Born Into Flames

by Justin Sloan

  But not Bryant, Diego saw. The poor bastard was just a head and torso, crawling toward him.

  Could he heal from that? He would probably survive, and if he healed… as just a torso?

  Platt stepped forward and, after whispering something in his friend’s ear and a quick nod from said friend, he took out his blade and ended it.

  When he stood, wiping the blade clean on his own pants, he said, “Where the fuck are they?”

  There was no more levity in his voice, no more sparkle in his eye.

  Diego thought about saying some B.S. about not wanting to just go charging in full of rage, but as he stood there, looking at the remains of what had moments ago been a pretty damn cool guy, he could think of nothing other than exacting revenge as well.

  Gunshots were still going off, so that was the direction they would go.

  “Follow me,” he said, and this time, he cast his clothes aside and became the puma. He darted through the night, processing the direction of his companions, closer to the source of the explosion, compared to the attackers on the outer rim.

  But he didn’t want the ones with the guns—they would be the pawns. He meant to go for the jugular here, and so veered left, his Werecat eyes scanning the night.

  There. By a crop of rocks used to block their silhouettes. The fuckers were smart, which gave Diego more satisfaction.

  Heavy footsteps told him Platt was coming up fast, and then the vampire was past him, moving in a flash and letting his bullets tear through their opponents.

  More flashes of vampires moving in the night, and then the screams started before Diego even reached the enemy.

  And then he was among them himself, dodging a pitiful attempt from a guy attacking him with a gardening tool. He spun around and took down his attacker, clawing at his arms and chest, before taking a nice chunk out of his gut. Blood was warm in his mouth, the taste of iron heavy, but in no way liking it as the vampires had described.

  All around him was carnage. Not a single one of them left, and then—

  Two Weres turned on one of the vampires, then three more had made a move on Platt. They were restraining him to the rock, and the human attackers, more of them, were moving in from hiding spots unseen.

  “The hell is this?” Felix shouted beside Diego, having turned back into his human form in all the confusion.

  Diego turned back now, too, pulling to the shadows to debate his next move. “Someone’s making a move, but who?”

  “What side are you on?”

  “You have to ask?” Diego stared into Felix’s eyes to see if he could trust the man as he thought he could, and the answer he got was yes. “Someone’s working with the outsiders, a group of Weres. We stop them, then get to the bottom of this.”

  “Agreed.”

  The two transformed again and broke out into the night, making their first priority to free any vampires who had been captured. Anyone still fighting was strong enough that they didn’t need to worry about helping, Diego figured.

  A burst of flame came from nearby, scorching a large rock and, judging by the screams, a couple of vampires. Flamethrowers—a line of men with them.

  Diego didn’t want to get caught in that, but couldn’t let New York’s new army be burned alive. He searched and spotted Sergeant Garcia in a tactical position by the rocks providing cover fire for the vampires. Then he saw Felix, in werewolf form, taking down a woman with a spear and had an idea.

  As he ran, he transformed into a human and shouted, “Felix, the spear!”

  Felix transformed, tossed him the spear, and then was back as a wolf again for his next attacker. Diego snatched the spear out of the air, spun to jam it through a traitor-Were’s throat, and then continued on to use it as he had intended. He ran, crammed it into the hard earth, and then pole-vaulted up and over the rocks. He transformed in the process, pushed off of the rocks for extra momentum and came down hard on the attackers with flamethrowers.

  This ambush was well-orchestrated, but that didn’t mean it would do a damned thing against the likes of Diego. He was tearing out throats, clawing legs, and taking them down left and right. Felix had seen what was happening and joined in the fight, and they were joined by more and more of the vampires, as they became free.

  When the flame-throwers were out of commission, Diego turned back to see a vicious struggle developing between the Weres and vampires. Some Weres had made it to the outskirts of the fight, and Diego guessed by the confusion on their faces and glances in Felix’s direction that they weren’t in on this scheme.

  Which left the rest of them as enemies.

  He made a gesture for Felix to stay back, and was glad he didn’t have to transform to say so. As he ran forward, he heard Felix shouting for his Weres to rally behind him, and stand by for further word.

  Diego was soon in the mix, working his way toward Brad and Platt. They were fighting side by side, outnumbered but certainly not outmatched.

  With a roar, Diego was on the closest Were, tearing at the back of his neck and trying to work his way around to the front.

  A strike across the Were’s jaw from Brad threw it off balance, and then Diego had her—her, he realized, pausing long enough for her to transform into her human form. There before him, was the nude form of Presley.

  Diego transformed back, now totally caught off guard. He took a step back, looked around, and then wanted to punch himself as she leaped up and ran.

  If she was here, then… He turned, eyes searching for any sign that Esmerelda was in her Were form here as well. Brad and Platt spun like a duo in a perfect dance, and dead Weres fell around them. Felix and his crew had taken out the rest of the human attackers, all but a group that was on the run in the same direction Presley had gone.

  But there was no sign of Esmerelda,

  Either she was already dead, on the run, or… back in New York. Now that his head was clearing, he was certain she hadn’t come. Although, he hadn’t thought Presley had come either. Had she dressed herself up like one of the assassin vampires, and somehow he hadn’t noticed? Or did she follow and sneak into the attack? He couldn’t be sure.

  “AFTER THEM!” he shouted, and nobody hesitated to doubt his command.

  They hadn’t gone far, however, when they saw the point of retreat—a small outpost, what had likely once been a grocery store and had now been barricaded with make-shift fences with spiked poles for defense. Two humans were moving a defensive wall into place, and several Weres were standing just within the fence, ready for the attack in case their pursuers made it in.

  Twenty feet from the gate, Diego came to a stop. The rest were with him, Felix and his two remaining Weres on one side, Brad, Platt, and three remaining vampires on the other. Out of the darkness, one more form appeared, his cammies ragged—Sergeant Garcia. No one else. They were the only survivors.

  The ambush had done its job.

  Diego was too pissed to even consider the fact that he and the Weres had all left their clothes behind. He was finally getting used to that aspect of these wars, though he still preferred to fight with guns when he could, so that it didn’t come to this.

  “Presley!” he shouted. “What the FUCK?!”

  Her face poked out from one of the windows. A vampire lifted a rifle to shoot, but the humans within had rifles aimed back, and two more stepped out with flame throwers.

  “I wouldn’t try it,” Presley said.

  “Nobody’s shooting anyone until I have an explanation,” Diego said. “And know that Sandra’s safe.”

  Presley laughed. “That all depends on where she is, Diego. Is she back home, or is she in the midst of Enforcer HQ? Because if it’s the latter…”

  Diego felt his chest clench, but he breathed out, trying to focus on the fact that Sandra was likely back in bed, resting right now. But whatever else was happening in the city meant he couldn’t relax just yet.

  “Mind telling us what exactly is happening?” Brad called out. “Before I rip your head off and mount it
on my wall?”

  “Since you asked so nicely…” She disappeared from the window and, a moment later, appeared in the doorway with two large rocket launchers, one on each shoulder. “We figured it’s time to bring the days of the Were back. We don’t answer to humans or vampires, we’re Weres, creatures of the night, worthy of worship. They should all bow at our feet and adorn us with gifts.”

  “And you mean to force them to do so?” Diego shook his head. “When Valerie hears about this…”

  “If she does, it’ll be too late. This was her fault for putting so much trust in us. How much did she screen us, anyway? Or you for that matter?” She adjusted the rocket launchers. “Last chance, Diego. Show your true colors, cast off these shackles, and join us.”

  “I’d rather take my chances in hell,” he said, and growled mid-transformation, charging forward. The others followed, and the rocket launchers and guns went off.

  Earth and fence and body parts exploded and flew through the air, Weres, vampires, and the regular humans collapsed, and then Diego and Presley had connected in a mess of fur and blood, rolling back and forth as their teeth and claws tore into each other’s flesh.

  Guns continued to go off all around them, but by then, they had bashed in through the door, and she managed to kick him off.

  She flipped over, transforming into her human form, and grabbed a pistol. Diego bit into her pistol arm, then tasted hair as she transformed. Teeth sank into the back of his neck, and he thought he was done for. The room spun, and he felt a cold tingling.

  Every ounce of him said to surrender to it, that he had lost. To give up. Every ounce, that is, but the one tiny portion of his heart that said Sandra was back in New York, waiting for him, and possibly in trouble.

  And not only her—all of the citizens of New York.

  With a grunt of pain he transformed into his human form and kicked off of the nearby wall, sending the two of them toppling over the couch and onto the wooden table in the center of the room. They went crashing through it so that it splintered out around them, and they hit the floor with a bang.

  Now Diego was free.

  One of the wooden legs of the table was within reach, so he lunged. Teeth tore into his calf, pulling him back and he screamed, turning to see the large wolf that was Presley. She released and went for his exposed groin, and he almost screamed in terror, except that his hand had just landed on something hard and metal.

  The pistol.

  Her teeth inches away from his family jewels, he lifted the pistol and, metal touching her eyeball, pulled the trigger.

  Wolf brains splattered everywhere, and continued to as he backed up, shooting over and over until the pistol was emptied and Presley was no more than a pile of bloodied fur.

  He was covered in her blood, trying not to gag, as a form appeared in the doorway. Instinctively, Diego lifted the pistol and squeezed—

  CLICK.

  The bullets were gone, he remembered as he collapsed to his knees.

  Strong arms had him, carrying him to a chair, and then he saw Felix before him, eyes wide with concern. Through the ringing in his ears he could barely make out Felix’s words as he asked if Diego was okay, and Diego nodded.

  “The others?”

  “Only us and Brad left,” Felix said, shaking his head. “Brad’s injured… He’ll need our help, but the sun’s coming up.”

  Diego processed this, then told him about Esmerelda back in New York.

  Felix licked his lips, considering this, and then nodded. “I’ll protect Brad, watch out to ensure none of those bastards are left out here, then make it back to New York at nightfall. Figure this shit out by then, so I don’t have to. I need a break from all this death.”

  Another form appeared in the doorway and Felix stood, ready for action.

  “Put some damn clothes on,” Garcia said, the expression in his eyes furious. “A bunch of fucking Weres and vampires think they can kill me? Hell no. I want to see this shit paid for.”

  “You’re coming with me,” Diego said, pushing himself up. He was wobbly, blood dripping down the back of his neck, but he could stand and he would heal. Sandra might be in danger, so he was damn sure going to do everything in his power to get to her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  New York, Enforcer HQ

  The first gunshots sounded like they were coming from a long way off, distant, as if they were part of Sandra’s dream. But when she woke in Valerie’s old room, off the old office of Enforcer HQ, now used as a conference room, she heard another shot and knew it was real.

  Light was streaming in through the window from the east, the sky blue and peaceful as if everything was right in the world.

  Everything except those gun shots.

  More sounded, and this time, Sandra bolted out of bed. Her first instinct was to grab her clothes and make for the door. A thought hit her—she wasn’t a cop or a soldier, she wasn’t a Were or a vampire. In fact, she was pregnant, and had her unborn child to watch out for. That’s why she had slept here at Enforcer HQ to begin with. She felt more secure surrounded by friends, especially with Valerie and Diego both gone.

  But, of course, nothing was ever safe in this world.

  It wasn’t like she could just sit by and do nothing anyway, so she went to the hidden opening in the wall that Valerie had showed her, pulled out the shotgun they had stowed there for occasions such as this, a purse full of ammo, and made for the stairs.

  Shouting came from below, soldiers moving down the stairs, their voices growing distant.

  Yeah, this was stupid. She knew it, but this was her home as much as anyone else’s. New York, Enforcer HQ, it was hers to protect. Even if she was a normal, unaltered pregnant lady.

  And fuck anyone who tried to take that from her.

  She nudged the stairwell door open to take a peek out. When she saw it was clear, she made her way down. The next floor down was quiet, and the next, but then—three stairs away from the landing and the next door—shouting came, followed by a loud explosion that rocked the stairwell and shattered the glass of the door. None of it hit her, but the shock of it made the shotgun shake in her hands—not because she was scared, but because some jerk out there was threatening to put her baby in danger.

  With that thought, she threw open the door and charged out into a room of smoke, fallen soldiers, and one person on the far side of the room, opening the door to Commander Donnoly’s office.

  Esmerelda.

  The Were turned to Sandra, sneered, and beckoned to two people to come out. “Get rid of her, then find that bastard. We’re not leaving here until he’s taken out.”

  Then she was gone, moving down a side hallway, as two soldiers, a man and a woman, moved toward Sandra. The man had a pistol, already aimed at her, so Sandra ducked around the corner just as drywall exploded where her head had been. A second shot came, blasting a hole in the paneling nearby. Sandra waited, counted to three, and knelt as she spun back around the corner.

  As she’d suspected, the cocky ass had advanced, likely not thinking much of this civilian with a shotgun.

  So she taught him a lesson, aiming for the legs first. The shots tore through him and he collapsed, screaming. The woman was behind him, rifle ready, but Sandra wasn’t so pregnant that she was really slowed down yet. She remembered her training, back in France under the Duke, and rolled, shotgun still aimed, so that when she leveled out, all she had to do was readjust and pull the trigger.

  Unfortunately, she missed, and now it was time to reload.

  The woman, who had dived out of the way, was standing to aim back in, when Sandra decided that running away would just lead to a chase and be damn scary. So instead, she darted forward, catching the woman with the butt end of the shotgun to her nose. Blood splattered everywhere, and the woman dropped her rifle. A second hit, this time to the temple, sent the woman stumbling backwards.

  By the time she processed what had happened and was diving for her rifle, Sandra had already picked it up
, tossing the shotgun aside.

  “What the hell’s happening?” Sandra demanded.

  “Go to hell.”

  “You first,” Sandra said, then pulled the trigger. A three-round burst tore through the lady’s chest and neck, and she collapsed to the floor.

  The man was still there groaning in agonizing pain, and he was reaching for a pistol holstered on his belt.

  Sandra stomped on his hand and then aimed in at his head. “Talk.”

  He grunted, clenched his teeth, and just stared. So she shot his arm.

  “DAMMIT!” he shouted, struggling to move, but she kicked him in the face.

  “Listen here, jackass. I’m pregnant and trying to get my beauty sleep. What I don’t need is your B.S.” More shots sounded, muffled, followed by another explosion. “So talk now, or see what happens when you wake a pregnant woman from her sleep.”

  He clenched his jaw, trying to fight the pain, and said, “The Weres, they’ve promised some of us power, freedom from the old ways.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she said, then shot him in the forehead. Then to herself, she added, “This city isn’t for the taking.”

  With that, she followed the hallway that Esmerelda had taken, rifle at the ready. She paused at the corner and checked the magazine. Still full, minus about five shots. Not bad.

  She lifted it, keeping it close, and aimed in as she peeked around the corner. Clear. Moving briskly, she ran forward. She didn’t have much of a plan other than shoot anyone trying to shoot her, and stopping Esmerelda.

  That would have to do for now.

  A man lay groaning on the floor at the next hall, near the door to the bathroom. Sandra was about to check on him when a large, hairy form crossed into the hallway ahead.

  It suddenly hit Sandra that she wasn’t just a woman in a building full of possible assailants, but she was hunting a werewolf. Not her finest hour.

  “Get out of here!” the man yelled, pulling a pistol from an ankle holster and rolling in his own blood so that he could aim in at the werewolf.

  Sandra ducked into the bathroom door, just far enough to get cover, and then aimed in, joining the man in plugging the werewolf full of holes.