Leaping from the counter his head stood at Gallen’s chest as he lifted his eyes to meet the two legged beasts before him as his gaze swept from Marik to Gaerik in one fluid motion.
“Now we hunt,” Gallen said.
Chapter Twenty-One
The door shattered on its hinges as one nine-inch stilettoed boot kicked it in when the smoke cleared those black stilettos stepped inside of the room.
“So, who wants to die first?”
Ruby red lips split into a broad smile that led up to her rouged cheeks with a wicked gleam in her eyes as her middle and index digits twitched at her thighs, itching near the barrels of her six shooters. Delilah stood in the door way of the basement, men and women hung from the rafters by chains as shirtless sweating natives stood around the cavernous underground dwelling. Whips, chains, long polished rods hung from the wall with nails protruding from the end. She could barely tell who was alive, dead or beaten unconscious.
A string of kidnappings in the last month had led the hunter to this very place, a werewolf breeding ground. Lycan’s were enlarging their numbers through the bite, and once they knew for sure that the bite had taken effect, they brought the poor souls here to be trained to shift on command to slaughter whatever got in their way. There wasn’t much she could do to help these people from becoming werewolves, but she could save them from becoming killing machines in a war that they’d never even known existed.
The leader a short, stocky built man stood in the middle of the room, a mace clutched in his fist as he looked at the intruder. Delilah knew the man. He was the Lycan king of New Jersey’s second in command, she’d been waiting years to get her chance to rid the earth of that piece of slim.
“I hope you are.” He replied, his lips peeling away from the elongated fangs that hung over his bottom lip, blood and yellowing dead flesh still caked his teeth and gums.
“Not today.” She said with her trademark smirk sliding into place as her fingers twitched, hands moving like lightening as she took the guns from the holsters at her thighs and fired off two shots, the first bullet hitting a man square between the eyes as the second ricocheted off of a large cleaver hanging from the wall and took out the second man in the shoulder though much to her chagrin, the wound was not fatal.
“I want her fucking head on a spike!” Parish growled as he summoned his brood of pain to the attack with a sweep of his arms.
Delilah lost count of the rounds she fired as one by one each man fell to the ground leaving her barrels empty, and smoking as only one man was left standing. Parish seethed as if he were the one who had launched the attack himself when all he had done was idly stand by while all his men were killed. She was out of bullets, and now she would have to fight him with every fiber of her being in hand to hand combat.
Taking a whip from the hands of a dead man, he looked up at her, his eyes glowing with hatred as the braided leather snapped through the air.
“Think you’re pretty smart don’t you.”
“I don’t have to think it. I know it.”
Prying a blood caked machete from the wall, she twirled it through her hands with an ability that belied her human status.
“You already made one mistake.”
“And what’s that?”
“Coming here alone.”
Delilah paused for a moment, her head tilting gently. As they circled the floor, wedging around one another their weapons chosen she had to laugh at his arrogance as she shook her head.
“Did I?”
His steps faltered at her question if she hadn’t come alone then who had she brought with her. The hunter always hunted alone, something he had come to expect of her in the years as she foiled the plans of his king time and time again, but she’d never worked with a partner. Parish could only imagine the young thing she’d picked up to be her sidekick in crime fighting. Probably a little blonde since she was the buxom brunette.
“Oh yeah? Who’s your little friend?”
“I thought you would never ask. Samson!” Bringing two fingers to her lips, she let out a sirens whistle as a deep rumbling sounded through the open-door way.
Parish turned looking as the ground shivered beneath the four massive paws that pounded through the door, a great black mane lion leaping through the air roaring as it’s full three-hundred-pound weight came down on him, his lungs almost collapsing beneath its body as he tried to utter a cry before Samson’s teeth sunk into the flesh of his face, ripping the skin from his skull.
Delilah didn’t get the satisfaction of killing Parish herself, but the look of surprise on his face was enough to keep her bloodlust sated as she moved to the first body she came to that was suspended from the ceiling, turning the key within the iron cuffs as the body dropped to the ground. Crouching she lifted the woman’s face in her hands looking at her. She was older, white haired and she had to question why she was chosen. This woman was old enough to be a grandmother, she didn’t have the makings of a foot soldier.
“Time to wake up.”
Delilah’s face screwed up in confusion as she held the woman in her arms.
“What?”
“It’s time to wake up now. Wake up.”
Perhaps she was delirious from being strung up like an animal, she didn’t understand what she was talking about as the old woman looked up at her, two wrinkled hands coming up to cup her face gently.
“Elle, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”
“Nana?”
Elle’s brows gently arched as her head snapped up looking around her strange surroundings, fear setting in. How did she get here? Why was her grandma in this horrible place?
“You’re dreaming baby. It’s the only way I could come to you. You’re in a lot of trouble. Be strong. Now wake up.”
~
Elle didn’t know exactly what was happening around her, but when she opened her eyes, it barely provided more information than when they were closed. Swallowing from what dream she’d awoken she didn’t understand, but she hardly felt as if she had been sleeping, it was more like a message she was being given with her eyes closed and all the world around her was being blocked out. It was hard to breath, her lungs feeling constricted for some reason as she scanned the dark cinder block walls for something familiar that might indicate where she was or what kind of room she was being held prisoner inside of. Her back ached like someone had a crow bar between her shoulder blades and was trying to pry the bones from their rightful sockets. Inhaling a small cry deeply choked her as she realized why it was so hard for her to breath. One or possibly more of her ribs were either broken or cracked, and because her hands were cuffed above her head, suspended from the floor, it felt as if each individual rib was being stretched from the weight of her body. The dungeon cavern she was inside of wasn’t at all like the one she had been dreaming of. It was clean, she could smell the bleach that had been used to scrub down the walls, and she wondered if it actually was the same place only this time the room was being seen through new eyes, was this what it was and her dream was what it would be if she was killed or vice versa? Had Elle really been just dreaming or did she see a future that was actually possible if something wasn’t done now?
The sound of footsteps overhead frightened her as she looked up at the floorboards over her head, she could see a little light glowing from between the older boards, ribbons of dust drifting down from the ceiling. He was up there, the killer and she knew who he was. He was supposed to be Marik’s friend, his best friend and a man she’d had a one night stand with a year ago. Remembering that his hand had touched some of the most intimate parts of her body made her skin crawl along the surface. Elle tried to forget those thoughts, the memories of that night haunting her now as they would no doubt for the rest of her life. She’d made some poor decisions about the men she let into her home and the ones she’d gone to bed with but until now she’d never slept with a killer and what about the other women, like the one who’d been found at the beach. Had she seen this room? Hot tears
threatened to spill over her eyelids from her tear ducts before she shook her head silently. She was not going to be the crying woman, the one who just broke down and was completely useless, besides she didn’t want this fucker to know he really had her scared.
Relaxing her breathing she was not going to hyperventilate, she was not going to panic and start screaming for someone to help her, namely a man. Delilah didn’t need a man to come and save her, and that was one of the things that she loved about the character the most, she had balls of her own, and they were pretty damn big ones too. Where had Delilah gotten that lion? The question popped into her head randomly out of nowhere. Maybe her alter ego was trying to tell her something or perhaps her grandmother had reached out to her from the great beyond this time to warn her, if she didn’t save herself then nobody would? That didn’t feel right either.
Immediately she wanted to panic again. What if Gallen and Marik couldn’t find her, where ever she was she might be on her own.
No, that was impossible. They would find her it was just a question of what kind of shape she was going to be in when they did. Well, she refused to be like her grandma in that dream all broken and beat when they got to her. Again, Elle wondered where Delilah got that lion from and was that somehow significant. She’d had strange dreams before like the one she had the night before, but it was so hard to remember it. Elle couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a dream that vivid yet not be able to completely remember it, only knowing that it meant something. When she was little she had nightmares about monsters, and her nana told her stories about werewolves to help her sleep safely in the dream realm, now werewolves were back in her life, and she was having some of the strangest dreams again. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
There was a throbbing pain in her head from where Jamal had slammed her face into the coffee table, her wrists felt sore and swollen, and she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore from the tightness of the cuffs. In her dream, they hadn’t seemed so tight, but again that was still just a dream too. Squeezing her eyelids shut she could feel the link of the chain that was suspending her from the ceiling, her fingers just barely grazing the cold metal before she caught it between her fingers and attempting to haul herself up but she just didn’t seem to have the upper body strength.
Jamal stood resting his elbows against the deck railing as his light eyes appeared dark beneath the velvet blackness of the night sky, he knew they would find him here eventually, but whether or not they found him before he was finished with the woman he didn’t know. He tucked his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, sniffing slightly from the cold. As the sun had dropped from the sky on their tiny portion of the world, the temperature had begun to steadily drop, and snow was already falling once more from the sky. Jamal loved the snow, he always had. Born in upstate New York he spent his formative years running around in the snow that could at times accumulate taller than he was, but he loved it. Even when the sun went down, and his mother called him into the house, he never wanted to go in. It wasn’t until he was seven that he met his maternal grandfather for the first time, a big gruff man who smelled like tobacco and cheap alcohol.
They were treated as out casts from the rest of the packs because they did not shift, his mother was human, and his father was dead. Jamal never inherited the wolf gene, but from the moment he was told the stories he wanted only one thing. To be a werewolf and to avenge his father’s death. Edwin Whitcock left no misunderstandings in his grandson’s mind, it was all due to the Chaliceman’s that his father was dead. Unwilling to compromise the Connecticut wolves thought themselves superior to every other pack, including the New York wolves.
When he was thirteen, his grandfather died leaving himself and his mother practically homeless because the house they lived in belonged to him and the old man never revised his living will. The Whitcock’s were penniless. But today things were going to change.
Lifting his nose to the air, he took in the scent and smiled quietly to himself. They would be coming soon and what was started so many years ago would finally be finished tonight, and the rightful Alpha would soon turn the world on its axis; returning their kind back to the natural order of things.
So many years ago when he and Marik fought, Jamal knew he had never slept with his girlfriend, only he knew that it was a Chaliceman. Gaerik knew how he felt for the girl and he had taken her from him just because he could, however, his intentions were flawless. Jamal and Marik fought and then he had scratched him. Leaving that night the young man could only hope that the gene would be passed down through the scratch and it had. Jamal had been waiting for this moment since he was seven years old.
Contrary to the frosty temperature in the basement dungeon, a thin sheen of sweat cropped up in tiny beads over her face, struggling she thought perhaps her cuffs might be like those in her dream. Why else would her grandma come to her to tell her to wake up, she was giving her a glimpse of this room, nightmarish as it was she was trying to help her once again as she had time and time again through her life. A line of sweat dripped down her cheek from her brow and dropped from her chin as she craned her head back trying to see her hands better as her fingers grasped the length of chains. If she could just pull herself up a little bit, she might be able to unlock the cuffs and just fall to the ground. What Elle would do after that she hadn’t completely thought out, but she couldn’t depend on anyone else to come to save her, Elle didn’t consider herself in this all alone, but she couldn’t wait either.
Grunting softly she was so close when her strength gave out, and she dropped, the pain in her wrists and her shoulder blades burned like fire as her feet gently circled just above the ground. Thoughts of doubt began to circle through her mind, she just wasn’t strong enough. Her upper body strength was no match to lift herself up and hold onto the chain with one hand while she tried to unlock the cuffs with the other. Maybe she was stupid to have ever thought that she could do this. A choking sob ripped from her throat as her bottom lip began to quiver. This couldn’t have been happening, just three days ago she was a no body until she found that phone. If she had just left it alone, she might not even be in this mess. Jamal wouldn’t have her but maybe he would? Elle had slept with him, never knowing what he was or who he was. Hot tears began to slip from her eyes as she gulped trying to remain calm when light from the stairs appeared, just a sliver that made her heart rate speed up.
Panic began to take over as she squirmed, kicking her legs as if she could climb air and reach the ceiling and run from this hell she was thrust into.
“Please, let me go.”
Elle felt pathetic begging, but she was terrified, fear taking over every thought in her mind as the chains creaked and groaned above her as her hands claimed the length and squeezed. Their texture was rusted as if they had been laying around down here for years. She was afraid that she wasn’t the first person they had been used on as footsteps creaked down the aged stairs.
“Let me out of here!”
Jamal’s feet met the floor in the basement looking at her as he flicked the overhead lights on, gently tsk-ing her as he shook his head from side to side.
“But we had so much fun together before, why would I want to let you go after I found you again?” His smile was crooked as he folded his arms over his chest. “I was very disappointed that morning when I woke up and found you gone. Of course, at the time I had no idea who you were.” He lingered on that for a moment before crossing the room so he could stand in front of her. “You, sweetheart are very special. I bet you didn’t even know that did you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about you deranged psycho son of a bitch now let me go!” Elle screeched, kicking her legs out, one foot slamming into Jamal’s rib cage though she knew that the flimsy motion hadn’t hurt the werewolf, he’d barely even been knocked from his stance as his gaze grew darker.
“I’ll thank you for being a good girl while you are here or you won’t like what I do to you.” He laughed suddenly, his should
ers shaking with his laughter as he shook his head. “Well, I don’t imagine you’re going to enjoy what I do to you regardless. Had I known how important you were going to be that first night we met I wouldn’t have let you slip from my grasp so easily. Of course, I will not be making that mistake again.”
All of the air evaporated from her lungs suddenly as his fist made contact with her belly, the pain was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Elle had never gotten into fights, not physical ones as a kid nor as an adult so being struck was an entirely new experience for her. Her lungs shuttered as she tried to take a breath, gasping before another throbbing hit caught her in the ribs. Surely one had cracked because she could hardly stand to try taking a breath now, her cheeks flaming red.
“Ja- Jamal please.” Elle gasped, wincing as she spoke.
“What? I’m only softening you up a little bit sweetness. I don’t exactly have the time to get you drunk again now do I?” Snickering to himself Elle was reminded of a scene in one of the Rocky movies where Sly was beating the dickens out of a rack of ribs suspended from the ceiling - unfortunately, she wasn’t a deceased cow right now, and this pain was very real to her.
What he was planning on doing to her she had a very vivid picture of inside her head. Swallowing she didn’t want to believe that what she saw coming was true. It was another dream, she was dreaming all of this. She was safe on Gallen’s couch asleep, exhausted from the nightmarish day that she’d had, and her mind was conjuring up every bad thought it could possibly come up with. No, better than that, she was at home, snuggled up on the couch taking a much deserved nap. It was spring time, so the windows were open, the curtains gently blowing in the cool breeze. Yes, that’s was it. She was home from her book tour, and there was a copy of the New York times best sellers list laid open on the coffee table. This was all just a dream that she was having and maybe she would write a book about it? So many books were formed from fragmented dreams she’d had. Why on earth was this any different?
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