His tone was free of deception. It meant that their brothers and sisters outside of Greifsfield were safe from Fane's poisonous ideas—unless Mason was an isolated incident, so intent on punishing himself that he lacked the motivation to take any side. He would've mentioned other visitors.
"My old sire is raising an army," she said. "He wants to overthrow the queen's rule and destroy what we have."
"What we have?"
"Expatriation. The right to our lives as we want them. If Fane succeeds..."
"What will you have me do, Elisabeth? I have known this day would come, that you would have me pay this debt, even if you did not."
"I never thought I would come to collect, Mason. All I ask is for you to journey back across the sea and alert Alina to the perversion here."
"I have never been there, nor do I expect the queen will hold my words with the same weight as yours."
"She will, as you are my envoy."
"Stirring this hornet's nest..."
"...needs to happen. Anton Fane must be opposed and I am in the position to do it. I came to these woods for the same reason you did, Mason. Tranquility is the best fit for us. It is a lifestyle I was cheated out of once before, and I refuse to lose it a second time. I am in love, Mason. I will not lose Allen the same way I lost Aetius. The difference is that I see the threat coming and am poised to stop it."
"You realize just how many of them are out there now. It is not safe even in these woods. If your queen must know that our kind is being indoctrinated, it is for your benefit and hers that you tell her."
"She's your queen too, Mason..."
"Absolutely not. Do not pretend I have ever subscribed to your imposed hierarchy. I serve no one, Elisabeth."
"I will not allow our existence to be threatened by entitlement. Fane has everything he could ever need. This power play is an act of boredom...the sign of a man who's lived too long. All that's left for him is to become a God."
"Perhaps it is for another reason altogether."
"He is putting our species on an irrevocable course. It's not the reason that matters, only the action. When his army does whatever it is intended to do, the world will know about us. And tell me they will not hunt us to extinction."
That thought hung on Mason's face. "You say you are in love, yet go rushing off to war. Take it from me, you should be running in the opposite direction."
"Mason, please. Do not make me ask you again. My mind has been made up and I am asking for your help."
"I would never refuse you. I say this so that you reconsider. I do not want to see you throw your life away on idealism."
Elisabeth smiled, but refused to validate her feelings any further. Her case had been made, and Mason would not ignore her pleas. Hundreds of years back, she'd heard his cries when he was the property of a Louisiana plantation owner. Coming off a sordid New Orleans bender, she'd decided that a tour of the countryside was the perfect way to end the trip. She'd craved more death than she'd been given in the city, and sought more unsuspecting prey.
Mason had been nothing more than a bloodied and beaten man left to rot beneath layers of chains in the summer air. It was the overwhelming amount of leaking blood that led her nose straight to the nearly lifeless mess. With his final breath, he reached up and clasped shredded fingers around her thigh, mumbling pleas, not of prayer, but of vengeance. This hatred struck a chord in Elisabeth, recalling similar desires in the wake of Aetius' death.
She'd stripped her clothes off and dropped to all four, invoking the change while licking blood from his cheek on the way to plant a proposition in his swollen cauliflower ear.
"I'll help you destroy them, but you will become more animal than man...they will fear you like nothing else. Is that what you want?"
He'd been quick to accept her offer.
Just as he now agreed to a forced pilgrimage.
"If we don't do this, Mason, there might not be a home to come back to."
"And that is why I go," he said.
"I apologize for not visiting under better circumstances." She placed a conciliatory hand on his muscular shoulder. "I would have come sooner but..."
"...I asked you to leave me be," he said. "What we did...somehow I live with it. My brothers and sisters haunt my sleep even now."
Elisabeth felt his remorse drape her shoulders as she showed herself out. Mason assured her he would leave tonight. He'd never expressed feelings of regret to her, but it was clear that he wished he'd died out in that field.
After she'd bitten him, Mason's master had been stunned to discover he'd survived the night, but grew tired of his inability to work. The sickness worked through his body for three days, gradually changing him inside and out. On the final day, the owner put a musket ball in his skull and discarded his body in a shallow grave dug by his brother. Mason rose that night, embracing his transformation. The wolf wasted no time in chasing down his master, tearing his body into so many pieces that it couldn't be identified. Mason didn't stop there. He'd laid waste to the plantation, killing hired help and servants alike, saving his captor's family for last. Each kill whipped the wolf into greater frenzy, until he'd forced bestiality upon the master's wife, tearing her insides out as her took her.
It still wasn't enough. Mason's bloodlust was unquenchable, driven by pure animal instinct. The wolf stormed the slave shacks next, hacking them to pieces so to feast upon their meat and drink the overflowing splurge of lifeblood.
Elisabeth had watched all of this from the shadows, amazed and aroused by the destruction. Living vicariously through it. Her own revenge hadn't the luxury of forceful brutality. Once it was over, and Mason changed back, she'd asked him to join her. He was immediately guilt-racked with sorrow, the kind that would consume and end him if he were to go on living without company. Elisabeth found herself attracted to this cruelty, finding the potential for companionship in someone so powerful.
But Mason hadn't seen it that way.
He surrendered to the guilt. She'd tried assuaging it, but her efforts goaded his hostility. They left the south together, spending uneasy nights prowling for victims, while Mason cursed her afterwards for stoking those urges. They would lie together some nights, and he never seemed to resent her more than in the afterglow.
"Cruel bitch," he'd say in alternating pangs of shame and sorrow. "You know I wish to be left alone, and you refuse."
Elisabeth liked it when he squirmed. His rebuffs cultivated her determination, and she felt empowered by his weakness. It was a dysfunctional relationship that ended, unsurprisingly, once they reached the northern territories. His relocation out this way had inspired her recent move.
"Huntress," he called from the doorway.
She turned.
"What am I going to tell the queen about you when she asks why I have come before her?"
"Tell her I will see her soon if I do not fail. And if that does not happen, then Fane has already gotten past me."
"Good luck, my friend."
"Thank you, Mason."
She hurried through the brush eager to get back to Allen and pursue that 'better life' with him. Perhaps Mason had been right to urge her to run. What if she was getting in over her head?
What did Fane's ambition matter?
I know him. I can stop him.
If not, he would never stop coming. Maybe not soon, but the need for vengeance never left barbarians. She wouldn't be content with Allen until she confronted this demon from her past. Knew that she had to do it because she'd made that mistake once before.
All that stood between her and happiness was one massive obstacle named Anton Fane.
***
Jack found himself at the edge of that familiar driveway. He walked it with caution, gun in hand, ready to unload silver rounds into the first thing that popped out at him.
Stillness muted the area this early morning—not so much as a barking dog within earshot. The house looked quiet, too. A car he didn't recognize was parked close to the house.
<
br /> Amanda and Fontaine wouldn't understand his driving need for closure. He'd slipped out of the shitty Pittsfield Motor Inn at the first hint of daylight and cabbed back to Greifsfield, leaving only a vague note on the night table stating he was leaving Massachusetts. Might've written something about cold feet in there, too.
Amanda wasn't stupid, but she just might buy it considering her own toes were a bit frosty these days. Upon leaving, he thought Fontaine was awake, despite it being Jack's watch. If so, he'd been content to let him go.
With Lucy gone Jack had no further stake in Greifsfield. Didn't feel like sticking around to die for nothing, and Amanda didn't have much stake either, bound by sheer determination to see her mission through.
Her Glock felt awkward in his hand, despite having fired a few killing shots with it a few nights back. He was no gunslinger; just an aging English major trapped in an indescribable shitstorm. The responsibility stunk, and the thought of heading toward his ultimate fate with a handgun felt absurd, despite the possibility of its truth.
Jack stared at the familiar stairs. Allen would be less than thrilled to see him. Probably wouldn't give him a chance to speak.
I'll have to be quick if that's the case.
Jack stepped through the still-busted glass. The hum of kitchen appliances kept the place from utter silence. He proceeded through each room on the ground floor, pistol at the ready. Once the first floor was clear he took a deep breath and headed for the staircase.
Allen stood against the landing rail.
He smiled, but there was no trace of humor on his face. Fangs pinched his lower lip and a legion of sores bubbled across his forehead. His eyes popped and became yellow and blue swirls that looked through him.
Jack's first instinct was to plug the abomination, but this creature's stark resemblance to an old friend quelled that desire. As long as he had this gun, he had the upper hand. He hadn't come here to initiate violence. Instead, he stopped his ascent and lowered his weapon, searching for the right words.
Allen beat him to it. "Glad you came, Jack. It takes the fun out of the hunt, but it spares me the trouble of finding you later."
Jack pretended the threat didn't bother him. He eyed his old friend behind his best poker face. His heart exploded and the wolf could probably sense the fear, but he wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of showing it.
"I'm not here to cause you any more trouble," Jack said.
Allen's now-inhuman stare fell to the weapon in his fist. He looked up menacingly.
"Okay," Jack said. "I have this. But only as a precaution."
Allen's laugh was a bloody gargle. His throat flexed and expanded as he spoke. "Precaution? I'll take that weapon before you can even lift it to me."
"I don't want it to come to that, man. Please. Just listen..."
"You're under the impression that there is still a 'you and I.' There isn't...not after what you did."
"I know. I can't make that right, and I have no excuse. You have to believe me, I was trying to help you. I knew what Elisabeth was. The way you showed up at my motel room, scared to death, I didn't think you did."
"You have a responsibility to make decisions for me?"
"I didn't think of it that way. When you showed up at the motel, I assumed you were in trouble. Things got out of hand, and I never wanted that. I came here with Amanda because I thought you were being held against your will."
Allen gave a bawdy howl. His shoulders shook with violence. "Prisoner?" He outstretched his arms. "I have never been happier. Can't you tell?"
Jack felt shame at the sting of Allen's mockery. Everything had been done with his friend's best intentions in mind. That he might never have wanted or needed rescuing was a thought that had never occurred to him.
Allen descended the steps, bumping Jack's shoulder as he passed. From the floor, he waved for Jack to follow.
"No sense in sticking around inside, bright boy," he said. "It's a beautiful day."
Jack reluctantly followed Allen, transfixed by the outpouring of hair that covered his face. He looked like a guy who hadn't shaved in a year.
"I didn't realize you were so happy, Allen."
"You wouldn't. It doesn't fit the role of bitter sage that you love playing. You're the expert when it comes to everything, right? Especially relationships. Tell everyone how they're supposed to act. You're better than I am because you were never in it for the physical attraction...never bided your time with anyone just for the hell of it. Are you Mr. Fucking Perfect, or is it that you could never close the deal?"
"I have. But you bounce from girl to girl like a fucking pinball. You've done it so many times I just assumed that's all this was with Elisabeth."
"And if it was, what business of it is yours?"
"I didn't realize I needed authority to state my opinion."
"Your opinion, no. But bring a blonde Charles Bronson into my house, you'd better have a good goddamn reason for it. You cost that bitch, whoever she is, her life."
Jack had nothing to say. He didn't have the means to diffuse this.
"This whole time we've been talking," Allen said. "I've been trying to decide what to do with you."
A threat from Allen wouldn't normally resonate. He'd made idle threats in the past. Lots of them. Usually when women were involved. But threats of violence never came anywhere near fruition. This time, however, he wasn't sure. It was safe to say the circumstances were different.
"Okay. You do what you have to do." Jack remembered the pistol in his hand and wondered if Allen was as quick as he claimed. "But hear this: I came here to say something. I don't have the words to apologize for Elisabeth without patronizing you, so I'm not going to try. There's going to be an attack here, in Greifsfield, tonight..."
"I know."
"What?"
"It begs the question, though, what are you doing here if you know that it's open season on human beings tonight?"
It was the first Jack had heard of it.
Allen's metamorphosis halted, wincing in curiosity. "That's not what you're talking about?"
"No. I'm talking about Amanda. She's coming back with an army. They're overturning every rock in Greifsfield and killing the werewolves hiding under them." He embellished the army, hoping to send Allen scampering.
It was Allen who spoke first. "This doesn't excuse you, Jack. Or her."
Jack was defensive, but the gun offered confidence. "So what? We're going to have a final confrontation while Rome burns? I didn't come here to fight you to the goddamn death."
Allen watched in silence. His globular eyes were a mockery of an old friend.
"Okay," Jack said, and threw his hands up. "I'm leaving. I warned you about tonight, and now I'm getting out myself. I'm sorry that things had to end this way. I really am."
An approaching vehicle swung a hard left and thundered down the long driveway in a cloud of dirt. It tore through the dustbowl, speeding directly toward them.
Allen ran for the forest. He was quick, reaching the tree line instantly.
"Stop!" A thick European accent called out. "Do not make us shoot. We can kill you and we will."
Two men armed with rifles jumped from the van and Allen ignored the warning. He slipped into the bush as booms thundered from their weapons. One of the shots struck Allen square in the back, dropping him to the ground. He grabbed at his back and yelped.
"Wait!" Jack screamed, waving his arms in the air. He figured these guys for the cavalry. Amanda had been here once before and she must've supplied them with directions. His relief was short-lived, however, turning to dread as the hotel room ambush came back into his mind. These guys had the same weapon. They weren't friendly.
One of them approached, a triumphant smile flashing and a shotgun draped over his shoulder. His teeth were capped in gold, and his pupils were the most disgusting shade of yellow he'd ever seen. The center of a spent tissue.
"Drop your fucking gun."
Jack tossed it into the grass and place
d his hands over his head without being told to.
The riflemen returned to the van with Allen propped between them.
"Take them both...one is our crusader and the other is Huntress's little cub."
They were loaded into the van, weapons trained on both their chests.
"Either of you move and we'll splatter your brains on the back window and then go out for breakfast."
No arguing with that.
They were speeding away from the house a second later. Jack was painfully aware of where they were going.
***
"We're going to burn everything."
Amanda liked Fontaine's proposal, even though it was risky. Those things hated fire and it was the quickest way to send a whole pack howling to hell. Fuckers went up pretty quickly, too. Like they were perpetually doused in gasoline.
"Some of them will escape," she said.
"I'm counting on that," John patted the .50 caliber, stroking its lengthy neck, oblivious of the phallic implications. "That's what this is for."
"Silver .50 cal rounds. Amazing."
John couldn't contain the excitement in his voice. "Not only will it rip them to shreds, but silver contaminates the bloodstream. No chance of regeneration."
Amanda took a deep breath. The plan was coming together better than it had any right to. This past month had been a trying one. The town of Greifsfield was an onion, and every layer she pulled back revealed something more. She'd been skirting the edge out here in Western Mass, and couldn't believe she had yet to tumble off.
Fontaine continued strategizing. "I'm going to have to set myself up a good distance from the action in order to cover you. So you'll be going in alone. What you need to do is plant this C4 in an arching perimeter around that mansion."
John slapped the olive green satchel down between them. "The drought should work in our favor, considering the forests are as dry as matchsticks. The fire will spread quickly if we start it properly. The explosives will ensure they come funneling through the front door...which I'll be covering. Tonight, you'll slip inside and make a few additional strategic placements. You have options so we can go over that later. But once you blow it, those things will fry."
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