Brothers of the Fang

by Sharon Joss

  Felix had summoned him to the house an hour before his shift was due to start, saying that he wanted to speak to Mike privately. He stepped up to the wide veranda, where Adirondack furniture sprawled haphazardly in clusters around homespun rag rugs. Vince had told him that the residence served as housing for many of the vampires’ blood stewards. The place had a homey bed-and–breakfast type of appeal.

  Felix answered the door, dressed casually in chinos and chambray button-down, and they rode an antique elevator to the third floor.

  The elevator opened directly onto a large, open living room. The spaciousness of the nearly-circular room was dictated by the architecture; banks of large windows gave the place an excellent view of both the amusement portion of the park and a large field of sunflowers directly behind the house, flanked by the deciduous woods beyond. In the distance, a craggy peak rose above the trees.

  “What a view. You can see the Tor from here.”

  “The site for the house was carefully selected. Ambrose wanted to be able to keep an eye on the neighbors.”

  A rustic stone fireplace dominated the white, high-ceilinged room, decorated with crystal chandeliers, plush Aubusson carpets and classical art. A zebra skin draped over the cream-colored sofa, which was flanked on each end by ornately carved chairs with swans-head armrests. A glass coffee table doubled as a display case for more antique Japanese swords. The rest of the furniture in the room was a blend of pale leather and steel. While none of the elements of the room appeared to match, the overall effect was pleasing and masculine.

  “Interesting décor.”

  “Ambrose and I designed this room as our special place.”

  Mike wandered over to the fireplace to inspect a life-sized portrait of Felix, Ambrose, Cobb, and Gordon standing in front of the great fanged Ferris Wheel. Fireworks lit up the night sky above them. Each man held up a glass of wine, as if in a toast. A posed scene; vampires didn’t drink wine. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “When are you planning to challenge to Vince?”

  “He’s planning a meeting with the pack tomorrow afternoon to review security procedures. I figured I’d do it then.”

  “Excellent. Ambrose is eager to get this issue resolved.”

  Now that he’d gotten to know Silas and the pack, he no longer believed Ambrose’s reason for getting rid of his Alpha. In spite of what Ambrose had told him, the entire pack respected Vince. He was tough, but more than fair, and on a personal level, he’d come to value Vince’s approval of him. In a weird way, the whole park was a hoot. Rafe was nothing like he’d expected to be. He really was a good guy. I could see myself working here. It didn’t feel right to throw it all away.

  “The Globus has been asking for the duty roster for the summit. Ambrose does not want to have to change the names at the last minute. Especially of his Alpha. I’m sure you understand. It would send the wrong impression.”

  “What kind of impression is Ambrose worried about?”

  “That he is not in control of his family. That the nest is in a state of flux. That he is promoting his heir at the risk of destabilizing his own nest, and in turn, the region. That he is risking his own safety to ensure Cobb gets his own territory.”

  “What if something did happen to Ambrose? What would happen to the nest and blood stewards?”

  Felix glared at him over his little half-moon glasses. “Anything happens to Ambrose affects all his direct offspring and blood stewards. A steward’s addiction is unique to his host vampire. The older blood stewards like myself would certainly die, although some of the younger ones might survive. Unless the steward is able to serve another master in the same bloodline, the death of his master will kill him.”

  Felix started to say something, then shook his head. “I assure you that Ambrose is in no danger. At any rate, the all-hands meeting sounds like the perfect time for you to confront Vince. With the entire pack present, he will have no alternative but to accept your challenge.”

  * * *

  Mike left the residence and re-entered the park through the south entrance. He crossed the silent amusement park deep in thought. Now that the time had come, he didn’t want to do it. He respected Vince too much to challenge him.

  How had that happened? He’d been here less than a week, and he’d already put himself squarely on Vince’s side. Pheromones or no, he liked the guy. Respected him. Staying loyal to his wife when Yolanda--.”

  “Hey wimp.” Trick’s burly form loomed over him; too close and too hot for comfort.

  “Out of solitary so soon? Gee, Trick, I never even missed you.”

  A flash of uncertainty crossed the big man’s face. “What were you doing up at the house, pussy? That part of the estate is off limits.”

  “Felix wanted to give me a medal for whipping your ass.”

  Trick’s face reddened. “Answer me.” The air around them began to thicken and roil with Trick’s change pheromones.

  With a start, he realized that Trick’s pheromones no longer affected him. He felt no compulsion to do anything. Mike grinned up at the bigger man. “That’s it puppy, go ahead and shift. I dare you. I’m sure Ozzie would love to have you back.” He remembered what Sarah had told him about pheromones, and tried pushing back like he tried to push the cat, by focusing his thoughts and pressing on the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

  Trick paled, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had come on. He stepped back so quickly, he nearly tripped.

  Surprised at his own success, Mike grinned at his would-be aggressor’s immediate change in attitude. Well, that’s a neat trick. I guess I’ve got a little juice of my own.

  Trick backed away, seemingly baffled. “Don’t think this is over, Bane. I’m watching you. You and I have unfinished business.”

  But Trick’s words lacked conviction. “Looking forward to it, wolf-pup.” He shook his head as the were-man stumbled back to his post. What the hell was Ambrose thinking? Trick as Alpha would be a disaster.

  CHAPTER 28: HIDE AND SEEK

  After his shift ended that night, Mike hung out with Rafe, practicing the coin-rolling trick across his knuckles, shooting the breeze with the vampire until Rafe retired, just before dawn. After making sure that the rest of the wolves had gone home for the night, he headed over to the empty clubhouse. The view from Felix’s quarters had given him an idea, and he wanted to check it out. There were no security cameras out in the fields; he could approach the private areas of the estate through the woods at the rear of the property. No one had gone out on the Tor hunting tonight, so this was the perfect time to poke around.

  Three game trails led away from the clubhouse. One led back to the park, one led to the amphitheater where he’d fought with Vince, and the third led toward the house and private grounds of the estate. He followed the path on a circuitous route through the dense woods and emerged at the edge of the sunflower field behind the house. Most of the windows facing the field were closed and shuttered. Even the blood stewards were asleep at this time of night. On the third floor, where Felix lived, the lights were on, but he saw no movement. A half-moon hovered just above the tree line to the west.

  In the field before him, heavy-headed sunflowers drooped; their weighty blossoms towering six to eight feet above the ground. He skirted the field, searching for a branch off the path, not exactly certain what he was looking for.

  He opened himself to the cat’s senses and searched for scents or sounds that might have been masked by a ward. He didn’t find anything, but persisted. There was something about this field that didn’t seem right. While it was possible that the distillery and clinic were hidden somewhere in the woods, he had a feeling that the buildings had to be close to both the house and the park. Two-thirds of the land closest to the house was surrounded by immaculately groomed formal gardens. This field was screened on one side by the tall hedge that encircled the park, on two sides by the woods, and in the front by the house itself. It had to be here.

  He closed his
eyes and unfurled just enough of the cat to pick up on Gordon’s scent, and after a few minutes quiet searching, he found a spot where the scent entered the field of sunflowers. He followed the scent spores down a row between the sunflowers for about thirty yards until the scent disappeared.

  Blindly, he reached out with his hands, feeling for anything that didn’t feel like sunflowers. Sure enough, he came up against a solid panel that felt like wood. He slid his hands across the surface, searching for a latch. As soon as he felt the metal bolt, he opened his eyes, and the barn-like building appeared before him. As soon as he took his hands away, the structure wavered out of sight. Pretty damn clever. Reaching out again, he slid the latch to the left, and the door slid open on a silent track. He stepped into the distillery and slid the door shut behind him.

  It was a warm summer night, but stifling in the distillery. Casement windows circled the room just below the twelve-foot ceilings, letting in the glitter of starlight, just enough to see by. The room contained three huge vats, copper tubing, assorted racks, and bottling equipment. A bank of refrigerators and a stainless steel sink were set up along one wall. The place was spotless and smelled faintly of bleach. A long worktable in the center of the room held a computer and printer. He was tempted to power up the computer and check its contents, but decided to keep looking until he found the clinic, which had to be nearby. Now that he was here, he wasn’t leaving until he’d had a chance to look around.

  Two doors on the wall opposite the vats appeared likely. The first opened onto a flight of stairs leading down into utter blackness. The scent of harsh chemicals and the stink of a roadside zoo assaulted his sinuses. He fumbled for a light switch and followed the stairs into what could only be Ozzie’s clinic.

  The room was approximately twenty feet square; crowded floor to ceiling with Ozzie’s cluttered desk, overflowing bookshelves, cupboards, a sink, a centrifuge, a small freezer unit and two immense refrigerators. An examination table stood in the middle of the room, and there was barely enough room to walk around it without bumping into something. Opposite the entry, a large, solid, sliding door was flanked on either side by a pair of steel cages, built into the floor. The cages were no more than four feet square. This had to be where the werewolves were held in solitary confinement when they were being punished. His blood boiled at the thought of spending two days locked up in one of those cages, like animals. The putrid stench of feces, urine, blood, and filth was strong, but the cages appeared spotlessly clean and disinfected. So where was the stink coming from?

  It seemed to come from the other side of the door. It was padlocked; but there was a key hanging from a wire on nearby hook. He unlocked the door and it slid aside on a well-oiled track, opening onto another darkened room.

  The overpowering reek of death and rotting meat hit him like a blow. He felt around for the light switch, and stood stunned at the sight of a huge cavern stretching out before him.

  Thick planks atop garbage cans on one side of the room served as a makeshift counter for bottles of bleach, medical instruments, and an odd assortment of tools. On the left wall, metal lockers provided storage. He stepped cautiously into the room, illuminated only be the glow of two bare bulbs suspended over a beat-up work table made from rough-hewn oak. He reached out to touch the heavy woven straps attached to the table and choked a swallow of bile when he realized that they were stained with dried blood. Beneath the table, a pair of heavy-duty truck batteries caught his attention. He recoiled as he realized their purpose. The goose-bumps that raced up his arms had nothing to do with the chilly basement.

  This was a very bad place.

  The dim light wasn’t enough to fully illuminate the extent of the hall-like cavern. Beyond the massive table, a long row of stables stretched into darkness. This must have been the old slave quarters, he realized. As he approached the gloomy center aisle, he noted each self-contained wooden stall was gated across the front with sturdy wire mesh. His heart skipped a beat as he looked into the first stall.

  Inside, a filthy, emaciated wolf lay collared and chained to the floor. He opened the cage, but the creature didn’t move. As he squatted to check for a pulse, a thready heartbeat confirmed that the werewolf was still alive. The shape of its skull showed starkly through the thinning pelt covered in long-dried feces. The wolf’s fur felt like dead grass. The poor thing was starving to death. It was too far gone even to open its eyes. Cold anger rolled through Mike. What kind of sick fuck would do something like this?

  He remembered the curiously detached look he’d seen on Ozzie’s face when Mike had woken up and caught him slicing into his flesh. Damn you, Ozzie. These were the missing werewolves. His outrage grew as he raced from stall to stall. There were far more than seven wolves here. Not one wolf stirred. He shouted and banged on the doors. All were too sick or drugged to even respond. This is Ozzie’s work. It had to be. As far as he could tell, about half the cells were occupied. He’d need help to get them all out.

  When he reached the end of the aisle, he stopped and groaned with dismay. Another black cavern branched off to the left where the dim, distant lighting could not penetrate. This was where the scent of rotting corpses was coming from.

  There had to be another light switch somewhere. He felt around for a switch, but when his hand brushed the grill across the front of the nearest stall, something hissed and slammed against the mesh. He stumbled back. Strange, unfamiliar scents blended with the rank air. No doubt these things thrived in darkness. He remembered the Fae creatures he’d seen at the Odditorium. Oh my god. These are Fae creatures from the Tor. Gordon’s hostages. How long had they been here? Scavengers for Ozzie’s handiwork, he guessed. Disgusting.

  He had to see. There had to be a flashlight around here somewhere. But as he turned to go look, a strange scent came to him. A familiar scent. Female. Not Yolanda or anyone he knew, but familiar. Behind his eyes, Tehuantl pushed, nudging to let him out. No way.

  Cold anger coursed through him as he ran back toward the work room. He searched the lockers for a flashlight. Disgust and fury coursed through him as he found catchpoles, stun batons, and long, stout sticks with metal collars and pinchers on the ends; probably used for moving the prisoners from their dungeons to the table for torture. This was no workroom. The collars had sharp silver-tipped spikes on the inside. This was a hall of torture.

  Finally he found a working flashlight. His footsteps echoed across the cavern as he ran back to the Fae section. He had to see what was in those cages. He kept a tight grip on his emotions as he checked each stall with the flashlight. Occasionally, the light caught the gleam of an open eye, but no movement. Once he turned the corner, however, the Fae skittered away from the light and the half-eaten wolf corpses they’d been feeding on. One stall held a pale white scorpion the size of a washing machine, with twin curling stingers curved over its back, and eight clear blue eyes glaring balefully at him over a tiny screaming mouth full of needle-like fangs. Its two front legs looked more like tiny hands than pincers. It whistled its hatred of the strong light. Other stalls held larger versions of the tiny lizard people he’d seen in the Odditorium. Oh my god, they’re breeding in here. Other cells held dark, clumsy things that flopped and flapped away from the light. He couldn’t tell what they were.

  Not until he finally reached the solid stone wall at the end did he find the cage he was looking for; the one that smelled so familiar. It was déjà vu all over again. In the farthest corner, as far away from the door as possible, lay the still form of a female Nagual. He couldn’t even tell what species it was. Her fur was caked with dirt and clumps of dried filth. He looked for signs of life in the beam of the flashlight, but she was still as death. The door squeaked loudly when he opened it, but she showed no sign of life.

  “Hey there,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He sweated profusely in the chill damp air. There was no rotting wolf corpse here; the smell of decay inside this stall was old. He crouched beside her. It was a bear, he realized. Tehu
antl pushed at him to touch the matted fur; to make contact. He kept his hands to himself, even as he longed to touch her. Now was not the time. Hot tears streaked down his cheeks.

  “I’m going to get you out of here,” he choked. But even as he said the words, the enormity of the problem hit him. He’d need help getting everyone out. He’d need to bring the pack in on this. And Rafe. Now.

  He headed back to the workroom, determined to put an end to the torture and make Ozzie pay for this. No sooner had he turned the corner than he realized someone else was in the cavern. Two men stood talking at the worktable in the torture room. He turned off the flashlight and stepped back into the darkness.

  “I tell you Cobb, that door didn’t unlock itself. And the lights were on. There’s someone down here.”

  “What is that stink?”

  “Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Ozzie answered. “It’s the Bestiary. What do you think?”

  They’re coming this way. He retreated back toward the Nagual’s cage.

  “What do you want me to do, Ozzie? It’s nearly dawn.”

  “Come on, this’ll only take a few minutes. Down this way”

  The bright beam of flashlights penetrated the gloom as the men closed in. Mike slipped into the still open door of the Nagual’s cage.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Oh don’t be such a prude, Cobb. The wolves aren’t as hardy as you’d think, and these Fae monsters will eat anything.”

  Mike heard a snorting, gagging sound from Cobb, followed by a string of oaths.

  “Forget it. I can hardly breathe. I’m out of here, Oz. You probably forgot to lock up. If you really think there’s somebody down here, then lock ‘em in. There’s no way out. The smell alone should kill ‘em.”

  “No wait,” the sounds of Ozzie’s protests followed the heavier step of Cobb’s footfalls until their voices receded and the light in the main cavern went out. After a minute, Mike flicked on the flashlight and ran back to the work room to check the sliding door, but it was closed and wouldn’t budge. He tried his cell phone, but there was no signal.