The Endangered (The Endangered Series Book 1)

by S. L. Eaves

  ***

  Nightfall comes and Xan greets me at the door upon my arrival.

  “I come bearing presents.” I hold up the envelope.

  He looks concerned. My smile fades.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Catch.” Xan does not make eye contact.

  “No…” My newfound fervor gives way to nausea.

  “He’s badly injured. He’s in your room.”

  I thrust the package at Xan and disappear up the steps.

  The door is cracked open. Catch is standing, his back to me as I enter. Bloody rags are piled in the sink and countertop. He is dressing a stomach wound with gauze.

  “Catch!”

  He turns, grimacing, the right side of his body covered in bloody bandages. His left hand fumbles with a patch of gauze while the right arm struggles to hold it in place. He is trembling as he looks up. I gasp.

  Deep, crimson gashes run from above his ear down to his chin. Tiny strips of flesh hang from his cheeks.

  “You should see the other guy.” He tries to smile, but his face isn’t having it.

  “Let me get that.” I attempt to finish the tape job he’d started on his lower abdomen. Tape and gauze are clearly not going to cut it.

  “Why aren’t you in the infirmary?”

  “Ben used to run it. Died in battle a few years back. We still call it an infirmary, but no one here is a doctor. The room just serves as storage for medical supplies and extra blood.”

  Catch picks up a tube of liquid stitches from the medical kit.

  “One that’s gonna need some restocking after tonight.”

  “What if we fill a bathtub with blood?”

  “We need to consume it to heal. I don’t think rubbing it on wounds works. But I am game to try anything that involves me lying down.”

  I find some string and stitch his torso back together. Weak from blood loss, he sits while I patch up his face and bring him more blood.

  “What happened?”

  “Ambush. While we were hunting one wolf, his friends were hunting us. No sooner had we made our presence known to our target, two of his blokes got the jump on us. Literally. We were inside an old factory and they came down from the rafters. Hard.”

  Blood trickles from his chin as he speaks. I pour some alcohol from the open bottle on the counter and grab one of the cleaner towels from growing the pile. He cringes as I apply the soaked rag to his ripped lip and then he takes a deep swig from the bottle.

  “These wolves were working with Hanson?”

  “We think, but we didn’t exactly have the opportunity to question them.”

  “You took them out?”

  “Yep, can’t take much credit though; Xan got two outta three. Shot the place to hell. All the weapons and ammo stocked in there, surprised he didn’t blow us away.”

  I examine his shoulder. The wolf had taken a huge chunk of flesh and muscle, leaving the bone exposed. It is going to take more than a few pints of blood to mend.

  “Ever been mauled this badly before?”

  He shrugs. Shakes his head.

  “I’m healing quickly.”

  My stomach tenses. I can’t imagine how he looked when Xan dragged him out of the factory. Catch takes another long pull from the liquor bottle.

  “How was New York?”

  I push my hospital detour to the back of my mind. I had planned to tell him everything, but given the circumstances I decide his approach is best. I am better off playing dumb to the whole tumor bit. I can pretend a little longer.

  “Your locker theory was dead on. There was indeed a package in that locker. Its contents may hold an answer to what these wolves are plotting, but all it left me with was more questions. I gave it to Xan to take a crack at.”

  “Good ol’ Adrian.” He fondles the pendant hanging from my neck. “He left you this?”

  I nod. “I think he steered us to New York because he wants us over there. He could have placed the package anywhere but—”

  “You’re right.”

  I stop and let him explain.

  “We recovered documents from the warehouse. Documents pointing to a shipping port in the Hudson, off of Brooklyn. And there were a bunch of contracts on legal stationary carrying the address of a Manhattan law firm. We think the wolves were using a law firm to facilitate their activities.”

  Chapter 25

  I once again find myself walking the streets of New York City. This time Catch is by my side. His recovery has taken the better part of the week, but he insists he’s asgood as new. Physically. Mentally is another story. The confident gleam has left his eyes. He is nervous and edgy, a reticent version of his former self.

  On one of our routine walks to check the perimeter alarms, a raven cries from a nearby tree and Catch flinches. Ever so slightly, but noticeable. His sleep is restless, he’s fidgety…inklings of insecurity slip from his normally steadfast demeanor. He wears his new vulnerability like a scar from head to toe and I don’t know what it will mean for his future as a fighter. With his exceptional strength, both external and internal, I believe he’ll overcome this recent trauma. Maybe he needs to get back out there, like getting back on a horse after you’ve been thrown. Or maybe he needs time to get his head straight. I don’t know what I can do, so I just keep up business as usual and hope that he’ll gradually fall back in stride.

  We stand at the base of an expansive building on the Upper East Side. Inhale deep enough and you can smell the stench of dirty money.

  “Five names. Five rotten lawyers aiding the wolves’ cause.”

  I produce their photos from my jacket pocket. Spring is warming the city, but I wear a lightweight jacket to ward off the cool night breeze. Catch and I study the photos for the millionth time.

  Jiro had dug deep and pulled everything he could find on these lawyers. We know their birth dates, marital status, social security numbers…everything “the system” has on them. None have criminal records. A couple traffic violations here and there, but on paper these guys are squeaky clean. Upstanding, respectable professionals with rigid work ethics. The latter will work to our advantage. Long nights in the office makes tracking easier for those of the nocturnal variety.

  The past week we’ve done little active duty, mostly preparing for an extended stay in the states. Jiro and Xan compiled an arsenal of weapons and enough technology to setup a temporary base overseas. Even Marcus joined us, leaving Dade and Jiro behind to secure the mansion and keep a handle on anything that may arise on the other side of the pond during our absence. Catch would have happily volunteered for the assignment if it weren’t for me. He’d never admit this, of course, but I could tell he had secretly hoped Marcus would appoint him over Dade.

  Marcus and Xan run the new base while Quinn, Trent, Crina, Catch, and I pursue our targets. Each of us is assigned a lawyer to track. We are to learn their habits, routines, clients, anything that could shed light on their dealings with the pack in Amsterdam, the pack that had been managing Hanson’s shipments. The wolves have hired lawyers to shield their dealings, to handle customs paperwork, to make certain all the T’s are crossed and I’s dotted.

  It is by far the best lead we have because Adrian’s package has thus far produced little in the way of viable leads. His notes can best be described as puzzle pieces refusing to snap into place, refusing to reveal the big picture.

  Catch looks from the photos to the building, cocking his head to the side. He is deciding whether or not to break in. I read it in his eyes as he scans the perimeter.

  “What floor did you say they’re on?”

  “10th.”

  “Hhhmm…”

  I shake my head, anticipating his next move, “Marcus doesn’t want us to risk a break in. Even if we don’t get spotted on cameras, we leave one file misplaced, give them one reason to raise their guard, we might end up with nothing. We can’t risk alerting them.”

  “Yeah…I wouldn’t even know what to look for, frankly. It’s just tempting.�
��

  We start to walk back to our temporary base camp.

  “When is the next full moon?” I ask.

  “Four days. Why?”

  “They’re wolves. The lawyers. I’m fairly certain of it. Tomorrow I plan on confirming just that.”

  ***

  The fading sunlight can still be seen in the form of pink and purple clouds. Dusk has nearly passed and I am consumed in shadow as I make my way down the crowded streets of the city. Henry, my mark, has left work heading for his local bar. I tail him from across the street, staying a half block back. I have been tracking him for a few days. So far, every evening after work he heads down the street with a group of friends from work to a local bar for happy hour. It seems to be their nightly routine.

  I had planned on confronting him last night, but he took a female co-worker home with him. He is a single guy who seems to embrace the bachelor lifestyle. And he is very social. Out all the time, always with groups of people. My best bet is to corner him inside his apartment building, in an elevator or stairwell. I can get as far as his apartment door without an invite. Now tonight, on the first full moon of the month, I watch as he walks alone. I wait at the corner to see if he will enter the bar.

  ***

  Have I seen a ghost? After all these years, it can’t be, can it? I have to know. Jeff’s mind races as he exits a coffee house and spots a ghost standing not 30 feet away. He excuses himself from his friends and heads down the block in pursuit. He spots Lori again, standing at the corner and stops a few yards back.

  “Oh my God. It is her.” Jeff’s head is in a tailspin.

  Lori starts crossing the street; he follows.

  ***

  I enter the parking garage to my left and ascend to the second floor for a better vantage point. The ledge reaches up to my shoulders as I peer down, something I’ve done several times this week. Tonight, however, Henry walks past the bar without even glancing inside.

  Where are you going tonight?

  Henry suddenly stops in his tracks. I push my back flush against a pillar. After a moment, I strain my neck around the edge to catch a glimpse. Henry is crossing the street at a diagonal. He does not look up.

  “Lori?”

  I freeze. Where did I know that voice?

  Oh no.

  I whirl around and cross the garage to where he stands in one swift blur of motion. He steps back with a start.

  “It is you…”

  “Jeff? Wha—are you?” I am caught completely off guard. Finally I stammer out a complete sentence, trying to steady my voice. “You shouldn’t be here."

  “I can’t believe it when you passed me on the street I thought I was seeing things. I had to see if my eyes were fooling me.”

  We stand with matching stunned expressions. I knew coming to the States was a bad idea. I’d dyed my hair darker, but tonight’s it’s carelessly pulled back, leaving my face plainly visible. I’m not even wearing a hat. My first trip back went so smoothly, I’d become careless. What rotten luck. I mean, part of me is glad to see he’s alive. Under different circumstances I’d be thrilled. He gives a nervous smile and memories of our friendship flooded my mind.

  “If I saw me on the street—after what I did—I’d run the other direction or chase after me with a wooden stake.”

  “Yeah, well if curiosity didn’t kill me the first time…” His voice drifts.

  “You look well. Healthy. Time has been good to you.”

  It had. He looks fit, clean shaven, is sporting designer business attire…and a wedding band.

  “It’s been better to you. You haven’t aged a bit. What are you doing here?”

  “I believe I asked that one first…Look, as much as I’d like to clear the air and all, this really isn’t a good time.”

  As if on cue I glimpse a foggy image of a wolf charging at us. It is a glimmer of a vision accompanied by a slight vibration under my feet. Pigeons take flight from the rafters. My focus returns.

  “Shit. Get down.”

  I push him to the ground between two cars, draw my gun and spin around as a crash sounds behind me. The werewolf mounts an old Cadillac, collapsing its roof, and dives at me. I get a shot off as he pounces, but it doesn’t slow him down. We fly backward into a windshield.

  Glass sprays around me.

  My gun is gone.

  I pull my knees into my chest and brace my feet against his torso. Finding a shard of glass still intact in the window’s frame, I break it loose and stab his shoulder. He recoils and I spin from the car’s hood. My gun is behind him. Dammit. He lunges. We hit the ground together, wrestling. He snaps my arm back. I cry out in pain, rolling off him.

  He comes at me again. With my good arm, I produce a silver switchblade from my boot and thrust it upward into his chest as he descends onto me. He lets out a howl. I push the blade in deep between his ribs hoping I connected with the heart. His eyes glaze over as I flip him off me and onto his back.

  Slowly, I get to my feet and bend over to inspect the damage. The wolf rescinds and Henry’s eyes stare absently at something in the distance. He lies naked and unthreatening in human form. I take a moment to calm my senses, to retract the fangs, then I remove my knife from his heart. I’d faced a wolf one-on-one and survived.

  Jeff comes rushing over, mouth gaping in shock. Got to admit, I am pretty surprised he’d hung around. He looks from the body, to me, back to the body. I wipe blood from my knife and return it to my boot.

  “Silver through the heart. Never fails.” I find where my gun had landed and return it to the small of my back.

  “You killed him. He’s human? But he—he just—”

  He is backpedaling. Fast.

  “He was a werewolf. They revert to human form after death. Doesn’t change what they are inside: pure beast. Merciless, vicious, bloodthirsty.”

  Am I describing the wolves or myself?

  “Are you okay?” Jeff slows his retreat, looks at the damage to the cars, then back at me as I shake glass from my clothes.

  He broke my arm. I attempt to make a fist and winced. “I’ll be all right.”

  I place my finger on the comm in my ear.

  “It’s Lori; come in.”

  “Xan here.”

  “Target’s been eliminated. Werewolf theory confirmed. These guys aren’t just working with the wolves; they are wolves.”

  “And he’s dead?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Any intel?”

  “No, ’fraid not. Didn’t quite go down as planned. He sniffed me out.”

  “Public slaying? Any witnesses?”

  Xan is monitoring me on GPS. He can probably hack into the garage’s camera feed and watch the whole thing go down. Hopefully he’ll erase the footage after.

  “No, no witnesses.”

  I sigh, staring at Jeff.

  “I’ll clean up here and return shortly.”

  Xan continues with more questions, I click the comm off and look around for a good place to stash the body. Miraculously no car alarms had been triggered and no other civilians chose this time to retrieve their vehicles. Though a couple are going to be pretty pissed when they do.

  There is a small dumpster in the corner. My lucky day.

  Jeff remains stagnant as I drag the corpse to the dumpster and hurl him in with my one good arm. I turn to face him, something I’m having difficulty doing. Particularly because I need to remain cold and push him as far away from me as I can.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “Nobody.”

  He doesn’t budge. I meet his eyes.

  “Look. You saw what he was. He would have torn you apart as soon as he finished with me.”

  He nods, swallowing. He gets it.

  “He got you pretty bad,” he gestures to my arm. “You should go to the hospital. Or is that not an option?”

  “Like I said, I’ll be fine.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know wh
at you want from me. It is unfathomable to me why you’d even want to talk after everything…”

  There is so much pain in his eyes I hardly recognize him.

  “How could I not? That night haunts me endlessly. I wake up screaming in my sleep. Crying. Sweating.”

  “Shouldn’t you be telling this to a therapist?”

  “I have.”

  I take off my jacket and rip my shirt sleeve off. There’s a strip of torn flesh and blood surrounding a hint of white bone. I fasten the cloth tightly around the point in my arm where the bone protrudes just below the elbow. It’ll take a day or two to heal properly. It looks worse than my impaled hand did, yet it hurts less.

  Putting my jacket back on proves a more difficult task and Jeff holds the sleeve out as I gingerly slide in my injured arm.

  “Will you at least let me buy you a drink?”

  “For what purpose? So we can catch up on lost time? Reminisce?” I start walking away. “Best we let the past stay buried.”

  “No. Because you owe me an explanation.”

  “I owe you another life. One without me in it.” I continue toward the stairwell. “There is nothing more I can offer you.”

  “About a year ago. I was outside a bar, taking a piss in the alley. This guy grabbed me from behind. His face—the glowing eyes, the fangs. Erased all those years of therapy.” He shudders. “He took one look at my neck and stepped back. Told me to get lost. Just like that. Why?”

  I pause at the top of the steps and turn around. He has his collar pulled back, exposing the scar I’d given him. I sigh and fish out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, put one to my lips and light it. He watches expectantly. I offer him the pack and he shakes his head. Must’ve quit.

  “There is a reason he didn’t kill you. There is a reason I didn’t kill you. Your fate is greater. Your god has a plan for you. Or maybe it’s a stroke of luck.”

  I shrug, blow smoke from my nostrils. Inwardly I’m fighting the urge to drop to my knees and beg his forgiveness.