Emily Shadowhunter 2 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel.: Book 2: WOLF MAN

by Craig Zerf

  ‘It’s not a problem, boss,’ interjected Tag. ‘All that we have to do is find where they all live. Take them out big time.’

  The Prof snorted. ‘We have searched for their den for many centuries now. Anyway, they won’t have one single den, more like a few chapters with one major house. But they guard the secret exceptionally well. Not only physically but also with magical wards, subterfuge and help from their dark gods.’

  ‘Well can’t you do something about the wards?’ Asked Emily. ‘Or are you too busy concocting poisons to kill off my friends?’ She finished, her voice icy.

  The Prof looked suitably chastened and didn’t reply.

  ‘Okay,’ continued Tag, unabashed. ‘Then we just gotta hunt them down one by one. Whatever, it’s better than sitting around with our fingers up our asses doing nothing.’

  ‘We can’t simply send the teams out into the street looking for random vamps,’ argued William. ‘It’s inefficient.’

  ‘Less inefficient than doing bugger all,’ countered Tag. ‘At least there’s a chance of finding one. Or two. Who knows, sometimes a dude gets some luck flowing his way.’

  William shrugged. ‘True. I’ll get hold of the brothers. Tell the Purebloods to patrol in groups of three. The wolves can go it alone, they’re more than a match one-on-one with a blood sucker. Even two to one, and I don’t see the vamps going out in groups. The age old modus operandi is to hunt alone. Meanwhile, I’ll put some thought into how we can streamline the process a little. Perhaps it’s time to call on the Morrigan again. See if the old bitch will help us.’

  ‘You don’t like that old girl much,’ noted Tag.

  ‘She cares,’ admitted William. ‘But she’s not to be trusted. I’ve made that mistake before. She has power, though, and plenty of it. It’s merely a question of whether she is prepared to use it to help us.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she?’ Asked Em. ‘After all, she hates the vamps as much as we do.’

  William shook his head. ‘She doesn’t hate. That is a human emotion. It’s a game to her, albeit a very serious one. And as for her power, it is a finite thing. She is not immortal, although to us she has such longevity that it is much the same thing, however, the more power she uses, the shorter her life span becomes. Her power comes at a cost and sometimes she is simply not prepared to pay that cost. She would rather others did. People like us. The pawns in her game.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Tag. ‘When do we start?’

  ‘We don’t,’ answered William. ‘We stay here. Teams Charlie through Foxtrot will patrol.’

  The big man shook his head. ‘Team Tag goes to London,’ he stated. ‘Team Tag can’t sit on his ass while others hunt. It’s not right. Also, no one knows the big smoke like I do. Chances are the vamps aren’t going to go upmarket in their quest for blood. They’re going to hit the vulnerable. Bottom feeders, homeless. The waifs and strays. And that’s my world. I’ll find some. And I’ll kill them.’

  William sighed. ‘No, Tag,’ he said. ‘With all due respect. You don’t want to go up, single handed, against a vampire at night. Even if you manage one then the next one will probably get you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ shrugged Tag. ‘But at least I’ll be doing something.’

  ‘Anyway,’ interjected Em. ‘I’ll be with him, so he won’t be single handed.’

  ‘And so will I,’ added Bastian. ‘It’s time to do what I do and that is, fight the bad guys.’

  ‘As will I,’ stated Sylvian as he walked into the room. ‘Sun’s down,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘So I’m up.’

  ‘I can’t let you go,’ said William to Em. ‘The risk is too great.’

  ‘Emily arched an eyebrow. ‘You can’t let me go?’

  William nodded. ‘Sorry, I can’t.’

  ‘Well I’ve got news for you, Sir-bloody-William of arrogant macho-moron-ness. You can’t stop me. Who do you think that you are?’

  William flushed with emotion. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you hurt. I don’t think that I could stand it.’

  Emily walked over to the Wolfman and stroked his cheek. ‘I’ve got Tag and Bastian and Sylvian with me. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m no pushover either.’

  The Wolfman nodded. ‘I’ll join you as soon as I’ve contacted the Pack and spoken to the Morrigan. Unless you could wait. Just a couple of days.’

  Em shook her head. ‘We go as soon as. Tonight. Every hour of the night that we aren’t out there could be another hour of death for a human. I’m a Shadowhunter. It’s my job.’

  The two Shadowhunters, the Bloodborn and Tag went to their rooms to pack what they needed. The Prof went back to his laboratory and William sat alone, concentrating. It didn’t take him long to commune with his two Alphas and their Betas. He filled them in on the new plan and told them to get out there as soon as possible. Emily was right, every second spent not hunting vamps was another second in which a human could die. Or worse, be turned, thereby adding to the number of Nosferatu that would be arrayed against them.

  In under an hour, Emily and her companions were gone, taking the Landrover to London.

  William composed himself as he started the arduous process of calling on the Morrigan.

  Chapter 17

  Troy hated his nicknames. Puppy, or Pups. But as the junior wolf he was stuck with them. And, in all fairness, it was normally said in a jocular fashion with no real harm intended. Even if he wanted to say something he couldn’t. The Pack hierarchy was very strict and it would not do to circumvent it, even though he was pretty sure that he could take on most of the members of his Pack and win. More than pretty sure, actually, he was convinced.

  When they sparred or fought, as they often did to maintain their edge, he found himself holding back so as not to offend older brothers, reining himself in.

  He was always amazed at how slow they seemed to him. How clumsy and weak. At first he had thought that perhaps they were treating him with kid gloves due to his youth but two months previously he found that wasn’t the case. He had got into a dominance tussle with Rufus Gray, Lucas’ Beta, after he had transgressed some obscure Pack rule and the Beta set out to punish him. Charging him while in wolf form and pushing him onto his back.

  Troy had reacted instinctually, instantly going wolf, his lupine body ripping through his human clothes as it grew, and he rolled the beta over, grabbing him by the throat. Rufus struggled and fought back but to Troy he felt like a child. Feeble and ineffectual.

  Then Troy had realized what he was doing and he let Rufus recover and force him into submission. After the incident he had assumed an attitude of deference and, as far as he was concerned, no one had noticed. He had gotten away with it.

  But then, just before he had been allocated to Echo team under the Beta, Rufus Gray, and they had left for Edinburgh, Lucas had called aside. He still vividly remembered the talk…

  At first the Alpha had simply stared at him, his eyes boring into him until he felt so uncomfortable that he simply couldn’t keep still and began fidgeting. Shuffling his feet and clenching his hands.

  Finally Alpha Lucas had nodded. ‘You fight well, young wolf,’ he said.

  Troy kept his eyes down. Submissive in front of his Alpha.

  ‘There is no need to keep your talents a secret,’ continued the Alpha. ‘However, you lack discipline. And in the pack, youth is no excuse for indiscipline.’

  ‘I meant no disrespect, Pack leader,’ answered Troy.

  ‘I know,’ admitted Lucas. ‘If you had then you would have faced me. And trust me, young wolf. I do not roll over so easily. I shall put your indiscretion down to youthful exuberance. But if you transgress again then you will feel my teeth on your neck. Clear?’

  Troy nodded. ‘Like crystal, Alpha.’

  ‘One more thing,’ added Lucas. ‘Against my better judgment I have instructed Beta Rufus to give you some responsibility when you are out in the field. I want you on point, making a few decisions. You want to fight, great, so be it. You’re
going to the right place.’

  And so, Troy, the puppy of the pack, found himself patrolling the backstreets of Edinburgh at night.

  Alone.

  Prowling.

  Looking for blood suckers to kill.

  The gray stone building around him glistened in the dark, painted by the thick mist that caressed them, running its cold, damp fingers over the rough stone and leaving tracks of shimmering moisture.

  Street lamps buzzed and flickered, bathing the area in a sickly sodium-orange glow. People moved in and out of the fog, singles, small groups. Shapes more than figures.

  Three men loomed out of the veil in front of the young Wolfman. He had seen them well before they had noticed them, and he had smelled them even before that. They were tough. Working class. Slightly drunk but not so much as to be non compos mentis. Only drunk enough to be aggressive. Especially to a single adversary. A young man walking alone.

  Troy stepped to one side, not looking for unnecessary confrontation.

  The men stepped with him.

  Troy moved again.

  As did they.

  ‘Hey look, Oliver,’ quipped the one. ‘Looks like the fella wants to dance.’

  Raucous laughter accompanied the sledgehammer wit.

  ‘That right?’ Asked the one called Oliver. ‘You want to get physical?’

  Troy didn’t have time for this. He didn’t move forward or assume an aggressive stance. Neither did he move away. He simply looked directly at Oliver and growled.

  It was a sound that could not be issued from a human throat.

  Oliver blanched and took a hurried step back, as did his cronies.

  ‘Stuff this,’ he said. ‘Bloody weirdo. Leave him be. Let’s walk into town, this place is full of nutters tonight,’ he continued. ‘First the pale dude with the teeth and now dog-boy.’

  Troy’s arm flashed out with lightning speed. A black-mamba striking. He grabbed Oliver’s arm, squeezing hard enough to make the bones creak.

  Oliver let out a yelp of pain.

  ‘What pale dude?’ Asked Troy, his voice a deep rumbling continuation of the previous growl.

  ‘Nothing,’ answered Oliver. ‘Just some guy with white makeup on and fake fangs. You know. Dracula. Down there,’ he pointed at a side alleyway.

  Troy dropped his arm and ran, moving at such speed that it literally seemed as if he had simply disappeared into thin air.

  Oliver and his cohorts looked at each other then turned and ran in the opposite direction.

  As Troy moved he sniffed the air. Straining out the smells of the city. Cars, food, garbage, humans. He let his nose lead him.

  There. He paused. That unmistakable odor.

  Because vampires subsisted on blood they developed a unique smell. The strict protein-only diet left their breath smelling of ketones. A top-note of nail-polish remover. Acetone. Under that a bass note of rotten meat. Almost undetectable. But not to a werewolf.

  Then he heard it. A low whimpering sound. The type of noise one makes in a nightmare. It was the sound of a young woman in absolute terror.

  Ahead. In the mist. Maybe sixty feet away.

  Troy did a quick check about him and saw that no one else was close. Then he kicked off his trainers, tore off his shirt and dragged his jeans down, bundling them up and throwing them behind a skip.

  As he ran towards the sound, he changed. A smooth metamorphosis from man to wolf,

  A wolf over three times the size of any actual wolf.

  The blood sucker was playing with the girl. He had torn her blouse, exposing her bare breasts and neck. A trickle of blood ran down her neck, not from a bite but from a deep cut made by the vamps talons.

  He looked up at the last microsecond, dropped the girl and moved to his right. But Troy-wolf tracked his movement, latched onto his wrist and crunched down with his powerful jaws.

  The sound of shattering bone crackled in the night air but Troy knew that the vamp would heal within seconds. It was little more than an inconvenience.

  The vamp slashed down with his talons, aiming for the back of Troy’s neck but the wolf released his grip on the vamps wrist and he rolled away.

  Then Troy sprang to one side before whipping around and latching on to the back of the blood suckers left knee. Again, jaws clamped down and bone shattered.

  The vamp grunted in pain as he struck out again.

  But Troy was simply too quick. Preternaturally so. Even for a werewolf.

  Jaws snapped together again and again and, within seconds, the vamp slipped on his own blood and fell to the floor. Troy leapt onto him, closed his massive jaws around his neck and pulled.

  The dismembered head rolled into the gutter.

  The vampire’s victim was still on the pavement, sitting down, her knees pulled to her chest, her hands clutching her torn blouse together. Eyes as wide as saucers.

  Troy approached her slowly and she shrank back, whimpering in terror.

  But he cocked his head to one side and whined like a dog, consoling her.

  Then he walked slowly up to, licked the blood from her neck and nuzzled her shoulder.

  Hesitantly, she held out her hand and stroked him.

  He pushed back and then, with his nose, nudged her to her feet. When she was standing he pushed her gently until she left the scene, walking back towards the town. Towards the light.

  Just before she disappeared into the mist she turned to face Troy-wolf.

  ‘Thank you,’ she breathed.

  And then she ran.

  Chapter 18

  Emily, Tag, Bastian and the Bloodborn Sylvian had been in London for three nights.

  Three nights of Tag leading them around the seedier side of London. Areas where the homeless, hookers and drug dealers abound. As did trash and human waste. The stench was almost as awful as the all pervading feeling of despair and disenfranchisement that seemed to exude from the human detritus that inhabited the areas.

  Three nights of frustration.

  But on the forth night Sylvian suddenly cocked his head to one side.

  ‘They’re here,’ he said, pointing at a derelict warehouse at the end of an alleyway. ‘I can sense more than one,’ he continued. ‘In the building. I think.’

  ‘Right,’ said Em. ‘Bastian, you go around the back. Enter from there. Sylvian and I will go in through the front entrance. Tag, stay here. Keep a look out.’

  ‘No,’ reacted the big man. ‘I think I come with.’

  ‘Stay here, Tag,’ repeated Emily.

  ‘I don’t need protecting,’ he answered. ‘What I need is to be involved. To fight.’

  Em shook her head. ‘What you need is to stay where I told you.’

  Tag pouted like a sulky child and, just for a moment, Em thought that he was going to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum. But instead he nodded and stood where he was.

  Bastian moved away and Em and Sylvian waited for a minute, allowing him time to get to the back of the building. Then they entered, pushing open the unlocked front warehouse door. Moving slowly and carefully to keep noise to a minimum.

  Sylvian pointed ahead. ‘At the back,’ he whispered. ‘To the left.’

  The two of them ghosted across the vast open warehouse floor, illuminated every few steps by the bars of moonlight and neon that shone through the filthy windows.

  They heard them before they saw them. Behind a pile of old wooden pallets. A grunting, sucking sound. In the background the low resonance of a human voice, keening softly in terror as they were exposed to the reality of the nightmare that we all think does not exist.

  The unmistakable sound of vampires feeding.

  Emily went from careful walk to full-on sprint in an instant, drawing her katana as she did. Sylvian ghosted along behind her, his rapier in his hand.

  As Em ran around the pile of pallets she saw Bastian come into view, moving in from the back of the building.

  There were four vamps and two humans, both females. By their attire it was obvious that the g
irls didn’t hold down a nine-to-five office job. They were working girls and the street was their office. Fringe dwellers that wouldn’t be missed when they didn’t clock in the next day, or night. Perfect blood sucker fodder.

  Emily had taken off two of the vampires heads before the second two even registered that anyone was there. With a backhand flick she dispatched the girl that they were feeding on, quashing her feelings of guilt as she knew that it was better for her to die than turn.

  The next two vampires dropped their prey and turned their attention to the young Shadowhunter. One of the vamps drew a large heavy blade, more machete than knife while the other extended his talons to full length.

  Both Bastian and Sylvian readied themselves for battle but it was to no avail.

  Emily didn’t even pause. Her katana prescribed a glittering silver arc in the darkness, striking both vamps in one fluid continuation of movement. Body parts flew as she cut into them again and again. Hands, arms, pieces of torso.

  Finally Sylvian stepped in and dispatched them both, swiftly decapitating them with two speedy blows. Meanwhile, Bastian shot the other female victim in the head. Three rapid-fire, silenced shots that put her out of her misery.

  Em turned on the Bloodborn. ‘What did you do that for?’ She shouted. ‘I was taking care of them.’

  ‘No,’ disagreed Sylvian. ‘You were torturing them. Slicing them onto pieces without dealing a killing blow.’

  ‘So?’

  The Bloodborn shook his head. ‘That way lies madness, my dear Emily,’ he answered. ‘We cannot allow that sort of feeling to control us. When we kill it must never be with passion. Or feeling. We must exterminate the threat as efficiently as we can, but we must never succumb to a feeling of joy when we do so.’

  ‘Why?’ Demanded Emily.

  ‘Because it blurs the line,’ continued the Bloodborn. ‘The line between us and them. The line between decency and immorality. Trust me,’ he finished. ‘We must always guard against falling in love with the kill. Always.’

  Emily didn’t answer. Instead she cleaned her sword blade off on one of the fallen Vamps, sheathed it and started to walk back to the entrance.