The Hex Files: Wicked Moon Rising

by Gina LaManna

  Tomorrow, Matthew promised himself. Tomorrow, he’d try to get Dani to see reason. It wouldn’t be easy, but if it spared her life, it would be worth it.

  Chapter 10

  It was always so much fun to shower at Matthew’s.

  With giddy excitement, I reached for his top-of-the-line shower gel and squirted some on my hand. Lathering my body up with the thick, expensive soap, I closed my eyes as the hot water cascaded down my back and bubbled over my skin. When I opened my eyes, I watched a handful of gold coins dribble down the drain in the form of gel.

  Lucky thing Matthew had lived for many lifetimes. Because it would take exactly that long to get rich off a cop’s salary.

  “Matthew,” I called out from the shower, “can you bring me a towel?”

  I popped my head back in and continued the lather, rinse, repeat cycle. By the time I finished with the conditioner and turned the shower off, I realized the towel rack was still empty.

  Resting a hand on the golden edged shower door, I frowned. Even if Matthew had been across town he’d probably have heard my call. He was creepy like that. It was quite strange and uncharacteristic of him to just ignore me entirely.

  At once, my cop instincts kicked in—a bizarre sensation, considering I was in Matthew King’s home—a place I’d considered a fortress. A place where we were cocooned in dark, luxurious safety. A place where evil stayed outside the walls.

  I hopped across the spacious bathroom and wrapped a towel around me. Then I dug out my Stunner from my pile of used clothes on the countertop. Inching toward the door, I waited, calculated, and then poked my head around.

  And lost my breath.

  “Matthew,” I choked, still unable to breathe. “Matthew!”

  I forced my cop instincts to stay put for as long as it took to clear the room and make sure any and all intruders were no longer an immediate threat. The second I completed my sweep, the Stunner slipped from my fingers, fell to the floor, the crash muted by the blood thudding in my ears.

  The entire thing took only seconds, though it felt like a lifetime before I was able to be at Matthew’s side. My breath vanished as I collapsed onto him. My arms splayed across his chest and my knees buckled by the side of the bed.

  “Matthew,” I gasped. “Matthew, answer me.”

  I didn’t expect an answer. There was no way he could answer me even if he wanted to. Whoever—or whatever—attacked him had made sure of it.

  “Jesus, Matthew. Wake up! Wake the hell up!” I stood, years of cop training flying through the window as panic set in at the sight of ink-dark blood seeping from his wounds. “Who did this to you?”

  I knew the answer even as I spoke it aloud. There was only one person, one thing that could make those sorts of markings. Claw marks dragged all over Matthew’s body. Four distinct gouges drew down Matthew’s face, slicing his gargoyle-thick skin into distinct quadrants. It continued over his neck, down his chest. His shirt was mere ribbons, his stomach a mess of blood and pale skin, torn apart like a sheet of paper.

  I turned to the side, sick to my stomach. I fought back the revulsion roiling in my gut and bit back the bile as I laid my hands on Matthew. He didn’t need to breathe, and his heart hadn’t beat in centuries, but there was a new air of death on Matthew. For an undead vampire, that wasn’t good.

  My brain scrambled to latch onto protocol. Protocol, I thought on a loop. “I’m a cop, dammit,” I muttered, pulling myself to my feet. Fingers slippery with sweat, I fumbled with my Comm until I got an answer.

  “Dispatch,” the voice said. “How may I help you?”

  “Captain King,” I whispered. “He’s—he’s in trouble. Now. Alert the precinct, the chief. Code 00. Do you understand me?”

  “Detective DeMarco,” the dispatcher spoke quietly. “Stay calm. I’ll alert the—”

  “Alert them already!” I shouted into the Comm. “Now! He’s dying!”

  I disconnected and returned my gaze to Matthew. His skin, normally the gorgeous, smooth veneer of pristine marble was pale—ghostly pale—and flimsy. His blood leaked through the wounds, a deep, deep shade of red that bordered on black.

  “Who did this to you?” I asked, pressing my hands against his wounded chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. The sticky warmth of his blood coursed over my fingers and the sweet, metallic scent drifted to fill the room. “Matthew, you can’t—please, stay here. Stay with me. Hold on, King. They’re coming.”

  Matthew’s eyelids didn’t so much as flutter.

  As he bled on me, over me, turning his sugar-white sheets to a filthy, damp, black mess, I felt a battle warring inside. The cop version of me—the one who abhorred senseless crime. The one who would fight for justice until the death.

  And then, there was the woman portion of me. The one who cared nothing about justice or fighting crime. The one who cared only about the man she loved, and the pain that existed as she was forced to watch the life of the man she loved slip through her fingers.

  I’d never asked Matthew what, exactly, could kill a vampire. Staking, beheading, silver bullets—I was sure most of that would work. But this, a brutal slashing, had silenced Matthew, and I sensed there was some darker magic at play. A curse, maybe a hex or even natural werewolf magic that was tearing Matthew’s spirit away from his body. If help didn’t arrive soon, I had the ugly feeling he wouldn’t survive.

  The frustration built as I reactivated my Comm and buzzed through to Anita, the tough-as-nails nurse who unofficially specialized in tending to the injuries of fallen cops.

  “Yes?” she asked in her clipped voice. “What do you need, DeMarco?”

  “It’s Matthew.”

  I couldn’t manage more than that, but I didn’t have to. Nurse Anita had known me long enough to understand the tone of my voice, the fact that I wouldn’t ask for help if I didn’t desperately need it.

  “Where?” she asked.

  “His house,” I said. “Hurry.”

  We disconnected, and I let myself perch over Matthew. I rested my hand on his hair, the locks on his forehead matted with blood. My eyes stung as I sized up his wound, struggled to keep an objective lens on everything.

  “I was right there,” I muttered. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  That very question triggered many more questions. Matthew wasn’t exactly a pushover when it came to physical confrontation, and I couldn’t logically think of a reason he hadn’t called out, or frankly, killed his attacker. Unless he knew his attacker or was outnumbered somehow.

  My body went still. The markings were almost certainly from a werewolf; my mind hadn’t even hesitated as I processed them and came to the conclusion that it had to be revenge. Revenge for the vampire attack yesterday that had killed a new pack member—a weak, unarmed female.

  I pressed Matthew’s hair back from his forehead, fighting against the urge to sprawl over him and weep. That would be the very last thing he’d want me to do. The only way to help would be to get Matthew healed—and then to find the bastard who’d torn my love apart.

  I had a sneaking suspicion as to who might know more about the attack. After all, there was only one wolf who’d gained an ounce of Matthew’s trust. One wolf who Matthew wouldn’t immediately attack on sight. One wolf with the power to destroy the man I loved.

  I narrowed my eyes as police burst through the door, felt my fists clutch Matthew’s ragged shirt between my fingers.

  Grey.

  Chapter 11

  The police and Anita arrived simultaneously at Matthew’s house. From the moment they flooded through the door, I fell into a fugue state, a dreamy, boiling realm of confusion and anger and fear. I leaned closer to Matthew, gripped his bloody shirt so hard it tore when a hand rested on my shoulder to drag me away.

  “Dani,” Nash said. “Come on. You have to take a step back.”

  “No,” I said. “I can’t. I’m staying. You’re not taking me away.”

  “I’m not taking you anywhere,” Nash said. “Le
t me get some clothes on you. Anita must get to Matthew first. You’re not thinking straight.”

  I glanced down, confused to find only a towel wrapped around my body. It was stained near-black with blood.

  “Just listen to me,” Nash said. “I’m your brother. I love you. I’ll take care of you.”

  I looked up, further confused. Nash wasn’t one to voice emotions, especially not at the scene of a crime. He’d said he loved me, which meant things must be bad. Bad for me, bad for Matthew, bad for everyone involved.

  “No,” I said, but it was an echo. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “Get her some clothes,” Nurse Anita barked to Nash before she turned to me. “Honey, I need you to go with your brother. I have to examine Matthew. He’s going to be okay.”

  “Can you promise me?” I released Matthew’s shirt and turned my vice-like grip to Anita’s white blouse. My fingers dug into her, stuck to the fabric. “Can you promise me he’ll be okay?”

  She reached forward, ignoring the smeared stains on her clothes and tucked the towel more modestly around me. “I’m going to do the best I can. I need to focus. The best thing you can do for Matthew is listen to Nash. I’ll keep you posted, Detective.”

  Her use of my title shook me, brought back the fact that in a way, I was working. I was on a job. Scenes like this cropped up every day—scenes worse than this. Death, in all its sickening forms were something with which I was all too familiar.

  So why couldn’t I think straight? I felt eyes on me, familiar eyes—cops I knew, friends of mine, filled with anger and sympathy and pity. Stumbling toward the bathroom, I let Nash grab my arm and lead me behind closed doors.

  He averted his eyes as he threw me a new towel and gestured toward the clothes. “Rinse, then get dressed.”

  With zombie-like attention to detail, I reached for my clothes.

  “You reek, Dani,” Nash said. “Rinse off. You have blood all over you.”

  “But, Matthew...”

  “He’s not going anywhere.” Nash crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Anita’s going to look at him—he’s in the best possible hands.”

  “I don’t want to rinse.”

  “You can’t walk around the borough like that,” Nash said. “You want to find out who did this to King? Get in the shower.”

  I moved toward the shower and stepped through. Matthew had one of those European style oversized marble showers with no door. I stepped inside, cranked up the faucet. My hair was still wet.

  I stepped under, letting the water scorch over my body. I could feel it biting my skin with angry red marks as I battled back the tears that threatened to fall. I reached for Matthew’s expensive gel—the one I’d so recently savored—and squirted it viciously onto my hands. I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed until I was practically tearing at my skin with my nails to get the blood off me.

  It couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but by the time I stepped from the shower into a fresh towel handed through the opening by Nash, I felt raw and exposed. My skin ached.

  “Jesus, Dani—you’re a lobster,” Nash said, his eyes widening. “What’d you do in there?”

  I just shook my head, slipped quietly into my clothes while Nash returned to the doorway and watched the scene in the room. I wore day-old clothes, not caring I had fresh clothes in the closet outside. My damp hair went into a bun, and I didn’t bother to touch my face with makeup. The second I was dressed, I pushed past Nash and returned to Matthew’s bedside.

  I took one look at Anita’s drawn face, and it made my heart lurch.

  “Be honest,” I instructed. “What’s going on?”

  Nurse Anita’s hands flew rapidly over Matthew’s body. “He’s been hurt badly.”

  “I know that,” I snapped. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”

  “I need to get him back to the hospital.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t know the answer to your question.” Anita rested one bloodstained hand on her hip as she faced me. “Detective, this isn’t a normal case. Vampires rarely need to be treated. Their bodies have certain healing powers that burn through my medicines quickly.”

  “It’s not working,” I said as panic set in all over again. “You can’t figure out what’s happening to him. What’s killing him, how it’s killing him.”

  “These marks are almost certainly from some sort of wolf, likely a werewolf,” Anita said. “But my question is: Who the hell did King let into his room? Who would he let close enough to him to do this? A werewolf, even fully transformed, is no match for the captain.”

  “Unless it was a friend,” I said. “Retaliation for the vampire attack yesterday.”

  “I don’t know,” Anita said doubtfully. “The wolves must know it’s suicide to attack Matthew. He’s well-loved...well, mostly...within the borough. And to attack one cop is to attack all of them.”

  Anita’s gaze jerked up and mine followed her. Indeed, the room was flooded with cops—both strangers and familiar faces. There was not a smile, not a light-hearted breath in the room. At even the grisliest of murders, most cops could be found cracking a joke with dark humor, or at least going about their business relatively unaffected.

  Not this time.

  This time, everyone was affected.

  Except for one cop, a younger one, standing in the corner. He wore the uniform of a fresh cadet, recently dropped on the streets.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Nash, and when he shrugged, I repeated the question to Anita. “Have you seen him around?”

  She shook her head.

  I slipped away, feeling Nash and Anita’s gaze follow me as I slid through the room. Everywhere bodies moved aside, parted to let me through. The officers were uniformly respectful in their movements, tipping hats and giving silent nods, a quiet but strong display of support for their colleague.

  “What’s your name, Cadet?” I asked.

  The kid glanced up from where he’d been examining a tattoo on his arm, cornered. The room went silent. “Officer Stride.”

  “Officer Stride,” I said, clasping my hands in front of my body. “Do you know Captain King?”

  “By reputation only, ma’am.”

  “Detective,” I snapped. “Who sent you here?”

  Stride shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next. He had a scruffy five o’clock shadow and long-ish dark hair that was pulled back into a low ponytail. I got the impression that rather than forgetting to shave, the kid probably just had fast-growing hair. Like that of a wolf.

  “Who sent you here?” I demanded again. “Answer me.”

  “I, er, heard the call and wanted to see the scene for myself.” The kid was rapidly losing the sheen of confidence that came with naivete. “I was on my regular beat and wanted to see if I could help.”

  “Right. Help,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “You a member of the pack?”

  Stride cleared his throat, swallowed. “Not yet.”

  “You on track to be blooded?”

  He gave a nod. “In the next two years.”

  “What do you think of the vampire attack yesterday?” I asked. “You think Captain King was responsible?”

  His eyes grew wide. “No, Detective. I told you—I don’t know the captain. I just wanted to see—”

  “See the retaliation for yourself.” I let the words snap out, puncturing the silence in the room. Before I could process what was happening, my hand had come out of its own accord, throttled the wolf around the neck, and tossed him against the back wall. “Your people retaliated on the captain for no goddamn reason!”

  I was shouting, not caring who heard.

  “Matthew didn’t murder that girl. In fact, he was your best hope to find out who did. He’s served Wicked for decades—a lot longer than you, wolf!” I snarled. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Dani, drop him.” Nash was at my shoulder, his hand on my arm. “Now. The cadet had
nothing to do with this.”

  I squeezed, watched the young cop’s eyes narrow in terror before I let go. I stepped back. “You tell your kind they made a mistake. A big one, and they’ll pay.”

  “Shut up,” Nash said to me. “You’re not thinking straight. The cadet had nothing to do with it.”

  “He thinks Matthew deserved the attack—don’t you?” I said to Stride. “You wanted to see the results and report back. I saw you grinning over here.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” The cadet raised his hands, shook his head. “But if it was him who murdered our new recruit, he deserved what was coming his way.”

  Nash shoved me to the side and took my place in front of the cadet. He reached forward, ripped off the nametag on his shirt. “Get out,” he growled at Stride. “Get out, now. Cops come before the pack. You don’t learn that lesson, you won’t last.”

  “Is that a threat?” The cadet shrugged himself off. “You don’t want to threaten a member of the pack. A threat against one of us is a threat against all of us. A murder against a brother doesn’t go unpunished.”

  Nash hauled the cadet toward the top of the steps, shoved him out of the bedroom, then gave a low whistle for several nearby officers to handle Stride and take him outside.

  “I won’t apologize,” I said once Nash returned to my side. “He was here to see... to watch Matthew...”

  “I know,” Nash said. “He’s done. His career is over.”

  “But—”

  “We’ve got to figure something out,” Nash said. “We’ve got other wolves in the department, and even the ones loyal to the badge will be feeling uneasy about the murder yesterday. The retaliation today. You’ve got to control yourself, Dani, understand me?”

  He spoke gruffly, and I pushed off him and returned to Anita’s side. “What do you have?”

  “We’re preparing to move him,” she said. “I can’t have you at the hospital, Detective, I’m sorry.”

  “Why not?” I demanded. “He’s—” I dropped my voice. “I love him.”