by HK Savage
Hearing her name brought her focus back to him and Becca couldn’t help her irritation at his pointed efforts to avoid eye contact. It wasn’t until the other two left and they were alone that she felt free to speak. Very quietly, keeping her blood pressure as well as her voice down, Becca addressed him. “When am I going to be able to put it behind me?”
Michael stopped flipping through his file, tossing it down at the foot of the bed before he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at her. The denim shirt and tan trousers looked good on him. Strong forearms showed where the sleeves were rolled up partway and his hair hung down on his forehead in thick black waves. “It hasn’t been that long, Becca. These things take time.”
“I haven’t had a nightmare in weeks.” She felt her lip sticking out in a pout and sucked it back in.
Shaking his head, Michael didn’t let his gaze break from hers. “I’m not just talking about the fire demon. It’s everything. Two months ago you didn’t know about any of this. Now you’re a fully functioning member of the unit. We’ve been on what, six cases counting this one and you’ve seen things that shouldn’t be possible. You lost Danny.” He watched her closely, knowing his words hit home.
Michael was right. As much as she wanted to pretend this was all routine and it was no different than her previous post investigating cases on base, it was different. She’d seen vampires, shape shifters, werewolves, even a sea nymph. That wasn’t counting the fire demon who had melted the human shell he’d possessed right before her eyes. She barely got the others out before he burned the house down around them. It wasn’t her intention to get caught in the house with it. The pain had been horrible. She would never forget the smell of her hair and flesh being charred before she passed out from the smoke. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and Becca rolled them up, willing them to stop. “I’ve always pulled my weight, haven’t I?” She hated to think they were back to considering her as less than an equal or believed her to be incompetent like they had in the beginning.
“Each one of us has been new. You’re no different.”
“Yes, I am,” Becca maintained stubbornly.
Head tipping, Michael came close to rolling his eyes. Not something he typically did. “You know what I mean. Coming in here, doing this, hunting things like ourselves, that’s hard in a different way than what you’ve done before.”
Feet going numb from lack of blood flow, Becca slid over to stretch her legs out in front of her on the bed. Her eyes stayed on her wiggling feet. “How so?” The discussion of how they’d come to their roles in Admiral Black’s elite force was one she’d been hoping to broach for some time. She’d come in as the newbie serving with three veterans. “How is it hard for you?”
She heard him inhale deeply as he lowered himself to sit on the corner of the mattress, body turned to face her. “Some people choose to become like this.” He rubbed at a finger, studying his palms with singular focus. “None of us did.” A chunk of hair fell and blocked her side view of his eyes, keeping Becca from seeing if emotion colored his irises. “All of us served before we were changed and that calling did not end with our humanity. Serving with Black affords us the opportunity to continue to do some good, to use our altered selves to help instead of hiding or losing ourselves in our monsters. The ones we hunt, they aren’t that different from any of us. The only thing that separates us is who chooses our targets.” He didn’t address the fact that Black also had found some way to keep all of them; that none could leave the unit.
Feeling Michael’s words resonate, Becca was silent. Before she could try to come up with some sort of intelligent remark, Michael put his hands on his thighs and pressed himself up. “We should get going. There are a lot of bars for a small town.”
Chapter 6
Their third stop, Sneaky Pete’s was much the same as the previous two. The twenty-something kid working the front desk at the motel had recommended it for some local color. They hoped it would be and be a bit more used to outside traffic than the others if the motel was recommending it. Barely longer than the six stool bar along the back wall or wide enough to accommodate the row of three narrow tables on the other side of the aisle, it was easy to scan the place for anything out of the ordinary. A few seconds in and they realized the only thing out of the ordinary in there was them.
No dancing spots or sick stomach, Becca trusted they wouldn’t come to any harm and gave Michael an encouraging grin. Her early warning system was, after all, why the admiral brought her on. It had saved all their skins several times and the unit looked to her for guidance often before entering a potentially dangerous situation.
Michael led the way to the second to last stool giving her the option to sit on either side. She knew he would prefer to keep himself between her and the bar and didn’t want to needle him. Taking her seat at the end, she set her purse down on the bar and turned to keep an eye on the lone occupied table. Only one other patron sat at the bar two chairs down to bring the building occupancy to a grand total of five, including the bartender. A wall mounted jukebox was playing CCR, loud in the empty space.
Their elbow room disappeared quickly, the music picked up in speed and volume, and it got crazy noisy. Within half an hour, right about the time they were considering leaving, a steady stream of people began trickling in and didn’t stop for the next two hours. Becca was grateful for the man beside her and bar behind providing a small buffer from the press of people all around. How so many could fit inside was a mystery. There had to be thirty people. There was no way they were in compliance with fire code. Fire. An involuntary shudder sent ice racing down her spine.
Michael ran a hand up her arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “Remind me when we get back, I still want to take you dancing.”
“You do?” She tipped her face up to see if he was serious or if he was merely trying to distract her after sensing her discomfort.
The corner of his mouth twisted. “I made a promise, Becca. I always keep my promises.”
Becca felt the tension leak from between her shoulders as she allowed herself a brief daydream. What would it be like to dance with Michael? If he was half as good at dancing as he was at some of the other things he could do with his body… she felt herself flush.
He chuckled beside her.
“You did that on purpose.” She felt her own mouth twitch.
Michael’s soft laughter moved her hair. Then their moment was gone as the front door opened and a gust a cold air blew against their feet.
“Hey Josh,” the bartender called over the crowd to a round-shouldered kid who looked barely old enough to be there, even if he was large enough to pull a car with his teeth.
The towheaded kid raised his chin to the rail thin bartender. “I’m thirsty, Pete.”
Grinning, Pete wiped his fingertips on the white rag hanging over his shoulder and disappeared into the little room beside the bar. When he came out, brown beer bottles hung from his fingers like ornaments.
Josh and two of his equally large friends made their way through the throng, reaching above the heads of two young girls giggling over light green martinis. One doe-eyed giggler ogled him hungrily. Taking the beers and handing them back to his friends, Josh smiled at the girls before giving Pete his money.
“Figured you might be in again. Still not safe out there.”
Michael and Becca both heard the bartender’s cryptic comment even with the noisy chattering all around. Hiding their interest behind bored expressions, they listened in.
The big blonde head shook and frowned. “No, we’d rather be drinking around the bonfire and taking the girls for four wheeler rides but a little groping’s not worth dying for.”
The bartender looked grim. Even the giggling twins sobered at the mention of the creature haunting their town. “I heard the last guy they found was all cut up.” The doe-eyed girl joined in. Her friend took a hurried gulp of her green concoction.
“I got a friend with the sheriff’s.” Josh’s expressio
n darkened. “He said they’re all that way. Each one they find has stuff missing too. It’s pretty sick.”
“And gross.” The quieter of the girls chimed in over the rim of her glass.
Leaning in Pete let his eyes fall on each one and, instinctively, they brought their faces closer. “There’s an Indian fella that comes in here sometimes.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Lives on the reservation. He called it some sorta spirit. Said in his grandpa’s time they had one feeding on their tribe. He said they sent a warrior out into the woods to wait for it and when it came he chopped its head off with an axe and burned the body.”
Doe Eyes gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”
The men ignored her. Their eyes were locked; sharing in some unspoken manly hunter exchange about what needed doing.
Michael’s cool hand on hers below the bar startled Becca back to her body. His face came close to hers and he started nuzzling her neck. “I know what we’re looking for.”
An involuntary rush of goose bumps tightened her skin. Whether it was his words or merely his breath on her flesh, Becca couldn’t tell. The woman in her wanted to go back to their room, even the car, while the soldier in her knew they had work to do. “Should we go?” She hoped he didn’t notice the hoarse catch in her throat or the way her heart had picked up.
In answer, he slipped a twenty onto the bar’s pocked wooden surface. Pete noticed immediately and gave him a nod. Standing up, Michael shrugged into the coat he’d rested on his chair before helping Becca into hers. His hands didn’t linger; his touch was perfunctory. Feeling ashamed for considering putting her wants before the welfare of the town, Becca ducked her head and tucked a hair behind her ear, giving herself time to breathe. For the first time, she hoped the effects of her heavy blood ingestion would wear off soon. She couldn’t handle the raw nerves and constant state of arousal much longer. She worried she’d make a mistake that would end up getting someone hurt because she was thinking about what was in Michael’s pants and miss something that could get them killed.
Outside, the breeze had picked up. The crisp chill helped to return her reason. She pulled it deep into her lungs, grateful for the mild burn the sudden cold brought to her nostrils and brain. Michael waited patiently by the truck, his hand on her door. Tossing him a tight twitch of the lips that hardly passed for a smile, she bobbed her head and he opened it for her. Stepping inside with a sigh, Becca sank into her seat and let her heavy shoulders fall into the cool leather.
Michael was silent until they were back in their room and he was removing his coat. It wasn’t for comfort, his body temperature couldn’t be altered by any amount of clothing. The only way for him to change it was to ingest warm blood. Becca ignored the twinge she felt at recalling how much she herself had consumed. It might have saved her life, but still, it was disturbing to think she’d sucked stomachfuls directly from the source. On the few occasions she’d gotten up the nerve and asked how much it had actually been, he’d only shrugged and told her he’d given her “as much as it took.” Ryan had been the one to hint that it had been “a shitload.” However much that meant.
He watched her features, not missing the exhaustion in her bearing. There were the beginnings of dark purple bags under her eyes even though she’d slept on the plane. Yet he’d sensed her reaction when he’d touched her in the bar. And just the night before she’d been insatiable. He didn’t know any other humans who had consumed enough blood to feed three starving vampires as she had. But from what he knew of the transference of power through blood, she should be virtually inexhaustible. Still, all signs pointed to a body in decline. Michael frowned.
“So, what is this thing?” Becca sat down on the edge of the bed, not bothering to take off her coat. “Are we going out to hunt for it?”
Michael did some fast figuring. The wolves were already searching the area. Becca wasn’t up for an all nighter. “No, I think we should leave Ryan and Gab to track it. If we go running around out there we might confuse the trail.”
“How could they confuse us with whatever this thing is?” Becca squinted up at him.
“Because it’s a vampire.” He leaned against the wall and regarded her steadily, hands securely jammed in his pockets. “Like me, and you smell like me right now.”
Becca grimaced, not commenting on the fact that she smelled like a vampire because the blood of one was a part of her. “Who eats hearts and doesn’t drink blood?” She grunted. “I read the reports. None of the police reports say anything about puncture wounds or blood loss.” She tipped her head to the side. “Well, other than what they lost when their chest cavities were ripped open.” Her lip curled.
He bobbed his head slowly. “This is a different sort of vampire. It’s an ancient subspecies.”
“There are different kinds of vampires?” Becca’s eyes fixed on him. “Did you evolve or something?”
“More like devolve in this case.” Michael bounced himself off of the wall using only his shoulder blades. “If I’m right, this is a windigo. It bears almost no resemblance to what you think of as vampire.” He watched the wheels in her head working on this new information.
“I guess that depends.” She met his gaze evenly. “I’ve met a few of you now and already I can see differences.”
His brows rose and she went on.
“Look at the admiral. He’s crazy tall and I’ve never seen his skin color change like yours does when you feed.” She shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t have to eat as much as you because of how old he is.” Her observations received a minor chin dip of approval from him. “And he’s got those eyes.”
Michael could see the discomfort she tried to hide and gave her a half smile. He understood. Black’s most frightening feature was his flat, expressionless gaze. They bored into one’s soul, while at the same time making one wonder if he was paying attention at all. That and the fact that he never blinked were unnerving to say the least.
“And then Vanessa, she was more like you but,” she paused, considering, “but a little like the admiral too.”
Once again, Becca’s ability to wrap her head around the nuances of this world’s bizarreness without judgment fascinated him. Her place in his heart was cemented. It would hurt him deeply to lose her. “You’re right, she was much older than me. Not as old as Black.”
“So this thing is different than that? It’s not an age thing?”
He ran a knuckles across his jaw, a habit he’d never lost from when he was human even if his stubble was frozen under his skin. “A windigo is barely classified as a vampire. I’ve heard others call them zombies, sometimes demons. The body is skeletal, the fangs longer and the thirst for blood has been twisted.” In his mind’s eye he pictured the one such creature he’d faced decades before in Germany’s Black Forest. Describing only a few details, he left out the most disturbing. “It doesn’t go for blood in the conventional sense, it gravitates to the organs. This one seems to have zeroed in on the heart.”
“So how do we kill it? Does it have the same weaknesses?”
“Yes, it’s more sensitive to light though. Like a freshly turned vampire.” His mind was working through the possibilities as he filled her in. “We might be able to find it during the daylight hours if we can find its den.”
“Okay. Then when Ryan and Gabrielle get back, we’ll all sit down and figure out how to find it and then we’ll kill it.”
Chapter 7
The wolves hadn’t had any luck finding the windigo. Gabrielle, according to a reliable source, was in a foul mood and had gone directly to bed leaving Ryan alone to knock on their door at sunrise the next morning. The slamming door woke Becca just before Ryan’s knock. The exhausted Ryan took Michael’s revelation in stride.
“That explains the smell. It was worse than a vamp.” He wasn’t too tired to take a cheap shot. “Like you, except all decayed and unwashed.”
“You found it?” Becca was getting a drink of water from the bathroom sink and popped her head ou
t around the door.
He was shaking his shaggy auburn hair. The werewolves’ hair continued to grow. Their bodies were alive versus their undead counterparts. “No, but I think it just wanders aimlessly all night. The stink was everywhere; we couldn’t follow it. We went in circles all night.”
Becca felt her heart stutter. “Could there be more than one?”
“No,” Michael sounded certain.
“Just ‘no’?” Becca asked, curious. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because there would have been more bodies,” he answered without wavering.
Becca wasn’t put off by his direct response. She’d grown up with direct. A therapist would have something brilliant to say about Michael’s similarities to her father. To which she had a smart comeback, her father didn’t drink blood. “So where did it come from? Why is it striking now?”