Death of Night

by Krissy Reynolds

  "They came prepared."

  I shivered. "Who?"

  Callum looked at me, his gaze slicing right through me. Danger vibrated off of his body. "I don't know."

  Liam sniffed the air. "They're human."

  "Oh, I don't know about that, Liam," Callum disagreed.

  "Vampires?" I contributed.

  Liam shook his head. "No, not vampires. I smell warm blood."

  My voice sounded shaky when I said, "Then what?"

  "I'm not sure." He looked at Callum. "What do you think? Wolves?"

  "Maybe," was Callum's reply.

  "There are wild animals in my apartment building?" I asked incredulously.

  "Werewolves, sunshine," Liam said impatiently. "Werewolves."

  I gripped the Firestar tighter and swallowed hard. "Oh."

  "Is Lucian's pack in town?" Callum inquired.

  "He wouldn't lend out his pack for assassination jobs."

  "For the right amount of money, he might."

  "Do you think Lilynn Blaise has that kind of money, master?" Liam sounded a bit shaken.

  "I do."

  "Wait," I interrupted, "you think Lilynn hired…werewolves…to kill me?"

  Liam licked his lips. "I think she's desperate enough to do anything, sunshine."

  "Crap," I said again.

  Liam walked over to stand in the large doorway to the foyer, where the front door lay just beyond. He froze there.

  "The door's unlocked, isn't it?" I whispered to Callum.

  He nodded, eyes on Liam and the shadowy foyer.

  I was guessing that werewolves didn't need an invitation to enter. "How many are there?" I asked, nearly inaudibly.

  "At least five," he replied. "Two in the hallway, a couple outside, I think, and one in the basement."

  "To turn off the electricity," I added.

  "Yes."

  No lights and no phone. It was a deadly mix.

  Liam glided back over to us. "There are two in the stairwell," he said. "We could take them out, master, one each, but that leaves her exposed." He waved a hand in my direction.

  "Then we can't do that," Callum said simply.

  "I can take care of myself," I protested.

  Both of them gave me a harsh look.

  "Bullets will work on werewolves, right?" I asked, raising the gun up to chest level.

  A sinister smile spread across Liam's face. "I like the way you think, sunshine, I like the way you think."

  "I've got four rounds left and an extra one in my purse."

  I spotted my purse on the coffee table. Walking to it, I rummaged through it, finally finding the extra ammo. The car keys were lying right beside my purse, so I grabbed them as well, for the hell of it. I put both the keys and the ammo in the pocket of my jeans, and went back to where Callum and Liam were standing.

  "I'm still not leaving her unprotected, Liam," Callum said.

  "I don't know how else we can do it, master," Liam replied.

  I swept my gaze around the dark room while they discussed possible ways to kill the werewolves. A sudden idea struck me when I looked at the French doors. Grasping both of their arms, I nodded towards them. "How do you feel about jumping?" I asked.

  The two of them glanced at the door, at me, then at each other. They exchanged a look.

  Liam patted my cheek, and said, "Smarter than she looks," and dashed over to the doors. He opened them quietly, stepping out onto the small balcony.

  I chose to ignore that particular insult for the sake of more important things.

  Chapter 22

  * * *

  Unexpectedly, Callum picked me up, cradling me to his chest. I threw my arms around his neck, gun still in one hand, and pressed my cheek into his shirt. He walked out onto the balcony to stand beside Liam. The cool night air was like a wet blanket against my skin. Callum's hair blew in the wind, brushing my forehead at times.

  There was a click of a door opening inside the apartment. I watched with wide eyes as Liam hopped up onto the ledge and looked down. He gave me a salute before stepping off and disappearing from our view.

  Before I knew it, Callum was standing on the edge of the small balcony as well. I fought the urge to look down, because I knew it was more than three stories high. Clinging to him tighter, I said, "Do it."

  A growl—a deep, menacing, nonhuman growl—sounded from just behind the French doors. Callum put one foot out. From this side of the apartment building, we were diagonal to the adjacent complex. As he took the next step, I watched the windows of the other apartments blur into a mess of lights and brick. The air sped by us, flowing up and over us as we fell straight down.

  We hit the ground without making a sound. I hardly had had the time to feel scared. I unwrapped my arms from around Callum's neck and he let me drop to my feet. In a two-handed grip, I pointed the gun into the darkness. Liam met us, his normally slicked-back hair disheveled from the wind. We were on the right side of the building, near the wall. I was able to see the street, Dario's car, and another, unfamiliar vehicle.

  Liam leaned in, his cheek brushing mine, and whispered, "There are two of them by the main door. You stay here while Mr. Knightley and I take care of them. Don't come out."

  "Okay," I whispered back.

  "I mean it, sunshine. Don't show yourself to them."

  "I got it," I hissed.

  He drew back with a nod. Callum took my arm and pushed me against the rough brick wall, in an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible. We were completely cloaked in shadows. I could only see his outline.

  "Be careful," I murmured. It worried me that these werewolves were prepared for vampires, with silver and God knows what else.

  He touched my cheek, trailing his cold fingers down the line of my jaw. And then he was gone.

  I pressed myself up against the wall, gun up and ready to start firing. I hoped that no innocent people were milling around for this. It was past midnight, so with any luck, they would be in bed by now.

  There was a high-pitched, wounded animal sound that came from around the corner. I heard a series of crashes, more sounds, and a couple of vampiric hisses. Swallowing hard, I obeyed Liam and didn't come out.

  Two thumps came from the opposite direction, to my left instead of to my right. I swung the Firestar around, eyes frantically searching the side of the apartment. The outlines of two people, crouching on the balls of their feet, made me inhale sharply. Squinting, I glanced upwards, then back down to them. They had landed right where Callum and I had.

  Werewolves could jump down three stories and live, too. Oh, goody, just my luck.

  One of them stood up. He looked straight at me with oddly pale eyes. He opened his mouth, and even in the faint glow of city lights, I could see a full set of jagged teeth. "You the bitch who killed the vampire?" he growled.

  "No," I said, quite calm.

  "Oh, really?" he drawled disbelievingly.

  What the hell did he think I would say? "Really. You must be thinking of someone else."

  The other one stood up, shaved head gleaming. He looked uncannily like Mr. Clean. Except for those pointy wolf teeth. "She looks tasty, Bruce."

  "Yes, yes, she does," Bruce agreed while surveying me.

  Mr. Clean smiled, the expression unnatural with all those teeth. "Whaddya say, Bruce?"

  "I say we share," he replied.

  "You take the top, I take the bottom?"

  He shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

  Bruce gnashed his teeth at me. He took a step forward, hunching over, pale eyes set on me.

  I let all the air out of my lungs and sighted down the barrel of the gun. Mr. Clean saw me preparing to shoot and laughed loudly. He dropped down on all fours and began crawling towards me.

  "You gonna shoot me?" he asked in a mocking tone.

  I aimed the gun at him. "I will if you don't leave me alone," I said.

  "Do it, bitch," he laughed, coming closer, within feet of me. "Shoot me."

  And I did.

&
nbsp; He had the gall to look surprised. The bullet took him in the upper chest, near his throat, since he was on his hands and knees. He coughed up blood onto the grass. It sparkled in the glimmer of lights.

  Bruce gave a howl, and a shudder ran from his shoulders down. He ran and crashed into me, and consequentially, the wall. His clawed hands ripped chunks out of the brick. I pulled the trigger again, firing directly into his chest. He snarled, snapping his jaws at me, and shoved me up the wall. I let out an involuntary yell as I strained against the force of his body.

  Spittle flew out of his mouth as thrashed his head, trying to sink those teeth into any part of my body that he could. His mouth was still human-sized, so it was difficult for him to wrap his mouth around anything. I shot him again, but the bullet just grazed the side of his neck. There was only one bullet left. The brick was digging into my back as he held me, one-handed, up against the wall.

  With a half-transformed hand, Bruce side-swept the gun, knocking it to the ground. There was a moment where I met his eyes, briefly, and we both paused. I was thinking "oh, shit", and he was thinking something more along the lines of "food". I was completely unarmed now, a helpless human.

  Bruce had pushed me so far up against the wall that the first level's apartment was merely a foot above me. The bottom of their small balcony was within reach. When Bruce went for a bite, I curled my hands around the thin metal bars of the railing, gripping it so hard it hurt. Bracing myself, I sent both of my feet swinging into his face. He was propelled backwards towards his bleeding accomplice. Unsteady on his feet, he staggered sideways.

  I took the opportunity to let go, falling about four feet and hitting the ground into an ungraceful heap. Dew from the grass soaked through the knees of my jeans. I sent one hand out, patting around for my gun, and used the other to dig in my pocket for the extra ammo. Both of my hands met their target at the same time. Fumbling with the ammo, I looked up to see Bruce making his way towards me, deliberately slow. His shirt was staining a dark red, blood from where I had shot him in the chest. Mr. Clean was sitting now, pale eyes alert and focused, one hand on his neck wound. I was betting both of them would be good as new in, oh, say, half an hour? But if bullets could kill vampires, then that opened up the possibility for werewolves. Not many creatures, mortal or immortal, can survive a shot in the head or in the heart. I planned on testing that theory.

  A screech came from around the corner, where the others were fighting. Bruce turned his head in that direction. I took advantage of his distraction to point the gun at him. He didn't notice, so I fired that last bullet right into his heart.

  Time seemed to slow down as he turned to me, put a hand over his heart, opened his mouth to let out a soundless scream, and crumpled onto the grass. He lay there, gurgling, blood dribbling down his chest. I popped the empty slip out of the Firestar, tossed it aside, and clicked the new one into place. I aimed it at Mr. Clean.

  Mr. Clean was stunned, eyes going from his dying friend to me. Shock quickly turned into rage. He staggered to his feet, so I stood as well. I gripped the gun two-handed, legs spread slightly apart, the steadiest stance, and pointed right where his heart was. He stopped moving towards me, because frankly, he knew I would shoot him.

  "Who sent you here?" I asked. I thought I knew, but I just wanted to make sure.

  He was taken aback at the question. His voice was gasping as he answered, "You mean you don't know?"

  "Answer the question," I said.

  He spluttered a laugh. Blood dribbled down his chin. "Or what?'

  "Or you'll end up like your friend Bruce."

  His eyes darkened as he glanced at the body next to him. "I'm gonna kill you before you even—"

  "I mean it," I interrupted. "Tell me who ordered this."

  He didn't respond, just blinked at me.

  "Blaise?" I questioned, "Was it Lilynn Blaise?"

  Something flickered in his eyes and the right side of his mouth twitched. That was answer enough.

  The werewolf took another look at the now still Bruce, then spitting out blood, said, "You're tough, babe."

  I frowned. "Sorry?"

  "But that ain't enough with this chick. She's got money, brains, and is crazier than my aunt Marie." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're lucky you made it this far. I really thought that first hit was going to take you down."

  First hit?

  "What do you mean?" I asked warily. Did he mean when I was stabbed? My arms were starting to get tired of pointing the gun, but I managed to keep it steadily aimed at his heart.

  "Well, apparently," he drawled, "the first time she went after you—"

  "Wait," I cut him off. "This is the first time she's gone after me."

  He laughed and coughed at the same time. "Sure," he choked out. "If you say so."

  I jerked the Firestar, and said, "What do you know?"

  He wiped the cold sweat off his brow with an arm, then smiled, showing off razor-sharp teeth. "I know I'm tired of talking."

  Before I could even think, he pounced, more of an animal movement than a human one. I dropped to a crouch quickly, aiming the gun high, trying to anticipate where he would hit me. When a mere flash of his chest came into my field of vision, I pulled the trigger twice. Mr. Clean fell backwards onto the ground, two new holes in his shirt. Scrambling to my feet, I didn't even bother to check if he was dead or not. I hugged the wall, moving fast and silently to peek around the corner at where Liam and Callum were fighting the other werewolves.

  Though it was dark, I could make out both Liam and Callum, and at least six other figures. Scanning lower, I saw four more rolling around on the ground, clutching various different body parts. That was double the amount of werewolves Callum had estimated. Looking out at the road, I noticed an additional car parked; they had sent backup.

  There were a couple of containers marked "GASOLINE" lying to the left side of the small walkway, forgotten on the grass. Some silver chains were strewn by their side, glittering in the streetlamp's light. A partially-changed man was crawling towards them, one hairy hand reaching for the end of a chain. Callum pushed the two men who were coming at him into the steps leading up to the front door, then grabbed the werewolf before he could reach the chains.

  Liam was being backed into a tree by three of them. The tree lay straight ahead, near the edge of the road. The backs of the werewolves were facing me, advancing on Liam. He smoothed his hair back in a nervous gesture. Leaning my left shoulder against the wall for stability, I took aim. It only took four bullets to take them down. They were still alive, but had dropped like flies to the ground.

  Looking up in slow shock, Liam's eyes widened when he saw me. Then they narrowed, giving me a harsh look for moving my position.

  I made a face and mouthed, "You're welcome."

  Before he could make any sort of response, he was tackled by a burly man with claws for hands and fangs for teeth. They rolled away out of my sight.

  With only my head peering around the side of the building, I watched Callum fight off a set of aggressive werewolves. I would have shot them, too, but they were moving much too fast to fire an accurate shot. Accidentally shooting Callum was not an option.

  The front door opened and out stepped another one. I cursed under my breath. We didn't need another werewolf.

  The man's head turned, looking directly at me with large, glowing eyes. I froze, stomach clenched tight with fear. And, surprisingly, awe.

  Even from ten feet away, he was impressive. With skin the colour of caramel, strong facial features, and lack of a shirt, he was an undeniably striking man. The wind played with his thick, golden hair, brushing it along his naked shoulders. It was hard not to stare.

  A mask of blankness covered his face. He just blinked at me. I pulled back around the corner, shoving my back against the wall with my gun up, and stared out into the darkness, breathing heavily. What was I going to do? He had seen me. I was the target of all this mess, so, naturally, he would come and at
tempt to kill me. Crap.

  "Why are you still here?" a rumbling voice asked from my left.

  Gasping, I jumped away from the side of the building, backing away from the massive shape of the man. The Firestar was shaking in my hands. Something about him made it hard to concentrate. He radiated sheer power, but not like a vampire. I couldn't feel it crawl along my skin, but I knew it was there, very close to the surface.

  "What?" I replied, still walking backwards.

  Face still expressionless, he repeated, "Why are you still here?" There was a lilt to his voice that told me that English wasn't his first language.

  I stopped where I was. "Because werewolves are trying to kill me?" I said. Sarcasm in the midst of danger. I was sort of proud.

  He stared down at my face. His irises were flecked with amber, nothing I'd ever seen before on a human. They suddenly flicked behind my shoulder, and I turned as well, only to see the two still forms of Bruce and Mr. Clean. Turning back, I tried to gauge his expression.

  "Go," he said.

  I tried to move but couldn't.

  "Take your car and go," he ordered.

  "You don't want to kill me?" I asked, feeling stupid the moment I said it.

  "I never wanted to kill you," he replied, eyes intense. "We needed the money. But no amount of money is worth the lives of my wolves."

  I nodded once.

  "You're also not what I expected," he added.

  "Oh," was all I could manage.

  "You're just a naïve girl, not at all like she painted you. You don't deserve to die." His nostrils flared. "Go. I will tell her you managed to escape us with the help of your vampires."

  I made a few incomprehensible sounds, protesting against the usage of the words 'naïve' and 'girl'. I finally shoved my hand in my pocket and withdrew the car keys. He moved out of the way for me, giving me a straight shot for the road.

  "Thank you," I said.

  As I brushed past him, he wrapped one huge hand around my arm, looked me right in the eye, and said, "My name is Lucian."

  "Thank you," I repeated softly, pausing, then added, "Lucian."

  Tilting his head in acknowledgement, he let my arm go. I gave him one last look before turning and jogging in the direction of the Mercedes. A few fallen werewolves snatched at my ankles, but I dodged them, heading straight for the car. Clicking the 'unlock' button on the small remote control, it chirruped, lights flashing twice. I ran around the back of it, yanking open the driver's side door as soon as I reached it. I threw the gun on the floor, by the pedals, so it would still be within reach. Sliding the key into the ignition, I twisted it, starting the engine. The sound was loud in the night.