He laughed in my face. “Seriously Simon? Do you really think I’d fall for that?”
I shrugged. “It was worth a try. And it beats the alternative.”
“No doubt.” He suddenly realized I was getting a little too close. “Stop right there,” he ordered. I did , but now Li-Tsui was on the move, making like a rhino and rushing him. As McQuaide instinctively raised his weapon to protect himself, my wolf leapt and tore out his throat. His dead hand convulsed on the trigger, but his shots all went wild. Bao squealed, freaked out by the noise and damn near trampled Li-Tsui to get away.
For a moment, nothing happened and then the hyenas arrived, dozens of them, from every direction. I saw Winston glance around to make sure everyone was in the safe zone and then he hit a button, detonating all the IEDs he’d placed around the perimeter in the days before.
I counted seven dead in that first assault, and as the survivors pulled back, Elinah and her women with slingshots began picking them off with the precision of Olympic competitors. A man went down for every shot. Several were in the middle of changing back into hyenas and died that way. Several of the poachers had obviously had military training and kept their cool, but others ran in a blind panic, triggering Winston’s tripwires, falling into his tiger pits, and activating deadfalls.
They’d all been pelted with golden showers of antelope piss from bladders Elinah had rigged that afternoon and probably just thought it was a smelly nuisance.
The leader of the poachers was shouting orders to rally his troops when Chao Chen emerged from the darkness with Simbasi on a leash. She bent down to whisper something in the animal’s ear and then she unclipped the chain trailing from her collar. The big cat, attracted by the scent of his favorite food, steamrolled into the middle of the men who’d been soaked in the antelope piss. She killed three of them without a pause. One panicked poacher ran right past me and my wolf killed him.
Chao Chen had a powerful trank dart gun in her hands in case Simbasi wanted dessert and turned on us, but the animal seemed content to watch from the sidelines as the mayhem continued.
But we weren’t finished going Tarzan on them. Five volunteers from Strasbourg and Ulrik, the Norwegian kid with the blond dreadlocks. led six different groups into the fray. All of the IEDS had been detonated so we didn’t have to worry about them ending up blown to shreds.
There were panicked cries of, “I surrender, I surrender,” coming from everywhere.
As dawn broke, the extent of the grisly scene was revealed. Three of Aline’s rhinos had been killed, along with two of the volunteers from Strasbourg. Everyone else was fine, barring some broken bones and a lot of bruises. Winston had a burned hand from putting out the fire in Rong’s enclosure.
Li-Tsui, who turned out to be a Chinese cop who’d been sent to Africa to control the illicit trade in rhino horn, thanked me for pointing him in the direction of Dilek, which told me he’d been the one to take my laptop. Since all of the poachers were dead, and Dilek was not among them, I figured we were all back to square one.
“You staying on in Africa?” I asked Li-Tsui as he lit a cigarette and watched the government officials swarming over the scene.
“No,” he said and offered me a smoke. I took it. The wolf was just going to have to deal. Li-Tsui lit it for me and we both smoked as we watched Aline and Elinah addressing a small knot of reporters. Aline looked fierce. I felt a pang of regret. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong woman.
I wondered if Marie-Ange would answer a text if I sent it. I decided I didn’t want to find out.
Epilogue
I was exhausted when I got back to my room at the Presken Hotel. There was a brand-new Xiaomi Mi laptop waiting for me, courtesy of my new best friend Li-Tsui.
. The first thing I did was crank up the air conditioning. Normally I prefer my air unrefrigerated, but after the last two weeks, I felt like I was a dehydrated husk. I had brought three big bottles of Eva water with me and had already drunk two. I was looking over the offerings in the minibar when the phone on the nightstand rang.
I picked it up. “Yes?”
A female voice I recognized as Sophie the night manager said, “I have a call from America for you, sir. Shall I put it through?”
I sighed. There’d been a sheaf of telephone messages waiting for me when I checked in. Looking at my messages had not been a priority. I quickly leafed through them and saw that all had the same callback number. A U.S. number with a 412 area code and an unfamiliar name—Cece Kiss—listed as the caller.
Four-twelve was one of the area codes for Pittsburgh.
Where my father lives.
“Yes, please,” I said. A moment later a woman’s voice came on the line.
“Simon Arvai?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Cece Kiss,” she said. “I’m with the Pittsburgh police department.”
She paused to let that sink in, or maybe she expected me to blurt out a confession to some crime I’d never heard about. It was a common cop technique. I’d started out rewriting crime stories from the police wire, I don’t rattle easily when confronted by authority.
When I didn’t rush to fill the silence with questions, she asked one of her own. “Is your father in Lagos with you?”
Why would he be anywhere with me, I thought. I hadn’t seen him in nearly fifteen years. “No,” I said., “He’s not.”
The detective blew out a breath. “Your father’s missing, Mr. Arvai. None of his friends has seen him in more than a week.”
Friends? I almost laughed. My father doesn’t have friends—only people who can’t avoid him.
“Is my father’s car in his garage?”
“There’s a 2015 Chevrolet Impala there. Does he have another vehicle?”
“Not that I know of.” I thought about what it might mean that my father had left his car behind. He never walks when he can drive, not even to the corner to mail a letter. The detective let the silence lengthen, filled only with her long-distance disapproval. I could tell she thought I was a bad son.
“Does your father suffer from any medical conditions that might impair his judgment?” she finally asked.
Again, I had to say I didn’t know. To keep another weighty silence from building up, I asked her, “Who initially reported him missing?”
I could hear her ruffling the pages of a notebook. Notes on paper, how quaint. “A guy named Fredek Nagy.”
Nagy. I was suddenly wide awake. Fredek Nagy was a Hungarian thug who’d immigrated to Pittsburgh by way of Detroit. I couldn’t imagine any circumstance in which my father had crossed paths with him.
“What exactly did Nagy say?” I asked, and I could tell she didn’t like me asking questions. Again I heard pages turning.
“He said they’d gone to the airport to pick up a mutual friend—”
“What was the friend’s name?” I interrupted.
“Dilek Kor,” Detective Kiss said. “Why is that important?”
“My father’s been kidnapped,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get to PIT.” I hung up before she could ask any questions and pulled up my Skyscanner app to check on my options, then switched over to the British Airways site. As I waited for the transaction to process, I looked longingly at the room’s nice comfy bed with its clean, crisp sheets. Half an hour later I’d maxed out my credit card to purchase a 22-hour flight with two stops. It wouldn’t leave for another three hours but I couldn’t risk a nap. Instead I took a freezing shower and then put on the new clothes I’d ordered from a shop in the lobby that had been discreetly delivered to my door while I was washing off the weeks of stress and rhino shit.
I dislike eating a heavy meal before I fly, but decided I’d better put something substantial in my belly, something to soak up the nicotine and ease the wolf’s hunger pains. I asked for a steak, rare, and a dinner salad loaded with more meat and extra cheese. I ordered another two bottles of water as well.
I decided to head for the airport early lest I succumb to the siren song of the bed, and
as I checked out, Sophie looked at me with concern. “Is everything all right, sir?”
I gave her a smile. “Change of plans,” I said.
“I hope you’ll come again.”
“Will you be here?” She gave me the smile reserved for travelers who tip well.
At the airport I occupied my time looking up the moon phases. The moon would be just past full when I arrived. That was lucky. I’d had to learn how to control my inner wolf without any guidance and I still wasn’t really sure about the mechanics of it. But I did know one thing. A full moon made it easier to shift but a hell of a lot harder to maintain my humanity.
I would not need my humanity when I got to Pittsburgh, though. Instead, I would unleash my wolf and he and I would go hunting. There’s an old Hungarian saying, A jég hátán is megél. It literally means, ‘He can survive on ice,” meaning that nothing can bring him down. But Fedek Nagy was about to find the ground beneath him very slippery indeed.
The End
* * *
Simon Arvai will return in The Howl #3 early in 2021.
If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review.
About the Author
About Kat Parrish
Kat Parrish is an internationally bestselling author. A former reporter, she prefers making things up! An Army brat, her motto is "Have passport, will travel." She has lived in seven states and two foreign countries and would love to celebrate her 100th birthday with a trip into space. She lives in the Pacific Northwest near a haunted cemetery.
* * *
For information about new releases, special offers, giveaways, and other goodies, sign up for her newsletter here: http://kattomic-energy.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html
Also by Kat Parrish
Magic in the Blood
Misbegotten: L.A. Nocturne #1
Rezso: L.A. Nocturne #2
Witch War: L.A. Nocturn #3
Tales of the Misbegotten: An L.A. Nocturne Collection
A Dream of Sun and Roses
Soul Kiss
Tears of Idrissa
The Summer Garden
The Howl
Venomous
Bloodsport: Z Sisters #1
Secret Hexe: Romanov Witches #1
The Midnight Palace Trilogy:
Bride of the Midnight King
Daughter of the Midnight King
The Midnight Queen
* * *
Sign up for Kat’s newsletter here: http://kattomic-energy.blogspot.com/
for news, updates, and special offers.
Blood & Moonlight
A Nine Realms Saga Story
Zoey Xolton
About Blood & Moonlight
Shunned by her coven sisters for the vampyre blood that runs through her veins—courtesy of the original vampyre himself—the young witch Sabine ventures out in search of a new place to call home…but the Black Forest is no place for a woman on her own.
Stalked by a menacing shadow, Sabine comes face to face with Kearn, an exiled prince of the Dökkálfar—one of the Dark Elves of Álfheim. The attraction, despite the danger, is instant. Both outcasts have nothing to lose…and everything to gain.
When an unexpected threat intrudes upon their newfound peace, bloodshed is certain, and fur will fly. Can the couple’s dark magic and fledgling love unite them against a common foe?
Blood & Moonlight
Bright golden moonlight filtered through the dark canopy of ancient twisted branches, reflecting in small seasonal puddles of autumn rain. Kearn slipped silently from tree to tree, as intangible as a shadow. The colourful fallen leaves, damp with dew, coupled with the natural odour of the moist, rich earth of the Black Forest invigorated him.
Fireflies flitted through the gloom, appearing as nothing more than glowing orbs of light that darted in and out of the foliage when disturbed. The mossy earth around the bases of the black fir trees were peppered with a wide array of various mushrooms and toadstools. From the attractive, but poisonous, white-spotted red caps, to the bright orange shelf funguses that climbed fallen logs and stumps.
Some distance ahead of him, his scarlet cloaked prey trudged wearily through the swirling, hovering mist; her delicate, feminine scent awakening the virile beast within him. Her fading Moon’s Blood, mingled with the sweet, faint fragrance of wild rose washed through her waterfall of ebony locks, caused him to salivate. The thought of sinking his fangs deep into her throat as he learned the secrets of her soul, and the story of her life, flooded him with something akin to lust.
The promise of the hunt seduced him, and he allowed himself to shift form. Soundlessly, supple mortal flesh melted away to reveal glossy black fur. Strong weather-worn fingers folded into heavy padded paws, and nails became lethal claws. His handsome face crumpled, then elongated. Alert ears sprung from his skull, and his wet nose twitched, scenting the night air. In the place of Kearn the elf crouched Kearn the wolf, skulking through the darkness towards his prize.
It wasn’t often that mortal girls ventured into the Black Forest unchaperoned, and their flesh always tasted so much sweeter, and infinitely more tender than men’s. He would not allow such an opportunity to pass him by.
Sabine hugged herself against the growing chill. Winter was coming, and she was being followed. Of that, she was sure. The polished crystal pendant that rested against her breast throbbed with silent, steady heat, warning her of imminent danger. It had never failed her—or her forebears—and she wasn’t about to start doubting its arcane power now. She glanced around, careful not to reveal her awareness. The being stalking her trail wasn’t mortal. She could feel the taint of dark magic emanating from it like a pulsating beacon in the gloom.
In the quiet of the timeless enchanted forest, a lone spotted owl screeched, momentarily jangling her nerves. It flew overhead, a sleek silhouette against the Harvest Moon. A single white feather drifted down through the night toward her. Sabine stopped in her tracks and extended her hand, closing her gloved fingers around the token. A sign. She was in danger, but there was hope. Her ancestors were watching over her, despite the fact that she, herself, had dark magic coursing through her own veins.
Kearn flanked the young woman in an attempt to get a better look at her. From the shadows, he watched her approach. She is beautiful, almost exceedingly so. Though he could not pinpoint what it was, there was something strange about her, something otherworldly. Readjusting herself in the chill breeze, a luminous crystal pendant slipped from its place of concealment. His hackles rose immediately in response. Witch! he realised. That’s what I could sense! A lone witch would make a tasty morsel, indeed.
Stepping from behind the textured trunk of a mighty oak, Kearn snarled, head low—revealing himself. The young witch froze, her feet hidden beneath a carpet of fallen leaves and lush bracken. His violet eyes gleamed, revealing him for who, and what he was; a male of Dökkálfar royalty, and a natural born shifter. He dwarfed all other breeds of common wolf. He stood as tall as a man on all four legs, and loomed taller still, when rearing upon his hind legs. He was an imposing, terror inducing sight.
The little witch stood no chance. If he launched before she could cast, it would be an easy and sportless meal, but worthwhile. In his experience, magic always made them sour—as if, once used, the flesh was spoiled by it. It would be a shame, in a way. She really was the most striking mortal female he’d ever laid eyes upon. Still, he thought, what kind of fool traipses through the Black Forest alone?
And being that he hadn’t eaten in two days, she’d sealed her own fate by choosing this path.
Sabine stood as still as a stone angel in the forest. Before her loomed what could be none other than a genuine shifter. She’d heard the legends, but her people hadn’t seen one in centuries. They were thought to be all but extinct, hunted into oblivion—like many of her own kind—by religious zealots in the name of a foreign god. All she knew was that they were incredibly fast and strong, could run miles without tiring, and had a long-standing di
sdain for her kind.
Swallowing hard, she tensed as the black wolf snarled at her. His many fangs were easily as big as the longest of her fingers, and three times as wide. She blanched to imagine the damage they could inflict, given the chance.
Unlike the majority of her sisters, she could not instantaneously cast spells as she desired, not in the traditional sense. Her gift was one of blood and darkness, a unique quality bestowed upon her by her unique parentage. She could only draw upon the magic flowing in her own veins to enact any form of curse or enchantment, and that took time, or pain. Moving surreptitiously, she reached beneath the folds of her thick woollen cloak and withdrew a small ceremonial dagger made of silver and iron.
Unless she could land a direct strike to the heart, the blade was all but useless as a weapon. The dagger was petite, intended to serve an entirely different purpose, and the only blood it would be tasting was hers. Clenching her left hand around the dagger’s sharp edges, she pulled with her right, slicing a deep cut into her palm. She winced, but made no sound. She would need ready access to her own life force if she stood any chance of defending herself against a foe of such magnitude and strength.
Kearn cocked his head, and watched with morbid curiosity as the young witch withdrew a miniscule dagger and sliced open her own hand, before thrusting her wounded palm toward him. Stranger still, she ran her tongue along the length of her blade, imbibing her own blood. His mind reeled when, moments later, she bared her bloodstained teeth at him. Hissing, she revealed a pair of short, but distinctly unnatural fangs.
Falling for Shifters: A Limited Edition Autumn Shifters Collection Page 29