Next she pulled the machete from its sheath in a desperate bid for her life, her mangled shoulder sending throngs of pain throughout her chest and neck. Blades clashed amidst roaring flame. Amanda locked her attention on the wolf's ebbing blade, her only concern was staying out of its way. She'd always passed Dexter up on those fencing classes, what a mistake that'd been.
"You would destroy yourself rather than escape?" Amanda said as the creature backed off.
"I spent the last three nights dreaming of this moment," she shouted over the fire's rumble. "You are going to die by my hand."
Amanda lashed forward while the wolf was in mid-sentence, aiming for her bladed hand. If she could damage it—
The wolf was fast, parrying and offering a counter-attack.
Amanda turned mid-lunge, and lowered her blade in time to ward off another swing. The cling of silver on silver rattled throughout the Great Hall.
The raven-haired wolf was unrelenting, pushing and slashing again. The blade cut the air just inches from her head with an all-too-close whoosh.
Desperation got the better of Amanda. She had no desire to burn to death and wanted to die at the hands of this psycho bitch even less. She stepped out of yet another blade swing while a tremendous burst of heat crawled her back. The rear hall snapped and, in an instant, gave way to the upper floor. A massive crash brought a whole room into what used to be the Great Hall, raining debris behind them.
"I'd hoped for the opportunity to taste you when I killed you. Sadly, it looks as though I am about to be denied that luxury."
There remained one option that Amanda could see. She dashed through the rubble, anticipating the wolf's dodge. As predicted, she slid to her left and readied her blade. Amanda shifted her weight, lowering her shoulder and colliding with her body. Both women hit the wall and tumbled down, weapons falling from their hands. Amanda didn't have time to look, pressing her thumbs against the wolf's angry, open blue eyes instead.
The wolf wasn't having it. With a tremendous show of force, she pushed free.
Amanda's mangled shoulder smashing against the unpadded floor. She would've screamed if the wind hadn't been knocked from her.
And the bitch was up, scrambling overhead.
Amanda tried to reach for the .44, still unused. It might not kill this bitch, but the stopping power would be enough to drop her for a second. Amanda only needed that long to get through the front door. If she could, and the wolf gave chase, Fontaine's bullet would do the rest.
She never got the chance.
The blade ripped through her stomach as her body froze. The taste in her mouth was bitter cold, and a nasty combination of bitter and sour. Blood gushed past her lips as an agonized cry found just enough air to escape. The cold blade slipped from its gash, allowing Amanda to feel blood slipping out of her front and back. Her body contemplated shutting down.
Sleep.
No. Not with Jack still missing.
Just...have...to...find...him...
Overhead, the wolf's footsteps stalked off. Amanda caught a glimpse of her, dripping blade in hand, sulking from sight.
She tried to push herself up but only succeeded in spitting gobs of blood. Then she fell back onto the floor and prayed the bitch would walk outside and take a .50 caliber round to the face for murdering her.
***
Elisabeth knew the crusader wasn't dead. There wasn't time to finish the job.
Not with Allen missing.
If he were safely outside of Greifsfield, she would've spent hours toying with the little blonde. Drag her into the forest and have a ball. It had been years since she'd last faced that kind of persecution, and savored that violent tête à tête so much she wondered if she hadn't missed it some. Misguided warriors like her made it easy to resent the human race.
Elisabeth doubted she was working on her own, which meant that there were others out there to punish. Life felt familiar again.
All the more reason to find Allen.
She studied the litter of bodies in the entryway with apathy. Normally, a reservoir of the dead would invoke feelings of sorrow. But these were followers of Fane, and their corpses provoked relief. Each one meant less polluted minds to clean up once this was over.
The explosions and subsequent invasion into Fane's home had been a pleasant surprise. She'd been in the middle of fending off the advances of no less than nine different men and women when the place went up in flames. A shame she couldn't have gotten back upstairs to get Fane's condemning video. If he had as many back-up copies as he claimed, it would not have mattered. There'd be time to deal with that shame later.
Allen was downstairs. It wasn't difficult to follow his scent through the mixture of smoke and mold to a concealed doorway. She gave it a stern shove and it swung open, following curling steps descending into darkness.
She gripped the blade with fury, ready for whatever was at the bottom. Hoping to find Fane there.
Come on bastard, she thought. Let's finish this.
She was leaving here with Allen, even if that meant killing everyone who stood in her way. In fact, she'd be happy to do just that.
***
The dank cellar muted Fane's senses as he stalked further into the dungeon. His followers had already fled past and were flooding out onto the Greyrock mountainside by now.
Beside him, Julianna was mute, her thumping heart making more noise than her rumbling stomach. Mestipen stood behind them, his weapon trained on the winding staircase.
Fane was ready to join his pack in the forest when the familiar stink of cowardice and unfinished business assaulted him.
He stepped in front of one of the iron doors and peered through the narrow alignment of bars.
Both men were still alive. He sensed no change in the human.
What possessed the Huntress to fall for someone so weak and spineless? She'd been a shell of her former self for decades, but when had she become so ineffectual? Once feared and revered, why was she content to live a banal existence with this kid?
He pictured her reaction to tonight's setback and was furious at the thought of her validation.
"Kill them both," he told the gypsy.
Mestipen nodded, fumbling with the ring of keys on his jailor's belt.
"I want to watch," Julianna piped up with a wicked smile. "I'll tell Huntress that her bloody boy toy died like the filthy mongrel he is."
"There is no time for us to stand here," he said, taking her by the shoulder and forcing her along. "Whoever did this to us is just getting started. I've got to get you to safety."
"Ohhhh, who am I to dismiss such bloody valor."
In all honesty, Fane didn't care whether she lived or died. But she possessed affection for him, and clung to his ideals. Now was not the time to discard willing followers. After tonight, much of his work would have to begin anew.
They followed the wall of torches.
Behind them, Fane heard gunfire and smiled.
***
Elisabeth bounded down the last few steps in time to see Mestipen tug open the thick iron door.
She realized what was about to happen and charged forward, knocking him to the ground and entombing her teeth inside his Adam's apple. He didn't have time to cry or scream, becoming a mess of twitches and gurgles.
Her eyes narrowed at the recollection of his intrusive and disrespectful appearance at her home: the arrogance of his stride, the certainty that he was untouchable. It made the sweet swell of blood on her tongue all the more satiable. Another death she would've prolonged, if possible. Elisabeth spat the chunk of throat onto the ground and continued feeding.
Allen was first out of the doorway. He dropped to his knees and joined his lover, grunting and growling in between bites.
It was a welcome sight for Elisabeth. She took a deep breath and sighed. All of the terrible scenarios she'd considered could be discarded.
She'd been certain that the fates wouldn't allow her to find happiness, as if she'd unwillingly traded it
for eternal life. Or maybe it was penance for her demonic existence. But here was Allen; he looked her over as if she was a sight for his sore eyes.
They stood, leaving the twitching gypsy to his last seconds. Elisabeth thought she could control her emotions and got as far as his hand brushing against her forearm before she lost it. She grabbed for him, forcing a violent kiss on him, passion spilling from her like blood out of the gypsy.
He responded by licking at the blood around her lips. "What took you?"
"Don't ask."
"I'm ready to get the hell out of here."
"Yes. But there is one thing left to do," she said. "Avenge me."
Her pup pulled his mouth back. There was hesitation on his face, though he would never protest this. Their heads turned in unison, looking to Jack who only now stepped from the cell.
Elisabeth smiled and felt her killing teeth filling her mouth. "Don't you think we can make time for that?"
"I...believe we can," Allen said.
Jack sprinted toward the stairs, racing for the fire.
She was proud of her little pup as Allen, snarling, darted after him.
***
Jack ran, praying that tab of chemical saliva hadn't had the time to reach his bloodstream. He felt no different. At least, he didn't think he did.
Determined to avoid the vengeance of the reunited lovers, he hurried up the winding stairs where he collided with Amanda.
"Christ," he said and reached out to give her the balance she was in dire need of.
It was impossible to know how she was still moving. Her dark combat gear was stained in red. Flesh and pieces of broken bone were visible at the top of her left shoulder, while three severe gashes trailed across her right arm. She gripped a large pistol in her right hand while steadying herself against Jack with her mangled arm. Camouflage make-up was smeared and her chin was coated in dark blood. Her eyes were glazed, looking at Jack with the tiniest hint of recognition.
The gun wobbled upward as she took notice of Allen over Jack's shoulder.
Elisabeth appeared behind Allen. Her contorting features looked even more nightmarish in the dancing torchlight.
"I can’t kill you," Amanda's voice was a slur that couldn't muster any conviction. Heavy eyes dotted from Elisabeth to Allen, and the barrel of her gun followed. "But I can kill him. Before you have a chance to open your mouth I will kill him."
"Let them go," Jack said. It was true that this duo wanted revenge, but he couldn't watch Amanda pull the trigger—self-defense or not. Following Allen's declaration of their non-existent friendship, Jack still didn't want him dead.
"He’s a monster," Amanda said. "Do you want his victim's lives on your head?"
I've already got Lucy's...
There was nothing straightforward or easy about any of this.
"If you kill him," Jack said. "She will kill you. And then me. You said it yourself, we can't stop her."
Elisabeth started to take a position alongside Allen when Amanda cocked the hammer of the .44, locking the dark haired woman in place.
"Please." Jack persisted. "You can't kill every last one of them."
"Maybe not," the gun barrel floated onto Elisabeth. "But she has pretty much killed me..."
"Then we are even." Elisabeth's body tremored amidst transformation.
"Reconsider this," Jack said. His pleas were directed entirely toward Amanda at this point. "Why do we all have to lose something tonight? For what?"
Elisabeth and Amanda continued their dead stare down. The wolf managed motionless nods over Jack's words.
Amanda held the gun on the wolves for what felt like an eternity, lowering it in silence.
Allen took Elisabeth by the arm and pulled her away from the Mexican standoff. He glanced back at his old friend. His eyes were warped, changing shape and colors in the firelight. For a second, he saw the familiar gaze of an old friend, though it was gone in a flash.
"Don't try to follow us, Jack."
Don't worry about it, he thought.
They used to talk about moving to Boston after college, sharing an apartment in the Back Bay until the inevitable long-term relationship crept into one of their lives and separated them—a parting of ways that wouldn't be permanent. They'd wind up living in the same suburb where their kids met for play dates while they smoked cigars and endlessly debated the merits of the Beatles versus the Rolling Stones.
An old dream, part of another life now.
Allen Taylor, as Jack had known him, was gone. Replaced by an animal face that pushed from the contours of his human guise. Jack caught one last flash of those familiar, slanted blue eyes before the hulking creature dropped onto all fours and trotted off, leaving the sound of clattering nails on stone to echo in his absence.
Jack turned his attention to Amanda, who was slumped against him and moaning beneath her breath, her blood now trickling down his arm.
"Let's get you out of here." Jack pried the gun from her hand, fitting it into his own palm. It was heavy and he doubted that he'd be able to fire it with any accuracy. Then again, he'd handled himself amiably the other night, surprised how easily you can overlook the killing of others who were first trying to kill you.
Though he was hardly eager to go through that again.
"We can’t go up," Amanda said. "Everything's burnt."
Apparently, she and Fontaine had accomplished exactly what they'd intended. Had she come back for him? Now wasn't the time to ask.
"We'll go straight ahead, then. I heard Fane shouting for everyone to follow the torches. If we deviate from their path, we might be able to sneak out without running into any wolves."
She mouthed the word 'ok' and pressed her good arm against the runny wound on her stomach. Jack hadn't realized how bad she was. Her hand was thick with syrupy blood. She pushing against the injury harder and winced, tears falling down her cheeks.
So they took baby steps, moving through the sparsely lit dungeon with caution. Jack kept his weapon trained on the shadows ahead, having trouble discerning the flickering gloom from a creature lying in wait.
What if Allen and Elisabeth had changed their minds?
They kept moving because there was no other choice. Jack offered continued assurances; her green eyes rolled back in their sockets and her head lolled. A low-level groan stemmed from her throat.
"We're getting out," he said and forked left, moving down a tunnel without torches. "You didn't come all this way just to give up now. What a waste that would be."
Amanda didn't acknowledge his levity. Possible she hadn't even heard it.
They pressed on, quickening his pace as Amanda’s body went limp and her feet dragged behind them on the stone floor.
***
Fontaine watched the entryway until flames swallowed the mansion. There wasn't a werewolf left in that building—of that he was certain. The continued gust of wind lapping his face was a concern, however.
It had carried the flames further than they should've gone, spreading across the street from the tops of the trees and igniting the ever-stretching sea of hemlocks.
If Church was still in there, she was a goner. If she'd made it out, she was sticking to the whole radio silence thing.
Either way, the job was complete—two of them in three days. This payday was going to be huge.
He lifted the .50 caliber and loosened his harness until he was on the slide back down toward the forest floor. The fire was getting closer, spreading faster than he thought possible. His cheeks felt like they were dangling over hot coals.
Time to boogie.
Fontaine tugged the .50 caliber along as he ran for his truck. It was on the road parallel to Adams St., about six hundred feet through the thicket.
A demented chorus of snarls and growls commenced around him. Townspeople aware that they were under attack and weren't happy about it.
He kept running.
His truck was there, just beyond the last few rows of trees. He pounded the pine-laden forest f
loor as the brambles beside him rustled, giving way to an upright shape.
Fontaine didn't look; instead he dropped the sniper rifle and wrestled the automatic Uzi from his belt holster.
The familiar, dark blue paint job of his vehicle glinted in the moonbeams ahead.
He cleared the trees and swung open the cab door, pushing onto the cushion. His hand pulled the door closed just in time to miss the snapping jaws of a small beast.
Adrenaline pumped as he fumbled for his keys. The truck roared to life as the miniature wolf scratched and clawed at the vehicle from outside.
He threw the truck in drive and hit the gas.
A pack of wolves charged from all directions.
Fontaine screamed out, startled.
The monsters converged on him from every discernable angle, slamming against his truck, lifting it every which way. Fontaine bounced against the steering wheel and then slammed back against the seat, his head smashing against the glass window and cracking it.
Growls and snarls penetrated his cab.
Wolves hopped onto the hood, climbing into the flat bed and breaking cab windows on either side.
John flailed, trying to keep their talons from slicing him.
Where'd that Uzi go?
Across from him, the little wolf forced its way inside through the broken window. It stood on the torn upholstery and flashed a mouth of angry teeth.
He slid his feet up onto the truck bench, kicking the little creature. It dodged his foot, snarling in a high-pitched rumble.
Two adult arms crashed through the windshield, obliterating it on impact. The talons swiped across John's neck with awesome force, severing his head from his neck.
Through strained consciousness—like an electrical device on its final seconds of charge—he was aware of his head cluttering around on the cab floor, wedging itself between the wall and the brake pedal.
Outside, the creatures howled in triumph, avenging the horde of loved ones that had fallen beneath this assassin's bullets.
***
Feral Page 37
