by C. T. Adams
I pulled my laundry bag from behind the seat. Tossing it onto the ground caused another shooting pain to radiate from my shoulder into my neck. My breath caught in an involuntary gasp. All of the wolves immediately raised their noses to the air. I’d assumed they’d heard me, but could they smell pain? I made my way very tentatively between the snarling animals to the fallen girl. They moved smoothly; parted and allowed me to pass and then closed ranks once more. I nudged Mary aside, taking her place applying pressure to the wound. It hurt my shoulder. A lot. But I did it anyway. Mary stared at me for a long moment over the wounded girl. Her gaze tried to extract information but I wasn’t giving any. I just kept my eyes and attention on the wounded girl. Dusty’s blood was still flowing, but more slowly. I hoped the ambulance would get here soon.
Mary disappeared into the room with the bag, reappearing just as the police and the first ambulance arrived.
The black sports bra was loose on her small chest, while the matching shorts were stretched uncomfortably tight over her ample hips. The rest of the wolves had vanished. I wasn’t sure where. I hoped they’d reappear. There were bodies on the ground and Tom was a paramedic. I wasn’t. But most of all, involved parties at a shooting don’t just get to walk away—on two legs or four.
I was a bit concerned that Tom didn’t reappear to check on Dusty—or me, but all of the wolves had become scarce. I couldn’t blame them. The police aren’t supposed to be prejudiced against the wolves, but they are. I was betting the body upstairs had been ripped apart; another thing I wanted to avoid thinking about. The cops might shoot first and ask questions later.
I was cooling my heels in Edna’s front seat when the nice policeman came to get me. He escorted me through the crowd of emergency workers and police to stand before a black man in a navy suit. Detective John Brooks was more imposing than you would expect from someone who stood a mere 5’7”. But his suit looked liked it had been specially fitted to accommodate the kind of torso that can only be obtained through hours of hard work on weights. The dark brown eyes that stared out from that ebony face had seen it all. The power of an awesome intelligence and equally formidable will was in that gaze. I had heard through the grapevine that he, too, was Not Prey. One look at him made me believe it. I could tell from his glance that he recognized me as well. Not a surprise. After all, not many women in Denver stand 6’1” and wear sweaters and jackets in the middle of summer.
“John Brooks.” He extended a broad-fingered hand to me, I shook my head no, holding up my bloodstained palms. He nodded acknowledgment, but his eyes went very dark.
“Kate Reilly.”
“You’re Not Prey.” He observed, running his hand over a smoothly shaved pate. It wasn’t a nervous gesture, just a human one.
“So are you.”
“Why are you dressed for vampires on a warm summer day?”
I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Long story.”
He returned the smile, but it was the kind where the person knows they have the upper hand, and that made me nervous. “I look forward to hearing it, since you can’t lie to me.”
My eyes went wide. I realized in a flash that he was right. Custom dictated that Brooks and I were equals. If I lied to him I was displaying prey behavior. Everything would be null and void. Then I realized that it didn’t really bother me. I’m not much of a liar, and I had nothing to hide. I smiled again and replied truthfully. “I wouldn’t anyway.”
He gave a genuine smile that lit up his face, and I realized with a start that he was actually quite handsome. I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. He was a man whose impression of strength so dominated his nature that the “softer” qualities were noticed later, if ever.
“That’s what they all say.” His brown eyes sparkled when he said it and small laugh lines appeared at the corner of his eyes.
“Ah, but do they mean it?”
“Almost never,” he admitted. “Come with me.” He led me into one of the first floor hotel rooms, letting us in with a key one of the uniforms had acquired from the manager.
The room was an almost mirror image of 150, but done in shades of dark blue with a water theme instead of jungle. The window air conditioning unit was noisily blasting frigid air in a direct line toward the bathroom door. It occurred to me that he’d chosen the room with my outfit in mind. I gave him a nod of appreciation.
He returned my nod and lowered himself into the battered chair, gesturing for me to sit on the bed.
“Mind if I wash my hands?” The blood was dried and it was going to be a bitch to get off. The bloody jeans were hopeless, but I didn’t have any options. I’d given the werewolves my only spare clothes. The police had come while I was tending to Dusty, so he knew the blood was hers, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t test it to make sure. Still, it was worth a try.
He surprised me by saying, “Sure. While you do, you can start telling me that long story of yours.”
“Rumor has it Monica is dying.” I used her proper name. I was fairly sure he’d recognize it. He did.
The water pipes were noisy so he waited for me to finish washing before he continued his questioning. I grabbed a flimsy white towel from the rack and walked back to the main room drying my hands. The small movement hurt my shoulder more than it should, damn it. Not good.
“She hasn’t got an heir?”
I nodded. “She’s got two in mind. Me and the girl with the gunshot wound.”
I perched on the edge of the dresser so that I wouldn’t get blood on the bed. It creaked in complaint. I could feel the veneer peeling up beneath my palms. It made me wonder if I should sit on the bed after all.
“She wants you for a Queen Host?”
“So I’m told.”
“Shit!” He flexed and tensed his hands into fists again and again. It was a nervous gesture that went well with the tic that had appeared in his right cheek. “What’s that got to do with this mess?” He leaned back causing the chair to creak in protest.
“Maybe something—maybe nothing. I do know that the girl’s stepfather has plenty of money and good reason to want her dead.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.
“You’re armed?”
I nodded and showed him the sheaths, “Knives. I have a concealed carry permit.”
“Let’s see it.”
I pulled the black leather wallet I carry from my back pocket and handed it to him. He examined the permit carefully, slid it back in its sleeve and returned the wallet.
“Good.” His jaw set, but he shifted uneasily in his seat. I didn’t blame him. Thinking of the Thrall is enough to make anyone uneasy. The more you know of them, the worse it is. Detective Brooks and I shared more knowledge than was ever going to be comfortable.
“So.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat to withdraw a small black notebook and slim silver pen. “What happened here today?”
I gave him a quick rundown. We then spent considerably longer going over details. Repeatedly. Detective Brooks was thorough, and if he actually did trust me to tell him the truth it didn’t show. I didn’t blame him I didn’t even mind. It felt good to be somewhere cool and relatively safe.
“You think the girl’s stepfather was responsible?”
“That would be my guess. The guy in the window had a rifle with a scope—and she’s the one who got shot. The Thrall aren’t big into guns. If it were up to me I’d give her police protection. No visitors, check all doctor IDs, the works.”
“It’s not up to you and it’s not that easy.”
My brow furrowed.
He looked at me hard and long. Then he nodded once as if he’d made an internal decision. He put down the pen and pad. Then he stood, opened the door and asked the uniform outside to leave for a few minutes. That raised my eyebrows.
“There are things you should probably know if you’re going to go against Monica,” he said as he sat down again. He fidgeted; was clearly nervous. “The nest is a lot bigger than it wa
s with Larry. Monica wants power, and a lot of it. Her Hosts aren’t just psychically talented, they’re well placed, influential. She’s got at least one person in the mayor’s office, city council, business leaders. She even infected someone at the U.S. Mint. The Herd extends into the hospitals, the fire department and even the police. If Monica is determined, I can’t guarantee the girl’s safety, even with guards.”
My eyes widened. Brooks’ warning finally answered something that had been bugging me. Dylan had said they’d caused the wreck but I couldn’t figure out why. Now I knew. Monica’s people at the hospitals could have netted me that morning. If I were drugged or injured, I would be in no condition to put up a fight while she infected me. Wow. Monica showing up at St. E’s meant that she had been covering all of the hospitals.
My eyes widened. I didn’t have any appropriate phrases to cover the magnitude of the plot. “Damn!”
“No shit.” He was talking to me like an equal. I knew it was unusual and I appreciated it, so I returned the favor.
“If you don’t protect Dusty, the wolves will. Depending on how determined the stepdad and Monica are, that could get very messy.”
“Do you know which of the wolves took down the shooter?”
“Haven’t got a clue.” I admitted with a shake of my head. “I was downstairs the whole time—and I don’t know who looks like what in animal form.”
He nodded sagely and jotted down some more notes.
“But you’d say it was self-defense?”
“Absolutely. He shot at the girl first. Then he killed one of the wolves. He wasn’t going to be giving himself up.”
“Even if they gave him the chance. Which they didn’t.”
“I wouldn’t know. I was downstairs the whole time.”
His gaze on me was the cold hard stare of a lifer cop. “Then why do you keep saying he when you refer to the shooter?”
I blinked. I’d just assumed the shooter was male. How incredibly sexist.
My expression must have been priceless because Brooks laughed out loud. “Lucky guess?” His voice sparkled with amusement. All I could do was nod.
Brooks rose from the chair and stretched. I started to get up with him, but he gestured for me to stay put. “I’m going to go talk to some of the other witnesses now, but there’s something that the Acca wanted me to tell you. One of her wolves is missing—that firefighter, Tom Bishop.” I felt my heart still. Where could he be? Was he the one who took down the shooter? Was he going after the stepdad?
Brooks never noticed my shock and fear. “You stay here. I may have some more questions. There’ll be a uniform outside if you need anything—and to make sure you stay put. I’ve heard a lot about you. ‘Kay?”
“Uhm, yeah—right.”
20
It was a long wait. Hours passed, and I do mean lots of hours. The police took away my cell phone and the one in the room wasn’t hooked up, so I couldn’t call Joe or Mike. What must they be thinking after not hearing from me all day? News vans surrounded the place, so they would probably know that something was up, but be worried out of their minds.
The light seeping through the cracks in the poorly hung drapes dimmed as the sun finished cresting at noon. I didn’t bother turning on the room lamp. I wished I’d tucked a deck of cards in my pocket the way I usually do. At least then I could play solitaire. I know about a dozen different varieties. The cards help me pass the time waiting in airports. I hadn’t planned to be doing much waiting today, so they were still sitting on top of my dresser.
At first I paced, but there wasn’t much room to do that. I could hear the sound of heavy footfalls up and down the stairs and across the balcony as a multitude of cops, crime photographers, newsmen and the like trooped around the crime scene. Sirens kept sounding as more and more people arrived. The lights flickered on the drapes like a bad neon sign.
It gave me plenty of time to assess things in my life. Where could Tom have gone that he wouldn’t have notified Mary? I thought about the kiss and what he said—“They can’t change how I feel about you.” But how did I feel about him?
I hadn’t gone to the room to see the mangled corpse. I presumed that was all that remained of the shooter. And while I’m not into the whole vegan scene, I had never really asked just what Tom served himself for dinner when he wasn’t eating apples or cheese omelets. Maybe I didn’t want to know. For all I knew he might have been the one to take down the assassin.
If I managed to survive the wrath of Monica and Matt Quinn and even Mary, I’d probably have to screw up my courage and ask Tom about his life as a wolf. I wasn’t kidding when I told him I don’t do casual. But to be in a serious relationship, you can’t afford to take things for granted. That much I learned from Dylan.
And what about Dylan? I’d loved him with all my heart but he’d betrayed me long before he became a Host. I’d thought I was over him. But my heart hadn’t listened my head when he kissed me. I’d responded to him and missed his touch and loving words. “I won’t let you get away a second time.” A part of me was thrilled at the ferocity in his voice, but most of me was terrified. I wasn’t sure I would survive being with him.
From zero suitors for years to two in a day—both of which could get me killed. Just my luck.
Finally, a uniformed officer knocked and eased the door open. “Brooks says you can go now. Your story checks out.”
I rose from the bed and retrieved my jacket from where I’d set it on the chair. My jeans were stiff and uncomfortable with dried blood. It made me wonder about Dusty. I opened my mouth to ask but the officer beat me to it.
“I’m supposed to tell you that the girl’s under police protection. The stepfather is raising holy hell about it. If it doesn’t check out, Brooks is going to be damned pissed.” He added an aside, “You don’t want to piss him off.”
“You’re right about that.” I agreed as I passed through the door he held open for me.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust after the dim lighting of the room. The sun was well on toward setting, but glaring television lights had taken its place as handsome newscasters in TV makeup “reported from the scene.” People were milling everywhere. There was a crowd being held back by uniformed officers.
My truck was blocked in by a Channel 4 News van. I stopped, wondering how I could get it moved without alerting anyone to the fact that I was a witness to the “terrifying events of this morning.” It was then that I felt the first brush of her mind against mine.
I froze in place, shivering despite the 85 degree heat. My eyes strained to scan the crowd beyond the glare of the lights. Monica was here. I could feel it. But more than that, I felt all of them now. I shuddered under the awareness and attention of the dozens of Thrall Hosts interspersed in the crowd. How many more were Herd? A flash of blonde hair appeared, calm and poised. Carol’s true nature was revealed, although I wasn’t very surprised. She had outrun Tom. A second face appeared from the crowd. It made my heart fall. Celeste’s vacant eyes stared at me without any hint of recognition. Further in the background, Officer Phillips, out of uniform, wearing a crisp red polo shirt and jeans, his eyes staring blankly at me.
I struggled to swallow, my throat suddenly dry. I could hear the thunder of my heart in my own ears and felt Monica’s fierce joy at my terror. I had thought I was ready. There was no ready. But her joy brought forth a rush of my own anger in response. I would not go quietly. I’d die before I let her make me a Host.
Do you really think we’ll give you that choice?
Her voice was amused and musical in my mind. The minute she “spoke” my eyes found her in the crowd. She stepped forward so that our gazes locked unobstructed.
Fuck you. I screamed into her mind and then tried to shut down the link. But again, I couldn’t seem to manage it. At least it was daylight, so her powers weren’t complete. This close in full dark, she’d have me for lunch. That she was here at all said how little time she had remaining.
The illusion she�
�d projected vanished as we mentally struggled. For the first time I got to see her as she really was. She looked like hell. The years of being Host and Queen had ravaged her body. Her hair fell in lank hunks around a sunken sallow face. The skin stretched like withered parchment across a death’s head. A red satin dress hung loosely on her skeletal frame. I wondered how the others saw her.
Her mind, however, hadn’t diminished a bit—nor had her malice. I felt it beating against my consciousness in hot waves of pure hatred. She was the Queen and her power was joined and strengthened by that of her offspring. The psychic force pounding at my brain was double that of when I fought Larry. Maybe even more. She tried to overwhelm me with the sheer power of her will, and I felt sweat break out on my fore-head as I fought against her. I had no music, I had nothing to occupy my mind, so I began to hum heavy metal and imagine I could hear the thrumming beat in my ears.
I felt rather than saw movement to either side of me. Mary in my gym clothes to my left, and Detective Brooks, a solid rock to my right. It helped. I had no idea how, but just having them near me pushed back some of that awesome power, giving me the breathing space I needed.
You have allies. How . . . cute.
“I am not prey!” I said it with both mind and voice.
Nor are they. But the rest . . .
She must be broadcasting our conversation to the others. I felt Brooks flinch at the realization of what she was implying. There were literally dozens of innocent humans milling around. It would be a blood bath.
The Channel 4 reporter had good instincts. She tapped the cameraman on the shoulder and turned in the direction of our confrontation. Monica hissed at the glare of the lights.
Ignore us. This is none of your concern.
The reporter’s pretty face went blank. With slow reluctance she turned away, her attention drawn again in the direction of the motel.
Now, where were we?
You’re bluffing! I smiled tightly. Kill this many people and the humans will wipe out nests all over the world.
