“What is it?” Slater moved toward Glen as he spread the papers out on the table for them to see. Davis looked down at them. Glen took a deep breath before speaking.
“Prior to your arrival, Slater, Davis had wanted me to research his parents. You see, Davis doesn’t know anything about his were-side, or how, or who he got it from. Unfortunately, I’ve found it out.”
“Unfortunately? Why do you say that?” Davis suddenly felt worried. The lump in his stomach returned. Slater looked confused. He had his dark eyebrows knotted together.
“I found out who you got your were-side from. It was your mother.”
Davis only nodded. Slater’s eyebrows no longer touched, but were lifted slightly in surprise. He stared at the photograph of a woman.
“Her name was Brenda Miller. I did a search on your surname. There was a chance she may have given you hers when she gave you up. It happens sometimes… It turns out I was right. Brenda Miller. She was in the PRDI files.”
“Mom,” Slater whispered. He held the photo in his hand and stared at it. Now, Davis was confused. He stood and reached out to take the photo from Slater. He stared at it. Glen went on, his voice slightly sad.
“She had a child, but gave him up for adoption. She later remarried, had herself registered in the PRDI. She married a man named Gregory Slater, a full-blood werewolf…” he trailed off, his eyes on Davis. “Brenda Slater was your mother.”
Davis felt the lump in his stomach lift into his throat. He wanted to throw up. It couldn’t be. The woman he was staring at, her grey eyes, her black hair—he had seen her before. He had killed her. Her name had been Brenda Slater.
Slater also stared, open-mouthed. He looked helplessly to Glen, then to the shocked Davis.
“This can’t be true. It can’t be. My mother… She never… She would’ve told me.” He couldn’t form a complete sentence. His entire body shook.
“I’m guessing she kept it a secret, Slater. She was probably going to tell you—”
“No!” Slater yelled. He backed away. “It’s not possible.”
Davis sank back into his chair. His hands shook so badly he could not hold the photograph. Her eyes. He would remember those eyes until the day he died…
She had been his mother. He had killed his own mother.
Before he could stop himself, the bile had risen in his throat. He turned to his side and vomited all over the floor. His chair toppled over with him in it and he fell onto his hands and knees. He was sick all over the floor again. He was aware that Slater was yelling, that Glen was trying to calm him down, but none of that mattered. He retched again, feeling it burn his throat as it came out.
Simon had made him kill his own mother. His own mother…
The door slammed and an engine turned over. Tires squealed and Slater was gone again. He felt Glen’s hand on his shoulder, but he shoved him away. He closed his eyes, feeling the last of the bile drip from his lips. He could smell the vomit and it made his stomach leap again.
“I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you, Davis.” Glen sounded so far away. “I didn’t want to do it, but you wanted to know—”
“Just…leave me alone,” Davis said in a rasping voice.
Glen complied, because Davis no longer felt his hand on his shoulder, or his presence nearby. Tears now streamed down his face and he gave way to incoherent sobs.
From across the room, Glen watched, feeling horrible with himself for having to reveal the awful truth. He knew somehow, that neither man would ever be the same again.
* * *
Jason sat in the Camaro as he waited for darkness to fall. He had sat there all afternoon, with his eyes glued to the house. This was the place. He had checked the crumpled paper over and over again. This was it.
He rolled the paper into a tight ball and tossed it onto the floor of the car. He shifted his gaze to the two guns in the seat beside him and reached for the Beretta. The sun was going down and darkness would be here soon. He didn’t have much longer to wait.
He grinned bitterly as he ejected the clip and checked the rounds. It was nearly full, but would it be enough. He grabbed the gun he had confiscated from Rebel and checked it. Only one round was gone from the magazine. The odds were looking better.
How many would there be? He didn’t know. There could be dozens, there could be as few as one. Though she had helped him, the information Cheyenne had given him was not that reliable. How was he to know she was telling the truth? He didn’t even know if there was a meeting tonight. What if it had all been a waste of his time?
Jason clenched his fist around his pistol grip and allowed his gaze to wander over the street and the house. If it all turned out to be made up, some game by Cheyenne…
He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at the headlights of an oncoming car. The lights dimmed as the vehicle turned and entered the driveway of the house Jason watched. He sat up in his seat for a better look.
Two men emerged from the vehicle. Both carried weapons, not bothering to conceal them as they crossed the lawn. They entered the house without knocking. Jason furrowed his brow together.
He had seen no others arrive and he had seen no one leave. There was no telling how many were in the house without having a closer inspection. The sun had set fully now and the landscape was now tinged in blue and grey. He would continue to wait to see if more arrived and for deeper shadows in which to hide himself.
Jason was not known for having patience and his edginess increased with each passing moment. He sat tense in the driver’s seat of the Camaro, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Leather creaked upon leather and his hands flexed on the grip of his guns. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He opened the door of the car and stepped out. He was careful not to slam the door. A gunshot-sound like that would disturb the whole neighborhood. He didn’t want that until it was time.
He moved quickly across the pavement and up the lawn. Bending low, he used his preternatural speed to move swiftly across the damp grass. He ducked once he got near enough to the window. He held the pistols at his sides, looking up to see the hazy light spilling from above him. He tried to listen, but his heart beat loudly. He strained his ears.
Someone in the room laughed and footfalls fell away. Jason furrowed his eyebrows together and waited until the sound faded to silence before he risked a peek. He lifted his head a bit and peered in.
Two men were seated in what looked like the living room. There was a mass of silver bullets littering the weapon-strewn coffee table before them. He stared at them, narrowing his eyes.
The men were talking, but the voices were low and muffled. Jason could hardly hear them. He took a deep breath and tried to listen.
Loud footsteps sounded and he withdrew himself away from the window, just enough that he was sure he could not be seen. A shadow was cast as another man stepped into the room. He was carrying three bottles of beer and he passed them out to the others. He twisted the cap off and took a long drink from it. One of his buddies said something, and the others laughed. Jason felt his anger rise again.
There were three of them. He felt the weight of the pistols in his hands and turned his head to the right. He was less than ten feet from the front door. He crept his way there.
He stood there a moment, contemplating his next move. He could walk in swiftly and silently, finishing them off without them knowing what happened. Or he could go in, guns blazing and inflict as much damage as possible. He grinned to himself. He was tired of playing by the rules.
Jason turned the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. He threw it open and in three quick steps had crossed the threshold and turned to the door on his left. The man standing in the doorway dropped his beer in surprise. His hand reached for the gun holstered under his arm. Jason was faster.
He pulled the trigger once, hitting the man square in the chest, then once more, hitting the neck. The sound was deafening. The scent of spilled blood was invigorating. Jason reveled in it.
The tallest of the men, and the last one remaining, fired two shots at Jason and missed. As Jason turned to face him, a growl issued from his throat. He moved forward, leaping over the dead bodies in front of him.
The look of shock and pain on the hunter’s face when the bullet tore his leg made the wolf within Jason bare his teeth. Sputtering and crying in pain, the man hit the ground, clutching at the bloody gunshot wound in his leg.
Jason was on him a moment later, holding him off the floor by the collar of his jacket. He pressed the hot muzzle of his pistol against the man’s temple.
“Where’s Simon?” Jason demanded. He spat through his clenched teeth as he spoke. His hands shook with rage. “Where is he?”
“I—I don’t know anyone named Simon. Please, don’t hurt me!” the man pleaded. The fear scent was strong, the blood smell stronger. Jason sniffed the air. He found the combination wonderful.
“Where is Simon?” he roared. He brought his gun down hard against the side of the man’s face. He yelled in pain. A new gash trickled blood from his forehead. He trembled and stuttered as he tried to talk.
“I don’t know. I don’t know Simon!”
“Liar! Where is he and where is Rose?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man insisted. He whimpered in pain.
Jason set his jaw and threw the man back to the floor. He stood and watched as he tried to scramble away from him. He wasn’t going to get any answers. He took one clean, precise shot and blew out the back of the hunter’s head. The body twitched on the floor a moment, then was still.
Jason’s breathing was heavy and hard. His chest rose and fell with every labored intake. He wasted no time and bent to the dead man before him. He searched him, finding a wallet with money and IDs. He took the wallet and stuffed it in his back pocket. He did the same with the others.
And to be sure, he searched the house. He went through each room. He tore into closets and ripped open the doors of locked rooms. Rose wasn’t here.
He cursed loudly as he left the place, running across the lawn and the street. He climbed into the car and started the engine. It wouldn’t be long. The porch lights of all the houses were lit up and he could hear the sirens already.
He was even further from finding Rose than he had ever been. The hunters here had gotten him nowhere. It was useless.
Flexing his hands on the steering wheel, he willed the wolf to back down inside him. He wasn’t going to rage shift. He remembered Glen’s words all too well. There was only one place he could go to now, the one place he should’ve gone to all along to avoid this whole mess. Glen’s storefront.
The tires squealed as he pulled out of his parking place.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rose heard her before she even opened the door. She had been awake in the darkness for the longest time, just sitting there waiting. She shifted her position when the deadbolt was unlocked and she sat up straighter. She knew it was Claire by her scent.
The door opened and Claire stepped inside. Rose knew the complete darkness must’ve blinded her, because she blinked a few times as she tried to peer around. Rose could smell her fear. She watched in silence, her own eyes already adjusted to the inky blackness. Claire took a few steps forward, unsure where to go from there. She had on her jacket and something slung over her shoulder that Rose recognized as a computer case. She looked as if she were ready to leave to go somewhere.
Rose snorted a bit and Claire quickly turned her head in the direction.
“Rose,” she hissed. “I told you before that I want to help you—”
“I’ll go with you.” Rose whispered, without hesitation. Claire seemed taken aback a bit. Perhaps she had expected more of an argument. Rose went on. “I’m not staying here a minute longer. I know what Simon wants and I am not giving it to him.”
“What does he—”
“I’m not talking about it here.” Rose stood. Her bones ached from the cold floor, but she ignored the discomfort. She walked toward her. “Get me out of here.”
“All right…” Claire said. She kept her voice low and glanced toward the door. “We have to move quietly, so that means slowly. The steps make a lot of noise, and I don’t want anyone to know.”
“All right.” Rose touched Claire’s arm, so she knew where she was. She only slightly jumped. “Let’s go then.”
“Follow me,” Claire said. She opened the door, checked to see if anyone was awake and about, then stepped out. Rose followed her. She paused in the doorway to adjust her eyes to the somewhat brighter atmosphere. Claire had already started forward and was quickly nearing the steps. Rose, in her bare feet, made less sound and moved faster. She was close behind her.
Claire navigated the steps cautiously and glanced back at the light shining from the door above them. Rose stared at it, curiously. Was that where he was? She felt compelled suddenly to turn back, go in the room…but what would she do?
She turned back to Claire, just in time to see her miss her footing and slip. With a loud cry of pain, she slid down two steps. Her computer case dropped below her. The resounding echo bounced off the walls.
“Shit!” Rose cursed. She heard voices calling from somewhere below. Someone stirred in one of the upstairs rooms. She jumped down the steps and hoisted Claire up by her arm. She grabbed the fallen case and it into her arms. “Run!”
Claire looked at her, her brown eyes wide with fear. “Go,” Rose insisted.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine. Just go,” she told her, just as the door was thrown open. Claire stared at the intimidating figure of Simon above them and wasted no time in obeying Rose’s orders. She started for the door. She ran as fast as she could, though Rose noticed she was limping. She was outside the door in a matter of seconds.
Rose stared up at Simon. His face was livid and his eyes completely feral. For a moment, she was bound by his gaze and could only stare at him. Then he moved, starting down the steps toward her. She broke out of her stupor and ran for it. Several tall stacks of crates crowded the warehouse floor and she hid behind one of them.
“You bitch,” Simon yelled. An engine roared to life outside and gravel pinged against metal as Claire made her getaway. Enraged even further, Simon redoubled his efforts. He made a lunge for Rose.
Rose started for the door, with Simon close behind her. Suddenly, she slammed all of her weight into the stack of wooden crates between her and Simon. They toppled dangerously before they crashed to the floor. They broke open, spare car parts spilling across the floor with a resounding boom. Simon let out a cry of rage and pain. The crates had met their mark, falling on him. His leg was pinned beneath the mess and he kicked to free himself.
Rose didn’t have time to savor her victory. Eric, with his bandaged nose and face full of anger, was heading her way. She turned and hurried out the door. The night air was cool and the gravel hurt her bare feet as she ran across the drive. The van was in the distance, its red lights fading away. Rose couldn’t catch up now. She was on her own.
Doubting Claire would return for her, she began to run for the trees. It didn’t matter where her path led. She was free now. The wolf within her rejoiced and joined Rose. She doubled her speed. The warehouse and the shouts were left far behind.
She was free.
“Fucking hell!” Simon bellowed. He pulled his leg from the crumpled crates and heavy car parts and slammed his boot through the box. It splintered around his foot and he yelled in rage.
Pain shot through his leg as he stood, but he paid no attention to it. It would heal in a short amount of time. He headed for the door, but it was too late. She was gone.
“Don’t just fucking stand there,” he yelled, turning to face an angry Eric and a bewildered Sean. Alana leaned in the doorway to her room. She was missing her usual smug smile. Instead, she looked rather wor
ried.
“Go after her!” he screamed, but no one moved.
“We don’t know where they have gone, Simon—” Eric tried to explain. His voice sounded very tense, as if he were feigning a calm he didn’t feel. Sean had taken a step back. Simon clenched his fists.
“What?”
“We don’t know where they’ve have gone. Claire took the van, we have no transportation, and the girl—”
“Leave the girl to me,” Simon snarled and turned back to the door. “I’ll find her.”
“How?” Eric asked.
There was a moment of ringing silence. Simon stopped at the door and turned to him. He had nearly let it slip. He had nearly broken the one most important rule of his game. He took a deep breath, exhaling. He still felt the anger inside him, but he could hold back. Her scent would not fade for a while; he could track her later.
Simon composed himself and turned. All eyes were on him, waiting for an answer. He looked at Alana’s pale face for a moment, then to Eric.
“Clean this mess up,” he said darkly and flashed his gaze to Sean. “And do it now. I need to be alone.”
He climbed over the wrecked mess and past Eric. Eric crossed his arms over his chest and watched their leader as he passed.
“But what are you going to do? How are you going to find them?” he demanded again. Simon glared at him and he was silenced.
“Leave that to me,” he said. “I’ll think of something.” He climbed the steps, feeling each step burn when pressure was applied to his foot. It was probably broken, he figured, a hairline fracture. In a few hours, it would be gone. It would be healed.
He entered his office and slammed the door behind him. He bellowed with rage and kicked with his good foot. His desk slid across the floor and hit the wall opposite him.
That conniving little bitch. He had known Claire would betray him. He should’ve finished her off when he had the chance. She had been plotting against him all along. His fists flexed at his side.
The pain in his leg was excruciating now. It could not be ignored any longer. He moved forward with a limp and leaned against his desk. A few hours and it would be gone. He reminded himself of this as he stared down at his white knuckled hands.
Blood Moon Page 20