by S. L. Eaves
Catch works on the lock, pops it, and we quietly inch open the door.
Coast clear.
We enter.
Untouched Chinese food sits on the kitchen counter next to a half-drunk bottle of wine. We cross the empty living room. I grab Catch’s arm. He turns.
“Two glasses,” I whisper, pointing at the counter.
“Bollocks. Okay I’ve got the tranq gun. Pull yours too just in case.”
We walk down the hall in the direction of the music. A man and a woman can be heard from what we assume is the bedroom.
With Catch in the lead, we inch the door open enough to slide inside. They are a little distracted, to put it mildly, and we enter unnoticed.
Catch trains his gun on them. The man’s naked backside makes for an easy shot. He fires.
At that, the man appears to leap buck naked from the bed upwards at Catch, who ducks and fires off another shot. Momentum propels his body forward and Catch moves clear and throws him into the wall. I keep my gun aimed in his direction, but he is not turning. Catch has successfully tranqed him and he collapses against the wall unconscious.
Except that he didn’t leap at us, he was thrown. My brain processes this just as something sharp tears through my shirt, penetrates my skin, and flings me sideways toward the balcony.
“Lori!”
The sliding glass door is cracked open, but only a few inches.
The glass shatters upon impact, more from the wolf’s force than my own. Claws and glass tear through my skin.
I land on my side and feel the gun fly from my hand. I manage to force my knee between us and grip her snout with my free hand. This does little, but keeps the mess of claws and teeth out of reach of my body long enough for Catch to dive into her side.
Over the balcony they go.
I jump up and grab Catch’s arm as he goes over the railing.
My side screams, ribs cracking as the force slams my body against the metal rail. Every muscle flexes and my grip on his wrist tightens.
No way in hell am I losing him.
I double over the rail as he swings down below the balcony ledge. I prop my legs against the rail, get some leverage, and lean back, straining to pull Catch upward. As I lift him, he grabs the rail with his free hand and hurdles over. With both our feet now planted firmly on the concrete balcony, I release my grasp.
“Phew, that was a close one.” Catch helps me pick glass from my back.
My wounds are healing quickly, but my body is trembling from the aftershock. It takes a few minutes for the worst of the pain to subside.
“You’d think Dade could’ve mentioned Alex was a she.”
“He’s not one to concern himself with details. Then again, that wolf he questioned might not have specified.” He smirks.
“That was scary.” I peer over the balcony. “What would a fall like that do to us?”
“I imagine a plunge that far would do us in. At the very least, liquefy us into something unrecognizable.”
I cringe.
“There’s no recovering from a fall like that. If it didn’t off me, I’d want some bloke to finish the job. Promise me you’ll stake me instantly should something messy like a 30-story fall occur. End my suffering.”
“Only if you promise to return the favor. And to stop diving recklessly off buildings.”
“It was a compulsive reaction, I admit.”
“And we didn’t get to question her…”
We both look down at the ground below. Street lights illuminate a small but quickly growing crowd.
“We should get out of here. Fast.”
Catch points at a neighboring building.
“We’ll cross over there via the roof and then make a clean getaway.”
Catch and I quickly raid the apartment but can’t find any clues pointing to Alex’s objectives.
“Phone!” Catch announces, picking it up from the nightstand.
I check the body of the man who’d been hurled at Catch. Still human, I wonder if Alex had planned on biting him. His wallet IDs him as Benoît Laurent, a local Paris resident. I know a little French: Benoît means blessed. Ironic.
Satisfied with the phone, Catch is already in the hall.
“Come on, while the coast is still clear.”
“We just leave him here?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Stop searching the place, the cops are on their way, we have to abort!”
I sigh, knowing he is right but not wanting to leave empty-handed.
We split before the Paris prefecture swarm the complex.
***
We have next to nothing to go by.
Part of the reason our leads keep drying up is due to our own methods. We waste too much time and manpower tracking and killing werewolves without gaining knowledge of their objectives. We know enough to figure that there is a plan. They operate in packs with someone at the helm, someone dolling out the orders. There is a method to their madness: turn the strongest, healthiest humans, kill off the weak. Working systematically through densely populated regions of the world.
We have to gain further insight into their operations to see the big picture. Their numbers have increased over decades of war, but they are not immortals and the odds of their plan spanning centuries is slim. They are biding their time for a different reason. One which we have to figure out before it is too late.
Meanwhile, while we were off on our Paris exploits, Crina had gone to meet Adrian in South America. He’s been investigating a plague responsible for numerous fatalities in Argentina. There is news of a bad outbreak spreading through Central and South America. A bird flu of sorts that North Americans fear will soon reach them. Why this is any concern to Adrian is beyond me. Was he looking to turn some? Take them before the plague can?
Crina reports that Adrian is acting erratically. She doesn’t think he is feeding and he’s been rambling incoherently. Marcus brings us up to speed upon our return from Paris, concluding that he feels it best to join Crina and is leaving Catch in command of the base.
I wish Marcus luck and leave Catch to talk strategy with Jiro and Xan. On my way down the hall, a vampire emerges from the stairwell. We nearly collide. He is tall with a slender build, a goofy grin, and sandy locks; his skin almost looks tan. I immediately wonder where he left his surf board.
“Yo, you know where the gym is at? I’m kinda lost. Name’s Trent, by the way.”
“Lori.” Shaking his extended hand, I manage a friendly smile, but am rather thrown by his sudden appearance and his completely unfazed reaction to me.
“Basement.” I point down. “Xan didn’t give you the tour?”
“Naw, I opted to explore on my own. This is so exciting! I just base jumped off the roof. Four stories and not a scratch on me! Can’t wait to try some real heights. Everest style, you know?”
I smile and nod.
“Have you been?” he asks, a serious expression on his childish face.
“No, can’t say I have.”
“Bet it’s got a killer view. I can’t wait to take this new body out for a test drive. See you around.”
Hyper, he throws me a peace sign and bounces down the stairs. I’m reminded of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh and can’t help but laugh. Who had recruited him?
After a restless spell on the couch watching bad television, I throw on a change of clothes and take to the grounds. It isn’t long before Catch finds me.
“Meet Trent?”
“Yeah, sort of bumped into him.”
“He’s an American, West Coast. None of us turned him. We think one of Vega’s did.”
“Vega?”
Catch lowers his voice.
“Vega is a Pureblood. You won’t likely hear his name mentioned in the mansion. He and Marcus do not see eye to eye. Way I hear it, Vega wants an alliance with the werewolves. Sees the fire as a pronouncement of a new breed, no longer savage slaves to moonlight, but powerful forces that have earned the right to walk among us.
“Marc
us and the rest of us see it as the beginnings of a much greater threat to our kind. Vega is naïve to think werewolves would co-exist peacefully with us. The fire was a proclamation of dominance, all right, but it was also a declaration of war. They don’t want to walk among us; they want to spit on us and stomp on our graves.
“Vega has no interest in replenishing our species or taking part in the war. Adrian never outright accused him of conspiracy, but he may have had a hand in the events leading to that dreadful day.
“Someone leaked the location of The Covenant and while no proof exists that I know of, many of us do not believe him to be entirely innocent…”
“That’s a pretty heavy accusation. This come from Vega himself?”
“No, I have never met him, none of us have. You know, aside from Marcus and Adrian. Just rumors.”
“You think he created some backdoor alliance?”
Catch hesitates, then shakes his head.
“I’ve said more than I should have. I get a little carried away with my rants. I don’t believe he conspired to start the war; I’ve just heard others speculate. I just know he’s been silent since the fire happened…Let me put it this way, I wouldn’t dare accuse a Pureblood of any such thing. At least not formally. Vega, like Adrian, is a virtual god to us hybrids. That kind of betrayal is not taken lightly.”
I nod, wide-eyed. “I understand…So once we made our position clear and the war began, he just up and left?”
“Not exactly. He’s nomadic. He was never a resident at The Covenant. Been underground for years. Believes us foolish and petty. He has a close-knit clan of vampires who side with him. Not against us, so to speak, but not with us either.”
“They work to protect their own interests?”
Catch nods.
“And one of his vamps made Trent?”
“Just a hunch. He doesn’t recall. And we can’t trace it to anyone else. Rogues don’t usually turn humans, only feed. So we suspect it’s one of Vega’s followers. Doesn’t much matter now.”
“It’s strange that they would turn him and then abandon him.”
“He could have been made by accident. Vampires have been known to test their abilities. And if Vega didn’t order it, his maker could be afraid to come forward. It happens. Trent said he passed out at a party and lost several days for which he cannot account.”
The wind picks up. A storm is in the works, planning to arrive before dawn. I shiver slightly as the cool air creeps through the mesh lining of my jacket. I kick at some leaves as they blow past.
“Trent was making waves so to speak, drawing attention of the locals with ‘death defying stunts’ and Dade went to retrieve him. He’s young, ambitious…not the brightest crayon in the box, but he’s got potential.”
“And eager to join the fight, I’m guessing.”
Catch nods. “Marcus will tell you it’s the only reason he’s still alive.”
We reach the wall of cement and wrought iron that guards us from outside.
Or maybe it is the other way around.
I’d never wandered this far north and the sight before me draws an unexpected gasp. Skulls line the perimeter, grayish hats atop wrought iron heads, rocking in the wind.
Catch regards my expression. “They came with the place…Let’s head back.”
“I—uh…okay.”
We slow our pace when we reach one of the property’s many gardens. Around us the untamed foliage struggles for the sun’s attention. I keep looking behind me as if the bobbing skulls are in pursuit.
“Who did those skulls belong to?”
Catch shrugs. Offers a kiss as a distraction.
“I want to thank you for tonight. Even though you are one crazy son-of-a-bitch.”
“Anytime, luv.”
“How’s it feel to be in command?”
“I’d prefer to be in the field, not delegating, but I enjoy bossing the lot of you around,” he teases.
With dawn approaching, we retreat indoors.
“I hope I can get some sleep for once.”
I’d consumed enough blood to heal my wounds, but my body is yearning for a hot bath and a soft mattress.
Catch, who’d clearly had something plaguing his mind this whole time, finally manages to find the words he craved.
“I want to show you all that is beautiful in this world. I’m afraid that up to this point all I’ve managed to show you is the grotesque and unspeakable.” His dangerous eyes show a vulnerable side, a side I hardly know but love him for having. To know that he longs for something outside these walls…a longing we share…means everything to me.
“I dream of an island. With sand bleached from the sun, so hot we have to burrow our toes below the scorching white crystals long after the sun has set. We lie in each other’s arms under coconut palms and watch the reflection of the moon on still turquoise waters…”
“And freeze time.”
“We will escape the world and be free of its burdens.”
I kiss him.
“Do you think one day you can forgive me for playing God with your life?”
At that I pull away and give him a quizzical look.
I want to say that I already have. But I can’t.
He persists, “We share a connection. Inexplicably powerful. You have to feel it."
“Deep down I feel drawn to you more than I’d like to admit. I’m well aware of what you did to me. And of Adrian’s part in it. I’m also aware that you stood where I stand now, though you had a choice. Adrian gave you a choice and you wanted this life. Then you chose it for me. Or he did. It doesn’t matter because in the end every fiber of my being longs to be by your side, to find myself in you, then lose myself in you.”
He meets me with hopeful eyes and a relieved expression.
“But I need time. Time to figure out who I am…now…time to get past who I was and the life I rather abruptly left behind.”
“I want to help you find closure. I can make you forget.”
We walk in silence for a while.
“Will you let me?” His tone is imploring but understanding.
“Eventually.” I kick at some stones. “Eventually, I will need you to.”
***
I do sleep. Finally. And when I awake it is long past dusk. I go down to the main library hoping to find Marcus nestled in his velvet armchair, eyes lost to another reality. But he has not returned. And while I know it is too soon to expect him back, it is still odd to find his chair empty.
The library sits dormant, its collection at my disposal. The shelves soon unveil my true motives, whether known to me or not. Clueless as to where to start, I scan the books hoping to find something that points toward the werewolves’ plan. History often repeats itself. Maybe there is something buried in these volumes that could point us in the right direction.
Catch enters the library as if knowing he’d find me here. He is holding up a small slip of paper.
“Ready for your next assignment?”
Eyebrows raised, I point to the paper.
“It’s an address and a name.”
“From who?”
“Xan pulled it off Alex’s phone. This address belongs to a nightclub in Amsterdam. A club run by vampires. It’s a rather notorious vampire brothel of sorts. Not known for entertaining wolves or anything more than a place to drink freely, but she had Hanson’s name in here. He’s the owner. And he doesn’t just go around giving his info to wolves. Something’s up.”
“That so?”
“If Xan’s intel is good. And you know it is.”
“Vampires and wolves working together? Sounds messy.”
“Want to find out?”
“Goddamn right I do.”
I walk over to him and slip the paper from his outstretched fingers. Just then a girl appears in the doorway. She stands about my height, hands on her hips.
“So which one of you is going clubbing with me tonight?” She speaks with a thick Latin accent that doesn’t match her por
celain skin.
“Lori meet Quinn. She’s a new recruit Crina met in Argentina.”
“Hi Quinn.” I throw Catch a puzzled expression. “Didn’t know Crina had returned.”
“She hasn’t. I came at her request. She didn’t exactly have to twist my arm. She told me what your clan was up to and I’m all about killing me some wolves.”
To Quinn, Catch explains, “Lori will be leading this mission. I have to brief her. Jiro is readying some equipment. Why don’t you check in with him?”
She gets the hint.
“Okay, but don’t be too long or I’ll leave without ya.”
“I’m taking a newbie? Doesn’t this seem like a big leap?” I whisper once she is out of earshot.
“Not a newbie, exactly. She’s a rogue. Originally from Costa Rica. Claims to have taken out all sorts of demons, werewolves included. She’s an experienced fighter. Crina got her to agree to come aboard. She’s not big on our rules, but she doesn’t kill humans, only goes after—” Catch throws up air quotes “—‘worthy adversaries.’ She’ll no doubt give us some resistance initially, but she’s agreed to play nice and we need the manpower. I’m hoping you two can learn from each other. You know, if you’re up for it.”
I shrug. At least I’m not babysitting.
“I’m game.”
Chapter 19
Quinn sports a black ska hat with a checkered sash tied around it. She wears an off-shoulder shirt with a matching checkered pattern and a metallic silk vest, cut a little too tight; the same could be said of her skinny jeans. To complete the look, she wears a thin silver hoop in one ear and a peacock feather in the other.
Short, choppy crimson locks of hair stick out from below the hat. Her eyes are mischievous and dance around anxiously as she shares stories of her expeditions. In a Brazilian rainforest she’d tracked down a one-eyed monster that sounds more like an alien than a demon. It all sounds a little Sasquatch-ian to me.
“Right through his eye.” She reenacts his impalement.
She is certainly entertaining. Then, upon learning where I am from, excitedly spews out question after question about New York City. I politely oblige her curiosity.
“Have you been back?”
I shake my head. Time evades me in this world, but by now it’s been about year since I left, maybe longer. “And I hope I never have to.”
