What the fuck was coming through that door?
Emma stepped away from the wall, adrenalin jolting through her limbs. She turned and found Alan staring through the observation window. Robert and Vahan came through the door from the other room, joined him.
She ignored them. “What the fuck have you done, Alan?”
He frowned slightly, voice coming through the sound vents as though from underwater. “What has never been done before, Emma. There are things for which your modern society with all its science is very useful. Of course, science alone is not responsible for this particular horror.” His eyes moved beyond her and the skin on the back of her neck convulsed. “Watch out, my love. Here he comes.”
“He?”
Alan’s gaze flicked back to her. “Yes.” A thin smile tightened his mouth. “If you must have a name for him, call him ninety six.”
Emma heard scraping metal behind her, couldn’t make herself move. “Ninety six.”
The smile turned cold. “Don’t be coy, Emma, you know what I mean. I watched you count the doors as we walked you from your cell, watched you wonder what was behind them.”
Something without a name swelled in Emma’s chest, cold and bottomless, screaming hatred and hopeless vengeance. For a moment she knew she was going to die there, that no help would come — but she would die clawing the terrible beauty from Alan’s face if it was the last thing she ever did.
Metal groaned, shuddered, echoed off the concrete walls. She turned. A hulking steel shape rolled through the doors, something like a shipping container but streamlined, thick steel bars and pistons forming what looked like a seal on the front.
A container.
A cage.
It stopped and the doors closed behind it, and then with a cold hydraulic hiss, the thing opened — and a nightmare crawled out into the harsh light, massive chest heaving, a sound like heartbreak and hunger rolling out of it in hard, wet snarls.
Time stopped for an infinite handful of seconds as Emma’s mind refused to understand: fur and flesh and bulging muscle ran together like wax, like her vision was melting, and then the picture coalesced. The thing was wolf and man and neither. Its arms were grotesque and massive, but its back bristled with fur like spines; fur bled to dark slabs of muscle that wrapped its ribs and obliques, stomach rippling, chest huge and set more forward than was human. A mantle of dark hair crawled down its chest and turned to fur as it cleaved a line between its abdominal muscles, spreading out into a thatch that barely covered heavy genitals, and the skin of its hips and buttocks gleamed like steel before fur reclaimed the bulk of its thighs. From the knees down its legs were monstrous, long digitigrade feet with high, flat heels and thick claws clicking against concrete — but the face was the worst.
Almond-shaped, amber-green eyes stranded in an alien mask, like someone had grabbed something humanoid and pulled, stretching it into a muzzle but with human nose and lips and cheeks — only the mouth was too wide, lips too dark, nose too bony and long with its tilted tip. Its forehead sloped back, ears furred with spiny velvet, set too high; silvery, steel colored skin turned gray at its temples, and then swept back into a black and silver mane.
The truth slammed the breath from Emma’s lungs, no denying it, no way. Amber-green eyes, black and silver hair.
Torture.
Slaughter.
The Zimayi pack.
The wolf-thing stalked forward on all fours with a shambling grace that defied the eye, and then it stood. It had to be almost ten feet tall. Emma noticed it had a tail, but then it roared and Emma’s legs buckled with the weight of not just the sound but the crushing, hopeless wave of mental force that hit her.
Not just a wolf-thing, but something else as well.
Pressure lodged itself in her throat, blood screaming in her ears, the knowledge that she was about to die pulsing through her body in a debilitating rush. Her voice was a choked thing when she said, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
Alan heard her but she dared not turn to look when he said, “Control it. You are the caller of the blood. With power such as yours, taming a creature like this should be a trifle.”
Dear God.
The wolf-thing roared again, took a few steps toward her, dropped to all fours with murder in its eyes and saliva stringing from its lips and its fury beating at the air like ruined wings. It crouched, claws screaming against concrete.
Her power couldn’t touch this. Maybe if she had completed the ritual, but she hadn’t. Her power needed a connection, the conduit of another shapechanger to open the call for her, and without those things she was just human. Just meat.
25
Emma panicked; her mind burst open and reached blindly, wordlessly for Fern, and she ran.
The monster was too fast. It hit her side — the sound of it immense and terrible — claws raking black fire across her back and chest and then the momentum slammed them both into the wall. The creature rebounded with Emma in its arms and her body howled with agony, dipped in flames, fur and heat and pain. They rolled, sharp curving teeth snapping next to her ear. Fern’s terror exploded into Emma’s mind and then the creature’s rage was screaming inside her head, drowning Fern out, tearing great holes through her mental shields and shredding her mind to pieces with pain and madness and loss and the terrible need to feed, and its breath was hot meat and musk and the smell, sickness and blood turned bad.
Sensory memory welled up, pushed away the scraping pain of concrete on her shoulder and talons popping through skin as they rolled again. That horrible, hopeless smell — the smell of the guest room at the ranch when she got back from Egypt, found Rain holed up in there, Zach doing the best he could to keep the boy clean but he wouldn’t change back and they couldn’t let him out and —
“RAIN!” She screamed as her back hit the concrete and the thing’s weight shoved the air from her lungs. It rose up, face inches from hers, wet breath coming in great gusts against her, and their eyes met.
Time froze. Emma’s head was full of noise, rushing blood and psychic hatred and Fern’s urgent voice in a language she would never understand, then nothing. Silence like a blanket. Sweat and saliva glistened on the creature’s strange, thick flesh; its hair hung down in a filthy curtain that smelled of dirt and neglect and beneath it, the sad, burning scent of disinfectant.
Something pushed against Emma’s mind, nosed past her shields like they were made of rags. The mental voice when it came was broken, and human. Why?
Why what? Shock turned the world glassy and bright. Cold stole into Emma’s body, pain turning from red-hot pokers to ice, dull and aching, stealing her will to move.
Why what? she sent, not knowing if it would hear her or be able to understand. Why did I say his name?
Gold light pulsed through the wolf-thing’s eyes. His name. The thing convulsed, pulled its claws out of Emma’s stomach. She screamed, body turning liquid-sick with agony and the creature made a horrible low sound that rattled and keened. It hunched its body over Emma and growled, eyes close to hers, breath rattling in her ear and chest vibrating.
Its gaze flicked away for a second. The growl intensified. Emma thought she heard the groan of metal somewhere very far away.
The wolf-thing’s mind pressed down on hers, dark and vast and questing. Who… Emma felt the effort as it tried to bring the words together, force them past rage and hunger and the ruin of a broken spirit, whole body shaking violently. Who are you? How do you know his name?
She couldn’t feel her legs. That was new. I’m Emma. I’m the caller of the blood. I know Rain’s name because… Shit, she had to keep it simple. Because he got away, and I found him, and I took him in. He’s alive. He thinks you died — all of you. But he’s alive.
The thing buried its face in her shoulder and howled. Emma felt the sky crack open inside her mind, grief and fierce joy and madness as the creature’s mind broke over her.
Is he happy? The words speared through her brain, made her back arch off t
he ground as she fought to stay conscious.
No. She gasped. But he’s safe.
She heard shouts. The wolf-thing looked up, growled wetly, lifted its upper body and slammed its palms into the ground beside Emma, hatred and terror and possessiveness rushing out of his mind in a razored psychic blast. He swept her aside with one hand and her torn back grazed concrete, she let loose a sound like nothing she’d ever heard — shrill and whimpering, not human. But he was trying to protect her from Alan’s soldiers. They were coming, and she hadn’t been able to control the creature, and now Alan would figure out one way or the other that she didn’t have the power and then he’d find out why and —
She couldn’t think about that. Your name, she sent, gulping air, trying not to pass out. What is your name?
The wolf-thing turned, gazed down at her with molten orange and green eyes that blazed with desolation. Storm. My name was Storm. First-born heir to the Zimayi pack. Brother to Rain.
Something deadly whistled through the air, hit its target with a small, soft sound. Storm bellowed, back arching, mane flying. Another hit, and another, and he reared up, took another dart and more again and Emma lost count as her vision blurred.
He collapsed on top of her. His heart beat like a sick, thrashing thing against her, too fast. His mind slipped away from her as the tranquillizers flooded him, and she strained to hold on.
I’ll come for you, Storm. Fury welled up, coiling around her heart like poison. I won’t let them keep you.
Storm’s massive weight relaxed against her. Finally, she passed out.
High up on the cliff that overlooked the compound, rain came in a rough, cold fall that stung the cheeks and turned the valley below to static, muffling Fern’s last scream before he collapsed in Alexi’s arms.
Alexi might have thought he was unconscious if he hadn’t been monitoring the Aranan’s mind, but Fern was still awake — barely lucid, but awake. He groaned, and Alexi made his own fingers loosen their grip on Fern’s arms with a force of will.
Seshua dropped to the ground beside them, humidity rolling off his body and steaming in the cool air. “What the hell is happening, serpent priest?” He sounded strangled and hollow, and when Alexi spoke, so did he.
“She is injured.” He spat the words. “Mortally so. The vampires set some beast upon her, thinking she could control it, and she couldn’t.”
Fern coughed, convulsing. “It was a test. They wanted to see how powerful she is, the caller of the blood…they don’t know she hasn’t completed the ritual. They thought she could tame him.”
Seshua swallowed a frustrated sound. “Him?”
“Rain’s brother.” Fern blinked, face white and slick with sweat. He rolled his eyes up to look at Seshua. “The wolves who were slaughtered near the ranch, it was Alan’s people, they stole him and did something to him. He didn’t mean to hurt her…God…” He retched, and Alexi lifted him and got out of the way just in time for the Aranan to lose everything he’d ever thought of eating, and put Alexi off anything he had ever thought of eating. When Fern was done, Alexi jerked him into a sitting position.
“Never mind all that,” he said. “What is happening? ” Something occurred to Alexi, something bad. “You said before that she was shielding herself from you when Alan was nearby, what changed?”
Fern shook, took great gasping breaths, trying to pull himself together. “She panicked. She reached for my mind, but the thing, the wolf, whatever it was, it…” Fern shook his head. “Fuck, I don’t know, it was strong. Its mind just ran over me, shoved me out, the link between us was still open but she couldn’t hear me.”
Alexi let him go, came to his feet. “Alan must have sensed the connection.” There was no way it could have gone unnoticed. “If Alan knows about us up here, then we are all in some very, very deep shit. And we still don’t know how to breach the compound.”
Seshua snarled. “We have a plan — enough of one.” He stood, bearing his teeth. “Blast our way in and hope for the best. We take our chances — what choice do we have?”
Fern scrabbled to his feet. “We wait!” He looked from Seshua to Alexi and back. “The vampires won’t let her die, they can’t, she’s too important. We wait until she’s awake and —”
“And what?” Red Sun stepped forward, slapped his hand on Fern’s shoulder. His eyes were narrow and his voice devoid of the usual humor. “Alexi’s right, if Alan knows we’re here, or suspects there’s a rescue party coming for Em, the longer we wait the worse our chances.”
Fern jerked away from Red. “Well what the fuck do you suggest?” He rounded on Alexi and Seshua, eyes wild. “If we blast our way in now we risk her life, are you happy with that?”
Seshua took two menacing steps toward Fern. “You have no idea —”
“Enough!” Alexi’s voice tore the air, aura whipping out from the cage of his skin. He clamped his teeth and fought for control; he heard Fern steal a thin breath as the air became breathable again.
He paced away from them, every nerve and muscle in his body screaming for him to move, to do something, any fucking thing — but he needed to think, and he couldn’t do that with a rising tide of rage filling his head, the roar of his own blood in his ears, the cold, burning rush of magic, furious and unbidden, racing beneath his skin.
Had to calm down and bloody well think.
Into the tree-muffled silence, Red Sun said, “Penny for your thoughts, priest.”
Alexi choked back a sound that had nothing to do with sanity, tasted blood as he bit his lip. After a moment, he spoke. “As formidable as my power is,” he said quietly, “It is no match for Alan. The combined force of his mind, bonded with several other vampires — it’s too much.” Alexi took a deep breath, white noise claiming his insides, like snow — cold and killing soft. “I can’t do it, none of us can. Not with over a hundred other vampires in the complex below. No one here is a match for that kind of power. All our guns and claws and strength, are useless against a being that can shred your mental shields like wet paper.” He turned, looked at them all, couldn’t stop a harsh bark of laughter escaping. “Oh, I would survive, Seshua too, probably Red Sun and Yevgeny and the elder of the maidens…” He waved a hand through the air, closed his eyes against the sight of them standing there, all their strength so useless.
“But the others would fall,” said Red Sun, glancing at Fern.
Fern stared back at the big blond man. “And less than ten against a hundred won’t save Emma.” He sounded hollow, the way Alexi felt.
Alexi turned away. “No,” he said. “Ten won’t save her. Perhaps not twenty, or thirty. Not without a power to rival Alan.”
He stopped pacing. Wind whistled in his ears, sharp and cold against his cheeks, and the world fell away for one endless moment.
He had an idea, something blasphemous. Something he could be executed for even thinking. But the priesthood was not here to judge him — they were far away, ensconced in the temples of the order. Far away and confident of their hold on Alexi.
With a deep sigh, he emptied his lungs, stilled his body, quieted the roar of blood in his ears until there was nothing but the whistling silence and the weight of expectation as the others sensed the change in him and waited. Waiting for a solution. Waiting for the caller of the blood to save herself. Waiting for the walking god to show up and save them all from themselves — waiting to die.
She would die — they would all die — if he didn’t do something.
He folded the anger away, the rage, the things he didn’t want to name, until all that remained was cool resolve. “Red Sun,” he said into the muted darkness.
A small pinpoint of amber light flared, and Red blew fragrant smoke out into the chill air. “Yes, priest.”
Alexi took a deep breath, held it, met Red Sun’s eyes. “How far can you travel in one jump?”
Thick silence descended. Red dropped the cigarette, mashed it beneath his heel. “Far. How far you wanna go?”
Alexi let th
e breath out of his lungs. “Brazil.”
Seshua’s humid flare of power bloomed against the night air. “What for?” The others started to murmur their protests but Alexi cut them off with a pale hand raised, slender against the heavy cuff of his parka.
“We need power. I plan to get it. You can ask all the questions you want when we have time but right now we are running out of it, so all of you, shut up and get out of here. Alan will be sending scouts, if not now then soon enough. You need to be gone. Red, can you rematerialize near here without landing us in an ambush party?”
Red grunted. “Near here, anywhere.” He came to stand beside Alexi, eyes glinting. “Anywhere you want, priest. Anytime you’re ready.”
Alexi got the feeling that Red Sun was laughing at a joke only he understood, but there was no time to care. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could make a sound, Fern cried out and fell to his knees.
Andres and Horne were suddenly there at his side, lifting him up. He shook in their grip and met Alexi’s eyes. “She’s alive,” he said through chattering teeth. “Awake and alive.”
26
The world tasted wet and red and good, so good, so rich and clean and old. It was the taste of the night sky before it knew the light of humanity, the fragrance of blood spilled on hot, rough stone —
Emma’s eyes flew open. White lights speared her vision. Gorge rose in her throat, fought with the thick taste of blood on her tongue, coating her mouth, slick on her teeth, and she lost it — hands flipped her roughly and she landed hard on her stomach and retched over the edge of the table, but nothing came up, just saliva. Red and awful.
She screamed. Hands again, dragging her onto her back, pinning her down. She bucked and fire tore through her torso, cut off her screams, and then there was only the sound of her own breath sawing through her throat with some thin, pathetic noise on the end of it. Whimpering, she was whimpering. What the hell happened?
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