Chapter Nineteen

She’s not little, no minion like me!

That’s why she ensnared him: this never will free

The soul from those masculine eyes, —- say “No!”

To that pulse’s magnificent come-and-go.

From The Laboratory by Robert Browning

“Ah, what big teeth you have.”

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

The childhood tale ran through my mind while I wiped Death Stalker muck from my face. I knew that as soon as the cab stopped I’d have one very large, pissed-off Werewolf waiting to eat my face off.

So, I used the next few precious moments I had to Call every weapon I had waiting in my arsenal to my hand. I stashed and stowed in every knife sheath all of the blades, daggers and stars I had meticulously laid out earlier that day. I Called my new guns and extra clips with their silver ammo and I Called Mercy’s Goblin dagger, Endless Blood. Lastly, I Called my own favorite blades, my sickle axes—thirteen and a half inches of cold, dark steel. These I stowed in the sheaths at my back. I was, effectively, loaded for bear. Well, loaded for Were, as the case may be.

Twisting the silencer on the ten millimeter Glock, I jacked a silver round in the chamber, punched the button that would take me back up to the kitchen and prepared myself for my next battle.

The cab came to a bouncing stop, the door shushing open to the irate growls of several Werewolves, and I was already rethinking my plan...whatever plan that was. Hell, even I knew there wasn’t much of a damn plan. It was back to the basics on this one: Kill, survive, ask questions later.

Jeckle took a running lunge towards the door, and I started firing. The first bullet hit him in the throat, blood and gore splattering out the back of his neck. His screech got stuck mid-bellow as his voice box exploded, but he kept on coming.

The door began to close and his shoulder slammed into it. I jumped backward, gun gripped tightly, ready to shoot again, afraid he’d make it through. Afraid I was going to die in that cage, and not help anyone. The door caved in halfway, knocked off its grid; unable to close completely, yet unable to let the bad guys in.

Fucking Werewolves! I thought, breathing a momentary sigh of relief.

It was relief that was short lived as Jeckle’s meaty arm wrenched its way inside the door. He managed to get half of his body inside the cab; his copper fur splattered with blood. His large muzzle snapped and oozed crimson-tinged spittle. With his left arm extended, body reaching, he made several hard swipes towards me, claws fully extended. I scrambled backward as far as I could to avoid those razor-sharp nails.

The damn fool tried to growl his frustration, but no noise came out. I guess it’s a bit hard to make any noise when your voice box has been blown away, despite a Were’s regeneration abilities. Blood continued to seep from the hole in his throat. Yeah, silver bullets are a bitch.

My own adrenaline pumped hard through my body, my she-wolf scenting others of her ilk, hackles raised as she smelled fresh meat and certain death. I popped off another two rounds and Jeckle’s head exploded in a bubbling gush of silver fragments, bone and what was left of his brain.

With little time to consider my alternatives, I knew I had to get out of that elevator. I had no idea how many reinforcements Jeckle had called to aid him, but if they had been able to come to him, then I’d be able to find another way into the awaiting onslaught. I just needed a little more time to prepare.

With my back to the caved-in door, I peered around the opening. A shot whizzed by my face, striking the back of the cab. Crouching low, using Jeckle’s torso as a shield, I looked again, this time getting a better picture of where the shooter was hiding. I fired a round up and to the right of where I thought he might be. The shooter followed with two more shots, revealing his hiding place at the end of the long center counter.

There was no one to my left. I had a blind spot to the right where the elevator door blocked my view. I had one choice.

With a rolling dive I leapt over Jeckle’s body, out the elevator door and fired two shots to my right. The first grunt was followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. The second grunt was short-lived. I rolled once, then the force of my back being slammed against the side of the counter by my waiting Were took the air from my lungs. My gun spun free of my hold.

With his large, fleshy fry-pan hand, he slammed it against my face. My head rocked back against the hard wood supporting me. My cheek and eye exploded with pain, my patience severely worn thin. Inside my head, my she-wolf howled her fierce anger. A growl born from the dark depths of rage erupted from the bowels of my belly and flowed out of my voice box, devouring my opponent’s own cries of angst.

Claws flowed in a rush from my fingers like water on pebbles. Pure instinct and darker hatreds caused me to drive those claws up under his rib cage, past the warmth of his bowels and the flutter of lungs. I dug for darker, meatier things. Things only animals recognized the hunger for.

With dark satisfaction, I watched his pale green eyes glisten with fear while I ripped and tore until I found the thundering sputter of his heart. I almost didn’t recognize the snarl of glee that escaped me. Then I grasped the wet, pulsing organ in my small, rage-driven hand and jerked it from his body. I watched the light fade from his eyes; his breath leaving him in faltering gasps while I held the bloody, thumping heart before him. Several times, he opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to speak.

I whispered the word bleed, knowing a wicked smile curved my lips. Bleed, I told him. Bleed and die. Then I watched his lifeblood flow from his body in a gushing, quivering stream. His body slumped in a heap before me, the Light gone from his eyes.

I could still hear my other quarry at the end of the counter, his breath riding the air hard between us, the scent of his fear coursing through me like so much meat. His anxiety gave me power, power that my she-wolf and I reveled in. I could tell this Werewolf was a young one, newly turned. That he was no warrior, but sent to do a warrior’s job. He was nothing more than cannon fodder.

“If you wish to live, you will show me where Jirvel is holding my family,” I told him. I chucked the hunk of Jeckle’s heart toward the end of the counter, where I knew he crouched. Where I knew he shook and sweated with fear. His adrenaline was so high I could taste it on my tongue. Feel it ripple along my flesh.

The sound of the meat slapping the floor made a squishing, slushy sound. I knew that fresh blood splattered when it hit. The scent of blood and death filled the room.

The poor young fool was mere moments from the point of no return. He teetered on the brink of full turn, full turn into Wolf that would not bring him back for hours, if not until tomorrow. Soon he would be useless to everyone. Especially himself. I had to get him out of that room and show me where they were holding the others.

I spotted my gun on the floor to the left of me, just under the edge of where a long row of stovetops lined the wall. I decided to make a move. With a deep breath I leapt, reaching for the gun. A shot exploded by my ear, the bullet grazing the round of my shoulder, burning a path across the edge of my vest.

Brave little bastard, I thought as my feet hit the edge of the counter with a speed I didn’t remember having. I dove forward, my feet bounding off the center counter and leapt toward his outstretched arm and the gun he’d pointed right at me. The force and my momentum carried both of us backward, one rolling over the other. He landed on top of me, my left hand clutching the wrist of his right—the hand that held the gun.

He punched me in the face with his left fist and I snarled. Little bastard! What the hell was with these guys and striking me in the face? Cripes, I’d been here ten minutes and I was already sick of this shit. If this was how my night was going to go, there were going to be a lot of dead bodies scattered on the floor.

“Hit me again and you’re going to regret it,” I told him, slamming his right hand against the ground.

He hit me again.

With a burst of anger, I let go of his wrist and with both hands blasted him with a huge ball of light. His chest burst into flames, the gun flying off to who knows where in the room. Smoke, flames and screaming Werewolf filled my vision as he frantically rolled off me, swatting at the wall of fire his chest had become. I stood up and watched him writhe on the floor in agony, his body alight, fur and flesh burning before me.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” I snarkily advised on a sigh of aggravation while I stood over him. “You know, you could have just shown me where they’re being held.”

“She’d. Have. Killed. Me,” he finally managed, the power of the flames boring a hole into the center of his body.

I couldn’t keep the short bark of laughter from flowing out of my pursed lips. “And you thought I wouldn’t?”

He just stared back at me, the stench of melting flesh filling both of our senses, his eyes filled with pain.

“Well, now you’re just as dead,” I coldly replied. I left the kitchen with five dead Werewolves in my wake, my other two bullets making purely lucky shots. Yet, I was no closer to finding the others. I was, however, starting to leave a trail of mayhem behind me.

I still wasn’t able to feel Kieran, but I could sense Jade so I knew I had to be close. Here’s hoping it wasn’t just another of Jirvel’s dark traps. Or if it was, that I had enough Light to burn my way through her and her mad Darkness.

Yes, this Halloween was definitely going to be for the damned. Some of them just didn’t know that their true death was coming for them, and the Reaper’s name was Rihker.