BELLATRIX

by Natalie Grey

  Pete stood up, “Give me … aww screw it.”

  “What?” Yelena asked. But, all he threw off was his coat, then the man changed.

  “You pups always make messes,” Ecaterina said and grabbed the shirt around his neck and tossed it off as the wolf stepped out of the destroyed clothes.

  He stood bigger even than the white dog, unmistakably a wolf. He padded over to her and nudged her hand with his nose.

  “Oh,” Yelena said faintly. She swayed slightly as she looked down at the eyes staring back at her.

  “They’re real,” the woman said. “And your mother is right. You do have their blood. So does your brother. We think maybe he got taken by the people we’re hunting.”

  The wolf growled softly.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Ecaterina said.

  “Don’t know what for sure?”

  “He wonders if your brother might be using his Wechselbalg blood to become part of the underworld around here,” Ecaterina explained.

  “He would never,” Yelena said hotly. She felt lost, her voice trembled just a bit, “You really think they have him?”

  Yelena looked around, it was just too much.

  There was a giant, shape shifting wolf, and the idea that maybe she could do that, too, and the thought that she could never rescue Alec if she were up against something with claws like knives.

  Ecaterina spoke gently. “You might not be able to take on a Wechselbalg or three by yourself,” she said. “But we can. You should come upstairs, meet Bethany Anne.”

  It was Bellatrix who decided her. You can trust these people.

  With one more glance at the wolf—definitely still there, definitely still a wolf—

  Yelena followed Ecaterina back into the hotel to meet the woman called Bethany Anne.

  ___

  “Emilian.” Marcel waited awkwardly in the doorway. “Our client is on the phone for you.”

  “Thank you.” Emilian stood and walked to the other room, not looking at the man. Marcel was clearly still bothered by Cezar’s death. That he should let his discomfort be seen was not acceptable.

  Emilian would have to talk to him about that. He could hardly take over the underworld if his employees could not deal with a little blood. As he picked up the phone, he thought that he would have to come up with a way to make Marcel understand.

  “Hello?”

  “What is your status?” The man’s voice was sharp. He was an impatient man, Emilian had learned. “The wife is worried. I don’t want there to be any chance of him being rescued.”

  Emilian felt an instinctive flare of rage. How dared this man question his methods? He clenched his fingers as he answered, telling himself that he was using the humans for their money, and reminding himself that it amused him to play them off one another. “You wanted him to suffer,” he said shortly. “He is suffering.”

  “He has suffered enough.” The man gave the order carelessly, “End it. Use the beast you told me about.”

  The beast is me. Emilian smiled. “I will.”

  “Tell me when it is done, and I will tell you what to do with the body.” The man hung up without waiting for a response.

  Emilian drummed his fingers on the desk for another moment, and came to a decision. They could take some time, he decided—especially if the man’s pain could serve two purposes.

  “Marcel.” He waited for the man to appear. “You will torture the man. These are things you will need to know if you are to be of use to me.” The look in his eyes showed Marcel that if a man was not of use … he would be dead.

  As Marcel disappeared, looking sick, Emilian flipped through what they had taken from the man. The ski gear was ruined by his claws, and the man’s documents were in a plastic pouch. Emilian took the papers out, and froze.

  Worry made him sick. ALEC NIKOLAEV, the papers read. Their target might have made false papers, hoping to keep Virgil from knowing where he was going.

  Or he might have been telling the truth. He might not know Virgil at all.

  They might have the wrong man. Emilian ran for the torture room, shouting for Marcel. They had to find Theo—and this man had to die. He could not be allowed to tell the world what he had seen.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “The receptionist says there is an old house at the edge of town that’s being rented.” John closed the door behind him. He poked a finger into his ear and popped out an implant Jean and Bobcat had made for the Bitches, with TOM’s help. A language device that translated what he heard, and allowed him to speak translated words.

  It took a while to get used to opening his mouth and having words come out that he didn’t understand, but the device was useful. Bethany Anne had realized that while many world leaders spoke English, often it was random people on the street who noticed strange things and were willing to admit to them—and those people rarely spoke more than one language, and it wasn’t always English.

  It helped to speak the local language.

  John rubbed at his ear and grimaced. He still preferred speaking his own language. “The people in the house now are younger guys. They don’t seem to work anywhere. It was being rented for years, but no one was ever there, as far as anyone knew. But now people have moved in.”

  “A bolt hole, maybe?” Eric suggested.

  “A retreat.” Bethany Anne agreed. “So, what do we know? We know that Stephen dealt with the leaders. We know that the leaders were reckless and preyed on humans. We also know that the ones left behind are weak. So they are weak, and they are using systems set up by people who were reckless.”

  She smiled. “I’d say we have a good shot to take them out easily. In time for breakfast, even.”

  Bethany Anne was reaching for her coat when voices sounded in the hallway. A moment later, Ecaterina came in with the black-haired woman they had seen in the lobby. The woman looked shocked. She blushed again when she saw John, and shifted her gaze to Bethany Anne.

  “She was going to find her brother,” Ecaterina explained.

  “Where’s Pete?”

  “He changed, so….” Ecaterina grinned. “Someone needs to bring him some clothes.”

  “Or,” Eric suggested, “we don’t bring him clothes and make him get up here naked without being seen.”

  Bethany Anne tapped her chin with a finger before pointing at Eric, “You guys kill me. And Pete’s going to kill you if he ends up out there naked.”

  “I’ll go bring him some stuff.” Eric grabbed workout shorts and a t-shirt out of one of the bags and left the room with an appreciative glance at the black-haired woman.

  Bethany Anne frowned. “I would have heard a fight. Why did Pete change?”

  “To show her that her mother’s stories were real.” Ecaterina jerked her head at the woman. “This is Yelena, by the way. Yelena, this is Bethany Anne.” She had shifted back into Romanian.

  John sighed and put his translation unit back in.

  “It is very nice to meet you,” Yelena said politely. She swallowed, clearly torn. “We do not have much time. I do not want to be impolite, but whatever is going on here, my brother is in serious danger. I can feel it.” She said the last words almost defiantly, as if she expected Bethany Anne to think she was crazy for saying them. Her hands clenched. “If he has really been taken by changers, then I need your help.”

  Bethany Anne cocked her head to one side, “You do not like admitting that you need help?” she asked her.

  “Of course I don’t!” Yelena crossed her arms. “Trouble comes for you when you’re all alone, but it isn’t smart to rely on other people.”

  Bethany Anne nodded, “I understand that way of thinking. And for a long time, I did not like to rely on anyone, either. But my team is made up of people like you. People, who push themselves very hard because they do not want to be weak or vulnerable. Like you, they want to help other people. I have learned to recognize people like you, and to trust them. Everyone in this room—and Pete, who showed you that the Wechs
elbalg are real—is someone you can trust.”

  Yelena looked like she wasn’t quite sure if she believed that, and Bethany Anne realized it might be the sort of thing that could only be learned by experience.

  “We are going to confront the people who have taken your brother,” she told Yelena. “These are dangerous people, so you should stay here for now. If your brother is there, we will rescue him and bring him back.”

  “Nuh-uh.” Yelena shook her head. “Absolutely not. I am not staying behind.”

  Ecaterina put a hand on her arm, “It is impossible for you to take on creatures like these on your own.”

  “I don’t care,” Yelena said instantly.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Bethany Anne told her. The truth was, she did not want this woman to come with her, only to find out that her brother was a member of the underworld.

  She was still worried that Alec Nikolaev might not be as good hearted as his sister was. But was worried about suggesting that to the young woman, “What good will you be to your brother if you should get hurt?”

  Yelena countered, “Why should you get hurt on my behalf? That doesn’t make any sense, either.”

  “We have our own score to settle with them,” Bethany Anne explained. She knew her voice was growing deeper, taking on a tinge of her “Queen Bitch Mode,” as the Bitches called it. “And they will not be able to hurt us.”

  Yelena had backed up into the wall when she heard Bethany Anne’s voice. She swallowed hard. She was clearly out of her depth, between Bethany Anne and Pete, but she refused to back down just because she was afraid.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said simply. “He is my brother. Maybe you don’t think I can help. Maybe you’re right. But I love him. I will protect him as long as I am able to do so. And I am not staying here if I know he is in danger, wolf or no wolf.”

  Bethany Anne nodded. She understood the call of honor. She knew that for Yelena, the chance of death meant nothing in the equation, and she would respect that. “Remember that we are hunting these people because of the things they do,” she explained. “We want to take them down because they prey on people. We will help you rescue your brother.”

  “Alec,” Yelena nodded. “His name is Alec.” She said it like a prayer.

  “Alec.” Bethany Anne nodded. “We’ll save him, Yelena. Everyone, get your gear. We are going to check out the house right now.”

  None of them were willing to consider the idea that it might already be too late for Alec.

  Yelena noticed the sword Bethany Anne pulled out of a pack and the pistols they all slotted into holsters before their coats covered them up.

  Just who were these people?

  ___

  Emilian raced through the hallways, shouting for Marcel. The man they had, needed to give them information now. Before, Emilian had just tortured him for fun … and because their client wanted the man to suffer.

  Now he had to know if they had the right man at all.

  He found Marcel in the room, nervously holding his hand in a fist, hesitating as the man in the chair strained at his bonds to get away. Emilian took a moment to curl his lip in contempt at both men. The man in the chair should know he could not get away—and Marcel should not be hesitating.

  Emilian ordered Marcel curtly, “Hit him.”

  Marcel did, though the hit was not as strong as Emilian knew he could summon.

  “Again.”

  Marcel hesitated.

  “I said, hit him again.”

  Marcel closed his eyes for a moment, but his sense of self-preservation was strong. His fist shot out and the man in the chair grunted in pain. The cuts on his chest were almost healed, and they had not festered as claw slashes usually did on humans, but Emilian was too distracted to think about that right now.

  “Tell me your name, “ Emilian demanded.

  “Alec Nikolaev.” The words came instantly through cracked lips. The man looked up at him. “Who are you?”

  “The scalpel, Marcel.” Emilian watched the man pick it up. “Cut him on his chest.”

  Marcel’s face was screwed up with distaste, but he did as he was asked.

  Over the sound of the man’s cry, Emilian explained: “You do not ask question. I ask questions. What is your name?”

  “I told you?” He tried to explain through the pain.

  “Keep cutting,” Emilian told Marcel. “I will ask again. What is your name?”

  “Alec Nikolaev! Please! I am telling you the truth!”

  Cold certainty settled in Emilian’s stomach. The man was telling the truth. But it could not be true, he could not allow it to be true.

  He grabbed the scalpel out of Marcel’s hand and jabbed it down into the captive’s thigh yelling at him, “TELL ME YOUR NAME!”

  “I’m ALEC, my name is Alec!” The man was screaming the words hoarsely. “You don’t want me, I haven’t done anything! You want….”

  His head lolled. He was losing consciousness, damn him.

  Emilian slapped him across the face. “Wake up! Who do I want? Tell me or I’ll cut you again.”

  The man’s eyes couldn’t focus. Blood was spreading over his thigh. “The other skier,” he slurred. “The man ahead of me.”

  Emilian stared at him silently before mouthing the words slowly, “What. Other. Skier?”

  “Fell on the branch. Dunno where he went.” The man’s eyes went wide. “No—no! Don’t hurt him. You can’t hurt him!”

  Emilian smiled at him coldly. “I can’t? You are in no position to dictate terms. Marcel, go back to the slopes. Find the other skier, and finish the job. At once. Call me when it’s done. And you, Alec Nikolaev….” He smiled as he picked up another instrument from his set. He turned it in the light, looking at the blade.

  “You are going to suffer. Because I have had a bad day. And you are part of that. And because you tried to give me an order. You are going to suffer, as all humans will suffer when I come to power … if they defy me.” Emilian smiled down at the tied up man, “No one will say I can’t be benevolent when I want to be.” He shrugged as he slashed out to Alex’s cry, “I just rarely want to be.”

  Out in the hallway, Marcel did not stop running until he could no longer hear the man’s screams.

  He did not want to do this. He did not want any of this. But what could he do?

  He knew he could not fight Emilian. A human could not do anything against a shape shifter.

  He did not want to die. Slowly, trembling, he started into the woods. Either way, someone was dying tonight: him, or the other skier. That was just the way the world worked sometimes.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jamie Constantin paced outside the old house.

  His breath was making clouds in the air and his feet were going numb, but there was no way he was going back in there, even for a few minutes. The screams had barely let up for the past hour.

  He had taken this job despite every instinct. He told them he could patrol around the house, yes. No, he didn’t care if he wasn’t allowed to go in except to one room on the first floor. Whatever. Rich people were weird, and the pay was all right.