“Then how have you failed?”
Ronne sighed. “IAB is going after her hard. It’s not going to be long before they have enough to get her, and then...”
“We’ll handle that when it happens. Right now, we keep them out of the city and safe from the pack. Heard anything about Alice and John?”
Ronne shook his head. “Not a word. They may not even be in the city any longer.”
“Oh no,” Hudson smirked. “They won’t go anywhere. Alice isn’t finished with Vincent yet... and John...” He trailed off, heaving a long sigh. “John is dying. They won’t have gone far.” Hudson folded his hands in his lap, his fingers peaked in a steeple-like posture. “I wish I knew what she was up to... Vincent was always easy to track, easy to anticipate, but Alice...” He shook his head.
“It worries you,” Ronne said.
“A bit.” Hudson nodded. “All things considered, sending Sam and Vincent out of the city was the right choice. They went to Ivan’s camp?”
“Outside Tarrytown, yes... Close enough to keep track of, far enough away to make me a bit batty.” Ronne stopped fiddling with the thumbtacks and raked his fingers through his hair. “I could sense her presence so strongly before, the connection, and then gone.”
“Oh, believe me, I understand,” Hudson said. “It takes a moment to bond, and a lifetime to bear. It is a curious bond we share... wolves and ravens... We serve, and are served, as it has always been. Our strength is in our blood... Like them, we are destined for our place in the circle, and we are not alone... We may be solitary, but we are never alone...” He watched Ronne’s face for a moment, the tension present in his brow and jaw. “If you have something of hers... it may help ease the stress of separation... If you can get a personal item... a piece of cloth, a hair tie, something...” Ronne didn’t look up, but his shoulders relaxed a bit. Hudson smiled to himself... Perhaps he already had something in mind.
“I’ll talk to her friend... Ben Lewis... He’s staying in her apartment while she’s... away.” Ronne looked up. “He saw me that night, when I arrived on the train... I’m sure he remembers me from before...” He rubbed his chin. The growth of goatee there felt a bit unkempt... It had been a rough week, to be sure, with the bonding and the bombing and Sam leaving... Ronne sighed. “So, doctor... What do we do now?”
Hudson heaved another large sigh, pursed his lips. “We wait, we watch... and be ready. They will make a move, no doubt about that.”
“The pack?”
“Yes, and Alice.” Hudson frowned as he spoke her name. That one had proved to be far more trouble than she was worth. “They will make their respective moves, and we must be prepared to do whatever must be done.”
Ronne nodded. “To stop them.”
Hudson swung his chair around, his eyes growing distant as he looked out at the snow-covered city. For many, many years he had worked towards this moment in time... A time of unification, a time of rebirth, new birth...
“Perhaps...”
He could feel Ronne’s eyes on him, the frown of puzzlement gracing the other man’s face. Soon enough, questions would be answered, would need to be answered, but for now... for now it would be enough to know that the Wolfborn were safely stowed away in that cabin up north...
All three of them.
The End
WOLFBORN
The scariest monsters are the ones
that lurk within our souls...
Edgar Allan Poe
Not until we are lost do we begin
to understand ourselves.
Henry David Thoreau
1
JULY 2016
Chelsea Market
There was never really a good time to run through the Chelsea Market, and the lunch hour was decidedly one of the worst. Frank Ronne could feel his sneakers skidding as he wove his way through the throngs gathered to procure lunch in its various incarnations, or to collect the gourmet delights necessary for dinner later. He wasn’t winded; after all, his job as an NYPD patrolman required him to be in excellent shape, and he took that requirement seriously. Running, lifting... He slowed slightly as he rounded a bend and found himself faced with a substantial crowd, at least five deep, all waiting for their orders of cheese and preserved meats. Ronne moved as close to the farthest wall as he could, maneuvering carefully around the small bistro tables until he could push past the crowds.
Once he was clear, he sped up again, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the passageway. He was moving farther and farther into the Market, towards the back shops that were often quiet. Ronne was glad of the quiet, for it helped him to hear, not with his ears, but with his mind... and that was the only way he could track HER.
She’d been back in the city for at least three days, and Ronne was curious why she hadn’t come to find him already. Perhaps it had something to do with the Irishman, but Ronne doubted it. Samantha Karolyi was many things, but submissive was not one of them. She was not going to take orders from Kremer, Hudson, or anyone else, so Ronne knew her avoidance of him was completely her doing. The thought should have filled him with anxiety, and it did, because he knew why she’d come back... and he knew his answers wouldn’t be satisfactory to her.
Still, the connection between them was undeniable, and so, here he was, running through a busy marketplace, following the unique signature that was Sam’s mind, trying to locate her and, at the same time, dreading the reunion.
It was difficult to explain to anyone outside the sphere of their knowledge what this bond was about. Hell, Ronne didn’t really understand it himself. It just was, as it had always been between their kind. He had met only one in his youth, about the time his own unique qualities had begun to emerge, and Ronne’s father had told him that they were the guides, the caretakers, the custodians of the Wolves. At that age, Ronne hadn’t really understood what that meant, and it was many years later before he met someone who was able to truly explain it to him. Even then, it hadn’t been until he and Sam had touched, and he felt the wave wash over him as his mind opened and connected with hers, that Ronne really knew what it meant to be a Raven.
Reaching the end of the passageway, Ronne looked around for the nearest exit. Retracing his steps was not an option, not with that crowd, which would only continue to grow as other locals began drifting in to enjoy their lunch hour. He needed to find a way out through the back. The fire exit would alarm, so instead Ronne took a quick turn into a gelato shop and went straight up to the counter. He quickly pulled his badge from under his tee shirt, the leather feeling soft and hot in his hand as he held it up for the proprietor to see.
“I need to go through your loading area,” Ronne said, keeping his ice blue gaze as level and intense as he could. They’d called him “the Iceman” at the Academy, and even before, while in high school. It was a testimony to his cool-headed behavior under pressure and his calm handling of a variety of situations as much as it was a reference to his eye color. It was tough to rattle Frank Ronne, and his classmates at the Academy had teased him about it, though they often relied on him and his cool demeanor when in need.
The proprietor nodded silently and gestured for Ronne to hurry through. Ronne squeezed around the counter and wove through the kitchen area toward the truck unloading area, and the smaller standard-sized door beside it. With a quick nod of thanks to the puzzled workers nearby, Ronne pushed through the door and out into the sunlight of 10th Avenue.
The wall of heat hit him hard, but not as hard as the sheer force of Sam’s mind. Ronne couldn’t hear distinct thoughts, but he could feel the presence, and could sense a degree of emotion, depending on the intensity of the feeling. And right now, Sam Karolyi’s feelings were about as intense as they come. She was close, too, and Ronne tried to focus his senses on locating her. It was tough, though. The activity on the streets, the sheer volume of people and vehicles in the area this time of day, made it difficult to relax. He looked up the avenue, then down, scanning the people on the street for women with lon
g, dark hair... For a moment, he thought he might have spotted her, but a city bus zoomed by and the woman disappeared.
Ronne ran across the street, grateful for the crosswalk leading to Chelsea Piers, and turned north. He wasn’t entirely sure why he picked north, but he wasn’t going to start questioning his instincts now. He jogged along, his light eyes constantly scanning the faces of people around that passed him, the people across the street. It was easier in the shade of the High Line above him, and Ronne thought fleetingly of the frequent scolding he’d received from Sam because of his penchant for not wearing sunglasses.
He stopped to catch his breath for a moment and wipe the copious sweat from his forehead. His dark hair was damp from sweat as well, and even the steady breeze wafting up the street from the harbor, and from the west off the Hudson, wasn’t enough to evaporate it fast enough. Ronne felt sticky and weary of this, and had just resolved to turn around and let her go for the day when he felt it... There, in his mind, a single word...
Frank.
Frank Ronne tensed, and quickly looked up at the elevated former railway above him, and instinctively headed for the stairs. He’d never heard actual words before, and it at once scared and excited him. He knew that she was there and –
Peripherally, he picked up on a flutter of movement above him and looked up to see a figure coming toward him from above. Suddenly, all Ronne felt was the intensity of that figure’s impact against him, and the pain as he fell to the concrete.
The next thing he remembered was hearing murmured voices and feeling someone pull at his arm. He opened his eyes slowly, and for once wished that he did have sunglasses on because the glare was blinding. Moments later, he realized the glare was the sunlight reflecting off the grillwork of an SUV stopped at the nearest light and, as the light changed to green, the blinding radiance drove on to shine elsewhere. Once his eyes were able to adjust again, Ronne could see a few people gathered in the area, no doubt to see if he was alright and to tend to the injured jumper. He turned his head to look and froze. The jumper was, in fact, not injured...
“Everything’s fine, folks. No need to worry. These kinds of accidents happen all the time when you’re free running. We’ll take care of him.”
Ronne felt someone gripping him from behind, pulling him up from the ground. He winced at the strength of the hands on his upper arms, and at the intensity of the yank that was bringing him to his feet. His instinct was to fight the lifter off, but a slight squeeze of the hands, followed by a low voice saying, “Easy now, don’t be feckin’ stupid,” brought Ronne to his senses. He relaxed and focused on getting his muscles to work while he mentally evaluated his injuries.
“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” continued the voice, and, when Ronne glanced up, his suspicions were confirmed, as the dark eyes of Vincent Kremer looked back at him. Vincent’s mouth was tense, though his eyes were sparkling a bit, like the excitement of all this was something he was relishing. “Let’s start walking. She’ll catch up.” And without missing a beat, Vincent pulled slightly on Ronne’s arm, and the two started retracing Ronne’s steps, heading south on 10th Avenue.
It was slower going than either man would have liked, and Ronne heard Vincent sigh quietly a couple of times as they walked. “You know,” Ronne began, as he rubbed his neck. “We could just stop here and wait for her.”
Vincent chuckled. “Uh, no, probably not a good idea. Hang on...” He stopped, and glanced back where they had come from, a far-off look coming into his eyes as he seemed to be focused elsewhere. To the casual observer, it would have looked like a handsome man staring off at the distance, perhaps daydreaming or something. However, for those in the know, like Ronne, this was far more significant. He knew that Vincent was talking to her. It was a unique attribute of their kind, and one that Ronne had to confess he envied. The bonded could always talk to each other, not just read feelings and emotions, or pick up the occasional word, but carry on full conversations in their minds.
Vincent chuckled again, obviously at something she must have said, then nodded his head, perhaps forgetting that she couldn’t see his body language from, well, wherever she was. Vincent turned to Ronne and stifled the smile on his face, a small frown furrowing his brow. “C’mon, down there.” He gestured toward the turn-off for 13th Street, all the while pulling Ronne along.
They street was surprisingly quiet for this time of day, and Ronne found himself relaxing a bit as he enjoyed the peace, and the ample shade. Vincent let go of his arm, and Ronne quickly moved to a nearby stoop to sit down, rubbing his head and wincing. He was going to have some major bruising after this.
“Did she break anything?” The amusement was clear in Vincent’s voice, and Ronne bristled at it. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have amused him, too. After all, he was nearly six-feet-four, while Sam Karolyi barely came up to his chest, and the broad-shouldered cop had seventy pounds on her. Yet, she took him down, and more easily than he wanted to admit.
“No, nothing broken,” Ronne finally answered tightly. “She should be more carefully doing that in public, though.”
“She knew how to cover it. I’ve done it myself. Free-runners have made it easy to hide in plain sight.” Vincent shuffled through his pockets, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and silver lighter. He held the pack out toward Ronne. “Want one?” Ronne shook his head, regretting it instantly as it began to throb. He might have to call in to work and take one of his accumulated sick days after all of this.
Vincent lit his cigarette, enjoying that first inhalation, the smoke slowly easing out through his nose before he blew it out in a mouth exhalation. “Just out of curiosity, Francis... Why didn’t you get in touch with her when it happened?”
Ronne’s hand, which was still rubbing his throbbing temples, stopped, and he felt a coldness rush through his body. “When what happened?”
Vincent smirked. “I’m going to recommend not saying that when she gets here. She’s in no mood.” The smirk transitioned into another chuckle, and Vincent returned to the relaxing companionship of his cigarette.
Ronne tried to calm his nerves, even as he steeled himself for what would be coming. Vincent was right, he should have told her the minute he knew... but Hudson... “Will she get here soon?” Vincent opened his mouth to answer, but stayed silent, smiling instead as a very different voice answered Ronne.
“She’s already here.”
Ronne looked up slowly, hoping his anxiety wasn’t plastered across his face. Vincent was right; Sam was clearly in no mood to hear any kind of bullshit. Ronne’s eyes quickly coasted over her, taking in as much detail as possible without seeming too obvious. Sam Karolyi looked fit, to be sure... All that running around in the woods up north must be suiting her. She was lean and toned, with a healthy glow in her skin and a glint in her eye, although, now, that glint could potentially be fury.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Ronne saw Vincent bite his lip and turn away, like something was about to happen he didn’t want to witness. For a moment, Ronne had this gut feeling he should try to run. Only a moment, though, because the next thing he knew he was pinned back on the stairs, and Sam was on top of him. She grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly as she yelled at him.
“What do you mean, well, what?” She stopped shaking him, searching his face as confusion, anger, and frustration washed over her face in waves. “Where is he? Where’s Ben?”
Ronne opened his mouth to answer, although he couldn’t imagine why... he simply didn’t have an answer, and he had a feeling saying that was going to get him hurt again. He glanced at Vincent, who was leaning casually against one of the small maples that grew along the street, calmly smoking what looked to be a fresh cigarette. Ronne recalled the smug look on the Irishman’s face earlier, and he bristled again. He was a Raven, for Christ’s sake!
Ronne focused his gaze back on Sam, and started to speak, his voice artificially calm and obviously mollifying. “Now, Sam...” Peripher
ally, he saw Vincent turn away again, but Ronne’s eyes were drawn back to Sam when he heard the growl. He looked at her, the tension in her jaw, the flushing in her face as the rage built in her, and the flat, shark-like black of her eyes. He’d never actually seen the cold eyes of a werewolf up close before, and they were the last thing he saw before Sam punched him out cold.
2
JULY 9th
NORTH OF SLEEPY HOLLOW, NY
Trina Gomez furiously fanned her hand in front of her face. The mosquitoes didn’t usually bother her, but the past three days and two nights out here in the boondocks must have sweetened her blood, ‘cause now the little suckers wouldn’t leave her alone. She glared at her husband and wondered for the hundredth time what had made him think that taking her camping in the woods of the Hudson River Valley was a good idea. I mean, she grew up in the Bronx, for Christ’s sake!
For his part, Emilio Gomez was having a great time, as evidenced by the flush in his cheeks and the smile on his face. He was oblivious to his wife’s glares... well, maybe not oblivious, but certainly immune to the bad mood he knew she was hoping to inflict on him. Emilio simply could not understand why she was so reluctant to get out of the city, and enjoy the fresh air, and the sunshine, and nature... Emilio shooed a fly away from the steaks he was preparing to grill for their dinner. They were celebrating tonight... Last night to enjoy the peace and tranquility of the woods, then back to the daily grind, and traffic, and LOUD.
It was nearly dark now, though the LED lanterns they’d brought illuminated the grill, campfire, and a portion of the tent considerably. Emilio glanced at Trina, hoping to catch her eye. He wanted it to be a good night, which meant getting his baby girl in a good mood so that papi could get in a good mood. Right now, she wasn’t having it, and he winced as she slapped her leg again, killing another blood sucker bent on attacking her. The steaks sizzled, their juices dripping down from the rack onto the charcoal briquets and mesquite wood pieces burning below. Emilio grinned. He couldn’t cook much, though God knew his mom had tried to educate him, but he could cook a mean steak. And Trina loved it. He glanced at her again. She must have gone to the tent... maybe to get the calamine.
The Bloodline Series Box Set Page 45