Whispers

by Shayne Silvers

  The silly shit thought I was referring to myself. How cute.

  The unseen, shorter of the two wolves hammered into his back. Jasmine. I had spotted her limping up behind him, obviously injured, but taking advantage of the element of surprise. Her claws ripped into his back as she bit down on his neck. He flung her away with inhuman strength, quickly enough to avoid having his neck ripped out. She flew, crashing to the floor and slamming into the splintered wreckage of the pews. She whined, struggling to climb to her paws.

  The sound of tearing fabric and a guttural howl made me spin back to the pulpit.

  Popewolf was ready to join the party.

  Chapter 54

  Damn it. Like I didn’t have enough shit to deal with.

  “I am never coming back to Italy!” I shouted loud enough for the Shepherds in Vatican City to hear me. I spun as I heard racing footsteps behind me, long enough to see Olin flee the room, clutching at his neck with one hand. “Coward!” I screamed.

  Jasmine had climbed upright at the introduction of a new werewolf, but he was still completing his shift, roaring in pain as he grew – much larger than either of my two wolves. I pointed at the knife sticking out of Tiffany’s ribs. Jasmine limped over to her and yanked the blade free with a yelp of pain as the silver touched her tongue. Tiffany shuddered in relief and they brushed muzzles with each other before she also climbed to her feet. They turned to look at the Antipope-wolf, and then me. They would only die here.

  I pointed at the fleeing Templar. “Kill,” I growled. “I’ve got this one.”

  They did, and I turned to fight the Antipope-wolf by myself. He stood on two tree-trunk thick hairy legs. No traditional wolf shape for him. Noooo, he had to jump straight to his beast form, a bipedal werewolf that looked more man than wolf. It was also the more dangerous form. Maybe his struggle in fighting his shift had forced the wolf to fight harder for dominance, resulting in mega-wolf.

  He was easily seven-feet-tall and covered in reddish brown fur. He roared at me – the only other living thing in the room – with teeth as long as my fingers, spittle flying from his lips. Looked like he was waiting for me to confess my sins.

  “Take me to church, Fido,” I cackled, opening myself to the Whispers. The silver blades extended from my knuckles. Twin blades in each fist. I stared down at them, making them longer, like small swords. They didn’t weigh any more than the daggers, and I could use the extra distance.

  I could have blasted him with fire, killing him quickly with my magic. But I needed him alive. To confess his crimes to the Conclave. Well, need was a strong word. Let’s go with…

  I didn’t want to use magic.

  I wanted to torture him into submission. Maim him. Break him.

  This was personal. This right-bastard had threatened to destroy the Vatican for personal gain. I didn’t much care for the Conclave, but there were plenty of good people at the Vatican. And this motherfucker thought to blackmail them with Armageddon? Threatening to terrify the entire world so he could become Pope?

  Nope.

  I felt like getting my hands dirty. Even if I was injured – my wounds had broken open at some point – and tired. So damned tired. The bandages on my arms were thick with blood and my side was wet. I buried the pain and squared off with the hulking monster.

  I screamed as I raced at him. “Sinner!” I hissed, eager to play with the Whispers.

  He roared back, swinging a massive claw at my face. He was clumsy, but incredibly strong. I slid to my knees, wincing at the pain it caused my stab wound, but gritted my teeth, ignoring it. His claw obliterated the podium and I raked his forearm with my silver claws. Flesh and hair burned upon contact, and I was showered with his blood as he snarled in surprised pain.

  Since I was still sliding, I lashed out with my other claw and chopped off several of his toes before climbing back to my feet with a groan. He howled, hammering his fist down at me. I wasn’t fast enough, and his full strength clipped my tailbone, bouncing me off the ground. I rolled as his other fist slammed into the floor in an attempt to squash me flat.

  I scrambled to my feet, but my legs gave out and I slipped in the puddle of his blood I had made. I tried again, and barely succeeded. His toeless back paw struck me in the chest, sending me flying ten feet. But luckily, my claws had been in the way, stabbing the full length of the four silver blades into his foot at the same time. He howled in agony, crashing to the floor as he tried to yank his foot away, even though I was already well clear of him.

  He scrambled back to his feet, hopping on one foot and eyes dancing with both pain and rage. I did the same, panting heavily, confident he had managed to crack some of my ribs. We stared at each other from across the room, assessing weaknesses and formulating our plans of attack. Like two lions fighting over a fresh kill.

  A dead body landed with a boneless splat between us and Roland sauntered in behind it, shirtless and covered in blood. His necklace stuck to his chest. He held his head back with his mouth open, his arms flung out to the side. He laughed, and the moonlight glinted off his fangs.

  He looked happier than I had ever seen him.

  We both stared at him, completely forgetting our fight. I glanced down at the mutilated body and recognized Crispin’s dead eyes staring in my direction. His neck sported a savage hole as if Roland had simply torn out his throat. My stomach quivered at the thought. Not that I cared about Crispin’s inhumane execution, but that my friend had literally ripped out his throat.

  Roland finally lowered his head and shuddered, glancing down at his victim. The smile slowly drained from his face, as if only just realizing what he had done. How he had done it. There was no pity for Crispin in those crimson eyes, but shame had moved in.

  Looked like he was a vampire, now.

  The wolf made a chuffing sound, as if sniffing the vampire. Roland glanced up, saw the wolf, and black claws erupted from his fingers. He crouched and flew through the air in an impossible jump, slicing across the wolf’s face and planting his feet on the shoulders, riding him down to the ground. Then he began to punch and stab with his claws, ignoring the pain as the wolf clawed at his back. Roland’s wounds closed almost as fast as the wolf could inflict them.

  I didn’t realize I was running until I was right beside them. I reached out to the Whispers and clamped Roland’s shoulders with a sudden silver gauntlet, flinging him away. My vision wavered as the werewolf groaned. I used another cord of power to latch onto the head of a nearby statue, and brought it crashing down on top of the Antipope. The ten-foot-tall marble depiction of Jesus crashed into him and broke in half with a cloud of dust and debris.

  The Antipope didn’t move. A second went by, and I saw the unconscious werewolf’s chest rise with labored breath. His body shifted back to human and I let out a sigh of relief.

  I turned to see Roland standing directly beside me, glaring at the wolf in a daze.

  “You alright?” I rasped. Then my legs gave out.

  He caught me as I fell, guiding me down to the ground. He brushed a bloody hand across my forehead, wiping back my hair in a loving gesture. He tugged down my scarf, his smile radiant and nightmarish. “You saved me,” he whispered. He glanced back at Anthony. “And you saved him. That was… smart. I lost control…” he admitted.

  I shrugged, trying to focus on his crimson eyes. I heard a faint clicking noise, but Roland was still staring at the werewolf, enveloped in his world of self-loathing.

  “I need you to tell the girls how badass I am. Either that or I’ll have to kill all three of you.”

  He blinked and then turned back to me, frowning. “What?”

  I jerked my chin up, indicating for him to turn around. His head swiveled, his arms tightening as they clutched me protectively. His amulet hit me in the mouth and I almost retched, trying to spit the bloody necklace out. I shoved him back, weakly propping myself up.

  Two wolves stood before us, a safe distance away so as not to appear threatening. They whined, crimson eyes locked
onto Roland. I’d heard their claws on the floor as they approached.

  Roland let out a relieved sob and flung out his arms. The wolves bound up to him and I scooted away with an indignant squawk before they could trample me. They slammed into him, knocking him onto his back before slathering him with doggie kisses, whining and whimpering as they hopped back and forth excitedly, burying their heads in his chest in frantic motions.

  Just imagine a puppy seeing his mom for the first time in a few days and you’ll understand. Except these were killer werewolves, and he was a vampire covered in blood.

  “Gross. Please stop,” I asked, trying to speak over Roland’s laughter at being tickled.

  The three turned to face me and I hesitated at the sudden lack of joy in those six crimson eyes.

  “Sorry, just the blood… and the wolf thing. And the vampire thing,” I said in a softer tone.

  The two wolves dipped their heads at me, stretching out their front legs like they were bowing. I blinked, and then gave them a careful nod. The wolves went back to licking Roland and I let out a sigh. Whatever.

  I climbed to my feet, grunting as I clutched my side. I heard the sound of the wolves shifting back and turned to see the two bloody, naked girls nuzzled against Roland’s chest. He let out a very appreciative sigh. I quickly averted my eyes, turning my back to assess the Antipope and make sure he hadn’t died during the bloody threesome.

  My how far a Shepherd can fall, I thought to myself.

  I cleared my throat politely. “What happened to the Templar?”

  “He escaped,” one of the girls growled angrily. “We couldn’t track him for some reason. He threw a smoke bomb of some kind and we couldn’t get through it.”

  I turned to look at them. Roland was staring at me. “Wolfsbane,” we said in unison.

  I kicked a bent, bloody crucifix on the floor. “The Conclave could be here soon. We should gather the scarves. Can’t leave them just lying around.” The girls left the room as if it had been a command, gathering up the scarves from the countless dead bodies in the church.

  A few minutes later, they returned, handing the scarves to Roland. He stood, frowning down at them for a few moments before wadding them up in a bundle and tying them off on his pants. I watched as he bent over Crispin, staring into his lifeless eyes. Then he used a bloody finger to write a word on Crispin’s forehead. I moved to read it.

  Traitor.

  “Why not write Sanguine?” I asked. He met my eyes without speaking and I nodded in sudden understanding. Roland was a vampire now. Pointing the Conclave at the Sanguine Council wouldn’t be good for his future.

  “Traitor is enough,” he said. “Did I hear you say something about a key?” he asked.

  I had almost forgotten about it. “He made the Shepherds put on bracelets to block their magic. Fabrizio said Crispin had the only key.” Roland checked his pockets and then grunted. He withdrew a small key and set it on Crispin’s chest.

  We made our way over to the Antipope. Roland stared down at him for a few seconds, and then casually flung out his hand. A maroon web settled over Anthony’s head, sinking into his flesh. It disappeared, and Anthony’s breathing seemed to come easier, his body relaxing. I arched a brow. “To make sure he stays asleep until the Conclave arrives,” he said as he bent over the man and wrote something on his forehead.

  Werewolf.

  I nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered, eyeing the destruction. “Since you’ve been pretty much useless tonight, why don’t you take us home?” I told Roland. He grunted and his version of a Gateway – a vertical pool of blood – erupted before us, leading into our training room at Abundant Angel Catholic Church in Kansas City.

  I let out a sigh of relief. Home.

  “Callie’s hole is nicer,” Jasmine commented. I blushed red at the phrasing.

  Tiffany cuffed her shoulder. “Don’t talk about a woman’s hole like that!” she chided. But she did inspect the Gateway and nod her agreement. “Hers was shiny, but I didn’t like the color. Silver,” she shuddered. “Yours will suffice, Roland.”

  As I stepped through the Gateway, I spoke casually. “Roland?”

  “Yes, Callie?”

  “I need you to tell these mutts how much of a badass I am. They have the misconception that I’m your assistant. It’s in your best interest to rectify that.”

  Roland sighed. “But you’re such a good assista—”

  The silver claws erupted in my fists, cutting him off.

  “And you forgot to compliment her new haircut,” Tiffany added sternly.

  Roland blinked at her, then turned back to me, frowning. “You cut your hair!” he gasped.

  Tiffany sighed. “So much worse. You have no idea.”

  Jasmine piped up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Callie. He will learn. We’ll teach him.” She eyed Roland doubtfully. “Eventually.”

  “And we saw enough to classify you as a badass,” Tiffany said with a tired laugh.

  I released the blade. “Damn right. I’m going to sleep on that couch. Wake me and die,” I said, shambling over to the couch, knowing I didn’t have the strength to walk one step further.

  “Sweet dreams, Callie,” they said in unison.

  “I really like your hair. It looks… very nice,” Roland tried.

  I’d kill him after my nap.

  Chapter 55

  I had slept for a long time. Twelve whole hours. I hadn’t bothered to look at a clock, simply taking Roland’s word for it. I had woken up from a dream. A revelation. Something I had seen but forgotten from my experience with shifter reefer.

  A dark, murky alley, and Abundant Angel Catholic Church rose before me. Arthur, our new janitor-slash-security guard lay sprawled on the ground, stabbed to death with a crucifix that the murderer had left behind.

  The church itself was smoking. Not on fire, but as if the stone itself was hot to the touch, creating smoke as soon as air touched it. A large cross was buried into the earth just to the right of the steps beside the statue of the angel that had been there as long as I had known the place.

  The cross was made of smoldering coals and held together by red, crackling chains of darkness. No flame licked the air, but the cross of embers was barely being held together by the magical chain. Each time it threatened to crumble, the chains flared darker, shifting to hold it together at all cost.

  Roland knelt before it, muttering in a dried, rasping breath, praying to God in Latin over and over again, as if he had been doing it for days without rest, food, or water.

  As if he was the only one holding the cross together.

  The chains were his. The last of his power.

  “Roland!” I shouted in disbelief, unable to move my body.

  His head flinched, and he turned briefly, making me gasp. He was crying blood and had no eyes. He recognized my voice though, and burst out crying and laughing.

  “Save me…” he rasped, and then he fell face-first to the ground, and the cross began crumbling as his magical chains evaporated.

  I had woken up covered in sweat, panting at both the memory and the understanding of it. The vision had been a premonition. A warning of Roland becoming a vampire, but still trying to hold the church together all by himself. To save him. I only managed to calm down after a long, hot shower. I didn’t tell Roland about it, wanting to see what else came back to me first, because I had a suspicion that it wasn’t the only thing I had seen.

  The wolves were eating upstairs, waiting for us as Roland and I chatted, enjoying our last few minutes in the church. We sipped coffee, reminiscing over embarrassing stories from my early days training in this very room.

  Roland had healed me while I slept, not bothering to ask me first. I was still surprised to see he was using magic, even though it did look different, with the red tint to everything. Hopefully he hadn’t stained my soul healing me, but I didn’t really care if he had.

  Roland had reached out to Fabrizio, telling
him what had happened. I had apparently been talking in my sleep, saying meatball and friend enough times to give Roland the hint that he was trustworthy. Their conversation had gone well, because Roland had smiled while telling me about it. Fabrizio had been very grateful to find the key on Crispin’s chest.

  Neither of us knew where the Conclave stood on the events, and we didn’t care. Fabrizio had still been at the scene when Roland called. He had unofficially taken over Crispin’s place as First Shepherd, but he had promised to tell the Conclave the truth, that we had saved the day and Crispin had been behind it all. He agreed that it would be wise for us to stay out of town for a while until the chaos died down.

  Fabrizio was adamant that he would fight tooth and nail for Roland’s name to be cleared, but wasn’t sure if Roland would ever be welcomed back into the Conclave. Too much had happened.

  Windsor had even stolen the phone to apologize to Roland directly, repeating several times that he didn’t care that Roland was a vampire, and if the Conclave ever ordered him to take Roland out, he would quit. Period. A lone tear had escaped my mentor’s eye as he told me about it, so it was enough for me.

  The Antipope was the newest guest in their prison, and would likely be given a fair trial. In exchange for his cooperation.

  I hadn’t wanted to risk running into Claire and Beckett at my apartment, possibly getting their freak on, so Roland had invited Arthur down to our secret compound. I had inadvertently given a job to the homeless man a few months ago after offering him sanctuary at the church. Now he was a permanent fixture, and was as dedicated as any soldier defending a castle.

  After the shock had worn off – discovering that the church held secret sublevels full of deadly weapons and training gear – I had given him a list of things to pick up from my apartment. He had returned with a big bag an hour ago, enough items for a long journey – I knew not where. We were all going to take a trip. Somewhere far, far away. Even the wolves were joining us. One big happy family.