Julianna paid the realtor no attention as she swayed past—a gesture that delighted Fane to no end. He turned toward his new building, grinning.
"I think this will do...congratulations, Rory, on a job well done."
Eastman shrugged. "After all you've done for me, there's no need to thank me. This is a partnership, I, for one, am honored to be a part of."
Fane tried not to wince at the thought of partnership. Let the fool believe what he wanted, but it was far from the truth. Knowing that Eastman considered this a symbiotic partnership sparked his ire.
"What a charming little roost," Julianna said. "Can I claim the corner with the mound of rat droppings?"
"I didn't buy this with one shred of your approval in mind. It has nothing, nothing, to do with you. I don't even recall asking you to come along with me today. You were persistent, though. So kindly stay quiet and let me think."
"Terrific sense of humor."
He ignored the pithy comeback and walked the building's perimeter. The back had two docks and the stone fence extended around all three sides. Only way in was by braving the polluted Hudson chop, and sentries would be posted here at all times.
The smell of blood overpowered his thought. It drifted through the air as casual as pollen on a summer afternoon, arousing Fane's senses. From Rory and Julianna's expressions, they were hyperaware of it as well.
"You're in the fish and meat district," Rory said. "Flanked on three sides by different packing plants. I figured it'd be the best way to blend right in."
Fane nodded. "Let's see inside."
Rory unlocked the bay doors, and they retracted, sliding to a stop on the suspended track bolted to the ceiling.
They walked into the vacant warehouse. Footsteps boomed up to the tall ceiling as they toured.
"Rory, do whatever you need to in order to show that the Big East is supplied its beef from our little operation here. I'll touch base with my people to make sure we get a constant supply. Sufficient cover, I'd think." He pointed to the open second floor, walled on three sides by glass. The front remained wide open for the stacking and storage of pallets. "The lab goes upstairs. People will be here tonight to get the equipment set up, and our chemist is flying in from Singapore tomorrow."
"Don't you want to see the rest of it?"
"There's no need," Fane said.
He felt like a different person on the drive back. Victorious. He'd been planning this for ages, and cultivating the idea even longer. Hard to believe that all of the restless, frustrated nights were almost behind him. And yet, it was still so surreal. Here was a big risk, but an absolutely necessary one.
The drive back to Greifsfield, usually so tedious, was tolerable. He even enjoyed Julianna's banal attempts at small talk. Everything was bearable now, because there was an end in sight.
And it couldn't get here fast enough.
***
Allen watched from the hilltop as Elisabeth collided with the fast approaching car, sending it up off its right wheels and back down with a crash. Exploding windows filled his eardrums with thunderous definition, rendering each crack with crystal clarity. From the very back of his wolf's mind, the human appreciated this brazen tactic—one he never would've attempted on his own.
The vehicle skidded into a U-turn before Elisabeth, its tires scorching the tarmac before careening into a tree. She watched it on her haunches, with her arms outstretched, her clawed fingers wiggling with anticipation. Once the vehicle reached its destination, she trotted alongside it with eager breaths.
Allen smelled the driver's mortality spilling from several orifices. The car's front end looked like an accordion from on high. He dropped to all fours and headed for the wreck in the interest of a better view, circumventing jutting brambles and a thick tree stump on his way down to the cold blacktop.
Elisabeth jerked the young woman out of her car's busted window, hurling her toward Allen before pouncing.
The way she toyed with her victims before the kill aroused his excitement. Cruelty. An emotion he hadn't ever felt, and would never assume he possessed. Luring Jewel to her death might've troubled him, but it beat the alternative of losing his raven goddess.
Elisabeth was right when she said he needed to abandon remorse. That sentiment didn't jibe with the satisfaction he got from watching her maim this driver. From where he stood, she had recovered rather nicely from her assassination attempt. That's what mattered.
Elisabeth howled at the moon.
Allen howled back.
Their blue eyes met in the yellow darkness of fading headlights, her fur stained with blood from the twitching carcass at her feet.
Allen slowed and Elisabeth offered a contented growl as he neared.
Go on, eat this, it seemed to say.
He dropped to all fours. She teased him with a few gentle nips on his ears. He tried getting her back, but she was too quick for him. His mouth chomped on air and he growled in frustration.
Elisabeth darted off, melting into the night. Allen leapt onto the hood and followed, calling out after his lover with grunts and growls. Ahead, Elisabeth stopped long enough for him to catch up. Almost. She dashed off once more as he neared, careful to fire her playful eyes back at him every so often, ensuring he kept pace.
He did.
They were going back out west. To a destination and intention he was well aware of. And ready for.
***
Rory Eastman returned from the city, relieved to find an empty house. Nick hadn't been home in a few days and that was good. Kid was better off without his cunt mother, though it'd take him some time to figure out she wasn't worth losing sleep over.
He tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and snatched a bag of potato chips from the pantry. The goddamn things were so blasé on his tongue, but forty plus years of habit was hard to break. Dropping onto the couch with an ice-cold brew and a sack of over-salted snacks used to be one of life's simplest pleasures. After Julianna's bite, he could eat as much as he wanted without the unfortunate consequences of excessive fat consumption, but the fulfillment wasn't there.
The leather sofa was cushy and took the day's burden off his legs. Fane had been happy, which in turn made him happy. He could relax now.
Rory popped the bag open and let the chips tease his nose. Even the smell underwhelmed. They were still flavorful, and once in a while they kept the real hunger at bay if he didn't feel like going out and feeding. But much of the appeal had diminished. Tonight was going to have to be a feeding night. Fane wanted him to start practicing selective feeding on the town's inhabitants, since he needed the vast majority of them to join his army. That was fine, but Rory figured it would be okay to take a resort guest without stirring the pot.
And I still need to find Lucy...
He hadn't wanted to abandon pursuit of her, though it was best to let her work through the trauma. The little slut would come around once the hunger was too great to ignore. He hardened at the image of her crawling back—a filthy druggy looking for a fix. And he'd give it to her. In every possible way.
Lucy had proven herself more scrupulous than he. He'd also overestimated the power of the first bite. He expected it to send her into a feeding frenzy, instead she'd balked and took off running. Just because he'd abandoned all his principles without hesitation didn't mean everyone adjusted to the wolf that way. His daughter apparently wasn't as immoral as her old man. Good on her for that. Guess her cheating whore of a mother had done a halfway decent job of raising her.
He crunched a pile of chips out of the palm of his hand as footsteps descended the carpeted steps behind him.
He turned hoping that Lucy already had that change in attitude.
Her.
He didn't know her name, only that she'd been at Fane's gathering a few nights back. He'd wanted to get up in her guts, but a beauty like her was out of his league—something Fane had been quick to remind him of.
She cleared the last step and brushed wet hair from her shoulders. The whi
te bathrobe was cinched at her waistline, but hung open with just a little suggestion. If she wore anything underneath it, he couldn't tell. Her long, pale leg was naked as far as he saw; it slipped from the robe's slit as she strode into the room. He made no attempt to hide his ogle.
Fane must've changed his mind. The son of a bitch felt guilty about how he'd treated a reliable business partner. This gorgeous slice of trim must've been the peace offering.
"Hello, Rory," she said, taking a seat on the couch across from him. Her legs crossed, leaving her white milky thigh completely exposed.
"I'm not sure I have ever had the pleasure of your name..."
"I never gave it. I am here to ask Anton Fane's money man a question."
"Ask me anything, beautiful. Want a drink?"
"I want to know what Anton Fane is doing in Greifsfield."
If Rory had learned anything throughout his career, it was that you didn't show confusion, no matter how severe the situation. She'd had a weighted conversation with Fane a few nights ago, so maybe she wasn't in the know? Or was this a test of loyalty?
He wouldn't put it past Fane to try that.
"I will not ask you again."
He had a good thing going with Fane and wasn't about to flush it away because some twat had questions.
"Our mutual friend operates on a need to know basis, and if you don't, it's because you're not important enough."
"Spare me. I'm asking you. You told me it was the two of you who ran the town, yes?"
"Damn right."
"Then why should it matter who I get my answer from? Oh, and, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I will kill you. Fane is not your friend, regardless of what he says. Sure, you have no reason to believe me, but also know that I have no interest in whether or not you live or die. I simply want to know what our mutual friend is doing here."
This hot little ass and her bad bluff. She didn't have the cojones to touch Anton Fane's launderer. He'd kill her and everyone she'd ever known for that arrogance.
"Relax," he said. "Let me pour you a drink and we can have a rational discussion. No need for threats, I'm a businessman..."
"And I am not." She clapped her hands and a light brown wolf tore through the plastic sheeting that hung over the busted bay window behind him. "Answer me, Rory, or he tears out your heart before you have time to spout a tail."
"Okay." Rory dropped the chips onto his lap and threw his hands into the air. "I assumed you were on the ins with Fane. That this was a test...or something. Jesus, you don't have to threaten my life to get me to play ball. He's using this town to haven our kind. He's turned just about everybody over the past six months. The ones that haven't been changed yet are going to be taken tomorrow. Open season on humanity tomorrow night."
The wolf was closer now, breathing pockets of hot, foul air against his neck.
"What else?" she said, her voice leveled with certainty. "Why go through all the trouble to 'recruit' so many? This is more than just a turning. I want to know why Fane is building an army."
"He'll kill you for this."
"Not for you to worry about."
"Trust me, whore, it is."
She launched from her seat, flying forward with frustration bursting from her eyes.
"Listen to me," she snarled. Her spit stained his mouth and he found his tongue licking the drops while listening to her threats. "I do not fear Anton Fane any more than you fear repercussions for eating your wife. You might wish to remove her corpse from your upstairs hallway before she begins to attract unwanted attention, army or not. Why do you think you were unable to detect our presence? It is easy to hide behind a wall of stagnation. Now, talk, or shall I gouge your eyes out of your skull? Believe me, they will not grow back."
"Everything grows back, bitch."
She lashed out at his left eye, pinching three pointed nails beneath the orb. She pushed down and the nails scraped against his skull, suddenly underneath. A squeeze ended his eyesight with a full texture plop.
Rory screamed.
"You still have another." Her voice rose to get on top of his. "Tell me what I want to know and you can stop worrying about losing that one as well."
Rory cupped a hand against the ocular cavity. It oozed with blood and pus that combined to form orange goop. His teeth gritted while he contemplated the ways in which he would kill her.
When she least expected it, she'd feel the intrusion of a glass bottle between her legs. And once her pussy was torn and bleeding, he'd use her blood as a lubricant to fuck her to death. Losing an eye would be worthwhile if it meant making her suffer.
"I'll tell you." His voice was soft with defeat. "Just leave my eye alone."
"Better hurry then, you have a funny look on your face when you're in pain. I kind of want to see it again."
"I don't know everything, okay? What I do know is that he's plotting to convert this town into a stronghold. It won't be open to all wolves...just those who swear their allegiance to him. A new order that brushes aside your queen's stuffy rule."
"What makes him think he can pull this off?"
"He thinks lycanthropy should be branded. He wants to market our lifestyle to anyone who wants to live it...at a cost."
"Charging for bites?"
"Sort of," he said. "I'm not sure how exactly he intends to do it, but it's not a direct bite...some kind of drink or pill, I think. He doesn't tell me much."
Elisabeth felt like she had one day left to live. Her eyes flailed as the wolf's anger raced through her, growing her features and codifying her rage. Her strength wasn't where she needed it to be, and she staggered back to the couch, head in her hands.
He laughed.
"You wanted to know. Now you know."
She looked up as her features bubbled and pulsed. "Thank you," she said in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. She strode from the room.
Rory didn't dare turn around with the wolf at his back, but he heard ascending footsteps retreating to where they had come.
"Kill him," she called from above.
He dashed for the front door before she'd finished giving the order. The wolf grip locked him into place, and that junkyard breath pressed closer.
His chest exploded, every sensation falling silent as rib cage fragments scattered across the living room. The animal's paw extended through his busted chest cavity, palm-up, clutching a still-beating heart.
Rory lived long enough to see it stop beating.
***
Amanda sat on the hood of her truck beneath the NATHAN'S FRUIT STAND sign—a roadside attraction just over the Massachusetts border that boasted pesticide-free peaches and pears. It wasn't more than an extensive lean-to, overlooking farmland sprawls in each direction.
John Fontaine was late. Couldn't blame him for having trouble finding the place, though.
"Bought you a kiwi." Jack walked back with a plastic bag of fruit swaying in his hand. "You can't skip supper. Sometimes I don't eat before class and all I can think about for the next seventy minutes is my empty stomach. You've actually got something important to do, so eat up."
"I hate kiwi."
"Okay, contrarian. More for me anyway. Have this orange." He tossed the fruit into her hands.
Jack Markle displayed more misplaced determination than anyone she'd ever met. Not even a hotel room shootout deterred him from trying to 'save' a friend. Their endgames couldn't be any different—this wasn't about saving anyone—but she'd grown accustomed to having him around. It was nice having someone, even an asshole, to face the thankless uncertainty of death.
I'll remember that if I get out of this alive.
John rolled into the parking lot kicking up a gravel haze. Amanda put her collar over her mouth and walked through the dust.
"John."
"Church. Really nice to see you." He didn't bother masking the disdain in his voice. Same old asshole.
"Likewise. Dex told me this was the place for pickup?"
John blew his Bubble Yum
, it popped against his chin and he spent the next minute pulling clingy strands off his jaw line.
"He's got the strangest connections, don't you think?" John spat his gum and threw another piece into his mouth. "I mean, do he and fruit vendor Nathan go way back or something?"
The packages were waiting for them when she arrived. It wasn't clear if the owner, a stocky bald man in his 50s, was the titular Nathan, but he wasn't very concerned with the process. Told her to pull the truck around the back of the lean-to and he'd take care of it.
If Dexter said this was the place to go, it was good enough for her, although Amanda had checked to make sure there were more than cantaloupes in the packing crates.
"I've got everything," she said and looked at the truck bed. An oily tarp was pulled tight over a mystery mound. "No idea how Dex is able to get this stuff together on such short notice, but there's even a brand new .50 cal back there for you."
"If I were to guess," John said with blazing eyes. "You and I are about to overthrow a small country."
"We'll need everything back there, plus and a bagful of good luck to boot. It's bad."
"Yeah? How many, exactly? Dex didn't feel like elaborating when I talked to him."
"A whole town."
"What?"
"For now, all we have to do is sever the head from the snake. Pretty fucking big anaconda, though. There's a big house on the outskirts...I want to have a look inside."
John's expression became a doubtful smirk that undermined everything she'd said. Amanda suppressed the urge to belt him in the mouth. Fontaine was good at what he did, partly because he took the boring, repetitive jobs that no one else wanted. When the assignment called for someone to sit sedentary for the better part of a week, Johnny Fontaine went out into the field. Hitting the open road with uncertainty was more her domain and she wouldn't change it for anything—sure beat punching a clock.
Plus, she couldn't knock him too hard. He'd shown up.
Her thumb cut into the thick skin of the orange, pulling it back to expose the flesh beneath. She popped a bite into her mouth as they spoke.
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