by E. S. Moore
He looked at me, his mouth working, and he dropped to his knees. He clutched at his groin, ignoring the wound in his neck as if it were unimportant. He gurgled something inarticulate before falling face-first into the wet earth.
He was still alive and it could take him some time to die, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Werewolves might be more resilient than normal folk, but that didn’t mean they didn’t die. He was losing a ton of blood and couldn’t breathe. The silver from my knives would effectively paralyze him, make his wounds slow to heal, so that he would die well before recovering.
I didn’t have time to sit around and watch him die, however. Normally, I would have cut off his head to be sure, but to do so would mean getting more of his scent on my weapons. I couldn’t risk it.
I wiped my knives clean on the wet grass, well away from where the dying wolf’s blood pumped out onto the ground. He reached out toward me and I jumped back, barely keeping myself from screaming. His eyes glazed over and he fell limp, though the blood kept coming.
I watched him as I cleaned the knives, waiting for him to move again. I was surprised he had managed even that much with the silver running through his veins. Most of the time, a wolf wouldn’t even be able to twitch after being struck by a silver weapon. This guy had been pretty damn strong. I was glad he had never shifted.
My thoughts drifted to the night before and the wolf that hadn’t seemed to be bothered by silver. I shook off the thought before it could fully form. I seriously hoped werewolves with a resistance to silver weren’t becoming common. If they were, I was in for some serious trouble.
I sheathed my knives when they were as clean as I could get them, wishing I had thought to bring spares. I could have left the dirty ones behind a tree and gone in with fresh ones, but there was no going back now.
With one last glance at the dying wolf, I started picking my way down toward Tremaine’s mansion, hoping luck was with me and no one would find him before the real action began.
23
The rhythmic thump of a dryer came from the open window. It was the only sound.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I rested my back against the wall. I had worried the room would turn out to be something other than a laundry room. The smell from the vent was oddly sweet and cloying. It blew warm air on my back, a pleasantry in the chilly rain.
I waited there, crouched down, my hand ready to draw any one of my assortment of weapons the moment someone came into view. I leaned toward the front of the house to better hear what was going on.
Jonathan’s voice could just barely be heard over the sound of the dryer. He had to have been close to shouting, because there were pauses in which I was certain someone else was speaking, but their voice was lost over the thumps coming from the laundry room. What were they drying in there? It sounded like cotton-covered bowling balls.
I scanned the yard for movement while I listened. I was pretty sure I hadn’t been spotted during my mad dash across the expansive lawn. While I hadn’t seen anyone spying on me, there were quite a few windows on that side of the house. If anyone had happened to peek out just as I started running, they couldn’t help but have seen me.
Since no one had shouted any warnings, I figured I was safe enough. I turned my attention to the laundry room window as the voices died down. It swung outward and upward, just enough to cool the room inside, but not nearly enough to permit the rain to make much more than a tiny splash on the inside sill. I pulled the window the rest of the way up, wincing in anticipation of its screech.
It went up with ease, sliding up and locking in place with a faint click. There was just barely enough room for me to slip through, but even then it would be a tight fit.
The laundry room was dark. No one moved within the confines of what appeared to be a rather spacious room. It was dark enough that even with my night vision, I couldn’t quite make out everything inside. I was reminded of the glamour on the Luna Cult Den and wondered if maybe Tremaine was employing a sorcerer of his own. If so, it was a pretty weak one, since I could still see light coming out from beneath the door on the far side of the room. That was something Jonathan’s glamour would have hidden.
I slithered my way through the opening and found the washing machine just under the window. The top was closed, giving me a perfect stepstool in which to get down. I took my time, making as little noise as possible, though I doubted anyone would have been able to hear me even if I had fallen in and crashed down on top of the machine.
I leaped from the washing machine to the vinyl floor, my feet making barely a sound. A laundry basket filled with stained white sheets lay on the floor next to the washer, and about a dozen other similar baskets sat against the far wall. I couldn’t tell if their loads were clean or dirty from where I stood, but I could still smell the blood that stained the white sheets nearest me.
My stomach did a flip and I had to fight down the urge to investigate them further. I had no idea whose blood it was, but the smell of it was almost overpowering. More than one person had died on those sheets, that’s for sure.
I turned my attention away from the clothes baskets and focused on the door. It was the only exit from the room, aside from the window, and it was closed. The faint light that seeped beneath it just barely illuminated the floor around the door and a hamper standing open to its left, but little else. The light had probably been what had screwed up my night vision, casting just enough of a glow to keep it from kicking in like it should.
I pressed my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the other side. I listened for a good thirty seconds anyway to be sure, then took hold of the polished doorknob, turning it so slowly it would be nearly imperceptible to anyone not staring directly at the door.
The laundry room gave way to a sort of game room dimly lit by a ceiling light. The light cover was heavily tinted, giving the room a certain ambience that spoke of long nights of curling smoke, beer-stained shirts, and hours of poker or pool. A pair of pool tables sat relatively close together in the middle of the room. The balls were already racked, and a pair of pool cues lay crossed on each of the tables.
There were three dartboards on the opposite wall. The darts speckled the board haphazardly, as if whoever had played last wasn’t very good. A pair of arcade games that looked to have come straight from the ’80s sat side by side along another wall. Their screens were lit up with flashing title sequences and brief clips of game play.
To my right was a card table with four chairs pushed in around it. Cards lay facedown in front of each chair, as if whoever had been playing had been called away suddenly and had left their cards in place while they took care of whatever needed doing. Piles of chips of varying sizes sat beside the cards, giving validity to the idea.
That meant someone was probably coming back before long. I had no intention of sticking around long enough to meet them.
I didn’t have time to completely look the room over. The place was huge. I probably could have fit the entire upstairs of my house in this single room and had space to spare.
There were two other doors in the room. One was to my right, just past the card table. The other was on the far side of the room. Both were closed.
I assumed one of them went down into a basement. My best guess was that it was the one to my right. Just past that door was a stairway leading up to the next level of the mansion. I hurried across the room and took up position by the door. I stopped to listen for a moment; hearing nothing, I moved on to the stairs. I peered around the corner, taking only a quick glance to see if anyone was standing guard, but there seemed to be no one there.
In fact, I saw almost nothing. The stairs were made of polished wood, and there was no carpet or rug to soften my footfalls. Other than that, I could see hardly anything. The room above was far too spacious. I caught a glimpse of a light fixture on the ceiling and that was it.
The sound of footsteps caused me to jerk back. It took me a moment to realize the footfalls weren’t coming from ab
ove, but rather from the closed door at my back.
“Shit,” I muttered as I darted to the other side of the door and pressed myself against the wall. I couldn’t tell if the door swung in or out, but I hoped it would swing toward me so it would block me from sight long enough that I could jump whoever was coming before they saw me. If I was forced to fight, I needed to make it quick. A single scream would alert everyone in the mansion that something was wrong.
I drew a knife from my waist nice and slow. The footfalls came steadily nearer. As far as I could tell, it was only one set, which was a relief. If I had to deal with more than one person, I wouldn’t be able to keep one of them from shouting out an alarm.
I drew my second knife just in case. There was no telling if what I was about to face was a vampire, wolf, or Pureblood. If it was one of the first two, I could be in for a serious fight.
The footfalls reached the top of the stairs and the doorknob jerked to the side violently as if whoever was coming was in a piss-poor mood. He was grumbling to himself, words I couldn’t make out over the loud crash of the door as he threw it open and it slammed against me.
A thick, heavily ringed hand reached around the side of the door, inches from my knife-wielding hand. He thrust the door closed behind him, never turning to look my way.
He started for the stairs but stopped after only a pair of steps. “Goddamn it,” he muttered as he started to turn back around.
I shot forward, my knife taking him under the chin, nailing his mouth closed. His eyes widened and he tried to choke something out through the sudden bubbling of blood that filled his mouth. He fell forward into me and I had to brace myself against his weight. He wasn’t a small man in the slightest. He had to weigh all of three hundred pounds and was at least five inches taller than me.
I bore his weight, not wanting him to slam me against the door. I doubted anyone would recognize the bang for what it was, especially after the way he had slammed it closed, but I didn’t want to take the chance.
The man reached out and grabbed the hair at the back of my head and yanked as hard as he could. My head jerked back, but I didn’t relent. I twisted the knife in his jaw and heard bone snap. I struck out with my other knife, ramming it deep into his ample stomach. I sidestepped the gush of blood, not wanting to get any more on me than I already had.
The man’s grip loosened and he fell to his knees. I tried to bear as much of his weight as I could as I helped him down to the ground. He still hit with a sizable thump. I jerked the knife in his belly upward, sending his entrails spilling out onto the floor. He grunted something and then fell on his face, unmoving.
I was almost positive the man had been a werewolf. He had fought too hard to be anything else. A normal Pureblood would have gone down after the first knife thrust.
Again, I was reminded of the wolf from the night before. I looked down at my blood-smeared weapon. Maybe Ethan’s demon silver wasn’t as pure as it used to be.
Of course, I wasn’t entirely sure the guy had been a wolf. He hadn’t shifted. He could have just been an extremely resilient Pureblood, one the vampires trusted to watch over them during the long days.
I wiped the blade on the man’s shirt. He was dead either way. It didn’t matter who or what he was.
My other knife was trapped under his bulk, still embedded in his jaw. I considered flipping the big man over, but the sound of a large group moving at the top of the stairs brought my head swinging around. I could hear Jonathan’s voice clearly.
I didn’t have time to work my knife free. I would have liked to have hidden the body, taken all my weapons, and done my best to remove all the blood. I had to hope that while the Cult was in the house, all hands would be upstairs with the rest of the action.
At least I hoped everything was taking place somewhere upstairs. If that group were to come down here now, there would be no stopping an all-out brawl.
I sheathed my knife and tried to clean my hands on the dead man’s clothes. He had died pretty quick. I was definitely leaning toward him not being a wolf.
The blood didn’t want to come off, but I did the best I could. Somehow, the blood didn’t get on my clothing, which was a relief. With the way things had been going, it wouldn’t have surprised me if he would have gushed all over me, ruining any chance of me slipping in unnoticed.
Still, the smell of blood was going to be strong on me regardless. It was on my weapons, on my hands. I just had to hope the wolves of House Tremaine wouldn’t be sniffing around too much. It was going to be hard enough to blend in with the others as it was.
I quickly went back to the base of the stairs, keeping myself well out of sight. The group appeared a moment later, a procession of wolves and Cultists. I didn’t recognize the first two men to walk by. They were probably some of Tremaine’s wolves. They passed by the stair well without a pause. Jonathan called out to them to stop, but they acted as if they hadn’t heard him and kept walking.
Jonathan stepped into view next. His suit was undone and he had a ruffled look about him. They must have frisked him pretty hard to make him look that disheveled. He glanced almost nonchalantly down the stairs and gave me a quick nod before continuing on at a slow, deliberate pace. Nathan and Gregory were at his heels. Neither looked my way.
I hastened up the stairs, hoping no one could smell me coming, let alone hear me. I stayed low to the ground, taking the stairs at a crouch. My boots made a faint thump on the stairs, but it was nothing compared with the shuffle of feet of the Cultists making their slow way past.
None of the Purebloods looked my way. They were each wearing outfits exactly like mine, though they probably smelled a whole hell of a lot better. I knew this façade wasn’t going to last. Not with all the blood.
I reached the top of the stairs just as the bulk of them passed by. I crashed to the floor, making as big of a scene as I could.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, just loud enough for everyone to hear. The wolves in the lead had stopped and turned to see what the noise was all about. “Tripped over my robe.”
They grunted and continued on. I glanced behind me, doing my best to look abashed, and saw two more of Tremaine’s wolves behind the Cultists. It was the woman who had walked the grounds the night before, looking as dainty as ever, and a man I didn’t recognize. They glared at me, but gave no indication they had noticed me coming up the stairs.
I fell in with the Cultists and kept my head low, taking in the sights with my peripheral vision.
The mansion was clean from top to bottom and looked as if it had been specially prepared for the occasion. All the lights on this floor were on, and a pair of servants in tuxedos stood against the wall. I knew they were probably the Pureblood staff. Their collars were high and their coats covered their wrists, hiding what I knew would be scarred flesh from countless bites. Light music played in one of the rooms ahead. Large double doors separated us from the music, and it was clear that was where we were headed.
The closer we got to the doors, the more I relaxed, certain everything would work out as planned. At least this part of it anyway. Once we were in the presence of Count Tremaine and his vamps, I doubted things would go as Jonathan hoped. Vampires weren’t exactly the most predictable of creatures.
The wolf escorts stopped at the double doors, the rest of us falling in silently behind them. One of the wolves rapped three times on the heavy wood and then stepped back, his hands behind his back. The doors weren’t carved like the ones back at the Luna Cult Den, but they were still impressive. It would take a train to knock them down.
A soft voice called out for us to enter and the two wolves opened the way. It looked as though it took all their strength to budge the sturdy doors. Maybe not a train, then. More like a nuclear missile.
The music swelled as the doors opened and we were led into a well-decorated ballroom. Metal rings lined all the walls, sturdy-looking things that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. I knew what they were for. I had seen plenty of vampi
re ballrooms to know that the rings were where they kept captives, wolf and Pureblood alike.
A half-dozen wolves stood to either side of the door, and a handful of men and women who were clearly vampires of the House stood facing the doorway, making a sort of aisle that led to a thronelike chair sitting on a small dais at the far end of the room.
Seated on the chair was Count Tremaine himself. He was bare-chested beneath a leather jacket that fell all the way to his knees. It covered most of his black leather pants. He wore rings on nearly every finger and had about five or six necklaces dangling on his well-muscled chest. Knee-high boots decorated with buckles and zippers were propped up on the back of a kneeling nude woman who was chained to the throne like a dog. She was clearly a Pureblood. Dried tears marred her delicate features, but she took her role as the royal footstool with more dignity than I could have mustered.
I tore my eyes from the tableau in front of me and chose to examine the two men standing to either side of the throne. The first was tall, unassuming, and dressed in what could only be called a sort of casual formal attire. He had a smug grin on his face that reminded me of Gregory. His lips were stained red from a recent feeding. As far as I could tell, he was just another vamp of the House, though a high-standing one if his position at Tremaine’s side meant anything.
It was the other man who caused my breath to catch in my throat, my eyes to widen.
Standing on Count Tremaine’s left, his flat-eyed stare examining the group of Cultists ushered into the room, was Adrian Davis, Luna Cult defector.
24
I kept my head low even though I was still veiled by Jonathan’s glamour. I didn’t know how good Adrian’s eyes were. Could he pick me out just by my eyes? We hadn’t talked that long. Would he even think to look? He knew Jonathan could cast glamours, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think they had prepared against such a thing at the doors. Was I even safe now?