Redemptive Blood

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  Maybe that's possible. Her scientific brain whirs into action. If what she suspects is true, and with her healed throat, she's inclined to believe what she can see and touch. I’m becoming a werewolf.

  If such a thing were possible, the metabolic shift would be enormous. In theory, such a change would reshape her body, necessitating an extreme amount of fuel. Maybe her desire for red meat isn't a craving—but a God-given need for a specific kind of gas for this new body.

  She removes her hands from the tree trunk and takes a few steps. Then noises reach her, and she spots strobes of blood red and cool blue color pulsing icily across the parking lot.

  Cops exit their cars. Jenni counts three, and her heartbeat ticks faster.

  Shit.

  Her nostrils flare, and she smells something else. A lone growl whispers past the lips of a working police dog. She can see the hackles of his mottled tan-and-black coat rise at the ridge of his back.

  The dog knows where she is. Her eyebrows fold together. A canine is also likely to know what she is.

  Jenni turns her head, cocking her ear at the tight group of police. Even in her numb state, she hears what they say without too much trouble.

  “We've got enough blood on the ground for a typical gang encounter, but not a single weapon—powered or otherwise—can be found.”

  Jenni steps nearer to the fringes of the thick trees that tease the asphalt of the parking lot and ducks behind a tree whose roots lift the lip of the hard black edge of the parking lot.

  She narrows her eyes, taking in the scene, swiping away sweat that has begun to run from her temple to chin. Jenni fights holding her breath as she listens.

  The older cop, fingers wrapping his chin, nods. “The staff have been tallied. The only person missing is Jennifer French. Nurse.” The cop removes a small notepad from his front pocket, running a blunt finger down the page he flips to.

  Jenni's fingers clench into fists, instantly stilling when she hears her name.

  The other cop, whose hair is blond enough to show well in the twilight, hikes his chin. “One of the doctor's is hot to find the patient who was under French's care, now MIA. Adrianna?”

  Jenni closes her eyes. Dammit, left my notes there. In my own defense, I didn't know I'd witness three murders and one decapitation, in addition to becoming a supernatural creature.

  Jenni bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. This is not the time. But sometimes, the urge to laugh grips her at the most inopportune times.

  “Think it's weird the doc doesn't care as much about his staff as he does this mystery patient.”

  The older cop shrugs, lifting his fingers to scratch his scalp beneath the bill of his hat. “Doesn't matter. Equal status. Two women missing. Buckets of blood and brain matter all over the place. Some serious killing went on, and forensics will have a helluva time mucking through that mess.” He jerks a thumb at the yawning entrance to the garage behind them.

  “You think the nurse—”

  The older cop drops his hands to his sides, clearly frustrated. “Don't speculate, son. Not going to help her get found.”

  Can't stick around for this. They'll definitely ask questions Jenni doesn't have the answer for. Then her answers will get her locked up.

  Forever.

  Nobody's going to believe the story she gives them. Better to wait until things settle before getting her car.

  She pats down the pocket of her scrubs as a brutal cramp assaults her stomach. Twenty dollars.

  Enough change for burgers.

  Longingly, Jenni peers in the dark hole of the underground garage. Bright-yellow crime scene tape bisects the entrance.

  Damn.

  The dog inside the police cruiser lifts its nose, running it along the edge of the partially ajar window.

  It growls, and Jenni's insides tense, making her gnawing hunger worse.

  The young cop gives the dog a hard look.

  “Butch, what is it fella?” He walks over to the cruiser and sticks his hand through the window to scratch the German shepherd behind the ear.

  The dog whines, pointing its snout in Jenni's direction.

  Jenni sinks deeper into the gloom, her stomach loosing an ear-splitting growl. She can't remember the last time she was this hungry.

  Her sharp mind supplies the instantaneous answer: BC.

  And no, that's not “before Christ.” Her BC stands for something completely different. Before cancer.

  The young cop's hand goes to his holster, his alert gaze moving to where she stands, though Jenni's sure he can't see her.

  She doesn't think too long about why she can see him like it's daylight instead of early evening.

  His weak human eyes can't see me. The same eyes I had early this morning.

  “Butch isn't jumpy,” the young cop states thoughtfully, his gaze continuing to roam the thick trees.

  Old Cop heaves a shoulder, letting it drop abruptly. “Never used the dogs.”

  The young cop doesn't look back at his partner, his blond head poised forward like a duck. “They can sense things we can't.”

  Jenni's palms dampen. I bet.

  The silence feels loud to her. Or maybe it's because all she hears without them speaking is the blood rushing in her ears.

  Jenni creeps backward. Pain stabs her gut, and she stifles a scream, wrapping her belly with her arms as a small whimper escapes.

  The dog barks, a sharp pressing word of greeting that Jenni instinctively understands.

  Thanks, Butch.

  His tail begins to thunk inside the car.

  Jenni backs up faster, trips over a bare tree root, and falls on her ass with a crash that seems to echo in the still woods.

  Shit. The transference of sound is exactly perfect for them to hear her klutz move, and Jenni leaps back up.

  The gun has cleared the young cop's holster now. Alert eyes on the woods, he releases the handle of the car. Butch smoothly leaps out of his prison within the cruiser.

  He comes straight for Jenni.

  She pivots hard, and her only thought before she takes off running is: Food.

  There's a primal sense of time running out. The transition Adi set into motion needs something as a catalyst to solidify the morphing of what Jenni's becoming. After facing her own death for so long, the gift of life, even though it might be a terrifyingly different one, is one she doesn't want to lose.

  Nobody gets a second chance—especially girls with terminal cancer.

  Jenni runs, surprised by how fast and strong her body is. She easily avoids every branch and leaps over half-caved-in decaying logs that were clearcut a hundred years before she was born.

  The scenery flanking Jenni blurs in wet emerald glory, nighttime breathing its dark coldness through the dense copse of trees.

  Butch is far behind, losing her.

  Jenni can hear his heartbeat and scent his need to find her. She also knows where every living thing is within the woods that she's sprinting through.

  Her nose tells her everything.

  When she can no longer hear her pursuers, Jenni slows then eventually stops. Bending over, she plants her palms on her knees, panting, feeling the grit of filth and stiff, caked blood on her scrub pants. The pain from her hunger scores her body like razor blades, and she sucks in a gasp.

  She straightens, walking toward the busy road buzzing with traffic.

  Then the golden arches come into view.

  Jenni feels how weak her smile is, ignoring the tears of relief that spread like a river on her cheeks. Doesn't matter. She struggles to the shoulder of a road she's traveled on a million times by car.

  Agony stabs deeply, and she slaps a hand over her mouth, lurching forward. She staggers across the road and navigates the last twenty paces to the restaurant. She tears open the metal door. The force makes the glass shiver within the aluminum frame.

  Jenni doesn't care about anything but food. Her vision is closing at the periphery, feathering to grayish black at the edges.


  A girl with hair dyed the same shade as Jenni’s takes one look at her and takes a half step back from the register.

  Jenni doesn't have the benefit of a mirror, and there are no shits given at the moment. She sways where she stands.

  She needs a burger.

  Right now.

  “Hi,” the girl begins with a comedic hesitation that would make Jenni laugh under other circumstances. Not today. “Welcome to Mc—”

  “I need eight hamburgers.”

  Cheese. Jenni licks dry lips. “I mean cheeseburgers.”

  The girl blinks, and Jenni's eyes take in the garish violet eyeshadow and liquid black eyeliner circling the girl’s eyes like a cat’s.

  She latches on to that sight, clutching the cheap laminate countertop and trying to stay upright.

  “And a cup of water. Large.”

  The girl's hands shake as she taps in the order to the register. “That'll be...”

  Slapping the twenty on the counter, Jenni stumbles, managing to revolve herself in a stiff semi-turn, and takes the first seat that presents itself.

  “Don't you want your change?” the girl asks.

  “No,” Jenni whispers, flopping in the molded plastic booth and folding her arms, making a cradle for her head.

  It seems like hours before the food comes, but the girl who took Jenni's order sidles up beside her, sliding the tray of steaming burgers next to her head.

  “Looks like you're hungry.”

  Jenni rolls her eyes up to look at the smudged goth makeup. Past the makeup, past everything, the girl’s gaze is compassionate.

  “Thank you,” Jenni manages to rasp.

  Then she digs in.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adi

  Water runs out of Adi's open mouth. Blissfully hot, fresh, cleansing water.

  The cramped shower space barely allows turning, and she thinks how much the tight quarters will blow for her new mate. Slash is tough, but catching that soap on the way down might be a little tough.

  Adi smirks.

  If someone would have told her yesterday—while she was running from Slash and his misunderstood treatment of her, from their mating, from his rough conduct—that she would be taking a shower in a witch's house in bum-fucked Egypt—she would have laughed.

  But, here she is, in a forest supposedly filled with trolls. Now, Adi's not prejudiced. Live and let live is a totally solid plan. But trolls? Adi's not sure about the truth there.

  She’s not sure about a lot of things.

  Adi soaps her body. The light scent of rose soap mingles with the steam from the shower as she thinks about the last forty-eight hours of her chaotic life.

  Slash is standing guard while she does her damnedest to clean human death from her body and make sense of her hair.

  Adi gives up, rinsing the rats nest attached to her scalp and praying for a comb.

  Della may or may not have one. Adi's not sure what toiletries her unicorn backpack still has.

  She presses her palm against the molded fiberglass shower wall, warm water dripping between her breasts. The image of bright-blue shampoo running out of the bottle when she ran from the Lanarre has her breath quickening. Definitely the shampoo's gone. Everything's so muddled. She's lucky she thought to take the pack.

  Adi cranks the faucet to off. The showerhead drips loudly inside the chipped and split porcelain-enameled cast iron basin. The drops echo within the confines of the tiny bathroom.

  Adi shivers.

  Slipping carefully out of the shower stall, she folds the wonky glass door back to the closed position and plucks a worn towel from the commode top where she left it earlier.

  Drying off her feet, she works upward slowly. When she gets to her crotch, she winces and, instead of rubbing, dabs the area, which is still sore from what Slash and she shared only a day ago. Her smile is crooked. Obviously, she's gonna hurt—losing her virginity and shit. Adi gnaws on her bottom lip and finishes drying herself off.

  Adi would give anything to have some private time to exhaust the issues between her and Slash.

  But there hasn't been time.

  Jenni tried to get her out of the hospital, then the fucking Lanarre showed up and were rude bastards. Just thinking about those cocky butt munches makes her eyes go wolfen.

  Tossing the towel over the top of the shower door to dry out the damp material, she turns, plucking panties, yoga pants, a thin T and socks off the top of the commode lid. No bra. All she has is a cami with a shelf bra. Adi pulls the lightweight material over her head then tightens the straps, hiking the girls up so they don't misbehave—the bane of any gal with a bustline. Adi takes a steadying breath and opens the bathroom door. The entire bathroom is so small, a person can hardly get dressed, and the shower's a joke, but Adi's grateful to be clean. That whole human roadkill paste was getting kind of ripe.

  Steam pours out of the space as Adi exits, cautiously peering through the vapor of heat. She's certain she can sense Slash’s presence nearby.

  The opaque white barrier between them evaporates, revealing Slash, hard and tense like always.

  He comes to stand before her, looming large.

  “Better?” he asks, and Adi reads everything in his one question: Are you all right? Are we?

  She gives a quick dip of her chin, and Slash's shoulders ease from the stiff posture they'd been held in.

  Adi's attention shifts to the woman who took them in.

  Della smiles back guilelessly.

  Her shock of white hair has been poorly tamed into a knot at her nape, where several stiff, curly strands escape like lightning strikes. Long skirts rustle softly as she stands beside Slash, who towers alongside her.

  Della whacks him suddenly in the thigh with the decorative cane she’s holding in her right hand.

  Without even flinching, Slash turns slowly to face Della, building thunder contorting his features.

  She puts her hands on wide hips. “Get over there and allay her fears, Red.” Della purses her lips.

  Slash’s lips curl up. “If you could cease and desist from beating me for a minute, I might do that.”

  “Humph.” She leans on her cane and juts her chin in Adi's direction.

  “Are you afraid?” Slash asks in a low voice as his deep and penetrating gaze holds hers prisoner. Not everything is right between them, but his ability to protect her from whatever threatens, isn't in question.

  Adi's heartbeats stack as she lies, though she knows Slash can scent it. “No.”

  Their eyes clash, and she painfully swallows under that probing stare.

  Slash nods, appearing to take her at her word, and passes within inches of her.

  His fingertips brush her hip. “My turn.”

  Adi's eyes shift to his for a split-second, seeing the clear warning there. Della’s hospitality might involve things they don't want, that brief look says.

  She frowns, not sure they're safe.

  Not sure about anything.

  That seems like the theme since she left the Northwestern.

  “Sit, my dear.” Della blinks rapidly and slowly lowers her girth into a tattered couch. Upholstery that sported fat cabbage-style roses long ago looks vaguely like a watercolor painting on cloth, weathered from age and use.

  Adi walks reluctantly toward the sofa and sits at the opposite end. Her backpack—the one with the sparkly unicorns now partially decimated by road scrub—sits on the floor at the foot of the couch. She touches it briefly like a talisman, noting the weight with a hooked index finger, then lets the beat-up bag drop the inch she lifted it.

  “I'm not a robber.” The corners of Della's mouth turn down as the soft pattering sound of water reaches them from the closed bathroom door.

  The awkward quiet comes to life around them. Adi can hear a clock in a faraway corner tick. Gooseflesh rises at the only sound between them.

  Their eyes meet, and Adi notes Della's are like pale pool water, the kind that the human kids splash and play in on hot su
mmer days.

  “I don't have much,” Adi finally admits, trying to explain her territorial behavior. “When the Lanarre found me in the forest, I had all my toiletries spread out by the riverbed, and all I could do was toss the pack on my back and run.”

  Della leans back, scrutinizing Adi so hard, she fights squirming.

  Adi's all about generosity. Taking that shower and having a safe spot to kick back for the night makes her dizzy with gratefulness. But... she feels an assessment here that makes her uneasy. Being an alpha female Were gives Adi her instincts—ones she doesn't ignore easily. She suddenly wonders if Slash feels this way, and glances at the closed bathroom door.

  “Why did you run from the Lanarre?”

  Jarred from her thoughts, Adi shifts restlessly. “I-I'm in heat,” she confesses. Adi owes the witch that. Besides, with her powers, Della might have already guessed the issue.

  “Ah,” Della says, folding her gnarled hands together, her features alight with interest. “So the Lanarre happened upon you and laid chase.”

  Adi nods, clenching her own hands, brow furrowing.

  Here it comes.

  “Why was your mate not there?” Her white brows arch. “Those Were would not have touched you had he been there. Once claimed, you are off limits, as the humans say.” She sniffs derisively.

  The state of being human is frowned on by all supernaturals.

  Adi studies her knotted hands, clenched so tightly they're bleeding to white. “We got in a fight.”

  Della chuckles, and Adi scowls at her.

  “That doesn't seem possible.”

  Well, it was. Slash had acted like a numero uno dick. Just thinking about it makes Adi pissed all over again.

  Adi meets Della's eyes. “There was a pack of mutts from the Western den who ran across us after...” Adi stares at her lap. TMI-much.

  “I understand,” Della says smoothly, releasing Adi from having to explain.

  Adi tucks her chin and takes a deep, fortifying breath. “Anyways, they started trying to get at me, real rogue types—”

  “Though they were from a pack?”

  Adi nods, going on without mentioning the L word. “Yeah. Clowns.” She swipes a wet strand of hair that's come out from the towel wrapped around her head like a turban. “So Slash wasn't gonna stand for that and tried to beat them down. I did, too,” she whispers. Adi's exhale is like a deflated balloon. “But they hurt Slash bad—paralyzed him. And I was hurt, but I could move.”