Renegade (Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence)

by Chapman, Andrew

  Renegade

  BY ANDREW CHAPMAN

  Renegade

  By Andrew Chapman

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters and events are the products of the author's imagination and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2013 Andrew Chapman. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph ©2013 Andrew Chapman.

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  twitter.com/AndyOnTheWold

  imalegalalien.blogspot.com

  cafepress.com/mprd

  JAC.143

  To Peter, my brother,

  Who has a better sense of humour in the face of adversity

  than most people have at leisure.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book was a long time coming, with several fits and starts along the way. Every time I thought it was finished and ready to go, it would turn out that it wasn't. So my biggest thanks go out to you, the reader, for your patience.

  As always, to my long-suffering wife, all my love and thanks for her never-ending support and encouragement.

  To the Enraged Bibliophiles, even though my visits were few. Their help is always appreciated.

  And to Loki. Yes, there is a character in this book named after him. He'll be even more egotistical than ever, if that's possible.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Renegade is my first foray into writing from the PoV of anyone except Jack. This novel features a split PoV, with each chapter moving between Jack and Marie. I briefly toyed with the idea of labeling each chapter, or of using different fonts, maybe even different colours. But that, I felt, would be insulting your intelligence, dear reader. I trust you to figure it out.

  PROLOGUE

  The vampire turned an even paler white than normal, drawing back from the tinted window and squirming back into the deep leather seat.

  “Some problem?” asked the other occupant of the luxury car.

  “That's him isn't it? Over there, by the statue of Boudicca?”

  The human stared out as the car drove over the bridge.

  “That's who?”

  “The Pagan!”

  “Oh, yes, that's Jack Henderson.”

  “Sit back, you fool, he'll see you!”

  “So what? I'm supposed to be here. You're the one he'd kill.”

  The vampire squirmed for a moment.

  “What's he doing anyway?”

  The human turned and looked out of the back window as the limousine crossed the Thames.

  “Looks like he's taking a picture of a woman. It's probably that werewolf he's with.”

  “He's the devil,” said the vampire passionately. “He should be out bathing in blood and sacrificing babies, not taking pictures like some damn tourist!”

  “Be grateful he is. He's off duty for the next week, which means we know where he is and when he'll be there. Plus he'll be away from the rest of the hunters and probably won't be heavily armed. Now is the perfect time.”

  “Where will they be staying tonight?”

  “The Ruethorpe Hotel. They'll be there for the next three nights. Can you handle it?”

  The vampire retreated into the shadows and nodded.

  “My team can do it,” he said finally. “That shouldn't be a problem.”

  “The problem is how he's going to react,” said the human. “I still say we're going to provoke him into madness.”

  “No, I know his type. He'll react exactly as predicted.”

  “I hope so. He's bad enough when he's happy. If we really piss him off he could destroy everything we've spent years working towards.”

  “Trust me,” said the vampire. “He's predictable. The woman is his weakness.”

  CHAPTER

  1

  “How does it look?” I asked.

  Jack turned, showing me the small screen on his digital camera. On the screen an even smaller me stood, leaning against the stone plinth that held the statue of Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni. I was staring off into the distance with a look of vague concentration on my face.

  “That looks awful,” I said. “My hair's a complete mess.”

  “Nah, it looks beautiful,” he said. “The wind caught your hair at just the right moment. Very sexy.”

  “You're biased.”

  “Of course I am,” he said. “But I'm also right.”

  “If you say so,” I replied. “Where to next?”

  We'd been given two weeks off after our trip to the Vatican. The Vatican authorities were, by all accounts, very pleased with the assistance we'd provided in recovering the artifact known as The Heart of Dracula. The Ministry of Paranormal Research & Defence were well pleased too. Not only had our trip cemented the Vatican as a valuable ally but it had allowed the Ministry to put a serious crimp on the vampires. The 24-hour vampire-sponsored TV channel had broadcast a completely fictional report about Jack—under his codename 'Pagan'—causing mayhem and being evil, slaughtering innocents and committing murder. Then the Vatican released a statement thanking Pagan and his team for their recent assistance—on the very night he had allegedly killed twelve vampires and more than twenty humans who just happened to get caught in the crossfire. Even the vampires wouldn't dare call the Pope a liar. The Ministry was now supplying training for the Swiss Guard and the Vatican police. Things were looking up. I know Jack didn't believe but it was nice to think that God might owe us a favor. The Ministry certainly did, and that's why we had two weeks off.

  Jack and I had been in London for two days so far and I was learning a lot. I'd learned that the actual City of London covers only a single square mile. I'd learned that it is almost impossible to get the guards outside Buckingham Palace to laugh. I'd learned that the big clock on the Houses of Parliament isn't called Big Ben, and that Big Ben is really the name of the huge bell that bongs out the hours so romantically. I'd learned that the London Underground should really be called the Tube. I'd learned that the only people who can lay claim to the title of 'Cockney' are those who were born within the sound of something called 'Bow Bells'. We'd gone to the London Dungeon and I'd learned things about the history of England that will probably give me nightmares for life. I'd learned that riding on the back seat—sorry, pillion seat—of Jack's new motorcycle, arms wrapped around my man, turns me on like I would never have believed.

  And I learned that you can keep Paris. I've been to Paris. London is the most romantic city in the world. We saw Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, St. Paul's Cathedral. We ate roasted chestnuts bought from a colorful character, who had roasted them on something he called a 'barra'. Jack had recognized some police officers on horseback in a park and we'd been allowed to feed them—the horses, not the officers—lumps of sugar. All of the least expensive things we did were the most meaningful.

  Finally, I've learned that not having sex with Jack is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do.

  I can't really complain. It was my idea.

  We'd spent some time with the pack, catching up with my family, before coming down here. Being able to actually sleep at night, snuggled up in the same bed, had led to many nights of fun. So, when we came down to London I suggested that we play a game I'd read about in a magazine. We would stay in separate rooms and go out on dates. Yesterday had been the first date so we'd done the tourist thing. Last night he'd dropped me off at my hotel room and kissed my cheek. My cheek! I'd been seconds away from dragging him into the room and ravishing him and he kissed my cheek!

  Tonight is date two, a romantic dinner at an expensive restaurant. The rule to
night was kissing but no further. Tomorrow was going to be a lazy day in my room or his, watching bad movies and ordering from room service. The rule? Kissing and touching but no sex.

  I'm gonna die.

  Saturday is the day we break the bed. Saturday evening, that is, after we've spent the day doing other stuff.

  I'm beginning to regret suggesting it in the first place.

  “I dunno,” he replied. “Anywhere special you want to go?”

  I looked around, thinking how to answer him.

  “If I say we should go back to the room, do we have to go back to separate rooms?”

  “Your rules, my love,” he said, kissing my forehead.

  “Damn.”

  “Wanna go eat?”

  “Oh, where?”

  “I know a place.”

  “Okay. But first can we find a video shop? I want to see if I can pick up the second series of Steamtown.”

  “That punky thing you had me watching the other day?”

  I hid a smile. Sometimes it's hard to tell if he's being sarcastic or if he's really being dense.

  “Steamtown,” I said airily, “is the highest rated fiction show on telly at the moment.”

  “Yeah, that punky thing. Victorian clothing and clockwork and steam powered gubbins all over the place.”

  “Yes, okay, that 'punky' thing.”

  “Cool, I enjoyed watching that. Sure, we can find a video shop.”

  He took my hand, entwining his fingers with mine, and we walked down the steps to the Tube station. Jack had left his bike at the hotel and we had been tube-hopping all day.

  Jack spent a lot of his childhood running around the Tube network with his parents and younger brother, and he was at home in the crowds and noise. Hell, he strode through the stations like he owned the place. He was like a lion on his own ground. At first I was surprised that humans couldn't see it, until I noticed the way the eyes of certain women turned to follow him as we walked past, and certain men hurried to get out of his way.

  We went through the ticket barriers and headed down the escalators. I had no idea which platform we were headed for. I was just following Jack.

  Coming towards us was a woman in a plum-colored business suit, talking on her cellphone, an aura of self-importance surrounding her. She glanced up and away, then her eyes swiveled back. Her gaze locked onto my man's face and a small smile blossomed on her lips.

  I tightened my grip on his hand as she walked past us. I knew without having to turn around that she was looking over her shoulder at him.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  I sighed. He can be so clueless at times. Put him in a combat situation and he'll spot the single vampire half a mile away buried under a pile of manure. Put him in a room full of women wearing 'I ♥ Jack' t-shirts and he wouldn't notice a thing.

  “Just some woman checking you out.”

  He groaned.

  “Honestly, I'd almost rather be fighting vamps,” he whispered.

  “No you wouldn't,” I replied.

  “Nah, you're right.”

  We stepped out onto a platform just as the Tube train pulled in. The doors swished open and, after a few passengers had stepped out, we boarded.

  I found a seat and Jack planted himself in front of me, hanging onto one of the handrails.

  An electronic voice informed us which station we were on, which line we were on, and reminded us to mind the gap, then the doors swooshed closed.

  I looked up at Jack and I couldn't help but smile. Putting his back to the carriage may have seemed like a bad idea, but he was facing the big window behind me. Once we pulled out of the station and into the tunnel it would be an almost perfect mirror. He would be able to see the entire carriage by moving his head a little to the left and right.

  He glanced down at me and winked.

  CHAPTER

  2

  The tube train swayed as it negotiated the pre-war underground tunnels. I watched the carriage in the window behind Marie. The Tube wasn't particularly dangerous these days, and never really was too dangerous for a purebreed werewolf and a man carrying at least fourteen deadly weapons—and more importantly, the know-how to use them—but I didn't want trouble to start, no matter how fast I could end it.

  I loved the Tube. One of my earliest memories was of my father and the Tube. We were tiny kids but Dad didn't drive, so every year for Christmas we would ride the train into London, go through London on the Tube, and then catch another train out to where our grandparents lived. Dad would have a big suitcase in each hand, me under one arm, my brother under the other, both of us hanging onto his nearest trouser pocket, with Mum close behind us, and with military precision we'd negotiate the crowds and mow down anyone foolish enough to get in our way. At least that's how I remember it. I remember my father: big, tall, strong, always smelling faintly of Old Spice and his favorite pipe tobacco—Clansman I think it was called—and nothing could get in his way. He was friendly and funny, but if you got on his bad side he could blister the paint on the wall at fifty paces.

  I suddenly found myself, as I did from time to time, missing them more than I could say. It had been five years and I'd never allowed myself time to properly grieve. Dad would have been proud of me. Mum, well, mum would have worried a lot. I know that they'd both have loved Marie.

  I glanced left and right, blinking away the tears that had formed. It was no surprise that I had a hatred for the vampires that burned in me like a red-hot iron.

  Marie lay her hand on my stomach, concern in her eyes. She could see I was having trouble and wanted to help. Abruptly she stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. I burst out laughing. Marie knows me too well sometimes. Laughter was probably the only thing that would have helped me at that moment.

  The train slowed and came to a halt at Baker Street station and I grabbed Marie's hand.

  “Come on, our stop,” I said.

  She followed me out onto the platform and I pulled her back against the wall, enfolding her in a hug.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Thinking sad thoughts, my love?” she asked.

  “My parents. It's because of them that I love the Underground so much.”

  “I'm sorry love,” she said. “I know how you feel.”

  “I know you do, puppy” I said.

  “Yeah, I suppose the vamps robbed our cubs of both sets of grandparents.”

  “We have cubs?” I asked.

  “Well, not yet.”

  Suddenly a weird thought occurred to me.

  “Why do werewolves call them cubs? Surely they're puppies?”

  “Yes and no. Baby werewolves are puppies. Once they get old enough to walk they're cubs until they become adults.”

  “So like, baby, child, adult, but puppy, cub, adult?”

  “Well, more like puppy, then cub, then juvenile, then adult. Like humans have adolescent or teenager?”

  “I'll take your word for it,” I said. “So me calling you 'puppy' is like...”

  “You calling a human girlfriend 'baby', I suppose. I just think it's cute.”

  “'Girlfriend'?”

  “You'd prefer 'wife'?”

  “I was thinking 'fuck buddy'.”

  She slapped me on the arm, harder than she probably intended.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Well you shouldn't say things like that,” she said, giggling. “You might get hurt.”

  “I'll bear that in mind,” I said, rubbing my arm. “We have to move. Our train is due in six minutes.”

  We crossed to the right platform and stood back against the wall. Marie had claimed my hand again and was gripping it in both of hers.

  “Jack? Did I freak you out when I mentioned cubs?”

  “No, sweetheart. Why would it freak me out?”

  “Isn't it supposed to freak men out when women start talking about children?”

  I shrugged.

  “Maybe, I suppose.”

  “And what about the fact that
they will be cubs? Human-werewolf pairings produce purebreed werewolves. Does that bother you?”

  “Can we even have kids?” I asked doubtfully.

  “Sure we can, honey,” she said. “You know Tanya and Richard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Richard's a purebreed, Tanya's human.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I'd have put money on the other way around,” I said, laughing. “He's so laid back and she's ... she growled at me once.”

  “Pissed off stop-it-or-I'll-break-your-arm growl or sexy I-want-to-rip-off-your-clothes growl?”

  I blinked, pondering the difference.

  “I'm not sure, now.”

  “You're never sure, love,” she replied, squeezing my arm. “You used to think I was just being friendly every time I hugged or kissed you. Come on, what's a girl got to do? Hit you over the head? How on Earth you got a reputation as a ladies man I have no idea.”

  “I guess some women just figured out that they had to hit me over the head to get my attention,” I said. “And went ahead and did it.”

  “Yeah, don't want to talk about that part of your history,” she said, pouting.

  “Hey, you started it,” I said. “And, from another point of view, you finished it.”

  “I did, didn't I?” she said, a cute little smile touching her lips.

  “For good,” I said, a statement and a promise.

  The train pulled in and we boarded the mostly-empty carriage.

  “Where are we going?” asked Marie, once she was seated and I was stationed in front of her.

  “A little place I know in Hammersmith,” I replied.

  The train journey took a good ten minutes, most of which was above ground, so Marie and I spent the time watching the scenery go by. I sat down next to her, my arm around her waist, pointing out things we could see along the train route.