Falling Silver (Rising Bloodlines Book 1)

by Anne Maclachlan

  “He’s taking a friend over to the V.A. hospital. You missed him by an hour. He’ll be back tomorrow to handle whatever you need help with. Thanks for your concern, and have a great day.”

  Adam leveled his gaze on Karina’s unfathomable black eyes; so, she was going to play it cool, was she? “Well, Ma’am,” he drawled in the deep, honeyed tones his late-night Silverize infomercials played up, “if there’s nobody here to look out for you, we’ll just stick around.” He descended the few steps and nodded, smiling everywhere but in his eyes, and began to walk across the lawn.

  A mischievous thought struck Karina as she caught Bill’s muddy glare from behind Adam’s shoulder, and she jerked a step forward to stamp on the porch. Adam whirled, Bill yelped, and Karina smiled. “Just a spider,” she apologized sweetly, and retreated inside, trying not to laugh.

  Two werewolves? That was new. They must have spotted Old Jake after all. Bill really did think she was the second one, which was hilarious, but that also meant they suspected Simon as the first, which was not. At least this was the final night of the cycle, but she realized with an ache that having drawn this kind of attention, Simon and Jake would need to be on their ways again in the morning.

  It crossed her mind to make enough noise inside the cottage to reinforce the men’s suspicions about her “transformation,” drawing them away from the woods, but she could not be sure that the Hunters wouldn’t fire wildly into the house. Any molten silver bullets that hit her would certainly put her out of commission for a while, human or not. And Bill; who knew what or who Bill might shoot.

  Instead, Karina busied herself making a large vat of cocoa, and appeared on the broad porch with a tray of mugs just as the sun was setting. Sure enough, as soon as the door opened all three rifles and a handgun trained on her. With an inward eyeroll — because of course, werewolves would use the door — she gasped, “Oh, did you see something? Is it coming?” and set down the tray with a shade more trembling than was necessary.

  Clearly this young woman was as human as the rest of this little gathering, decided Adam, and he leaped up the steps to settle her down. She was a pretty thing indeed, with her waist-length black hair and those Cherokee cheekbones, or whatever they were, and those deeply liquid eyes now touched by tears of gratitude. He knew the effect he could have on women, when he was silhouetted broad-shouldered against the fading light.

  “Please don’t leave me,” she was now begging, and Adam had to swat the infernal Deputy Moore aside.

  “We’ll be right here, Ma’am, and thank you. Much obliged,” Adam waved his team over and introduced them to Karina as she passed out the cocoa. Moore still wouldn’t shut up, until Karina gently stroked Adam’s silver Hunter’s patch with her finger and listened, wide-eyed, as he explained the Hunter mission. Moore looked on in silent fury. For a flash, Adam wondered if this woman was enjoying the deputy’s poorly concealed wrath as much as he himself was, but he fell under her charm again as she brushed a wide lock of her hair behind her ear and shyly requested that the Hunters not leave her all by herself tonight, just in case.

  The night dragged but the Hunters stayed true to their protective mission, while their beautiful protégée waited quietly inside the cottage, rocking beside the fire, laughing at how easy it had been to keep these self-proclaimed heroes close to the house. She hoped Simon would be able to keep Jake quiet and far away. The fifth and final night left them with their most human mindset, but even Simon’s control was shaky at each end of the cycle and she knew he’d be a wild, unstoppable thing if provoked.

  Nearly dawn, and there it was.

  A manic shriek of a howl that sounded as though it were just outside the house, and the Hunters’ adrenalin-infused shouts returned the call. Karina heard orders from Adam, as the Hunters raced into the woods and left Bill to guard the perimeter, which he chose to define as the porch. Only when there was a slight movement of the front window curtain did the deputy sidle down the steps and into the shadow of a massive tree in the yard.

  For the first time since the previous evening, Karina felt a deep terror, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There really did seem to be something out there aside from Bill, and even though it was Fifth Night, and Simon wouldn’t come in unless — unless what, again? — she withdrew into the inner hall closet and locked herself in. Look into his eyes and call his name three times, fast, fast, fast because you won’t have much time if he gets into the house.

  Bill peeked around the enormous tree trunk, hardly breathing. A rustling nearby, maybe from the window, prevented him from leaping back up the steps — just to see if Karina needed anything. Feeling rather watery, he struggled for control. These were his only clean pants, and he couldn’t be late again.

  Almost dawn, he thought, and quickly convinced himself that he’d spent the night in the woods protecting a beautiful, grateful woman from a man-eating werewolf. The Hunters remained spread out deep in the woods as the sky began to turn, and the dew fell gently onto Bill’s hat. A bit chilly for dew, he thought, and shook it off.

  As the deputy strode toward the porch, the wild and hairy version of Simon grew uncomfortable in the low branches below which Bill had been hiding. He dropped silently to the ground and streaked back into the woods to await the sun.

  Bloodlines

  and Weirdos

  “Have you seen the sun?” Simon’s slurred voice began to penetrate Old Jake’s addled mind. “Jake. Jake! Look up!”

  Old Jake’s eyes still held a faint outer ring of blue, one of the last vestiges of the night. Jake growled in response, and Simon wheeled him to face the east. The two stood quietly among the trees, breathing and stretching, letting the sun wash over them and restore them.

  “Simon! You all right?” Jake’s voice broke the quiet. “God, Simon, why don’ you get me some teef?” He began to laugh.

  “Because watching you try to gum a giant steak is the best entertainment I have.” Simon touched his toes, then arched his back. “If we could get a dentist to work on you for three minutes a month, we might be able to do something for you.” He watched the blue rings fade in Jake’s eyes and knew the brief lucidity was quickly ebbing with it.

  “Simon – I smelled Vertigo last night. Watch your back.”

  That brought Simon up cold.

  “Hey,” Old Jake said presently, “Hey, Simon! There you are. You came back for me! Seen the sun?” He put an arm around Simon and grinned. “Are we gonna see Karina? I had teef las’ night, big ones!” He prattled on as they set off for Karina’s cottage and Simon grunted the occasional non-response.

  He’d rather face Adam Hunter and a thousand silver dollars than be scented and tracked by Vertigo, King of the Firewolf Bloodline. Vertigo was Old Jake’s bitewolf, the one who caught and tortured him as a small boy and kept him as a pet, a slave, for more than sixty-three years, until Simon’s fellows liberated and adopted the child from his tormentor.

  Simon caught Jake’s arm and held him back. A large dark shape was bent over by Karina’s porch, beneath the tree, scenting something.

  “It’ Gregory!” Jake jumped up and down, clapping his hands, “Look, Simon, look! Gregory! Gregory! Seen the sun?”

  A huge dark-skinned man stood up, with a grin that might indeed have replaced the sun itself. Simon could have collapsed with relief, but ran after Jake and mustered the breath to call Karina’s name. Greg caught him by the arm and shook his hand, drawing him in to whisper that the Hunters had been and gone. Simon nodded, and the two men followed Old Jake up the porch steps and into the cottage.

  Simon had begun to feel that Karina’s kitchen was the happiest place he’d ever known, and today it was particularly so as Gregory, chief-elect of what he himself called the “Gang of Puppies,” joined them for breakfast.

  Karina had decided not to tell Simon about spending the half-hour around sunrise in the hall closet, but she knew from his eyes that he’d already smelled the stale wetness of wool coats and mothballs on her.
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  “Did your boyfriend protect you from the big bad Hunters last night?” Simon provoked, and Karina aimed a cheeky tongue in his direction, as the happy little group gathered in the kitchen and got a fast breakfast together.

  “Oh, I was sooooo scared,” Karina replied. “Hunters. Please.” Simon and Greg exchanged dark looks, and said nothing.

  “I have some good news,” Karina declared suddenly. “I was awarded that restaurant mural in Duluth! I’ll be gone for about three weeks, maybe a bit longer, but I’ll see you before next time.”

  “Congratulations!” “Well done!” “What’s a ‘muriel’?”

  The details emerged before Karina tucked Jake into a small daybed in her studio, and sang him an old Russian lullaby she’d learned from her mother. Soon, Greg called her back to the kitchen.

  “Karina,” Greg began.

  Karina warned him off. “Don’t, Greg. Not you, too.”

  “Stop it, Rina, and listen up,” Simon snapped coldly, a tone Karina rarely heard.

  “Listen carefully,” Greg began anew, his large arms resting on the table. “Karina, Lord knows you have a good heart. But as chief of our little gang of puppies, I am taking you under our collective protection. When you leave here, I’m dousing this place with pepper spray to kill your scent.”

  Karina looked at him blankly.

  “There’s a problem. You’ve been exposed to only a couple of the bloodlines — mine is Earth, and Simon’s is Water. But other than Jake, you’ve never met a Firewolf.” Greg’s deep voice was chilling.

  Karina shook her head, “How many bloodlines are there for this thing anyway, Greg?”

  “One for each of the four elements — Simon, aren’t you telling her anything? — Earthwolves tend to be pack leaders, elders. Take me; I’ve been around more than a hundred and fifty years. Then there are Waterwolves like Simon. They can control their impulses the best, and they don’t shy away from the ocean the way the rest of us tend to do.” Gregory paused to be sure she was taking it all in.

  “And – what – Airwolves?” she cocked an eyebrow.

  “The Chimerae.” Here Gregory hesitated, knowing how thin the ice was. “But … nobody has ever actually seen one of the Chimerae. Well, one or two reports say they have, but most people, even most of us, wonder if they even exist.”

  Karina glanced at Simon and was stunned by the lurking animal revealed in his eyes. “Simon – have you seen the sun?” she asked gently.

  “Listen to the chief.”

  “Karina, the most demented Firewolf of them all is in the area. He’s known as Vertigo, and his sole joy is to inflict the curse, or to kidnap people and torture them until the moon turns and he can.”

  The clock struck ten and they all jumped.

  “Is that what happened with Jake, then …” Karina gestured in the direction of her studio.

  Both men nodded grimly.

  “Vertigo was Jake’s bitewolf; Jake was four years old. Vertigo slaughtered Jake’s family out on the Texas plains, and then he kept the little guy as a toy,” Simon explained quietly.

  “So that’s why … ”

  “Yep.” Gregory leaned back. “He’s nuts. Demented. Poor Old Jake gets a couple of lucid moments at sunrise, maybe once or twice a month … then he goes into that state.

  “We take cycles looking out for him.” Gregory continued. “Mostly because Firewolves are the most dangerous. A lot of them can’t control themselves, but a whole lot more — well, they just plain like it that way. They make the most of it. Weirdos.”

  “You’ve never said anything much about Firewolves before, either of you.”

  “They’ve usually stayed away from the north. Too cold for them. Don’t laugh,” Simon raised a warning finger. “Karina, you tend to feed every vagrant, every lost soul who knocks on that door. You have to stop. I mean right now. Vertigo is not Old Jake.”

  “Well, there aren’t likely to be any wolves of any kind in Duluth, unless you count that sleazy doorman at the hotel. Oh, stop playing big brothers!” Karina snapped at her adopted family. “I need to pack.”

  As Simon and Gregory helped Karina load up her rental car for the trip to Duluth, they filled in details and tried to ensure that she was taking the situation seriously. It didn’t help when she interjected, “Wait. You’re telling me that a werewolf can be warded off with pepper spray?” and burst out laughing. But eventually they packed her off to her new project and worked out their next move between them.

  An hour later, Simon was knocking on the door to Adam Hunter’s motel room.

  “Hey,” he said to Adam’s startled look, “I’d like to get my cousin’s place Silverized.”

  The Creek Run — Artist Redfeather Has

  Property Silverized™

  Pigeon Creek — Acclaimed painter and sculptor Karina Redfeather is reportedly having her Pigeon Creek house and surrounding property Silverized™, sources say.

  Mr. Adam Hunter, whose family owns both Silverize™ and Vortex Oil companies, has enlisted two associates (along with Redfeather’s cousin and occasional tenant Simon desRosiers) for his personal attention to the project, according to Deputy William J. Moore, who is spearheading the operation.

  “We have several prominent citizens here in The Creek,” Deputy Moore told the Creek Run this morning, “and we were happy when Mr. desRosiers contacted us about Miss Redfeather’s concerns. We took immediate action, and are happy to report that the property should be Silverized™ before Miss Redfeather returns from working on her current project.”

  According to the brochure issued by Hunter, the Silverize™ process is relatively simple but time-consuming. Based on the understanding that an active werewolf will immolate upon contact with even trace amounts of silver, fine strands of a secret Silverize™ compound are threaded around a property, through roof tiles, along outer walls and across windows. “These filaments are finer than the strands of a spider’s web, yet will defend you and your loved ones from the most vicious intruder of them all,” promises Adam S. Hunter Sr., president and owner of Silverize™ and Vortex Oil.

  It remains unclear whether this signals a change of opinion on the part of Redfeather, who has always maintained a strong skepticism regarding the presence of werewolves in the area.

  Said Hunter, “We are happy that a well-respected North American Native artist such as Karina Redfeather has chosen the original Silverize™ process to protect her home and property. Even in the unlikely event that she could escape an invasive attack, she would lose irreplaceable works of art, not to mention the damage inevitable to the house and its other contents.”

  Deputy Moore reports that two werewolves were spotted near Pigeon Creek this past week, though this is hotly disputed by Sheriff Langston, who denies their existence completely.

  “Adam Hunter is the product of a Big Oil family who is trying to recoup industry losses by playing on ridiculous notions and creating a public panic,” Langston said in a written statement issued today. “There is no more to these ‘werewolf tales’ than there ever was to chupacabras and Bigfoot sightings.

  “Citizens of Pigeon Creek should go about their business and ignore the silver tongues, if you will pardon the pun, of modern-day snake-oil salesmen.

  “The public should be aware that no member of Pigeon Creek law enforcement is affiliated with either Vortex or Silverize™, and that we will be conducting business as usual here at the Sheriff’s department.”

  Locals remain divided on the issue of werewolf existence. Janine Wallace and Shari Swenson, owners of the Pigeon Creek Diner and roommates in the old Morris house, are thrilled that the Hunters have arrived. “It’s time someone took this seriously,” says Wallace. “Haven’t you heard all the Bigfoot stories these days? We just wish we could afford to Silverize™ our big old place. I sleep with my great-grandmother’s silver brooch under my pillow.”

  “We are so glad to have them here,” adds Swenson. “In fact, now they’re going to be here for a while, we woul
d like to extend an invitation to stay with us at the Morris house instead of the motel. No charge, of course.”

  Karina Redfeather remains unreachable for comment.

  Revenge of the Rina

  Simon had prepared himself for Karina’s fury upon her return. What he couldn’t handle was her icy politeness. He thought he’d caught a break when she raged at nobody in particular that they had half their facts wrong; but then she asked him in her professional voice if he’d like more coffee. The kitchen had lost all its charm for Simon.

  “That roof leak I was going to fix for you,” he began. “I noticed when I was up there that you — "

  “I didn’t want to wait another month,” Karina said, offhandedly. “I took care of it myself.”

  Offering to do any more home repair work, which she was perfectly capable of handling on her own, would worsen the strain between them. Simon tried a new tack. “I thought it was funny,” he offered, “that your boyfriend got busted to meter maid for a week after that piece came out.”

  “Did you?” Karina asked absently.

  “Rina.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t normally socialize with tenants. ‘Family’ or not. Excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Simon was left alone in the kitchen. The Silverizing process had taken three and a half weeks — a week longer than anticipated — due to a sudden late-spring sleet storm, and its completion coincided with a gathering of the press and Karina’s return just the day before. The offending copy of the Creek Run lay on the table, badly crumpled at the sides.

  He knew that the “cousin” pretense was compounding the problem, stinging Karina’s feelings. But what else could he do? How would it look, he had explained, if he moved in to the main house and then took off and abandoned her in a month or two? Besides, it wasn’t as if they would be seen having a life together. There was trouble brewing and he was there just to look out for her for a little while. Aside from all that, there was her reputation to think of. Karina’s only response was to remind him what century it was and stalk away, wiping her eyes.