When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2)

by Nicole Zoltack

  The darkness I’ll try to banish away at least partial tonight.

  Chapter 19

  The sound of loading the silver bullets gives me a sense of relief that I desperately need. I’ve located the vial of Eau de Vamp, but I don’t put any on. The vial is small, and I package it up real quick for Henrietta the medical examiner. I leave it with the rest of my letters that will be found after my death if I’m unfortunate enough to die tonight. Maybe she can replicate the formula. If we can somehow get it to the general population, maybe we can drive away vamps without wasting another silver bullet.

  “Are you ready?” I murmur to myself. My gun’s loaded. I have the special bullet primed. The blade’s tucked into my boot. It’s not like I can have it on my belt. The weapon might be medieval-ish, but I can’t go around with a dagger made from bones where everyone can see.

  Yeah, yeah, I’m as ready as I can be.

  Maybe it’s because I’m nervous, but I make a quick pit stop at my parents’ graves. I don’t say anything to them, just stare down at their names. It’s a moment of quiet introspection, and I feel better, a sense of calm.

  That peace, however, disappears the moment I walk away. It doesn’t take me long to drive near the center of the star from Amarok’s five victims. I park and get out of the car. South Mountain Park is a decent-sized park. It’s not going to be easy to try and find Amarok’s cave. That’s assuming that I’m correct, and his main cave is somewhere around here.

  Deep breath, Clarissa. You can do this.

  I hope.

  My gun raised, my flashlight out and ready, I enter the park. It’s eerily quiet. There isn’t a hint of a fog, at least. No vamps around. That’s only a small blessing, though, because I almost think Amarok is a more serious threat than a vamp. How can’t I when I consider how many Amarok is said to have killed over the years? That’s if Rolf can be trusted, and I do trust him. I’m definitely one of those people who doesn’t ignore my gut. It’s proven accurate too many times before.

  It’s saved my life too many times before.

  The silence grows. Not even the insects are making their nocturnal songs. This is like something out of a cheesy horror film. You’re yelling at the hero to run away because the big bad monster is out there, waiting to hack him down with a chainsaw. Or when you don’t bother to yell a warning because you’d rather cheer for the monster when it kills the too-stupid-to-live hero.

  Either way, better that I get hacked down than someone else.

  Deeper into the park I go. It’s amazing to think how many kids play here each day. With the partially blocked moon hardly illuminating the place, the shadows are long and frightening. The place is perfect for a battle royale.

  An hour passes. I’ve yet to come across a cave. I’m almost weary with relief. The idea of going up against Amarok frightens me. I’ve only come to terms with the reality of vamps. Now there are werewolves. Even better? A werewolf who likes to drink blood and has lived for far too long.

  Oh, and I can’t forget that Blake Damon hinted there are more out there, too.

  Maybe Amarok isn’t here. He could be hunting down someone right now, biting them, ripping them to shreds.

  I will not give up!

  Surveying the landscape, I pause. Amarok is hardly a shadow against the backdrop of the night, standing on top of a nearby hill. I’ll never catch it on foot. If I can just lure it back toward the street, so I can hop into my car, I might have a chance.

  The gigantic wolf’s back is to me. It hasn’t seen me, or else I’m sure it would charge. If I bring my flashlight over to shine on him, he’s sure to notice. Without the flashlight, though, he’s a bundle of darkness that blends into the shadows too much. I’ll never be able to hit it. Besides, I have to shoot him square in the face, not in the back.

  The clouds roll away from the moon, casting a dark halo over the wolf. His ebony fur is almost beautiful.

  Slowly, majestically, as if he’s the king of the wolves, Amarok twists around. He stares me down with piercing eyes the color of molten gold. His teeth and jaws drop with blood. He found another victim already this night.

  Well, I’m not about to become the second.

  Now that he’s looking at me, I don’t have to hide. I bring up the flashlight, but before I can line up my shot, the wolf turns away and runs.

  “Coward!” I shout. Shouldn’t it be chasing me and not the other way around?

  What else can I do? I tear after it. The ground is a little soggy and muddy from the recent rain, but I make good time up the hill. At the summit, I pause, looking around. The clouds have covered the moon again. My flashlight provides enough light for me to find wolf prints.

  A sudden, shockingly heavy presence knocks against my back, and I’m slammed against the ground. The weight on my back is enough to crack it. I somehow maintained my grip on the gun throughout the devastating fall, but my flashlight is gone.

  Saliva drips onto my cheek. The stench of blood sears my nostrils. A slobbery tongue licks my cheek. To say I’m disgusted and repulsed is an understatement.

  “You have to buy me dinner first,“ I grunt out, frustrated and furious that I’m pinned down like this.

  My left hand reaches for my boot. It’s not easy to maneuver with Amarok on my back. His claws rip into my shoulder, and I bite my tongue to keep from calling out.

  The moment the pressure on my shoulder releases from his claws, I make my body as small as possible beneath him. He’s so large that his normal stance is to have his four legs wider than my body is. I wiggle onto my back. Man, that burns! He had to have cut me deep.

  Before he can bite my neck, I shimmy deeper beneath his body. My hand curls around the dagger in my boot, and I whip it out. I don’t have time to try to shoot him first. His heart has to come out now!

  Amarok isn’t stupid, though. He doesn’t just let me stay beneath him. A claw digs deep into my shoulder, pinning me in place. With ease, he drags me up so that I’m face-to-face with him once more.

  The pinned shoulder is attached to the arm with the gun, so I have to make use with the dagger. Although the blade is in my non-dominant hand, I make do and slice against his jaw.

  He bleeds, slightly. The wound isn’t deep, but the blade does cut into him. That’s a relief. I can hurt him.

  Around his embedded claw, blood seeps through. I’m already beginning to weaken. Amarok opens his mouth. His fangs are massive, and even his tongue is larger than a wolf’s.

  “Bite this,” I grit out through clenched teeth.

  With as much power behind the swing as I can muster, I stab the wolf’s tongue. He howls, blood dripping from the wound onto my face. I jerk back with the dagger, readying for another blow, but Amarok bites down onto my good shoulder. The dagger falls from my hands.

  This is it. I’m going to die.

  But I’m not ready to.

  As the wolf pulls back from another bite, my fingers find the dagger again. I slash off the claw that’s in my other shoulder. I’m free. Bleeding, near death, but free.

  The wolf howls. Blood drips down his chin and onto me. Not disgusted or repulsed instead strangely invigorated by the sight, I slash again wildly. I’m not even sure if I’m connecting. I just swing wildly. My arm doesn’t feel right, and I can’t move it fast. There’s almost no power behind each swing. My shoulder… I can’t bear to look at it.

  Amarok howls again. He goes to bite me again, but I jam the dagger into his ear.

  Such a blow would’ve killed a human, depending on the length of the blade. On the wolf, the blow isn’t fatal, but it’s enough to cause Amarok to back away. With hurried steps, the monster rushes away.

  Something akin to relief floods through me, and I hate myself for feeling that way. I’ve almost become another victim, another dead body at his feet. At his paws. I should be worried for others if he flees because I’m in no shape to give chase. In fact, all I can manage to do is roll over onto my stomach and collapse.

  I’ve survived th
e battle, but so has the enemy.

  I’ve failed.

  Chapter 20

  I’m not sure how long I lay there, but the stars are still twinkling when I finally open my eyes again. My stomach churns, and I turn my face to the side and manage to avoid getting any vomit on me.

  “Score,” I mumble.

  My arms are worthless, so getting into a sitting position without using my hands to push up is fun. Not. Just this slight change in elevation is enough for me to get sick again.

  Oh, no. No. No. Please tell me that getting bitten by a wolf doesn’t change you into one because that is not going to happen.

  I just… no. I can’t become a werewolf. I don’t want any of that. I don’t care if it might give me increased strength. I don’t even want immortality. I can’t accept such an awful, terrible existence!

  My breathing’s all ragged, and my chest hurts badly. I think I might be in shock somewhat. Or denial. If it weren’t for all of my anger, I would be a bundle of nerves and worry right now.

  The one claw is still deep within me. Should I remove it? Better not. It seems to me that the bleeding’s stopped, and removing it will only cause that to start again. I’m already lightheaded from blood loss as it is.

  Somehow, I’m able to gather my flashlight and the gun without being sick again. The dagger, where is it?

  Still stuck in Amarok’s ear.

  Great. Isn’t that just peachy?

  I stand, swaying on my feet. Walking like I’m drunk, I zigzag my way through the park. At one point, I slam into a tree. My shoulder’s jarred against the rough bark, and I nearly black out. Yeah, I’m sick again.

  My hands are covered with blood. Mine? Amarok’s? I’m not sure.

  Just then, a blow hits the back of my head. I stagger to one knee and turn around.

  Rolf is here. He’s crouched down, like a boxer, looking ready for a fight.

  What in the world is going on?

  Before I can say anything, he swings at me again. His teeth turn into fangs, and he’s transforming into his wolf.

  Oh, this is so not good.

  I have no idea why he’s after me. Is it because I failed? It’s not like I can’t try again, although the thought of facing down that monstrous wolf makes my stomach churn.

  Rolf the wolf might be impressive if I hadn’t just gone up against Amarok. He lunges at me.

  I jerk backward and fall down. How in the world can I defend myself when my shoulders are both out of commission?

  Rolf jumps over to me. I bring up my gun and remember just in time that I can’t waste the blood bullet on him. Maybe it’s the sight of the gun that has Rolf backing up, but I don’t hesitate. I jerk to my feet and rush the rest of the way back to my car. Well, not really rush. More like stumbling, bumbling, fumbling, using fear and adrenaline to keep me moving. Running without the balancing of my arms swinging isn’t easy. Yeah, walking, not running.

  It’s not until I unlock my car and somehow shove myself behind the wheel that I glance behind me.

  The wolf stalks the park. His howl is long and depressing, but he hasn’t chased after me. His glowing eyes pierce through me, and I shudder. A jolt of pain sears through me, and I gasp. The agony is almost more than I can handle.

  Shutting the car door jars my body, and I wince.

  Now what? I’m in no condition to drive, though. It takes me several tries to be able to call Samantha, but she doesn’t answer. Neither does Dean. Or Travis.

  Gritting my teeth, I try Diego.

  He answers on the third ring. “’Lo?” he mumbles.

  “I need you.”

  “Of course you do,” he purrs.

  “Not like that,” I say breathlessly. My lungs feel like they’re on fire, and I feel like I’m going to lose consciousness again. “South Mountain Park. Near the entrance. Car…”

  I’m out of it. When I snap to it, I’ve been moved to my passenger seat. I could’ve sworn I called Diego from behind the wheel. He’s fooling with my phone.

  “You’re awake? Good. Stay with me. Your doc’s name, what is it?”

  “Dean,” I mumble.

  “You have him listed as Doctor Dean?” He rolls his eyes, but he’s shaking. It takes a lot to unnerve Diego. “Hi, Dean? This—No. I’m Diego, not Marlon. Listen. You at the hospital? Just finished? Good. Grab some numbing stuff and a suture kit…” Diego glances at me. “Or five. Meet me at Clarissa’s as soon as you can.”

  His trying to sound indifferent and distant, but there’s an undercurrent of worry coating each word.

  Still holding the phone, he drives away. “Antibiotics might be a good idea, too.”

  “Why not just bring her to the hospital?”

  Oh, he put Dean on speaker. He sounds alarmed but not surprised. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Dean expects me to get hurt? Does he think I’m some kind of klutz? Or worse, a damsel in distress? Because I don’t often wear dresses. If I do wear heels, I won’t hesitate to use them as a weapon if I have to.

  “Don’t ask questions, man.” Diego hangs up. “You gonna tell me what you went up against?”

  “The animal attacks…” It’s too hard to talk. I can’t breathe.

  “Tell me later.” Diego drives even faster and takes a turn sharply.

  I slam into the car door.

  “Sorry.”

  I fade in and out of consciousness. His arms carry me inside the house. My clothes are removed. I’m of no help whatsoever. A blanket covers me. Something cold and then numbing. Something wet and cold against my forehead.

  My stomach churns, and I fight the desire to be sick again. Sweat beads on my forehead. Someone wipes it away.

  My eyes close, and I know no more.

  When I open them again, Dean’s the only one in the room. He’s sitting on the coffee table, a bunch of medical instruments beside him. The claw is even larger than I remember, and from the amount of stained blood, it went into me deep.

  I groan.

  “I’m sorry. I gave you medicine. You shouldn’t be in pain.”

  “Oh. I am. Believe me.”

  “It’s not time for more yet.” A corner of his lips quirks upward in a small, lopsided sexy smile. “You really know how to get yourself into trouble, don’t you? I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  “How can I not be? I have the hottest doc in the world looking after me.” I try to grin and go to sit up.

  “I wouldn’t,” he warns. “I’ve only stitched one shoulder. I need to work on the other side. Whenever we’ve moved you to a sitting position, you’ve gotten sick.”

  I grimace. “Sorry about that.”

  “Not your fault.”

  My bra is all I’m wearing on my top half. My jeans have been removed, and I’m wearing lounge pants. Much more comfortable. The gun is nowhere to be seen. Diego might have it. Where is he? I’m not about to ask Dean.

  “Do you want me to knock you out?” he asks. “Since you’re already feeling pain?”

  “Knock me out so you can do my other shoulder? Probably a smart idea. Too bad I’m not smart.”

  He chuckles. “I’ll numb you up, but you can’t move.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Might be best for you not to watch.”

  “I always watch when they draw blood.”

  “That’s kinda creepy.” He holds up a vial and inserts a syringe.

  “Yeah, well, that’s me. Creepy, weird…”

  “Strong but clumsy.”

  “I’m not clumsy?”

  “I was just assuming because of the number of times I have to doctor you.”

  “It’s not clumsiness. And you know what they say about when you assume.”

  “That makes us both asses.” He injects my shoulder. I’m in so much pain I don’t feel the prick. “You all right?”

  “Not really,” I mumble truthfully. One glance at my shoulder, and I grab the bucket from the floor and vomit.

  It looks like it’s been gnawed on. Like it’s a chewi
ng toy.

  I’m not sure how the other one looks, but I’m not risking another look.

  “I’m sure this is just what you want to do on your time off,” I say weakly. “Stitch up and take care of someone.”

  “Not just someone. You.” Dean’s jaw tightens. “Hold still.” He pricks me a few more times to numb the area. It’s so weird. I feel a ton of pain, but my body also feels numb. Maybe it’s just phantom pain I’m feeling.

  He doesn’t call me his girlfriend. I don’t call myself that term either.

  Because we both know it’s not going to last. Not if I have to keep secrets from him. And I have to. It’s not my place to tell him about vamps and wolves. It’s way too big of a risk.

  He wipes my mouth for me and takes the bucket to the kitchen. When he returns, he places the bucket in my lap, goes back to the kitchen, and washes his hands. Back beside me again, he puts on gloves.

  “You ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  Carefully and deliberately, he starts to stitch me up. It takes him a long time, and I don’t ask for a stitch count when he’s finished. A lot.

  “Your shoulders are going to take some time to heal. I mean it. You’re not going to be able to fire a gun or anything like that.”

  “Well, that’s inconvenient,” I mumble.

  He examines his handiwork. “I can’t promise you won’t scar.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about that.” I clear my throat. We’ve skirted around the issue of why he’s here, why his services are needed. He hasn’t asked for details. Because he knows I won’t tell him? Or because… “Do you care what happened to me?” I blurt out.

  He leans back, his face a mask, unreadable. “I didn’t know if you could talk about it.”

  “I can’t,” I confess, “but it would be nice to know that you’re worried about me.”

  “You think I’m not?” I come out here at three in the morning and have to stitch you up. You’re half dead. You should be in the hospital, getting fluid IVs. I started you on antibiotics, but IV ones would be better. You’re in a really bad way, and you’re annoyed that I didn’t ask you a question that I figured you wouldn’t answer? By the way, that assumption was right.”