“No, damn it, Rayne.”
Their angle is awkward, causing his claws to scrape across her throat as he moves, but Flint does catch the cord. Two quick turns of his wrist tightens the long length into a makeshift noose and he yanks hard, jerking her head away.
Panic fills Rayne’s eyes. I see her hands scrabble for the throttling around her neck and the wheezing breaths as she struggles to breathe around it. Blood drips from her fangs and teeth and both eyes roll in her head as she kicks against the ground.
The Blood Moon wolves point and laugh, some of them slapping high-fives and whistling encouragement to their alpha. Their voices are loud and raised in pleasure, encouraging their leader against the “blood-sucking parasite.”
I try to step in, but Gina has my arm, holding me back and away. She has the presence of mind to keep her claws from digging in, but even I can see she’s terrified. Several of the other Loup Garou have scattered toward the back of the church, others simply lowering themselves to the floor to curl into tight, frightened balls.
What the hell is happening to everyone?
On the ground, Rayne is still struggling. A small trickle of blood runs down her throat, but most startling is the persistent wheezing and gasping of a woman struggling to breathe.
What the hell is she doing? Vampires don’t need air.
I jerk free of Gina’s grip and move in closer, gun raised to eye height. My injured arm gives a twinge of protest, but I hold the weapon steady. “Get off her.”
Flint ignores me. Instead he bends close to Rayne’s ear, speaking in low whispers. I can’t hear it all, but I do catch the words pain, suffering, and forgiveness, as well as my own name, before my patience gives way.
“Rayne, get a grip. What are you doing? Just waste this meat head so we can get out of here.”
“Oh, she can’t hear you, Agent.” Flint’s voice rattles through his thin, canine lips. “She’s gone now. Far, far away. And you can’t help her. No one can.”
“What are you talking about?”
Again that smile. Or an approximation of it. He drops Rayne’s twitching body and turns on me with slow, deliberate steps.
I point the gun at his face. “Don’t move.”
“But why? You’ve made this all so easy for me, little SPEAR.” He’s still coming closer. “I thought I would have to hunt you down after handling these werewolf packs. But no, you’re right here. It’s so easy I could cry.”
“Last warning, Flint. Stay back.”
He stops, but only long enough to ripple back into his human form. Those awful, awful yellow eyes consider me steadily, the vertical black pupil widening slightly. He brushes aside the tattered shreds of some of his clothing. “I wonder what you’ll taste like. What memories you hide deep under all that pretty hair.”
He steps forward again.
I fire.
My bullet slams into his shoulder, drilling a deep hole before powering through the other side. I expect the velocity and power of it to spin him around, or at least make him pause, but Flint keeps moving, his gaze now fixed hot on mine.
“First blood,” he murmurs. “Boys? Get them.”
Shit.
* * *
The Blood Moon wolves behind Flint, mostly quiet up to this point, move as one solid mass. They rush forward in a wave of claws, fur, and teeth and crash hard against the line of Loup Garou. I turn, wanting to help, but there’s not much I can do with my puny human body against the sudden explosion of fighting behind me.
Instead, I look back at Flint.
He’s still there. Staring. Smiling.
The creeping sense of dread intensifies. Even traditional bullets should hurt a werewolf, especially at this range.
I back up step. “What are you?”
“You don’t remember? I’m hurt.”
“We’ve never met.”
“Not in this body perhaps. But there’s nothing about me that looks familiar? Feels familiar?” He blinks again.
Those eyes. Those creepy, almost reptilian eyes.
A trickle of bright yellow ooze dribbles from the bullet wound in Flint’s shoulder. It’s thin and bile-like, similar to nothing I’ve ever seen before. Except…
My tongue suddenly feels thick in my mouth, heavy and awkward.
Except for that tall, thin, spindly creature hiding with the vampires, trolls, and giants in Vixen’s underground hideaway. Didn’t that thing have the same rattling voice, the same terrible yellow eyes?
But Flint is a werewolf; he can’t be anything like that strange creature, can he?
My gun hand begins to tremble.
The yips, growls, and howls behind me grow louder.
Flint smiles. “Is that a twitch in your eyebrows, Agent? A flicker of recognition in your gaze? Do you know me?”
“Vixen…”
The smile broadens to a full-on grin. “So you do remember. Good. I’d hate to think I’d made all this effort for someone who didn’t remember me. The height of narcissism perhaps, but I hoped I had made an impression.”
“But you’re not the same creature. That thing was—we still don’t know what it was. But you’re a werewolf. You can’t be the same.”
“Trust your instincts, little SPEAR. You should know that by now.”
And then he’s in front of me. I have no idea when he moved, but the distance between us is gone in a heartbeat and Flint has his fingers wrapped around my wrist, forcing my gun up and away from his face. The other hand grasps the back of my head, drawing my face closer and closer until our noses almost touch.
For one horrifying moment I wonder if he intends to kiss me, but instead, he brings his hand around, stroking gently at my head, my ear, my cheek. My lip. His long fingers close around my jaw, holding my head in place.
By the time my brain catches up, I’m already trapped against him, my head pinned by his iron-like grip. Fear spikes through me, like a red-hot stab to the gut.
“Rayne.”
“She can’t hear you. Don’t you believe me? Look.”
He turns my head. I have no choice but to look.
Rayne is on the ground, no longer wheezing, but not struggling either. Her eyes are wide and glassy, her hands limp on the ground at her sides. Even with her body right there on the ground before me, I know she’s not really here.
“What did you do?” My voice doesn’t even sound like mine. It’s small and weak, pitiful and young, and I hate it. I hate it but there’s nothing I can do.
“She’s on a little trip down memory lane. Such wonderful stops on the way. I wonder what you’ll find when you go?”
I kick out at his shins, his ankle, his knees. My free hand I use to chop down against his grip on my chin. But I may well be punching at a wall for all the difference it makes. He doesn’t move. If anything, his grip intensifies.
My wrist begins to ache from the crushing effect while my jaw creaks beneath him.
The sense of dread and fear upgrades to full-on terror.
“Gina? Rayne? Fuck, please. Somebody…h-help.”
“Help?” Flint cocks his head at me. “Interesting. So that’s where you go first? A feeling of helplessness and weakness? I suppose I should have known. Those humans with the biggest mouths are always those with the smallest reserves to back up their bravado.”
He lifts.
My feet are dangling. Between his hand on my wrist and the other on my jaw, there’s nothing more I can do than kick. But that feeling of terror begins to spread and soon even the thought of doing that is too much. I can’t even feel the gun in my hands anymore. My fingers are too numb. The other hand, curled impotently around his grip, does nothing to free my jaw.
Nothing I do does anything.
“Somebody…help…”
Fresh pain spikes through my arm, and from the corner of my eye I spy a thin stream of blood trickle down my forearm. He’s cut me, punctured the inside of my wrist with his claws.
It’s not deep but the pain that comes from it is l
ike nothing I’ve ever known. Like a prickling heat, cut through with thousands of needle-sharp stabs.
Something inside me screams and my impotent kicks intensify.
Flint laughs. “Singing already? Beautiful, little SPEAR, beautiful. Sing for me, little bird.”
The room begins to blur.
“Sing a sweet, sweet song of pain and misery for me.”
My vision grows cloudy.
“There you go, little bird.”
The light begins to dim.
“There you go.”
Chapter Thirty-one
I slip through the door at the rear of the large building and let it close softly behind me. Yeah, sure, I could use the front like everybody else, but I’d rather not deal with the crowds.
This staff entrance to the shopping centre is small and inconspicuous and leads to a long corridor that winds down the width of the building before opening to stairs that lead to upper staff levels.
I secure my fresh new lanyard more firmly around my neck, hitch the rucksack a little higher on my shoulder, and keep walking. Oh, and pull my jacket forward to cover my gun.
So strange that I get to walk the streets with a gun. Most police officers don’t do that—in fact none of them do—but I get to wear one?
Can’t help but touch it as I walk, tracing my fingers over the cool plastic of the handgrip that sticks out over the top of the pop-stud.
This is it. This is how I know I’ve made it.
My heart gives a curious flutter that I know is both nerves and glee.
Stairs.
I take them two at a time, now almost beside myself in my excitement. At the top I turn back to exit through the door that leads onto the outer areas of the shopping centre.
The two floors below are teeming with shoppers. Up here on a mezzanine style set-up, I can look down on them from thirty feet above and watch them mill about like ants.
Men, women, and children, all scooting back and forth about their daily business. Everyone laden with bags and boxes while obnoxious but thankfully low music pumps from multiple speakers. In among the civilians, I catch the black and red of the centre security team, further marked by their peaked caps, shoulder radios, and high-vis stripes on both legs and arms.
One man stands out from the others, one, because I’m looking for him, but also because his hair, a fine ash grey, spills out from beneath his ill-fitting hat and cascades down his back in thick, chunky locs.
I can’t help but smile. He’s always so easy to spot.
With half an eye on his location, I make my way down the two escalators and three sets of half-steps required to reach his post, some boutique fashion store with trendy headless mannequins in the window.
He sees me before I can sneak up on him and smiles bright and wide. “Bean.” A quick glance at his watch. “What are you doing here? I don’t finish for another half hour.”
“I know, sorry, sorry, but I just couldn’t wait.” I throw myself at him, not caring that he’s in uniform, not caring about appearances, just keen to share. “I had to see you, I had to tell you—”
He grips me by the shoulders. “Wait, did you do it? Did you pass?”
I scoop up my lanyard to wave it back and forth in front of his eyes. “Gamma, Grade Three!”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Bean, I’m so proud of you.”
“Ah, ah, you can’t call me that anymore, Dad. As of right now I’m Agent Karson.”
“But of course.” He treats me to a mock salute and plucks the ID badge from my grip for a closer look. “Danika L. Karson, certified member of the Supernatural Prohibition Extermination and Arrest Regiment. Field agent, Grade Three. Team, Gamma. Wow. Just wow. You did it. I always knew you would. You’re incredible.”
“Don’t get mushy now.”
“I’m not.” He lets the ID fall and returns his hands to my shoulders. He looks down at me and though the height difference is only an inch or two, I suddenly feel so small and childlike under the fatherly expression in his eyes. “I’m just…just so proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Of course I am. Despite everything stacked against you, despite every roadblock the Lord put in your way—”
“You mean that Mum put in my way.”
The smile droops a little. “Don’t be hard on your mother, Bean. She’s scared for you, that’s all. But never doubt she’s as proud of you as I am. If not more.”
“You know she couldn’t even wish me ‘good luck’ this morning. Just some obscure reference to a bible verse I’ve never heard of.”
“Was it one from Ezekiel?”
“No, Haggai I think.”
Dad puts his hands on his hips and tosses his head back. His laughter is enough to draw eyes from all directions, but he doesn’t seem to care. Then again, neither do I.
“That is an obscure one. You know she only wants the best for you, right?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Look, I want you to tell me all about the exam, okay? I want to know who tested you, what the physical was like, what the sparring was like. Do you really get to use a sword?”
This time I’m grinning, wide enough that my cheeks start to hurt. “It’s probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done. And I got to fight a gargoyle.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. He’s practically nine feet tall, blue, and his wings are the hugest thing I’ve ever seen. From his shoulder blades rather than webbing under his arms. Oh, he’s grumpy, but I guess a lot of extra mundanes are like that.”
“Maybe you bring it out in him?”
“Daaad.”
My playful admonishment trails off as a loud shriek cuts through the air. I turn in time to see a body falling from the mezzanine. It plummets like a stone, slamming into the ground thirty feet down and throwing out a gory pattern of red in a near perfect ring.
Deadly silence, then another scream. And another, and another.
I’m turning round and round, trying to catch where they’re coming from, but there are too many people running.
Dad’s shoulder radio crackles to life, some disembodied voice demanding immediate evacuation of the shoppers. Something about a “Code E41.”
All the colour drains from Dad’s face. He flings his hat from his head and catches his hair, winding it into a thick, bumpy braid down his back. “Bean, you need to get out of here.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“Emergency evacuation. Extra mundane.”
“What?” My insides seize up. I can’t breathe. Panic rushes through me in a cold, crippling flood, and I can barely keep my feet as the sudden surge in the crowd nearby sweeps toward the door.
Dad snags my hand and drags me against him. He turns his back and shields me with his bulk, wading through the madness to reach one of the pillars that supports the upper levels. He uses the wideness as a blockage to stop the crowd from taking us and holds me tight against his chest.
“They didn’t give me details, just called the code. I need to get these people out. That means you too.”
“But—”
“No buts, Bean. I’ve got a job to do, okay? Join these people and get outside.”
“What about you?”
He touches my cheek. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine. I always am. This is part of the job, y’know?”
Job. Of course. Yes, of course.
I curl my fingers around the laminated plastic of my shiny, new ID card.
“I can help.”
“No, Bean—”
I shove the ID in his face. “I’m an agent now. I can help you. Please, let me help. It’s my job too.”
He hesitates. I can see the war in his eyes. The uncertainty. The fear.
“Hey.” I touch his arm. “I’ve trained for this. I know what to do. Let me help.”
“I—” He inhales sharply and lifts his shoulders. “Yes. You’re a big girl now. No, not even girl—woman. Not my little bean anymore.”
I pop
the stud on my hip clasp and draw my gun into my hands. “I’ll always be your Bean, Dad. No matter how old and tough I get.”
“Steady now. Any tougher than you already are and you won’t be a bean anymore so much as an old pebble.”
“Watch it, old man. I’m a martial arts master.”
“I don’t doubt it. Okay,” With one hand on my shoulder, he steers me in a half circle and points to the rushing crowd beneath the first escalator. “There’s an emergency exit down there that leads to the west side of the centre. It looks like people have missed it or they’re too panicked to see, so you need to get those people, using that door. We’ll empty the place much quicker if we use every exit. You got that?”
“Sure. Trust me.”
“Oh, I do, Bean. Of course I do. Just stay away from the vampires if you can.”
I gesture to the belt of phials, packets, and tubes hanging off my hip. “No way. I know what to do, I promise.”
Dad sighs. “I won’t say I’m not scared, but you’ve wanted this for long enough. Just…remember those things aren’t people anymore. No matter what the law or the mayor says. They’re not what they once were. Don’t hesitate.”
“Never.”
“That’s my girl.” He chucks me under the chin, the lightest of touches…
* * *
…that sends me reeling onto my back.
There are screams all around me, but I can’t find the source.
From above me, Flint peers into my face, blinking slowly over those terrifying, soulless eyes.
“You’re smiling a lot, little SPEAR. Did I send you to a happy memory? That won’t do. That won’t do at all. Even your vampire friend is trapped in the nightmare of her own past. Let’s see if we can’t send you down a similar path.”
I try to flip to my side, but my body doesn’t want to move. My arms are leaden, both legs weak and jelly-like. Several feet away, I see Rayne clawing at her face. She’s thrashing from side to side on the ground, shrieking over and over. Her petrified calls are haunting, all the more so because in them I catch the sound of my own name.
Moon Fever Page 29
