Stain of Midnight

by Cassandra Moore

  “I’d love to. But we don’t know where she’s hiding out. Do you?” Cameron raised an eyebrow.

  Kiplinger shook his head. “No. But I can tell you where she will be. She still needs to corrupt the last major ley line. It so happens I know where she intends to perform her ritual. And when.”

  Cameron took a step toward the circle. “Tell me.”

  The creature trapped in the circle glanced at the sun as western horizon began its slow consumption of the light. “About half an hour from now. Teresa pays less attention to daylight than she might. There is a spot outside Enumclaw. You might make it if you hurry.”

  Sonja had already dug her car keys out of her pocket. “Call Lehmann. He might be able to get people there before us. We can meet him there.”

  “On it.” Cameron reached for his phone as he headed for the house. “Thanks, Lindsey. For everything. We owe you one.”

  Lindsey shook her head slowly. “No. That debt is already paid.”

  Sonja’s fingers folded around the keys in her hand. “Lindsey, I—”

  “Don’t.” Lindsey laid a finger over her lips. “You said everything years ago. And you were right about all of it. I was wrong. Let me turn that into something that does you good, for once. We’re even?”

  Sonja took a deep breath. Cameron wondered if she would say more, but she let it out again. “We’re even.”

  “That’s all I wanted. Now go. Save the city. You were always the hero, Sonja.” Lindsey turned away, and Cameron could all but feel the conversation close.

  Sonja could, too. She went into the house without another word.

  Cameron took a step to follow her, but Kiplinger stopped him. “Oh, and Mister Roswell?”

  “What?” Cameron half-turned to look over his shoulder.

  The wretched proto-demon stared back at him. “I underestimated her. It cost me a very long life, and the one thing I had come to love. Do not make my mistake.”

  Cameron nodded, once, and followed the one thing he had come to love. Kiplinger’s parting words cut deep enough to bleed. Everything rode on the next hour, and in the all-too-mortal heart of the brave woman who’d brought him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Russ, shit is going down,” Cameron said into the phone as he strode for the Humvee. “I could really use some backup.”

  He could see Sonja in the driver’s seat of her car, phone pressed to her ear as she spoke into it with earnest concern. Probably warning Peter to watch their friends, or letting the local witches know about a ritual impending. Neither of them wanted to try a phone conversation with the Humvee pulling freeway speeds. Like trying to have a conversation in a misfiring jet engine.

  “You aren’t lying, Roswell. The moment the sun disappeared, vampires came out of the fucking woodwork.” Russ sounded harried. “There’s at least two factions of biters on the streets. Fights are breaking out all over. Where are you?”

  “On the way to Enumclaw. One of Teresa Espina’s confidants turned coat. There’s going to be another ritual. We’ve got the chance to end this tonight, before it gets any worse.” Cameron yanked the passenger door open, full of rage-stoked excitement. We can end this now. Noah and Kayla can be back on their feet tonight.

  “Are you sure this person is trustworthy?”

  “As sure as I can be, given the circumstances. They didn’t have much reason to lie to me.” Mostly. Kiplinger had every reason to want to lie, but it wouldn’t serve his purpose at all. Not if he wanted to live happily ever after as an ugly demonic paperweight.

  “All right. I’ll send some of the pack out to help.” Cameron could hear shouts in the background. Russ hadn’t lied about the unrest.

  Urgency coursed through Cameron. “If we want to end this decisively, we’re going to need a strong group. I don’t know how many people she has with her, but I know this is a big deal for her.”

  “I’m sending what I can, Cameron. Half the pack is tied up in the city right now. I’m pretty sure this is the start of a vampire civil war. The local lord has lost his grip on the fangs.”

  Cameron smothered a frustrated sigh. “I get it. At least come out yourself. You need to see what you’re dealing with.”

  “You let me decide what I need to do, Roswell. No matter how much I respect your opinion, I’m still the alpha.” A thread of dominance bristled under the words.

  You’re coming on too strong, and he’s under threat. Back off. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This whole thing makes me edgy. Just anxious to get this all under control.”

  “I understand. I’ll send you the backup you need, don’t worry. I promised we were here to help.”

  Cameron passed on the location, then broke the call off. His butt hadn’t finished sinking into the seat cushion before Sonja had started the car and thrown it in gear. They peeled out in a wake of displaced gravel.

  “Is Lindsey going to be all right?” he asked, over the engine roar. He’d never ridden in her car at this speed before. The interior of the old military vehicle didn’t dampen the noise at all. Cameron wondered if it might magnify the sound instead.

  “All right? Yes. But never the same.” Sonja kept her gaze glued to the road. “She’ll never practice magic with the same power after today. The artifact will drain her, because she created it. Permanent magic always has a price.”

  Comforting, in its way. Magic slingers couldn’t create infinite objects of power whenever they felt like it, which meant artifacts like the Heart of Darkness didn’t come along every day. But it still bothered him. “She seemed to think she owed you enough to sacrifice that for you.”

  Sonja’s lips flattened. He didn’t expect a response, but she said, “Lindsey used a shitty situation to try to change my mind about that kind of magic once. It broke our friendship.”

  “It must have been pretty bad, if she’s willing to give up a lot of her magic for you.”

  “It was.”

  Shouting over the engine stripped the emotion out of her words. In the light from oncoming cars, Cameron could see the hard edges in her gaze, sharpened by old pain. A race to stop a ritual wasn’t the time to push. “Tell me later?”

  She glanced over and offered him a little smile. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Pleased with the promise, he fell into his own silent brood. Maybe it was stupid to rush out to stop Teresa himself. Kiplinger had confirmed Teresa’s vague words: she needed Cameron to win her endgame. Though really, who she needed was the territory’s pack enforcer. In a couple hours, that would mean Curtis Levitt. Who would probably rather be the alpha of Tacoma. I should have asked Russ to keep Curtis in the city. At least then, one of the enforcers would stay out of danger.

  I have to see this through. For his wounded friends. For his pack. And for the land that had allowed him to guard it. Mount Rainier had always appealed to him. He’d camped there, hunted there on four legs, spent full moons howling through the woods with his pack. For years, he had told himself he had romanticized his connection to the mountain. Never once had he suspected that magic bound him to it. The mystical could even sneak up on a man who turned into a wolf.

  Time dilated into an eternity as they screamed down the road. Every mile felt like three. His patience frayed under the pressure of his concern. Hurry. Hurry. Before anyone else dies. Hurry.

  On the outskirts of Enumclaw, Sonja found a place off the main road to park her car. “The spot we told Russ to send the pack to is about half a mile that way. We can run to the ritual from there.”

  “We couldn’t take the car in anyway. This is mostly wilderness.” Cameron checked his watch. “We’re cutting it awfully fine.”

  Sonja opened the tailgate so she could pull out her gear. “Then let’s hope the others got a head start. Can you feel anything yet?”

  “Not yet. Maybe Teresa is running late herself. You did force feed her a crossbow bolt last night.” Yet even as he said it, he knew they wouldn’t be so lucky. Pressure had started to build in his senses, the way a chang
e in air pressure throbbed in his molars before a massive thunderstorm. Ominous, but distant, far enough away he wouldn’t have thought about it if they hadn’t brought it up.

  His lover noticed his distraction. “Cam?”

  “There’s something happening, but it’s far away. That way.” He pointed ninety degrees off from the direction they’d thought the ritual would happen.

  Her brow furrowed with confusion. “That’s not where Kiplinger said it would be.”

  “Could be, he lied.”

  “I don’t think so.” Sonja shrugged into a shoulder holster rig. “I’ll go check it out. You get the Seattle pack from where you told them to meet us.”

  “You sure we shouldn’t reverse that? I’m the one who can feel it.”

  “Yes, but the Seattle pack is expecting you. If I show up, they’ll get suspicious.” Metal clicked as she opened a long, padded case and pulled out a scoped rifle. “I can find it. I’ll get us eyes on what’s happening. My phone is on silent. Call me when you’re on the way in so I can update you.”

  “Right.” He stepped close, chest to chest, to place a quick kiss on her lips. “Be careful.”

  “You, too.” She smiled up at him, then trotted into the deepening gloom.

  Cameron shifted his shape to take on paws and run.

  The night came alive with sounds and smells. Cameron immediately wished it had remained dead. A scent of blood soaked into his awareness, riding in on gusts of wind then fading as the breeze shifted. Faint whimpering teased at his hearing. No mistake; both came from in front of him. He dug his claws into the earth and ran faster.

  An outstretched hand reached around a tree, fingers buried one knuckle deep in the soil. Cameron trotted to a halt. Male, too hairy for a simple human, fur crusted with dirt-caked blood. Cautious, Cameron edged around until he could see the rest of the attached arm, the shoulder, and at last, the torso of the dead werewolf. Darkness made it difficult to tell, but Cameron thought he recognized the writing across the back of the man’s hoodie. He’d last seen it on one of the Seattle enforcers in the bar that afternoon.

  Shit. Shit shit shit. Still in his wolf form, Cameron crept forward for a look at the body. No evident wounds, but the scent of blood was too thick for there to be none. Darkness almost obscured the coagulating puddle of gore beneath the body. Cameron’s ears flattened to his head. He could smell nothing but blood and filth. Despite the selfish desire to leave the body undisturbed, he shifted back to his human form and rolled it over.

  Bones poked out in grotesque spikes from the ruined ribcage. Internal organs and intestines remained on the ground, connected to the inside of the corpse by bloody veins. Cameron didn’t see the man’s heart among the spilled viscera.

  He rose from his crouch. From the taller vantage, he could make out the shapes of more werewolves scattered inert on the ground. One moved weakly, a faint motion Cameron almost missed. He rushed to the man’s side. “Can you hear me?” he asked, voice soft as he looked over the terrible wounds that tore the man’s body.

  No one could survive these wounds. Not for long. Even werewolves couldn’t conquer all hurts, and by the ragged edges on the deep lacerations, Cameron estimated another werewolf had caused them to begin with. The man’s chest wound wheezed as he tried to speak. “Traitor.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Cameron looked around, stomach leaden with dread. “Everyone is dead.”

  “Not...me.” The wet coughing made Cameron wince. “Finish me.”

  “Tell me—”

  “End it!” A terrible groan punctuated the demand. “Hurts...”

  Cameron wouldn’t get anything else from the dying man. Guilt nagged at Cameron for even considering that he should try for more information. He gently cradled the man’s head in both hands. One quick twist snapped the man’s neck and put him out of his misery.

  Traitor. One of their own had done this, Cameron was sure of it. No one else should have known the pack would come out here, to this precise spot in the middle of the Washington wilderness. Which means someone may have warned Teresa away from here. That would explain why her ritual wasn’t where we expected it to be.

  No one else moved. Cameron stood so he could get his phone from his pocket. Before he did anything else, Sonja had to know how much danger she might be in. Already, he could feel the crescendo of malign power as it rose throughout the area. To his expanded senses, it sounded as though the entire landscape howled in immortal agony. The ritual had almost certainly started. He almost put a claw through the screen of his phone as he hit Sonja’s number on his speed dial.

  She picked up right away. “Did you find them?” she whispered.

  “They’re all dead.”

  “What?”

  “It was a hell of a fucking ambush. I just put the last one out of his misery.”

  “Fuck. Have you called Russ?”

  “Not yet. You needed to know first. Whatever you see up there, don’t engage.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to get there in time. I’ve dropped three vampires already. Newer ones. A couple local malcontents, a couple brand new to their dental issues. Likely servants Espina created tonight. The ritual site is probably packed with lackeys.”

  Cameron closed his eyes tight as another surge in dark, vile energy washed over him. They’d failed. “How close do you think you are?”

  “Not close enough.”

  Another swell of power. Three of four quarters. His tongue tasted like copper and bile. “Then get back here. We’re already too late.”

  From off to Cameron’s left, a familiar voice drawled, “You are that, ain’t no doubt about it.” Curtis sauntered out of the trees, smartphone in one gory hand.

  Cameron spun to face him. “You did this. These were your pack. You’re the enforcer. You’re supposed to protect them.”

  “Supposed to. Says who, hm? Your old traditions?” Curtis snorted. “Roswell, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. I don’t give two dried-up shits about traditions. Do what the alpha says? Protect a bunch of wolves who ought to be able to take care of their own dumb asses? Fuck that.”

  “Then why bother to join a pack at all? Be a lone wolf. Go your own way.” Anger simmered in Cameron’s veins, spurred on by revulsion at the way the energy corrupted around him. The ritual had to have reached its peak.

  “Why would I do that? Being a lone wolf means spending your time flipping folks off while they try to shove their rules down your throat.” He shook his head with slow, deliberate motions to complement his irritating smirk. “Nah. I’d rather use those rules to get what I want. You’ve tried to fuck that up every chance you got, but that’s come to the end of the line.”

  Cameron narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t going to walk away from this place alive. Even if you do, you think Russ is going to get you get far?”

  “‘Fraid so. See, all this was supposed to go down smooth.” Curtis took a step forward. “Teresa was supposed to deal with you last night. Dead, surrendered, didn’t matter. We could have made either one work. Then I’d slide in as the new enforcer of the place to give her what she needed. Easier if Kiplinger had done what he was meant to a year ago, but you work with what you’ve got, right?”

  Realization dawned too late. “You were the one he was supposed to make a shadow wolf.”

  “Dumb limey didn’t think I was refined enough. That shit’s just rude. I told Teresa he couldn’t handle his own wet dreams, let alone what she wanted him to do.” Another step forward.

  Cameron growled. “Go ahead. Get closer. I don’t need more excuses to beat you to death with your own leg.”

  “Just want to make sure you can see this.” Curtis held up his phone. Through the blood smudged on the screen, Cameron watched himself kneel down next to the body of the wounded werewolf. The words exchanged didn’t come through, but Cameron didn’t have any trouble seeing himself snap the wolf’s neck. From the phone’s angle, it looked vicious. Heartless. Not a mercy killing, but a murder.
Then the Cameron on the screen stood to make a call. “They’re all dead. It was a hell of a fucking ambush. I just put the last one out of his misery.”

  The movie stopped. Curtis sneered. “I already sent that to Russ. Ain’t me he’s going to blame for this. It’s you.”

  Rage combusted through Cameron’s mind, blind and unstoppable, fed by wild power that came when he reached for it. Mass bulked up his frame. As his fingers elongated into claws, he lunged snarling at Curtis. The phone dropped forgotten to the ground as he staggered back under the force of the attack. His face stretched into a tawny, toothy lupine maw, which snapped at Cameron as Curtis returned the onslaught. Cameron caught Curtis’s teeth on his forearm. Instead of pulling away, he shoved inward, levering Curtis’s jaw open painfully wide.

  Cameron’s powerful hand wrapped around the top of Curtis’s muzzle. With a twist nearly hard enough to break it, Cameron wrenched it away. He used the same motion to slam Curtis’s head into a tree trunk with a sharp, gnarled stump of a broken branch sticking out. At the last moment, Curtis torqued his body to prevent his imminent impalement. He rolled away and came up between two nearby trees.

  Power simmered just beneath Cameron’s fur. Before, he would have flinched away from it, or tried. Tonight, he embraced it. Beneath the oily, putrid corruption that covered the rivers of energy, Cameron could still feel the shining current of pure magic coursing like blood through the land. He reached for it, and it surged to his call. Never had he felt so in-tune with the earth, so alive as he did now. The power belonged to him. He belonged to it. Together, they were unstoppable.

  Curtis flung himself at Cameron, white teeth bared to the light. Cameron caught Curtis in the air, then turned to let Curtis’s momentum carry through. As Curtis sailed by, Cameron added muscle power to throw Curtis bodily into a nearby pine. Cameron followed through at a run. Curtis yelped as he found himself crushed between a tree and a massive, angry enforcer.

  Cameron gave him no chance to catch his breath. Driven by fury, empowered by the land, he powered his fist into Curtis’s kidney. The lower rib snapped under Cameron’s knuckles. So he hit it again, and again, until bone fragments crunched like glass in a bag. Curtis whirled around with a weak elbow, which struck Cameron in the face. It rocked him back, but not far enough to save Curtis from a shot to the side of his head.