So long as Roland didn’t end up dead.
“And the challenger!” This time the gateway didn’t appear so much as explode outward. A whirling cloud of grainy salt spun out from the flaming rent and piled in a massive mound on the middle of the field, followed by a fountain of blood. “The leader of the Unclean and sister to the fallen Gomorrah,” Dorian called over the din created by the creature’s entrance, “Sodom the Defiler!”
The pile of salt and the puddle of blood merged, coalescing into a tall, thin creature with vaguely feminine features—if the woman in question were eight-feet-tall, had freakishly long limbs, no eyes, and a name that made everyone who wasn’t into anal cringe.
For the record, I cringed.
“Where the hell do they find these guys?” Alucard muttered beside me.
“I t’ink ye just answered your own question,” I replied, earning me a snicker.
Roland, for his part, looked unconcerned. He drew his sword and angled it in a fighting stance that I recognized from my brief stint studying kendo; I’d given up on the ancient Japanese art of sword fighting when they informed me it would take months to learn how to properly draw the damn thing. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Except, apparently, Roland.
The ex-Shepherd studied his opponent, who left trails of salt crystalizing behind her as she stalked along the edges of the field, the blades of grass so smothered in white that they looked like slivers of bone poking up from beneath the earth. I wondered if she’d have any clever one liners of the “now you die” variety, but she seemed even less interested in talking than her brother had been; she sprung, launching herself at the ex-Shepherd with shocking speed—by far too fast for most vampires, especially a fledgling, to dodge.
Fortunately, Roland was no slouch.
The ex-Shepherd dropped to one knee, dodging below the briny abomination’s claws, then sprung up, slicing Sodom from groin to gullet. Roland stepped through the gaping hole he’d made, the salt spray dusting his clothes, and cleaned his sword off on his slacks as Sodom pitched forward onto the ground. I was impressed, and I wasn’t the only one; the speed and execution of Roland’s counterattack had left the crowd speechless. I wasn’t sure who the favorite had been leading up to the fight, but I was willing to bet a few gamblers were sweating bullets right about now.
At least until Sodom’s two halves remerged, the blood pooling together, salt spilling, until she was whole once more. The Defiler rose, seemingly unfazed. Apparently—unlike her durable but inflexible brother—losing limbs wouldn’t slow her down much.
Good thing I hadn’t drawn that matchup, huh?
Roland took a few steps back and studied his opponent. I could practically see the wheels spinning in his head. If he couldn’t cut her into ribbons, he’d have to come up with a different strategy—something less straightforward. The ex-Shepherd returned his sword to its scabbard in a practiced motion, but that’s precisely what Sodom had been waiting for. She thrust her arm forward, somehow even faster than before, the limb elongating into a lance of crystalized salt and blood. Roland danced backwards, barely managing to dodge the tip of the lance, almost tripping over his own feet.
“It’s too soon,” Alucard murmured, “he’s still getting used to using his abilities. He can’t rely on outpunching that thing.”
As if he’d heard Alucard’s distant mutterings, Roland abruptly switched tactics, diving to his right and flinging out his hand. Magic spewed from his fingertips, a ball of broiling flame splashing against Sodom’s back. The flame was darker than any I’d ever seen, tinged an unnatural shade of red. If the crowd had been quiet before, they were dead silent now—too shocked to see a vampire wielding a wizard’s magic to react. I noticed the vampires in attendance sharing bewildered looks with one another.
“Ladies, gentlemen, and Freaks! It looks like this match has gotten interesting!” Dorian yelled. I agreed. If Roland could use magic like that, he stood a chance of bringing Sodom down permanently. A wizard’s magic was often limited only to his imagination and power reserves. Roland didn’t strike me as the overly imaginative type, but he did strike me as a survivor.
He’d make do with what he had.
The crowd hooted as flames licked Sodom’s back, eager to see more, but the noise diminished as the flaming ball sunk into the monstrosity, infusing it with light. Sodom turned on the ex-Shepherd and cackled. Seriously, cackled.
“Fuck,” Alucard cursed.
“What is it?” I asked, baffled.
“It’s Roland’s magic. Everything he casts is tinged with blood. His gateways and his spells. That thing he’s fighting can absorb anything he throws at it.”
“You’re fast,” Sodom said, her voice like the hiss of sand on stone, angling herself to face Roland head on. “But not very clever.”
Roland searched the ground for a moment until he found a small rock. He raised it, turning it this way and that. “Is this part of your brother, you think?”
Sodom screeched in outrage and barreled towards the ex-Shepherd. Roland fell into a fighting stance. I could see him considering his options, trying to come up with a new plan of attack—but Sodom didn’t give him that kind of time. She swiped out with a leg but then, when Roland leapt to avoid it, continued with a backhand that sent him flying. Roland bounced once, then twice, but came up on all fours and launched himself at his opponent Wolverine-style, his claws extended as if he planned to tear her apart with his bare hands, his fangs bared, eyes flashing red.
Sodom’s lance-like arm took him in the side and pinned him to the ground faster than I could blink. She marched forward, forcing the tip deeper, tearing through Roland’s stomach. The ex-Shepherd screamed in pain and outrage. He tore at the offending lance like a wild animal, thrashing and flailing.
“What’s happening?” I asked, turning to Alucard.
“He’s lost control of himself,” Alucard said, eyes narrowed.
“What can we do?” I asked. I refused to sit in the bleachers while Roland was toyed with and killed. The ex-Shepherd was a good guy, after all.
For a vampire.
Alucard’s phone rang before he could answer.
And that’s when the wolves showed up.
Chapter 41
Two massive wolves built unlike any I’d ever seen—with eyes as red as any vampire’s—burst through the tent, tearing holes through the tarp as if it were wrapping paper. The longer of the two launched itself at Sodom’s head, while the shorter went for her legs.
Over the screams and shouts, I realized Alucard’s phone was playing Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf.” The vampire slid his thumb across the screen and held it to his ear, shouting over the commotion. “Took your sweet time, I see!” he said, grinning like a maniac.
He listened for a few seconds and laughed. “Yes, I see that. I’m guessing pent up sexual frustration?” Another laugh. “So, you’ll be right behind, I hope? Excellent. See you soon.”
I punched Alucard in the arm.
“Ow! What was that for?” he asked.
“Who was that on the phone?” I demanded.
“Oh, don’t worry about it.”
I punched him again.
“Hey! You said you were in a rush, so I phoned a friend.”
I glared at the vampire. He didn’t know what cooties were, but he could reference Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? “Who did ye call?” I asked, again. It wasn’t so much that I minded him calling in reinforcements—that part I was all for. But I wasn’t a fan of being left in the dark.
“You’ll see, cher. C’mon, let’s go get Othello and the girls out before things get too crazy.”
“Crazier than this?” I asked, waving my hand at the field, where the two wolves were squaring off against Sodom, who’d fallen back to recover from a series of bite wounds. Roland’s wound was healing, but the wild look in his eyes still hadn’t faded. Meanwhile, Dorian seemed content to let the show go on. In fact, he was directing his people to bring more cameras into the fray s
o they could capture each of the fighters in action from various angles.
Alucard chuckled as he raced down the bleachers with me hot on his heels, but didn’t bother responding. A few of Magnus’ vampires tried to stop us, but Alucard made short work of them, carving his way towards the field, leaving corpses in his wake. Seeing him in action, I was reminded yet again that—as a former Master—Alucard was a class above the fangers I was used to squaring off against. Part of me was glad to have him on my side, while the other part of me plotted ways to kill him if it ever came to that.
I’m not perfect, people. But I am practical.
We found Othello on her side on the ground, having been tipped over at some point during the hubbub. Alucard reached for the chains, undoubtedly planning to tear them off, but reared back at the last instant with a hiss. “Silver. That was clever of them,” he said.
“Ye didn’t have a plan for that?” I asked, hands on my hips.
Alucard rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m guessing there’s a key?”
Othello glanced up at me and rolled her eyes. “Can you help a girl up in the meantime?”
I hoisted Othello back to her original position in time to see one of the wolves who’d attacked Sodom go soaring into the stands, not far from where we’d been sitting. Apparently, Sodom had gotten over the surprise of facing three opponents. Fortunately, it also seemed like Roland had gotten control of himself. I watched as the older man sliced through Sodom’s legs with his blade, and the remaining wolf pounced on the Defiler’s chest, landing a dozen feet away, putting as much distance between the two halves of Sodom’s body as possible. I thought it was a good strategy—the further she had to travel to heal, the longer it would take her to recover—at least until Sodom dissolved completely and rejoined several feet away, undamaged.
“They should’ve sent her after John Connor,” I said, half-joking, half-terrified.
“What?” Othello asked.
“I never know what she’s talking about,” Alucard said.
“Seriously? Terminator?” My gaze oscillated between the two of them.
“Is that a movie?” Alucard asked.
“Of course, it is,” Othello said, sighing. “I should have known.”
“Uncultured swine, the both of ye,” I said, before returning my attention to the fight.
The wolf who’d been thrown joined her counterpart and together they faced off against the salt monster, their teeth bared in a snarl. I realized what it was that seemed so odd to me about these wolves: they were somehow longer, and therefore taller, than any of the others I’d seen. Stretched. It was like spotting a long-distance runner amid sprinters, as if you could sense they had been designed to do something else.
Like chase you throughout the night and devour you by morning.
Ironically, Roland, easily the smallest of the three, seemed to be in charge. I realized something in his demeanor had changed while I’d been busy studying the wolves; he’d knelt and pressed his palm against the ground, his eyes pinched shut. Sodom took a threatening step forward, but then stopped, cocking her head to the side like a dog. A moment later I heard something, too—distant creaks and groans. Alucard whirled towards the sounds but couldn’t seem to place them.
Suddenly, the hiss and spit of the lawn’s sprinkler system filled my ears. Water spewed from the tiny steel sprinklers, arcing everywhere. The wolves, quickly getting soaked, shook off the liquid until their fur stood on end, like massive Pomeranians. Meanwhile Sodom, the invulnerable salt monster, shrieked as she dissolved into a murky pink puddle.
I eyed Roland, who rose with a satisfied smirk. He caught me looking his way and shrugged. “What a world, what a world, huh?”
“See! See!” I said, pointing at the ex-Shepherd. “I’m not the only one!”
Dorian’s camera equipment, so close to the fighting that they’d been caught in the water works, began to malfunction, and I could hear him screaming at his techs to retrieve them before everything went haywire. A horde of Magnus’ vampires, meanwhile, had formed a loose circle around the field, preparing to come at us in waves if we tried to flee. The Master of New York City himself, however, had yet to make an appearance.
One of Roland’s wolves raised her snout and howled in victory, joined swiftly by her companion. Except, after a moment, I realized they weren’t the only wolves baying. There were others—answering howls—resounding from outside the tent.
In the hundreds.
Chapter 42
The wolves flooded in through the hole created by Roland’s saviors, tearing it wider as they moved to encircle the tent, like a cavalry in formation. I saw a few of Magnus’ vampires try to stem the tide, only to get run over or torn to shreds. In a matter of moments, the vampires were surrounded by the largest pack I’d ever seen.
Two wolves marched through the opening on their hind legs, their bodies somewhere between wolf and man but deadlier than either, confirming a rumor I’d heard but had never entirely believed. One was white, the other dark. Male and female, respectively, judging by their sizes. I realized I was looking at the pack alphas—their leaders.
The white wolfman approached, ignoring the vampires scrambling in his wake. Or maybe he simply couldn’t see them; the monstrous mongrel only had one eye, after all. His companion trailed behind, eyeing the bloodsuckers and licking her chops as if anticipating a meal, a necklace of bones draped around her neck.
Alucard met them halfway, waving as he jogged over. “Glad you could make it,” he said. “Gunnar. Ashley.” Alucard bowed slightly to both, who returned the gesture.
“We would have been here sooner,” Gunnar, the thick-chested white wolf, replied, “but Nate kept pestering us with questions.”
“He wanted to come, but we told him he wasn’t needed,” Ashley said, baring her fangs in a canine grin. “Well except for the gateway, of course.”
Alucard chuckled. “Oh, that’s beautiful. He’s probably so pissed right now. Plotting his revenge.”
Gunnar nodded his shaggy head and studied the arena clinically. “So, this is your idea of a vacation, is it?”
The former Master of New Orleans shrugged. “I like to live on the edge, what can I say?”
“Excuse me,” I said, “I hate to interrupt, but can we hurry this up?” I folded my arms over my chest. “Some of us have places to be.”
Ashley snarled at me. “What’s your hurry?”
Alucard held up a placating hand. “Don’t mind her, that’s just how she is.”
I started scouring the field for where they’d taken my bag full of guns. You know, just in case I felt like shoving a muzzle up someone’s ass here in a few minutes.
“What’s wrong, Quinn?” Othello asked, picking up on my urgency.
“I t’ink Chapman’s goin’ through with the handoff. If we don’t hurry and get back, we may not be able to stop him.”
“Gunnar! Ashley!” Othello called, getting their attention. “She’s right. We have to hurry.”
The wolves saw the silver chains wrapped around Othello and growled, clearly displeased. They glanced at each other. Ashley spoke first. “Understood.”
“The pack will help you,” Gunnar affirmed, though I noticed he was looking at Othello, not me.
Guess I’d upset the pooches.
Oh well. So long as they didn’t piss all over my carpet, I’d get over it.
Roland walked over to us, trailed by two very naked, very wet women. He waved at me as he approached. “Quinn, I’d like to introduce you to Paradise and Lost.” The women waved enthusiastically at me. A little too enthusiastically, if I was being honest; breasts that perky didn’t really need the help. “Did I hear you needed to get somewhere?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a series of terrified screams from the opposite side of the arena, where Magnus had appeared with his harem of kidnapped girls, each held by one of his vampires. The Master of New York City held Terry casually by the throat. She seemed remarkably
more aware than she had in the mansion, her eyes wide and startled with fright.
“It smells like wet dog in here,” Magnus said, sniffing the air in distaste. “Is it too cliché to tell you mangy mutts to get off my lawn?”
The wolves growled as one, sounding vaguely like the rumble of thunder in the confined space. In answer, Magnus tightened his grip on Terry’s throat. She whimpered. Gunnar and Ashley faced the Master together, their movements uncannily synchronized.
“Is she one of the ones we need to rescue?” Gunnar asked.
“Yes,” Alucard replied. “They’ve been taking the girls from the city for some reason. Rumpelstiltskin’s involved.”
Gunnar’s hackles rose, making the massive son of a bitch look even bigger. In fact, Ashley was almost dainty in comparison. But those eyes…those were a crazy bitch’s eyes.
“Enough chatter,” Magnus said. “As entertaining as this all is, you have no jurisdiction here, Wolf King. Fortunately for you and your pack, I’ll overlook your interference in Council-sanctioned business. Your Daywalker challenged me to a duel, after all.”
“Is that true?” Gunnar asked.
“It is,” Alucard answered. “Only way I could think of to get terms established.”
“Then we can’t interfere,” Gunnar said, sounding resigned.
“Ye what?” I demanded, irate. What the hell was the point of having all these wolves around if they couldn’t help us take out Magnus and his band of merry vamps?
“It’s how they do things,” Othello explained.
“And if Alucard loses? What then?” I asked.
“Then we leave,” Ashley said through gritted fangs. “Or we go to war with the Council. Neither are great options.”
“What about Roland?” I demanded. “He had wolves step in.”
“It’s not the same,” Gunnar responded. “His fight was part of Dorian’s little game. Not a sanctioned duel.”
Othello saw me shaking in anger and frustration. “Quinn, they want to step in as bad as you do. Trust me.”
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