by Jess Haines
“How long do we want to wait for these things to bunk down? I’m supposed to be at work in six hours. Can we try this again during the day, when they’re all asleep?”
I turned a baleful look on Adam. He really was getting on my last nerve. “If you knew you were going to have to go to work, why did you agree to come on this run?”
He scoffed. “Lady, have you ever tried saying no when Jack asked you to do something?”
That wasn’t a question I was about to answer. Not here, not now. Not after the conversation I’d just had this morning.
Keith was tapping an absent beat on the steering wheel with his fingertips. “You guys tell me. I’m just the driver. You want to call it a night and work out an alternate plan?”
The van wasn’t made for pacing, but I wished I could get up and work off some energy. The need to move was driving me bonkers. The belt wasn’t helping. It had kept quiet, not intruding on my thoughts, but it was radiating an emotional gamut that I was in no mood to deal with. Excitement, desire, hatred, bloodlust—all the emotions that I should have welcomed but couldn’t stand to deal with—were rattling around in my head. Right now, I needed to be cold and calculating, or I wasn’t going to come out of this fight alive.
“We can’t walk away. We don’t know how long they’ll stay here. By tomorrow, they could be gone. This has to be done tonight.”
Bo nudged me with his boot. “That’s great, but we need to know what to do. Jack has always been the mastermind behind everything. He didn’t mention any contingencies on this one. Somebody else feel like stepping up to bat?”
“I think we should go,” Nikki said, her eyes closed and her head tilted back to rest on the wall of the van. “We didn’t have enough time to call in backup from the units in Jersey or Connecticut, and we don’t have the manpower to deal with this many Weres. They’ll know something is wrong the instant we try to torch the building—they can smell it or sense it or something. I’m not interested in waltzing into a deathtrap. We have to call it quits and come back later.”
Some big, brave hunter she turned out to be. I got to my feet, stalking to the end of the van and shoving the back door open. Jason grabbed my arm, his thick, tree-trunk muscles straining to hold me back despite the fact that I was less than half his body weight.
“Didn’t you hear her? We’re going back. Sit down.”
I turned a contemptuous look on him, my lip curling as I shoved his shoulder, breaking his grip. He stared up at me in shock, mouth dropping open. No one my size should have been able to push off that mountain of muscle like he weighed no more than a child, but the belt made it all possible.
“I’m not going back. If I have to do this by myself, I will.”
Bo clambered to my side, shooting a look at Jason, who was now watching me with the expression of someone who has just discovered that a poisonous scorpion has taken up residence between his legs in his bedroll. They might have heard some talk about my infection, but I suppose it was a different thing when you were faced with the reality of it staring you in the eye.
The others reluctantly followed me out, taking Bo’s cue. Nikki, Adam, then Jason, dragging his feet and watching me warily. They kept their distance, occasionally turning a nervous glance to the house. The longer we were out in the open, the more likely it was one of the Weres or the neighbors would notice us.
While it was a flash of heated anger that sent me stalking out of the van, now I felt cold certainty. There was no way I was going to survive this fight. The odds were too steep. We’d counted no less than six dominant wolves, plus the alpha, and a couple betas. Maybe, if we’d been able to stick to the original plan, maybe I could have walked away from that.
Not this. Not with what I had in mind. We’d stick to the plan, for the most part. The only change would be my role in it.
Strangely, I wasn’t afraid. My hands were rock steady when I held them up to get the White Hats to quiet down their urgent whispering amongst themselves. They shut their mouths and looked to me for direction.
Nikki’s mouth was set in a sardonic smirk, as though she was certain I was going to say something stupid. Jason and Adam had matching distrustful expressions. Bo was the only one who regarded me in the same way as ever—with what was probably a severely misplaced trust and attention.
“Okay, listen up,” I said, keeping my voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the sensitive ears of the Weres. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Bo, Jason, Adam—carry out your parts in the original plan, no change. Nikki, you’re going to take over for me.”
They all exchanged confused looks, though Nikki was quick to recover her sarcasm. “And I guess you’re just going to sit your ass out on this one, right? I knew we shouldn’t have listened—”
“Be quiet,” I said, the venom in those two words sufficient to make her take a nervous step back. “I’m going in the front. As soon as I’m in, hit the place with everything you’ve got. There won’t be time to pour the gas, so stick with the cocktails and the grenades, then switch to your firearms. Concentrate the grenades in the back and on the upper floors so you don’t incapacitate me along with our targets.”
Bo was quick to come to my side and grab my arm, shaking me. “Shiarra, no!”
“Are you insane? They’ll kill you! Tear you to shreds!” Keith stage-whispered from the front of the van. I hadn’t realized he could hear us from there.
“Forget the Weres,” Adam said, appalled. “What if you get hit by friendly fire? You can’t walk into the thick of that mess and get out again in one piece!”
I looked up into Bo’s face, something in my gut twisting at putting that worry and panic into his eyes. His dark skin was flushed; even in the shadows where we were parked, I could see it, clear as day. Smell the blood rushing to his skin. The thought of the fight to come hadn’t worked him up, but the idea of letting me walk into that house alone terrified him. I put my hand over his on my arm, giving his fingers a reassuring squeeze.
“I have to do this. There’s no other way to make sure the dangerous ones, Chaz and Dillon, don’t escape. I won’t let them walk away from this.”
I didn’t have to say they wouldn’t let me out alive, either. No doubt the hunters knew it as well as I did.
Bo shook me again, not hard, but enough to make it clear he wanted me to see sense and stop the crazy talk. “Look, I’ve seen you in action, but even you can’t take that many.”
Jason looked me up and down, fingering the bowie knife at his belt. “I don’t know. She’s capable of more than we thought. You have something up your sleeve, girl? Some secret weapon you plan on using while you’re in there?”
I gave him a look, and he held up his hands. “Hey, no harm in asking, right?” I didn’t dignify the comment with an answer.
“You’re crazy,” Nikki said, surprise and a grudging kind of admiration in her voice. “You really think you can survive this?”
I shook my head.
Adam gave a low whistle. “Man, didn’t think you had this kind of dedication to the cause. We won’t let you down.”
Bo’s fingers tightened painfully, even through the protection of my armor, pinching my skin. He didn’t seem to realize he was hurting me. “Shia, you can’t—you’ll never get out alive—”
I looked up into his dark brown eyes, locking gazes with him. That same, weird calm flooded through me, a certainty of the inevitability of what was to come. Somehow, my voice stayed steady and composed, even though I was sorrier than I could say to hurt Bo like this. “I know. Tell Jack I’m sorry. And don’t let any of them walk away from this. Burn it to the ground.”
Without another word, I pulled away and jogged across the street, not giving them another opportunity to pull me into an argument or to come up with reasons to put this off until later. I wasn’t sure how long this Zen-like state of mind was going to last. I needed to take advantage of it while I could.
I was dimly aware of the other hunters getting themselves into place. Bo tr
ied to come to my side, but Nikki pulled him past me and shoved him toward his designated position outside the house. Front yard, hidden behind a bush lining the walkway leading up to the house. I’d have to pass him on the way. He might try to stop me, so I’d have to be careful not to give him an opportunity to give us away.
Taking a deep breath, I took stock of my weapons while I waited for the other hunters to get under cover. My guns were in their holsters, ready for easy access. The belt was cinched tight around my waist, thrumming with something bordering on lust for the coming fight. Extra ammo clipped to the belt. Borrowed knives strapped to my outer thighs, ankles, and another at the small of my back. With a few careful tugs, the turtleneck was pulled just a bit higher on my throat, protecting me from any new claw or bite wounds. Not that it mattered much at this point.
A dim light shone from the side of the house, over by the trash cans. Everyone was in place. It was do or die time.
Another deep breath centered me, helped me focus on nothing but the front door as I strode forward. If I looked into Bo’s eyes one more time, I might lose my nerve and call this suicide mission off. There was no way I could allow that.
The bushes rustled as if he reached for me, tried to hold me back, but I used a bit of the belt’s gifts to speed past long before he could lay a hand on me or whisper at me to stop.
I took the few steps leading up to the porch one at a time, everything in that moment condensing into a need to face what lay behind that door. I could feel them in there. Their energy. Their smell; a tainted musk, unclean. Afraid of something. Maybe knowing I was coming for them.
Well. Wouldn’t do to disappoint them. I lifted my hand, glad of the studded leather gloves that Jack had found buried in a drawer and handed to me before we left for the mission earlier this evening. The sharp crack of the metal studs against the heavy wood, just under a Halloween ghost taped to the door, echoed down the quiet street, loud as a gunshot.
All sense of movement and sound from behind the door ceased. The tang of fear grew stronger, more bitter, sharper. I could taste it on my tongue, burning my taste buds like sucking on a copper penny.
Someone was approaching the door. I could feel the heat of them. Closing the distance. I closed my eyes and took one more breath, holding it, hoping it wouldn’t be my last. Drew my guns, running my leather-clad thumbs over the grips, before leveling them both at the entryway.
Slowly, the door swung open, the figure on the other side a silhouette against the lights burning deeper in the house. He or she gasped, a sharp intake of breath, only managing a single step back before I pulled the triggers.
“Knock, knock, bitches.”
Chapter 19
The gunshots would no doubt alert the neighbors that something was up, but I didn’t plan on this taking very long. I stepped over the corpse in the entryway, still twitching, the acrid stink of silver burn heavy on the air. A niggling thought rattled around in the back of my head that I should be sorry or horrified, but I ignored it.
Another Were was scuttling around somewhere beyond my line of sight, running away from me by the sound of it. There were also the stomach-churning wet cracking and groans, and the telltale rip of tearing fabric, coming from multiple sources somewhere in the house around me. The dominant wolves were pulling quick shifts, preparing for battle.
I paid no mind to the bottles of alcohol stuffed with burning rags that shattered the windows and set the furniture on fire, using the belt’s preternatural reflexes to dodge out of the way whenever one came too close. The picturesque, suburban perfection of the place was quickly being ruined by fire and ash. The added Styrofoam and dish soap we’d used would guarantee the house would be choked up with smoke in no time. The haze would provide cover, but could be more deadly than the Weres if I stayed inside too long.
Without hesitation, I pressed deeper inside, searching. There hadn’t been any gunshots or sounds of brawling from outside yet, so the monsters were all still trapped in here—with me.
Claws skittered across linoleum. I kept one gun in front of me, aimed low, the other held at my shoulder with the business end pointed at the ceiling. The clicking and scraping sounds grew louder as I approached. Turning the corner, I barely registered what I was seeing before the gun popped again, impossibly loud in the enclosed space.
A wolf—silvery gray fur, not big enough to be Chaz—let loose with a howl, charging at me, its paws slipping on the slick tile as it shot around the table that still burned with the remains of a shattered Molotov. There was blood on its shoulder, but clearly the silver bullet wasn’t enough to stop an enraged dominant Were. Jesus, the thing was huge—teeth as long as my fingers and a body that would put a St. Bernard to shame—and it looked like it was intent on latching onto my throat.
I barely had enough time to tuck the guns away before it bounded forward, knocking me back against the wall. It felt like the whole house shuddered under our weight. I got one arm under its mouth and the other hand buried in the fur on top of its skull, forcing its jaws shut. Claws raked down my chest, bruisingly hard, but the armor prevented it from flaying me open. Plaster dust drifted down around us like snow while we grappled.
The growls issuing from its throat were thunderous, so deep that my bones shivered in response. I voiced a low growl of my own, glaring into its yellow eyes with every ounce of hatred I could muster.
Tightening my grip, I gave its head a sudden twist, breaking its neck with a dull, meaty crack.
Satisfaction warred with relief and a dim sensation of horror at what I had just done.
The limp body slid to the floor with a thump. When I looked up, glowing green eyes were watching me from the shadows of a doorway across the room. The creature had fur so dark, it seemed to suck in the light, the shadowy outline of its hulking frame emphasized by the occasional spark from floating embers drifting through the open space between us.
It ducked its head under the frame and stepped into the room, having to stoop so as not to bang its head on the ceiling. Ropy muscle bulged across a thick chest and long, talon-tipped arms. Sleek black fur covered the vaguely humanoid frame of the monster before me. It moved with a smooth, deliberate grace as it approached me. A beautiful and terrible hybrid of human and wolf, like a magnificent living sculpture of pure, condensed predator, coming for my blood.
A predator I recognized.
Dillon.
The rat bastard. The asshole who had infected me.
His lip lifted, revealing yellowed dagger fangs, even bigger than those of the wolf I’d just defeated. Claw-tipped fingers spread, and he arched his back, dog-like head lowering until he was nearly my height and presenting a slightly smaller target. Say, the size of a VW Bug instead of an Escalade.
My own lips pulled back in a rictus grin, the skin stretched so tight over my teeth that my cheeks ached. As Dillon growled, so did I, one hand closing on a stake. He stepped forward with a heavy thump, spreading his arms and flexing his fingers so the light could catch on those obsidian claws. A challenge, daring me to come at him first.
There was no way in hell I was going down without taking Dillon with me. Now that he was within sight, all the bitter, hateful things that had brought me to this point rattled around in my skull, shattering that icy calm to release the rage frozen deep inside.
Jim Pradiz might have been a sleazeball, and his methods of reporting might have been deplorable, but he’d been a good man at heart. He’d tried to protect me in his own, twisted way. And he was dead because of the Sunstrikers. The belt whispered that Dillon might have even been the one to kill him.
My arm sported scars from those sickle-like claws. More than likely, I’d be some monstrous beast like the one standing right in front of me once the moon waxed full. Because of Dillon.
The mess I had gotten into with the Sunstrikers, including my probable infection, had made it into the papers, and had led up to my father’s disowning me and telling me I wasn’t his little girl anymore.
All b
ecause of Dillon.
An inhuman howl split the air, shrieking, earsplitting, shaking the house to its foundations. The very air vibrated with the sound, and Dillon cringed back from it, covering his tufted ears. It drowned out the sound of the crackling flames, the shouts of the White Hats outside, the answering cries of the other werewolves in the house.
It came from me.
I’ve heard people talk about a red haze taking over their vision in moments of extreme rage. That had always sounded stupid to me. An exaggeration, used as a way to say you were too stoked by anger to really notice what was going on around you during a battle, that’s all.
Until that moment—that moment when I lived and breathed that furious beast, screamed to the heavens with all of the pain and anguish and hatred that had been stored in my mind, battling for release since the clusterfuck that my life had become began spiraling out of control less than a month ago—I’d thought the red haze of rage was nothing more than a joke.
It wasn’t. The sound that came from me should never have come from a human’s vocal cords. My eyes felt like they must be glowing like the fire licking at the curtains over the sink and eating away at the oak table a few feet away. There was no room in this body for all of the heat and rage it contained. This weak flesh was not enough to hold it in. It needed release.
It needed to punish.
Dillon retreated, lowering his head and skittering back from me like a giant, frightened dog.
I followed him, stalking forward with a slow, deliberate pace, knowing that this moment was inevitable. That it had been coming from the moment he scratched me. The moment he first tried to hunt me, back in that filthy, dark alley outside of Royce’s restaurant, back before we battled the crazy sorcerer. He could run. He could hide. But I would find him, and I would end him, just like I’d find and end Chaz.