Hunted By The Others

by Jess Haines

  Arnold cleared his throat. “I’m going to get going. Remember, just tell Bob if you think you need me. He’ll relay the message. Good luck.”

  “All right. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  He nodded and waved, taking off out of sight, and I turned to see who had come to join Chaz and me in the alley.

  There were at least thirty of them. Mostly men, ranging from teenagers to thirty-somethings. At first all I could do was stare blankly, wondering where the heck they’d all found parking spaces in this part of the city. That, and why their eyes had that weird luminescence, reflective like a cat’s in the oppressive shadows of the alleyway.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Chaz immediately drew the attention of most of them, though I could feel the gaze of a few lingering on me, making my skin crawl. It was a hungry stare, and not in a sexual sense. I might’ve been able to shrug that off, but this was the hunger for food, for a hunt. For two-legged prey. “The Moonwalker tribe has been attacked, and we may be next if we don’t do something about it tonight. This human”—and his hand swept back to indicate me, though I didn’t particularly like being referred to as “this human,” kind of like how I said “this Other,” or “that spark,” I realized guiltily—“is going to help us. We need to keep her alive to fight the mage responsible. The rest of us are going to keep the vampires and Moonwalkers off of her long enough to deal with the mage.”

  “I thought you said the Moonwalkers were attacked? What’s going on?” one of the Weres asked, a young man I recognized from earlier this afternoon. He was the driver who had been carting around Chaz and his buddies.

  Chaz took a deep breath, glancing at me before speaking, keeping his voice low. “Someone is using the Dominari Focus.”

  A horrified murmur spread through the crowd, a panicked voice calling out, “How can that be? It was destroyed years ago!”

  Another said, “That thing is a myth! No way someone really has it…”

  “What if it takes control of us?” from another. “What then?”

  “I don’t know how. But Rohrik Donovan has fallen under its sway.” The low hum of the crowd grew louder, astonished, frightened. “That’s why we’re fighting the Moonwalkers tonight. Try not to kill them; they aren’t doing anything under their own power anymore. Not until the holder is destroyed. Together, as a pack, we’ll overcome any of them under its power.”

  The murmuring and whispering flowed and I could feel the tension gripping them like a palpable thing. Fear drifted almost immediately into anger and hatred, growls and hisses becoming more prominent than fearful whispers, the abrupt mood swing catching me by surprise.

  “Obey me in this. No killing unless you can’t avoid it!” Chaz sensed the change as I did. There was a hint of resentment, a brief brush of defiance before Chaz growled softly. Almost immediately, any rebellion festering in the crowd died away into nothing. His eyes swept the crowd, each and every one of the strangers lowering their eyes and backing down in silent, not-quite-respectful agreement to his commands.

  I noticed, when he glanced back at me one more time, that his eyes had taken on that odd luminescence, too. He grinned at me, full of promise of something unnamable, as a gleam I recognized as primal predatory hunger drifted into view.

  “Remember, protect her!” I gasped when I saw the finger he pointed at me was now tipped with a claw, hair thickening into fur growing darker and longer on the back of his hand even as I watched.

  A number of howls and yips answered those last words, soon joined by Chaz as he threw his head back, adding his own deep cry to the chorus around us. I threw my hands up to cover my ears, and some of the people on the street a few yards away cried out and started running away from the sounds drifting out of the alleyway.

  I had just enough time to worry that someone might call the cops before I was surrounded by a pack of furred, clawed bodies, all of them hungry and staring at me with feral, inhuman eyes.

  Chapter 42

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, my eyes widening at the mass of furred bodies pressing in around me in the alley.

  Werewolves don’t look much like men or wolves when under the influence of the full moon. Most of them can shift fully into wolf or human form, but when under the sway of the moon, they are something in between. The ones surrounding me either crouched on their hind legs, clawed “hands” resting against the walls or the ground and long, bushy tails sweeping behind them, or they stood completely upright, even the shortest towering well over my head. Their muzzles were long, dog-like, with pointed ears perked or flattened against their skulls. When they lifted their lips to snarl or snap at each other, they revealed elongated canines up to three inches long.

  Their clothes for the most part lay in tatters on the ground around them, revealing sleek muscles overlaid by thick, just as sleek fur. Like any creature, their coloration varied; some had reddish pelts, others were brown or gray or black, some were salt-and-pepper, and one or two were a solid white.

  I was startled when I realized I could see in such detail even in the alley, lit only by dim streetlight from around the corner. Then I remembered the belt, my fingers dropping to my waist as that odd awareness of another “self” drifted into my consciousness.

  Even shifted, Chaz was easy to recognize. While the majority of the wolves had green or yellow eyes, his were a solid ice blue like a husky’s. His fur was the same steel gray color I remembered from when he changed in my living room. None of the others had his color, or his massive, muscular bulk. He was a hunk as a human, and he made most of his money as a personal trainer; as a Were, he could bench-press a car.

  One of the other Weres started creeping toward me, black fur bristling, green eyes wide and staring like a cat that just realized a bird was trapped in a room with it. My heart started creeping up into my throat and I took an involuntary step back, before Chaz suddenly slid between us with a kind of sinuous grace you wouldn’t expect from a creature so large. As the black Were jerked back, Chaz snarled, baring fangs long enough to cleave through flesh and bone as he crouched down on all fours in front of me. The other Were turned away, snapping at the air before slinking back to cower behind some of the others nearby.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, though I found myself pressing back against the dingy brick wall when those icy predator eyes turned to me. I stiffened as he came closer, moving with a peculiar ease on all fours, though it was only so he could press his cold, wet nose against me and start nudging me deeper into the alley.

  Incredibly creeped out, I did as he urged, walking slowly through the multitudes of shifted Weres, who watched me with their hungry, glowing eyes. Chaz strode a little ahead of me, leading the way through the darkness. We didn’t go far before he reached down and dug his claws under a manhole cover, lifting it with ease and setting it quietly to one side.

  At first, I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to follow until he crouched down to become eye level with me, pointing one of those curved talons at me and then to the opening of the alley. He then swept his hand around in a gesture that I took to mean the werewolves around us and himself and then pointed down into the sewer. I nodded, understanding. He and the others would find their way to the restaurant following the sewer lines. I would have to go in the front to allay any suspicion.

  One thing you could say for Weres, they retain most of their human intelligence when shifted. I watched in fascination as, one by one, they crept on quiet paws past me and down the shaft leading into the dark tunnels below the city. Chaz went last, pausing to look back to me. I reached out a tentative hand to gently brush over his furred cheek, and he tilted his head, closing his eyes as he rubbed one of those pointed ears under my hand. I was amazed at how soft and thick the pelt was, though he turned away and was gone before I could analyze either of our actions any more closely.

  I turned back toward the distant light beckoning at the mouth of the alley, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket and dragging the edges close around me so no one co
uld see the guns, shoulder holsters, or stakes.

  Consorting with Weres? I didn’t take you for that sort, a by now familiar voice whispered in the back of my skull.

  “Yeah, whatever. They’re going to help tonight,” I muttered, hoping any people on the street wouldn’t think I was crazy and talking to myself. Except that this was New York, and chances were nobody would notice or care.

  I looked up and down the street as I reached the end of the alley, turning toward La Petite Boisson. We are going to fight vampires? the voice asked.

  Sighing and lifting one hand to run over my face, I glumly told it what I could. “Vampires, other Weres, and a sorcerer.” I didn’t like the twinge that last gave me, some touch of emotion or something like it from the belt that I couldn’t readily identify. “They have my friend and a powerful magic item that I need to find and take away from the sorcerer.”

  Ah, the Dominari Focus. That is troubling.

  It didn’t speak again after that. I wondered how in the heck it was that every supernatural creature and even inanimate objects in this city seemed to know about this thing when I’d never heard of it.

  Then again, vampires, Weres, and magi had been the stuff of cheesy movies and silly kids’ novels up until a few years ago. If someone had told me even a week ago that I’d be working with a mage trying to save a vampire, while my werewolf boyfriend helped keep my ass out of the fire, I would have laughed myself silly. As it was, I was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I was talking to a belt, for Christ’s sake.

  It seemed that Chaz’s pack had scared off a good portion of the pedestrians, as the street was unusually empty for a block or so. Legally, packs were restricted to public or national parks or their own homes when shifted. They could shift at will, but most of the time didn’t change fully, instead choosing the halfway point because they were forced to shift that much by magic or hormones or whatever it is during the full moon. Being locked into restricted areas while shifted was supposed to be for “their safety,” but it was mostly because they scared the hell out of humans when they were something half-man, half-animal. And scared humans smelled like food. Which led to all kinds of problems, lawsuits, so on and so forth, that nobody, including the Weres, liked to deal with.

  Not to mention that Animal Control had a field day when they picked up a Were in full animal form who then shifted to human in the back of the truck or the cages at their facilities. Usually it was teenagers who pulled that prank, though the last couple of snots who tried it got some hefty fines and even jail time for their trouble. Though you’d think the fact that there were timber wolves running around downtown Miami might have tipped someone off.

  I didn’t start seeing normal foot traffic again until I got within two blocks of the restaurant, and that was because of the line waiting to get in. Figuring they were expecting me, I bypassed the lot, heading straight up to the big guys with muscles straining their matching suits who were guarding the front door.

  One of them headed toward me when he saw me coming, looking at a clipboard and nodding. “Shiarra Waynest?”

  “That’s me.” I stopped about a yard away. He looked me over with disdain, not liking the look of my combat boots or trench coat, no doubt. Didn’t fit with the diamonds and silk of the usual clientele. Tough titties.

  “This way, please.” Without bothering to hide his sneer, he gestured for me to follow him around the side of the building, away from the crowds. Not liking where this was going, I did so, my hands easing from the pockets of the trench to rest with a comforting kind of familiarity on the belt. For some reason, the brush of my fingertips along the leather grips of the silver stakes and the cool metal casings of extra rounds for the guns made me feel immeasurably better, more secure.

  The guy pulled out a key and opened a locked, narrow passageway between the restaurant and the next building. It was well lit with small recessed lights trailing all the way to the end, and there was barbed wire protecting the top of the fenced wrought-iron gate. I noticed with unease that you needed a key to get out, as well as in, to the passage. The way led to another entrance on the side of the restaurant, which was covered by a short awning and up a few steps. He produced another key for it.

  He unlocked the door and held it open for me, revealing a cheerfully lit stairwell leading above the main part of the restaurant. No way to go but up.

  “Just follow the stairs. Someone will meet you at the top and show you the rest of the way.”

  The guy sounded flat and bored. However, I could see the curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. He didn’t know what I was here for. Interesting.

  I stood there for a moment, indecisive. Knowing it was a trap did not make it any easier to force myself to walk into the lion’s den. It was the thought of what they would do to Sara if I turned tail now that goaded me into walking past the bouncer and taking the first step onto the stairwell, even as the door swung shut with an overloud “click” of a lock behind me.

  Chapter 43

  There was nothing overtly ominous about the stairs. None of the lightbulbs illuminating the way were out or even flickering. The stairs and banister were of a matching dark wood, the walls a nice, clean off-white. No artwork, no posters, no graffiti. Starkly clean.

  When I got to the top (forty-two steps, I counted), there was another door. This one was also a plain, dark wood and had a brass handle with no lock. It opened easily under my touch.

  My lips parted slightly in surprise and I glanced around the room with wide eyes. There were a number of Weres lounging on the carpets. They looked up immediately when I opened the door, raising their large, shaggy heads from their paws. There were far too many for me to possibly fight. I stood straighter, one hand sliding toward a gun as one of the Weres rose and approached me. I flinched but stood my ground, watching warily as it reached out one long, muscle-corded arm and pulled the door farther open. The door creaked alarmingly under its grasp and I couldn’t help but notice that its claws left little indentations in the wood.

  It made a sweeping gesture with the other paw—hand—whatever, baring its teeth at me in a silent snarl as it motioned for me to enter the room. Then it just stood there, waiting, slaver trickling down the side of its jaw as it stared at me with overbright golden eyes.

  The idea of running sounded really good right then, possibly even while shooting at it, but there was no way for me to outrun one of these things. Shooting at it would probably just piss it off, especially since I hadn’t sprung for the silver-plated bullets back at the White Hat Weapons Emporium.

  There were too many to fight, and since I wasn’t interested in having it drag me wherever it meant for me to go, I reluctantly followed its direction and stepped into the room.

  Five more Weres were watching, waiting, their tails and claws twitching as they crouched along the walls. Watching, but just that. I imagined they’d probably jump me quick enough if I tried anything funny. The first one turned, I guess assuming I’d follow it as it made its way across the room. Two more followed up the rear, and I had to try really, really hard not to look over my shoulder every few seconds as we made our way down a hall past several doors and to another room.

  It looked like it had originally been a ballroom of some kind, large and echoing. The ceiling was high, domed, with an ornate chandelier dangling from the center and illuminating the softly glowing wood of lovingly waxed floors. Real candles on tall brass stands stood in alcoves around the room, adding to the cheerful warmth of the place. There were no windows, but I was pretty sure this room was over the main lounge and eating area downstairs.

  A pentagram marred the floor directly under the chandelier. It was big, much bigger than the one in Arnold’s apartment. That same ozone-ish smell hung heavy in the air, a shimmering haze rising up from the circle. Sara was in the center of it, lying on the floor with her eyes closed, unmoving.

  A small, ugly sound rose from my throat, and I started to step forward but the lead Were put i
ts arm out, barring my way. It pointed to something I hadn’t seen at first, a small table at the other end of the room where a man and woman sat, another man standing a few paces behind them with arms folded. Another Were, bigger and far scarier looking than Chaz with a number of visible pink scars under its reddish-brown fur, was crouched next to the table, arms across its bent knees as it stared at me from across the room.

  I did as I was directed and took a few steps toward them, skirting around the bubble rising from the floor. Sara didn’t stir, and as I passed, I watched for a moment to make sure she was still breathing. Much to my relief, she was. Aside from a bruise I could see forming at her temple and her clothes being a little rumpled, she looked okay. I prayed that the one bruise was all they’d done to her.

  I approached the table, jumping slightly as the door thumped shut behind me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that the standing man was Royce. He came around, face and eyes empty of emotion, pulling out a seat for me opposite the seated couple. The table held a decadent spread of food and drink. I came forward but remained standing before the table, mustering a glare for the two at the table.

  The guy was smiling a secret little smile, mirth twinkling in his bright hazel eyes. He was dressed well in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair neatly combed away from a narrow face. Slender, pale, and with an air of suppressed energy almost as frightening as what was exuding off the Were at his side, I started when I recognized him as the boy Sara had been sent to find by his crazy White Hat parents.

  “David Borowsky,” I whispered, noting his pleased nod. My gaze slid to the girl sitting next to him, her bright cherry lips curved in a sweet smile as she regarded me with a kind of insincere amusement. There was something dangerous glittering behind the flinty gray depths, her delicate china doll features showcased by her long chestnut hair, which was swept up into a cascade of artful curls. She was wearing a long evening gown the color of heart’s blood that left her shoulders and neck bare, a single faceted ruby the size of my thumbnail hanging from a delicate gold chain at her throat. I was willing to bet the dress would swirl around her ankles when she stood up. My words for her were almost, but not quite as, surprised. Definitely confused.