The Midnight Hunt

by L. L. Raand

  “I should be done in another hour,” Marissa said with a sigh. “Maybe you could come back then and we can have…breakfast… together.” She turned to Becca with a surprisingly friendly smile.

  “Unless you have plans to feed her?”

  “Knock yourself out,” Becca said sharply and Jody laughed.

  Marissa’s smile was blazing. “Thanks. I hope so.” She caressed Jody’s arm. “What do you need? Now, I mean.”

  “A Jane Doe came in two nights ago from the ER at AGH. A teenager—female. Do you have a COD yet?”

  “I think Kerry did that one,” Marissa said, all business now. “I’ll have to check the file.” She glanced at Becca again. “I didn’t catch your name?”

  “This is Becca Land,” Jody said. “She’s with me.”

  “All right…but you do know this is all preliminary?”

  “Definitely,” Jody said, her voice languid and seductive. Marissa’s expression softened and her eyes glazed.

  “The report?” Becca said testily.

  Jody laughed and Marissa blinked, as if wakening from a pleasant dream.

  “Come on, then.” Marissa led them into a small crowded office with charts piled everywhere, several empty paper coffee cups balanced precariously on the edge of the desk, and an open sports bag in one corner, tennis rackets spilling out.

  Becca and Jody stood, since the only chairs were covered with journals, while Marissa sorted through files and finally came up with a single sheet of paper. She read it over and dropped it onto the desk.

  “Toxic shock is the preliminary diagnosis.”

  “Toxic shock,” Becca repeated, jotting notes on her pad. She didn’t even consider trying for her recorder. “An infectious agent? Some kind of bacteria or something?”

  Marissa raised an eyebrow in Jody’s direction and Jody nodded for her to go on.

  “Culture results indicate no bacterial or viral agent.” At Becca’s look of confusion, Marissa continued, “More likely a chemotoxin of some kind.”

  “Chemotoxin? Like sarin?”

  “Like any number of poisons.”

  “But something like that could be contagious?” Jody asked.

  “In theory, absolutely,” Marissa said. “It would depend on the method of transfer, the half-life of the drug, the LD50—” She caught herself with a shake of her head. “Sorry—LD50 is a general measurement of the toxicity of any agent—it literally means the dose at which fifty percent mortality occurs.”

  Becca scribbled madly. “But you haven’t isolated this…agent?”

  “As I said, this is Kerry’s case, but it’s difficult for us to isolate an unknown agent because we don’t know how to test for it. We can tell you what it isn’t, but it’s very hard to tell you what it is.”

  “Anything else that might be helpful?” Jody asked.

  “I don’t think so…” Marissa glanced at the chart again. “Wait a minute. You said this Jane Doe died in the ER? She wasn’t an inpatient for any length of time?”

  “No, why?” Becca asked.

  “The external exam showed multiple intravenous access sites. Many more than would be anticipated during a simple emergency resuscitation. Hold on, let me look at the photos of the body.” Marissa keyed some information into the computer on the desk and sorted through a number of images on the monitor. “A lot of these puncture sites look older than a day or two.” She cleared the photos and regarded Becca and Jody with a frown. “If I had to guess, I’d say this girl had been hospitalized somewhere immediately before arriving at the emergency room.”

  “Thanks,” Jody said. “I’d appreciate it if you kept our visit between us.”

  Marissa smiled slowly. “Don’t I always?”

  Becca was silent as they made their way out. When they reached the parking lot, the sun was just rising. Jody slid her hands into her pockets and stopped, watching the lightening sky intently. Becca waited, allowing her the private moment.

  “What do you think?” Becca asked when Jody resumed walking.

  “You tell me,” Jody said. “You’re the investigative reporter.”

  Becca had been up all night and, despite her excitement over the new information, was feeling bitchy. “I think Marissa is dying for you to sink your fangs into her.”

  “I can assure you, she wouldn’t be dying. And the term fangs is insulting.”

  “You know what I mean.” Becca halted next to her car. “Is she one of your regulars?”

  “We used to date,” Jody said. “Now she hosts for me from time to time.”

  “You feed and she comes.” Becca knew she sounded petulant, and she was never petulant. She was just having a hard time getting the hungry way Marissa had looked at Jody out of her mind.

  Jody’s expression never changed. “I think we’ve already established that’s how it works. The case?”

  “Something—no—a lot of somethings don’t add up,” Becca said, dragging her mind back to business. “Where did the Jane Doe come from? Where was she before arriving at the ER? If she really was a patient somewhere, why not transfer her legitimately—why the secrecy? And why call me and tell me about her if you want to keep it a secret?”

  “I don’t know,” Jody said, “but I think it’s time we ask the wolf Alpha the same questions.”

  “When?” Becca asked eagerly. She wasn’t tired any longer.

  “Since my involvement isn’t actually official at this point,” Jody said, “it may not be all that easy. I’ll call her and see if I can arrange a meeting for tonight.”

  “You’ll call me, when you…wake up?”

  “I sleep during the day, Becca,” Jody said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I don’t die.”

  “Don’t think you can leave me high and dry in this. Because I promise you, if you don’t call me, I will hunt you down.”

  “Of that, Ms. Land,” Jody said wryly, “I have no doubt. Have a nice day.”

  Becca watched as Jody walked away and couldn’t help but think of Marissa’s offer to feed her. She wondered if Marissa or someone like her would be there for Jody when she awakened. Just as quickly, she thrust the images and the accompanying frisson of anger from her mind.

  ———

  Drake, acutely aware of Sylvan a few inches away, stood in the doorway of the laboratory and assessed the sophisticated setup while Sophia talked on the phone. An operating table with three circular halogen lamps positioned above it occupied the center of the large room. Several rows of workbenches in one corner held state-of-the-art medical equipment—mass spectrometers, centrifuges, gas chromatographs, hemolytic analyzers. Glass-fronted cabinets contained instrument packs, rows of drugs, and other supplies. An anesthetic machine was attached by multicolored conduits to oxygen and anesthetic outlets in the ceiling and a portable X-ray machine occupied an adjacent alcove.

  A laboratory and operating room like this required skilled personnel to staff it—Weres like Elena and Sophia who had been trained in human institutions and brought their skills and knowledge back to the Were community.

  Reminded that her own prognosis was far from certain and anxious to shed any light on the disease process, Drake walked to the gleaming stainless steel operating table and sat down on the vinyl padded surface. She purposefully did not look at Sylvan, who stood with her arms folded across her chest and a tight expression on her face. Sylvan hadn’t said a word on their way to join Sophia, but her agitation was palpable, impossible for Drake to ignore even if the steady low-level growl hadn’t started again. Sensing Sylvan’s upset only made Drake want to touch her more. Her limbs vibrated with the need to go to her, to stroke the tension from her body and soothe her worry. She wanted, needed, to calm her.

  “I think you should wait outside, Alpha,” Drake said, stretching out on her back in the hopes of appearing relaxed. “This is all just routine.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Sylvan was suddenly at the end of the table, looming over Drake with her arms braced on either side of Drake’s le
gs. “I’m staying.”

  The heat of Sylvan’s body wafted over Drake’s like a blanket covering her on a cold winter night. Transported, she felt her face buried in a thick silver pelt, felt Sylvan’s strong muscular body curled around hers in the haven of a fallen pine. Sylvan smelled of home and safety—sheltering her, guarding her, even as Drake protected her. Drake gasped at the vivid image and Sylvan’s scent filled her chest, stirred her.

  Excited her. Agitated, full and ready, she twisted restlessly.

  Sophia pocketed her cell and pushed a stainless steel cart over to the table. “I just talked to my mother about what they’ll need.” She smiled down at Drake. “We’ll start with the simple things, and we can stop anytime you want.”

  “Just take anything you need.”

  “Tell me what you’re going to do,” Sylvan demanded.

  “A battery of blood tests first, looking for viral components, chemical toxins, immunoglobulins, altered neurotransmitters…” Sophia shrugged. “Anything that might account for the elevated temperature.”

  She glanced at Sylvan, as if asking for permission. “Because Drake was human, we can’t assume whatever triggered the symptoms of fever was the same for her as it would be for one of us.”

  Drake lifted her head and focused on Sylvan, who still leaned over her. “What triggers Were fever in you?”

  “Us,” Sylvan said softly, her wolf-gold eyes boring into Drake’s. “You’re a wolf Were now. You’re mine now.”

  Drake’s chest tightened at the possessive tone in Sylvan’s voice. She’d schooled herself not to care about being an outsider, not to care if she didn’t belong anywhere or with anyone, and over the years, she’d come to believe those things didn’t matter. She’d been wrong. She wanted to belong to Sylvan. “Us, then. What causes the fever in us?”

  Sophia glanced at Sylvan, and when Sylvan nodded, she said, “Argyria—silver poisoning. The metal ionizes and produces hyperthermia and cellular breakdown. Most victims die from systemic collapse due to massive rhabdomyolysis and hemorrhage. Those who don’t die shift without the ability to control their wolves.”

  “And become rabid,” Drake finished. When that happened, Sylvan would have the rabid Were executed. She thought back to the silver fragment Sylvan had pulled from Misha’s shoulder, and how close the adolescent had come to death. A fierce protective urge welled up in her at the thought of anything happening to Misha or the boys or any other Were, and she growled.

  “We guard that knowledge for obvious reasons,” Sylvan said quietly, rubbing Drake’s leg. “Don’t worry, our Pack is protected.”

  Drake nodded, taking comfort from Sylvan’s touch. The certainty in her voice. “Since humans aren’t susceptible to silver poisoning, it has to be something else.”

  “Yes,” Sylvan said grimly. “Humans should not be susceptible to Were fever except in the very unlikely instance of being bitten by rabid Weres. Then the levels of the toxin are very high and capable of transmitting the disease—much like humans are infected by Ebola or hemorrhagic fever. That’s why we execute Weres as soon as they display signs of being rabid.”

  “But I was bitten by a human,” Drake said, “and as far as you… we…know, she didn’t contract it from a rabid Were.”

  “Exactly,” Sylvan said.

  “So both she and I have contracted something anomalous. Something that might be even more dangerous.” Drake glanced at Sophia. “We need specimens from one of the other human victims too.”

  “I know. My father is trying, but we don’t want to reveal why we need the information.”

  “Then it’s all the more important you get everything you can from me.” Drake sat up and unbuttoned her jeans. Sylvan stepped back from the table and Drake pushed off her pants, unconcerned by her nudity.

  “Let’s get the blood first, then a muscle biopsy. Use my leg for the tissue, and take several core specimens. You’ll need fresh tissue preps, so only anesthetize the skin.”

  “That’s going to be painful,” Sophia said.

  “I’ll be fine.” Drake lay back down and forced herself to relax, very aware of Sylvan pacing back and forth at the end of the table.

  “Sylvan, why don’t you—”

  “No.”

  Sophia wrapped a tourniquet around Drake’s bicep and filled half a dozen multicolored vials with blood. After she’d labeled and stored them, she prepared a number of biopsy trocars and lined them up on a tray.

  “Are you ready?” Sophia asked.

  “Yes, go ahead,” Drake replied.

  “Careful.” Sylvan grasped Sophia’s arm. “Her wolf will react to the pain and Drake might not be able to control her.”

  “Alpha,” Sophia said softly, “if you could perhaps sit next to Drake while I do this. Her wolf will know you…”

  “Yes.” Sylvan clenched her jaw and pulled a stool over next to the table. She draped an arm over Drake’s chest and pinned Sophia in place with a hard stare. “You will stop if I tell you to.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sophia said with a quick duck of her head.

  Drake covered Sylvan’s hand and looked into her worried eyes.

  “I’m fine. You don’t need—”

  “Quiet,” Sylvan said gently, stroking Drake’s hair. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  Drake didn’t move at the cramping pain in her thigh when Sophia slid the quarter-inch-wide trocar into the muscle and sliced free a cylinder of tissue. Although she noted a burgeoning sense of hypervigilance, a bristling swell of aggression, she wasn’t worried. She wasn’t afraid of pain. When Sophia took the second biopsy, the pain escalated and she tensed reflexively. Sylvan grumbled.

  “I’m okay,” Drake said, stroking Sylvan’s arm.

  “Are you almost done?” Sylvan demanded, her eyes completely gold, the bones in her face hard-edged and dangerous.

  “Just one more,” Sophia said quietly. “Drake?”

  “Yes. Go ahead.” Drake gripped Sylvan’s arm when another surge of pain shot deep into her thigh. Her claws shot out and she scratched shallow lines down Sylvan’s forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  Sylvan leaned down and ran her tongue along the edge of Drake’s jaw. Her voice was throaty and low. “I like it.”

  “Sylvan,” Drake murmured, her clitoris pulsing hard. “Something’s happening to me.”

  “Your wolf feels challenged. Aggression always produces a sexual response. It’s normal.” Sylvan wrapped her hand possessively around the back of Drake’s neck.

  Drake watched Sylvan’s eyes flare and knew she had readied too.

  Sylvan’s call flooded her senses. She wanted to rub against her, lick her, bite her. Voice cracking, she said, “Sophia, what else did they want?”

  Carefully not looking at Drake, Sophia busied herself storing the specimens in transport containers. “They requested…bodily fluids.”

  “No,” Sylvan snapped.

  “What fluids?” Drake panted—she didn’t have long before she couldn’t think anymore. She hurt, she wanted Sylvan. But she couldn’t—she couldn’t have her. Take her. Claim her. She couldn’t and she was running out of time. “What Sophia, what?”

  “Buccal swabs.” Sophia hesitated. “Vaginal secretions. And victus, if we can get you to produce a specimen.”

  Sylvan shot to her feet, her canines bared. “You’re not making her release.”

  Clearly shocked, Sophia blurted, “No, Alpha, I only meant…”

  “I’m sorry,” Sylvan said instantly, sliding the backs of her fingers over Sophia’s cheek. “I know you’re just doing what needs to be done.”

  “I understand, Alpha,” Sophia whispered.

  Drake shuddered, her skin slick and hot. Sylvan smoothed her hand over Drake’s chest, down her belly. She rubbed the hard muscles and brushed her fingers up and down the fine dark line in the center of Drake’s abdomen. Groaning, Drake arched at the caress. “She’s had enough. She’s on the verge of frenzy.”

  “I’ll go,” Sophia sa
id.

  “Wait,” Drake gasped. “Take the swabs. From my skin too. I’m secreting pheromones right now.” Reaching down, she carefully palpated the deep swellings around her extended clitoris. She was tense, throbbing, and the slightest pressure was both painful and exquisitely pleasurable. She wanted to grab Sylvan’s hand and press it between her legs. She had to get Sylvan to leave the room before she lost control completely. “I think I can get you the other, too.”

  “I’ll hurry.” Sophia quickly brushed one cotton swab over Drake’s shoulder, then sampled the inside of her mouth. Finally, she handed several more swabs to Sylvan. “Alpha, if you could help her with the rest, I’ll wait outside.”

  After Sophia hurried out, Drake said to Sylvan, “You should go. I can do it.” She was barely holding on. She wanted Sylvan inside her so much. She wanted Sylvan coming in her mouth.

  “You’re shaking too badly to do anything right now.” Sylvan slid her hand along the inside of Drake’s thigh and gently opened her legs.

  She carefully parted Drake’s sex and swabbed her. A rumble rolled from her chest. “Look how ready you are. So strong and beautiful.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t…I have to…” Drake closed her eyes and massaged her clitoris. Her glands pulsed under her probing fingers and she moaned. “Please go.”

  Sylvan brushed Drake’s fingers away. “I’ll do this.”

  Drake rolled her head from side to side, whimpering as Sylvan stroked and squeezed. “You’re so good. You’re going to make me come all over myself.”

  “No,” Sylvan grumbled, leaning down to kiss her, “I’m going to make you come all over me.”

  Sylvan plunged her tongue into Drake’s mouth, teasing and sucking and biting. Drake gripped Sylvan’s shirt and shredded it, then tore open her own T-shirt. Rearing up, she dug her claws into Sylvan’s shoulders and rubbed her breasts over Sylvan’s. She thrust against the hand working between her legs. “If you stroke inside me, I’ll come for you.”