelled old and was not nearly enough to sate it. The wolf hungered for fresh meat.
It needed to be free.
Some faint memory directed it to the stairwell and the freedom beyond. It bounded up the stairs, eager to smell fresh air, but found its passage blocked.
Another cage!
It had already bested one this night. It had no reason to believe this obstacle would present more of a challenge to its dominance. And if there were more beyond it, those too would fall. It would reach the outside, smell the cool air of the night, howl at the moon, and then it would hunt.
Instinct and rage drove it to work at making an opening. It used its claws, fists, and even teeth to dig at the rubble, its only concern being that of escape.
Plaster crumbled, wood splintered and, little by little, it began to make progress.
The pull to feed was too great, the emptiness within screaming to be filled and refusing to be ignored. The hunger was much more painful than the assault being inflicted on its claws. It would escape – it was only a matter of time.
♦ ♦ ♦
Kane stepped through the front door, gun at the ready, and ordered silence from the others with a quick palm held up.
The foyer was predictably empty. He’d already seen as much through the windows. An effective façade ... for an amateur.
He paused, opened his senses, let them reach out like invisible tendrils. Almost immediately he noticed the distinct presence of a werewolf. It was close, closer than he’d sensed from the outside. He gestured to Buck and Hammer to check the adjoining rooms while Sinclair covered his six.
The old man balked at this, and for a moment Kane wondered if having him cover his rear was such a smart idea. He really didn’t put it past the old bastard to put a bullet in his back if he thought it would get him to the whelp faster.
Kane bit down on that fear, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck with his mental teeth, and forced it away. John would sense any weakness from him, but he wasn’t about to show the old man any. He was the future of the Guild and this was his hunt. The geezer was just along for the ride.
He felt a pull on his sleeve and turned to see John gesturing toward the large center staircase. He nodded and they slowly moved up to the second floor.
Silence reigned, the only sounds were their soft footsteps on the stair treads and the exhalations from John behind him. Kane sneered to himself. As hard as the older hunter had seemingly worked, he still had a ways to go, assuming he would ever be at one-hundred percent again – something Kane seriously doubted.
This fucker better not blow my cover. Kane was still pissed at John’s implications from earlier, that he’d been too hesitant about rule breaking to do what needed to be done. Fuck him. I’m three times the hunter he is. He’s the one that got himself bitten then held prisoner for two months, not me.
Still, even he had to admit John was a better choice to watch his ass than the two others. Buck and Hammer weren’t the best hunters in the Guild by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, it was a wonder the two morons were still alive. Unfortunately, no one else had thought it worth their time to stake out a deserted mansion in hopes of finding a whelp, even one with the taste of hunter blood upon its lips.
“You’ve been assigned two additional hunters. That should be more than enough to deal with the Mason issue,” had been the official Guild response, implying that quantity trumped quality in
this instance. Bunch of assholes. They would have almost certainly been more interested in Ro’s bullshit about some goddamned werewolf party. Pity for her he hadn’t bothered to share that with them. If so, there would have been little chance of him being up here with even the meager backup he had.
Well, he’d show them. Even though he’d been wrong about Maddox being a whelp, at least he was no longer a factor, leaving them to hunt for only Mason.
With Ro back in Manhattan dealing with her father’s little “surprise” at the pier, they were free to clean up the mess she’d refused to deal with. So what if she’d bagged two wolves the previous month? The fact that she’d purposely let one go and had even allied with the son of a bitch was enough to get her expelled from the Guild. Hell, she’d be lucky if they didn’t decide to put a bullet in her head for breaking their most sacred creed.
Together, he and John explored the second floor rooms. The place was trashed: debris everywhere, beds turned over, holes in the walls. It was probably meant to look like kids or vagrants had been there. But they’d made one major, possibly fatal, mistake – they’d left the front door locked and none of the first floor windows were broken. The whole thing stunk of being staged.
Still, he and the old man searched thoroughly. No point in being sloppy and leaving stones unturned, even if their effort was ultimately fruitless. They found nothing except a few remnants of the past few months: empty medicine bottles, gauze packaging in the trash. At least some part of John’s story had been true.
The large bedroom at the end of the hall was in a similar state of disrepair to the rest, but his police training told him there was an actual pattern to the supposed chaos. He could almost see it. Also, whoever had done it had been sloppy as all hell. Water droplets still lay in the bottom of the bathroom tub, evidence that it had been used in the last day, contrary to the appearance that the place had been abandoned.
Lycan Moon: An Urban Fairy Tale (Lycan Evolution Book 1) Page 25
