“Not a train,” he assured him. “Just one nasty werewolf. I’m sure it didn’t help that you never received the last dose of silver antidote. On that note, you should have told me you were a freaking werewolf. Anna would have been more than happy to blow your head off if I hadn’t been around to stop her.”
“I know. I meant to tell you. I just didn’t want it to be my opening line, considering your occupation.”
Logan thought for a minute. “All that stuff you told me about being a prowler…”
“It was true.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I didn’t want to beat your ass for lying to me, considering your condition.”
Vincent didn’t answer. He was silent for so long that Logan wondered if he’d fallen back asleep.
“You still awake?” he asked, voice soft.
“I… feel better,” Vincent murmured, eyes flying open. His expression was a mixture of confusion and amazement. “Logan, I feel better.”
“That’s because I’m secretly an awesome nurse,” he cracked. “Brought your fever down and everything. Took a strong stomach, but…”
That earned him a huff. “You don’t get it, kid. The fever is a result of silver poisoning. Without the antidote, it should have risen until I went mad with delirium. Until I died.”
Logan shifted uncomfortably as his words sank in. “So, you’re saying…”
“I survived silver. It took me out of the game for a while, sure, but it didn’t kill me. Do you think–” Vincent looked hopeful. “Do you think I’m building up an immunity against it?”
Logan wanted to say that it wasn’t possible. That silver was a weakness of werewolves, and that’s all there was to it. But while his grades in school had been shameful, he hadn’t missed the class on evolution. If Vincent was truly developing a tolerance to silver, it could mean the Society had a major problem on their hands. Other werewolves might be developing the same immunity.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he answered. The beginnings of a headache throbbed behind his eyes. Massaging his temples, he went on, “Even if you are developing a tolerance, we won’t be testing that theory anytime soon. I’d have no idea how to test it safely anyway. I’m not a doctor, I can’t–”
An idea that was both brilliant and foolhardy occurred to him. “What about that doctor at the hospital? Dr. Allen?”
Vincent visibly paled. “What about him?”
“He would know how to test your potential immunity. We could force him to test it at the hospital, maybe even render you more immune, and kill him afterwards so he doesn’t pass the knowledge on to other werewolves–”
“Sounds like you’re the one getting ahead of yourself,” Vincent broke in. “First of all, there’s no way I’m going near that hospital or Doc again. Second of all, there’s nothing to stop him from killing me during testing, since it will in fact be testing. Finally, unless you have a brilliant plan to hold him hostage in a public hospital without your scent drawing werewolves for hours, it would be a suicide mission for you. Forget it.”
“All right, all right,” Logan muttered, gazing at the floor. If he hadn’t been such a sleep-deprived, emotional wreck, the blood might have rushed to his ears in embarrassment. It was a stupid idea.
When he looked up, Vincent had pushed the blankets back. He began to peel away the bandage on his chest.
“Hey,” Logan snapped, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “I worked hard to stitch those up. You’re going to expose them to infection.”
Though Vincent didn’t smile, there was a humorous glint in his eye that made Logan feel like he was missing something. He released his wrist.
When the bandage fell away, he was stunned. The claw marks had healed. Raw, angry scars were in their place. The sutures had been pushed from the skin and now lay in a loose mess. Vincent brushed them off with a wince.
“Don’t be too impressed,” he said. Logan realized his jaw was slack, and closed it with a snap. “If it weren’t for the silver, I would have healed hours ago. Even now, I don’t feel as strong as I usually do. I’m weak. Tired.”
“But you’ll live.”
A nod. “I’ll live.”
Logan rose to his feet and crossed the room. Somewhere between hour four and five of pacing, he’d unpacked his spare jacket and hung it by the door. Now, he pulled it on. With his car beat to hell, he’d need it if he was going to find Anna.
Voice laced with the beginnings of sleep, Vincent asked, “Where are you going?”
“Anna should have been back hours ago. Since you’re out of the woods–” He broke into a smile. “I’m going to find her while you rest up.”
“I’ll go with you.” Vincent propped himself up onto his elbows. Before he could sit up, however, Logan strode to his side and pushed him back down. It spoke to how weak he was that he offered little resistance. But his eyes shifted to gold in defiance.
“I know you want back in the action,” he tried to reason with him. “And I understand why. But you’re in no condition to go anywhere, and I can’t just sit here. Anna could be running out of time.”
Vincent’s eyes softened just a bit.
“You’re willing to die for her?”
Logan looked away. He turned to the opposite bed and began gathering weapons, pointedly ignoring the question. It didn’t matter if he was willing to die for her or not. He wasn’t going to die. Not tonight. He was going to find her and bring her back.
For a moment, he wondered if she even remained in Pinechester, or if she’d simply taken off again, left him. But he dismissed the notion as quickly as it occurred to him. Anna never left her gear behind. The duffel bag he riffled through contained too many of her favorite guns. Even he couldn’t help but admire them fondly before tucking a pistol into the waistband of his jeans.
The corner of a photo protruded from a case of throwing stars. As he lifted the lid, Logan recognized it immediately. It was taken not too long after they’d met. Back when their pasts hadn’t mattered as much as the present.
They stood close, but not too close. Stances wary, their shoulders only just touched. The photo was taken at night, and a carousel was illuminated behind them. The stranger who took the photo had insisted he couldn’t see their faces, but they encouraged him to snap it anyway. Blinding halos shone through their hair.
It was one of his favorite photos. Hers too. She’d always said it was the only photo to capture their angelic nature.
“It’s never worth it, kid.”
Jarred from his memories, Logan hastily stowed the photo away.
“What isn’t?”
“Being right.”
“Yeah, well.” He tossed the duffel onto Vincent’s bed. “I hope you’re not getting soft on me, because those are for you. Don’t touch them unless you need to. They’re bound to be contaminated with traces of silver. I’d line the room with shavings, but I think you’ve had enough exposure to silver for one day. If worse comes to worse…”
Vincent nodded, closing his eyes. “I can shift. I won’t be at full speed for a while, but I can shift.”
“Give ‘em hell.”
He felt the need to say something more permanent in way of goodbye. Prowler instincts were telling him not to leave Vincent alone, especially now that he’d naturally recovered from silver. It was unheard of, making him a prime target for experimentation. Not that anyone else knew of it yet. They’d only just found out themselves.
Logan cleared the thought from his mind. His only concern at the moment was finding Anna.
Without a backward glance, he left the motel room.
Chapter Eleven
Vincent groggily opened his eyes. Darkness had fallen beyond the motel window.
I’m starving.
He groaned as he sat up, reaching for the lamp switch. Light flooded the room with the intensity of the sun.
Turn it off, turn it–
A sigh of relief accompanied the dying light. Shadows would do for now.
He hadn’t
drunk himself into a stupor since he was human, but the symptoms of a hangover were relentless. It made sense. Instead of ridding itself of alcohol, his body had rid itself of silver.
He eyed the cup of water on the bedside table. And narcotics.
One of his hands lashed out, slapping the cup off the table. Water sloshed everywhere, but it was satisfying to diminish the scent of drugs. The action wasn’t entirely his own. He could feel the wolf languidly stretching in the depths of his mind. It was quite satisfied with itself.
Vincent smiled at its evident presence. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he’d missed the wolf. It was a part of him now, like a soul mate or a familiar spirit.
He threw the covers back. It took a few minutes to gather enough will to stand. When he did, the room wavered. Cool air flowed around him. Within seconds of shivering, his body temperature soared to keep him warm. Neither he nor the wolf were entirely healed yet, but the wolf would protect him until he’d regained his energy.
He padded to the bathroom. After taking care of business and drinking some water, he ventured back into the room to search for clothing. There must have been some in the dresser next door, but he was too exhausted to walk that far. He settled for the jeans at the foot of the bed, still ripped at the thigh. They would do.
He’d just finished zipping them up when there was a knock at the door.
If only it could have been a pizza delivery guy. Bacon and pepperoni with stuffed crust would be heaven in a box right about now. It had been far too long.
“Vincent,” a man called, tone condescending.
The voice immediately set the wolf on edge. The room transformed as his eyes grew bright. His senses sharpened. It was good to be back.
“I know you’re in there, Vincent. I can smell you. Open the door. We just want to talk.”
Like hell.
Vincent dove for the duffel bag of weapons, guided by its violet glow. The few steps he took pounded against the carpet, alerting those outside to his decision.
He heard a muffled, “Fine.”
The door was kicked open. Wood splinters flew across the room, hitting the far wall with hollow clinks. Sawdust and paint chips floated into the room on a light breeze. Moonlight streamed onto the carpet, casting the room in a hazy glow.
Hands grabbed Vincent’s arms before he reached the duffel. Two hands on either side. They dragged him back, away from the weapons and any chance of escape. Judging by the stench in the room, there were three of them. Even on his best day, he couldn’t fight off three members of the pack.
The two men holding him spun him around to face Jay, one of the highest ranking patrol leaders. Vincent hadn’t seen him for at least six months. It looked as if he’d gained some muscle in that time. Though his smile was friendly, his eyes were cold.
“Vincent.” He spread his hands. “Tsk, tsk. You should really take it easy after your encounter with Mitch. The scent of your blood was overwhelming when he returned to us. For a moment there, we thought we’d lost you.” He eyed the fresh scars on Vincent’s chest.
“You can’t kill me that easily.”
Vincent’s legs began to tremble. Try though he might to hide it, Jay’s smile widened upon noticing.
“Kill you? Oh, no.” A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “We could never kill Doc’s favorite plaything. We’re moving, dear brother. And we were ordered here to retrieve you.”
A growl rumbled in Vincent’s chest. He would never leave willingly. Maria rested here. In a sense, he was born here. It was the only home he’d known as a werewolf. The only home he cared to know.
The hand on his shoulder squeezed, as if sensing his thoughts and rejecting them. But then the arrogant smile on Jay’s face slowly faded. An expression of confusion took its place. His eyebrows drew together, hand drifting to rest over Vincent’s heart. He tilted his head to the floor, as if listening.
The men flanking Vincent were forced to hold him up as his knees finally buckled. His head fell forward, breath ghosting over Jay’s hand. The wolf could lend him no more strength.
When Jay eventually looked up, there was awe in his eyes. “You’re recovering. On your own.” He clasped his hands together. “This is even better than I’d imagined. You were entertaining before, but now… you, a former prowler, might be the key to our survival. Oh, I love the irony.”
Vincent could only glare from where his head was slumped against his chest. His wounds began to burn. The wolf was attempting to heal him, but traces of lingering silver made it difficult. Even so, his scars visibly faded. Just a bit.
When he opened his mouth to speak, Jay shushed him like a child.
“Shhh. Wouldn’t want you to relapse. That wouldn’t sit well with Doc at all. We have a meeting with the Alpha tonight, and then we’ll be on our way. You’ll be pleased to know that Doc and I have been ordered to ride in the ambulance with you. Mitch won’t be allowed near it.”
Even the mention of his wife’s killer was enough to make the wolf stir. Vincent relished the feeling, dredging up memories of fighting Mitch in the motel room. He allowed the name to invoke his rage, going so far as to recall the moment he knew Maria was dead.
The intentional thoughts were enough to trigger the first signs of the change. He was weak, and barely able to withstand the strain. But his rage and the energy of the moon outside were just enough to help him.
He slumped even further between the men holding him. His skin grew dangerously hot within seconds, and a sweat broke out on his brow. As his ribs began to shatter, he spasmed in pain. Once. Twice.
Jay was speaking to him in a commanding tone. But whenever he opened his mouth, the only word Vincent heard was Mitch. And with it, his need for revenge consumed his human form.
He was vaguely aware of being lowered to the carpet. Fur began to sprout from his skin, the silky hair prickling as it coated his limbs and torso. The seams of his jeans burst with the sudden dislocation of his hip bones. A howl of pain left him. His jaw lengthened as canine teeth filled his mouth.
Beyond the agony, he heard the others undergoing the change as well. They were faster and more disciplined. If he was to escape them, he had to move.
The door hung at an angle. Vincent leapt over the hunched figures of Jay and his men, the familiar thrum of the moon already flowing through his veins. He was out the door in seconds. The wind whipped through his fur as he bolted across the parking lot, claws tapping rhythmically against the pavement.
The sense of freedom was incredible. He’d gone days without changing before, but never during the full moon, when the urge was seductively irresistible. Cars and buildings blurred as he passed them. Icy air numbed his nose. His eyes watered as he attempted to run faster, faster.
There was only one place he wanted to be. Deep within the forest, with Maria. He didn’t want to think about his unbreakable link to the pack, moving to another sanctuary, or even the worry he felt for Logan and Anna. He just wanted to be free.
Jay and his men were close behind, and gaining ground. They weren’t recovering from silver poisoning, weak with hunger and fatigue. If they wanted to, they could drag him down at any moment. Instead, it seemed they were allowing him to run under their supervision. But why? So he might experience the essence of the forest one last time? To keep him sated and under control during the move? Or because they knew his energy was waning and that he couldn’t run far?
Whatever the reason was, it only served to anger Vincent. They still believed him to be under their power. They were toying with him.
The line of trees came into view. He leapt into darkness without slowing, eyes glinting as his night vision kicked up a notch. Logs and overgrown brush prevented him from quickly covering ground. The scars on his chest painfully stretched. Branches caught him across the face, blinding him.
Still he ran, struggling to lose Jay and the others. They would follow his scent for miles if they had to, but he could double-back to confuse them.
The brush thin
ned enough for him to sprint. Blood pounded in his ears. His movements weren’t light and effortless, but sloppy, desperate. He knew Jay and the others could see as much.
His claws dug into the dirt, kicking it up in hopes of blinding them. Jaws snapped in disapproval. A warning snarl ordered him to stop, but the wolf was only getting started. It wouldn’t submit without a fight.
As if sensing his reluctance, Jay increased his speed until he was running alongside him. It took one shove to throw Vincent off balance. His legs crumpled. Then he was rolling over bruising roots and rocks. He yelped in pain when he slammed into a tree.
Before he could rise, Jay was on him, teeth clamped around his neck. They barely broke the skin, holding firm.
The order was clear: resort to human form. Now.
Vincent knew Jay wouldn’t dare kill him now that he’d survived silver. It would rob the pack of possible immortality. But he might have no qualms about throwing Vincent around until he was too weak to remain in wolf form. Doc would be upset, but only until he healed. Then he would be grateful to Jay for bringing him back, exactly as he’d been ordered to.
There was no choice.
Vincent’s bones began to shatter once more. The pain was worse this time. The bitter taste of submission and failure heightened it, even before a torrent of blood poured from his mouth.
Jay released his neck and stepped back. When the change was too far advanced for Vincent to easily shift back to wolf form, he heard the others changing as well.
A haze of fatigue overcame him, and he realized what a terrible idea two transformations and a moonlit run had been. Shivering with nausea, he closed his eyes against the spinning world and allowed time to fade for a while.
When Vincent next opened his eyes, he was still laying on the forest floor. Tree branches loomed above him. Though his skin was bare and coated with sweat, warmth emanated from the ground. He felt exhausted. Drained. Just as Jay wanted him to feel.
“Vincent, how nice of you to join us.”
Speak of the devil.
“I do hope you enjoyed the run. It was the last you’ll have on these grounds.” His face came into view. “Ever.”
Fever Page 7