by L. A. Banks
Sasha smiled as the very grumpy man on the other end of the line cut off her statement and called her a bitch. “Loser,” she murmured as she fled the apartment and left the building in a much more traditional way than she’d come in. At least Jim’s door would be repaired. But what a fiasco.
Woods, thank God, had a town house. Something still gnawing her gut made her hell-bent on checking up on all her guys, just to be on the safe side. When she pulled her SUV up into his driveway, she knew it would be easy to walk around the periphery, find a window or something, and get in. If he had an alarm, oh, well . . . she just needed a few moments to establish that he hadn’t been home in a while and was on a mission.
It was easy, too easy, to get in through a back window. She would have to tell Woods that when he got home. A quick jab with an elbow against glass, a small breaking sound that was not loud enough to rouse neighbors, and she was up, over, and in.
His place was much neater than Jim’s by far, but her nose told her that he, too, hadn’t been home in a while. It was still a bachelor’s pad, mainly comprised of sound system technology, televisions, music, and a Bowflex.
She made a quick reconnaissance through the small town house and sighed a breath of relief as she made her way through the house to leave, then remembered the window. Grudgingly she stopped and looked around for something to help secure it.
“Damn, Sasha . . . you are just cuttin’ one helluva swath through this town tonight, aren’t ya, girl?”
Unfortunately, if she was going to secure Darien’s house, she’d have to go to his basement, find a board, cover it, and then nail it shut from the outside; all this assuming he had said implements in his basement and that she could do all this without alerting neighbors. A royal pain in the ass. There had to be an easier way.
She went to the basement door and opened it, but an eerie feeling of being watched made her hesitate at the top of the steps. Unfounded wariness made her slowly close the door again and move away from it.
Going back out the window quickly, she strolled around to the front of the house and went to the nearest neighbor’s home that had a car in the driveway. As pleasantly as possible she leaned on a bell until lights came on, and then looked at the disheveled occupants who opened their door as though she were selling Girl Scout cookies at high noon.
“Hi, I’m Sasha, a friend of your neighbor Darien Woods.” She motioned to Darien’s town house and kept a pleasant expression for the middle-aged couple. “While he goes out of town sometimes, he always asks me to just cruise by to be sure everything’s okay at his house, and I noticed his back window was smashed. Did you guys hear anything?”
The man wearing a blue flannel robe stepped forward and peered down the street as his wife leaned forward, craning her neck to get a better look.
“No,” he said, squinting. “Honey, maybe we should call the cops.”
“Yeah,” Sasha said. “Good idea. I have to go to work, you know, four A.M. shift, but uh, I’d hate to have another prowler get in his place once the cops give the all clear.”
“Bud, maybe you could put a board up over the break and nail his window shut,” his wife said, clutching her robe against the elements. “I mean, that’s the least we could do as neighbors—since that poor man’s home might have been burglarized while he was away in the military and all.”
“Yeah, yeah, call the cops, and I’ll put on my clothes. Once they say it’s clear, I’ll do that.” The husband turned to Sasha. “Thanks, miss. Good thing ole Woodsy’s got good friends keeping a lookout. Can’t be too sure these days, either, no matter how nice the neighborhood; crime is everywhere.”
“Yep, I hear you,” Sasha said, feeling slightly guilty for the necessary ruse, but very relieved.
At least she had a key to Rod’s place and could avoid the melodrama.
HE HADN’T PLANNED on driving up the mountain in the rental car until morning. Knew well before Woods and Fisher had called that he would make the drive that was long overdue. Knew it the moment the general had threatened Sasha and he’d heard about Rod’s loss that he was going to see an old friend. Knew that going to see that friend would necessarily mean that he couldn’t take a vehicle that was tracked, like the government-issued one he normally drove.
Knew that he’d have to put on brand-new clothes and put his money in a brand-new wallet . . . would have to get rid of everything they could have bugged before he left. Knew that since he’d been home with his rental car tucked inside his garage the whole time . . . several hours during his watching, listening, with new alarm codes set on the keypad . . . he was certain the vehicle was clean. Knew that he had forty-eight hours to return so he could be in place when Sasha received her new orders.
Paranoia had been his watchword for more than thirty years and it served him well now.
Dr. Xavier Holland cleared his windshield with his sleeve as the mountain air became more frigid and biting, his vehicle headed for the small, privately owned Ute tribal outpost just over the ridge three hours away in the Uncompahgre National Forest. This was something he had to do.
BY MID-STEP ON Rod’s town house landing, she could literally smell that something was terribly wrong. Not caring if anyone saw her now at three-thirty in the morning, she drew her nine-millimeter and carefully opened his front door with a key.
The stench was so acrid that she immediately covered her nose with her forearm and breathed against her leather jacket sleeve. Her eyes watered as her horrified gaze took it all in. Flies fled toward the porch light, despite the frigid temps. Carcasses littered the floors. A chant took over her mind: Oh. God. Oh, God. Please, not Rod.
Remnants of a dog with tags still dangling from the collar around its neck lay at her feet. Sasha shut her eyes and swallowed hard and then opened them again as she stood in the dark about to dry-heave. Half of a cat. Her eyes followed the scattered entrails to discover the other half of it on the sofa. Her line of vision tracked a wide smear of dried blood across what had once been gleaming hardwood floors and a Turkish rug to the stairs that led to Rod’s bedroom. At the top of the landing her stricken gaze stopped at a well-eaten deer carcass and everything that was wriggling on it.
Trembling with revulsion, she briefly lowered her arm away from her face and did the unthinkable—she took in a substantial inhale through her nose and began to separate the scents. She had to know if there might be a human body inside this town-house-turned-tomb. She no longer feared that Rod’s would be among any human remains she might find. Her sole objective was to know in advance where she might find such carnage before she tripped over it and freaked out. But the scent scan only revealed Rod’s unmistakable signature and that of animal remains.
Deeper worries claimed her, however. They’d all been sent to Afghanistan together, and if Rod had flipped out like this . . . Perhaps the least of her worries was the strange wolf.
Sasha kept walking, patrolling, not even sure of what she was searching for, because Rod was obviously not there.
Rivulets of sweat coursed down her back now, the death vibrations were so intense in the confined space. Every fiber of her was poised to bolt and run toward fresh air. She wanted to feel the cleansing power of the night and wind on her skin to peel off the wretched scents that clung to her hair and clothes.
Her sweater and pants stuck to her as she eased deeper into the apartment, her gun in a lethal grip, her chest rising and falling in short agonized bursts. Foul-scent taste covered her tongue as she sipped the decay-thickened air. She headed for the refrigerator to see if his vials were still there. Her cowboy boot crunched something that she hoped was plastic.
She stooped down and picked up a crushed needle and then gazed at the kitchen floor strewn with his entire month’s supply of them. Frantic, she began picking each one up and inspecting it in the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows. Each had serum residue in it. The cabinets down low were shredded with huge claw marks, as were the tiles.
Mentally reconstructin
g, she looked at the abused condition of what had once been new appliances. It seemed as though he’d gone to the refrigerator, gotten his meds . . . panicked . . . got more . . . and more . . . nearly overdosing to stop something from happening. She swallowed hard, knowing now what that something was. She squatted low and touched a cabinet with trembling fingertips and allowed them to follow the deep gashes in the wood. He’d fallen, convulsed, and Turned. She drew her hand back quickly as though it had been burned, and stood.
“Oh, Rod . . .” she whispered into the emptiness around her. “One of us should have been here with you.” For a moment the room became blurry. “I should have been here with you.” But if she had been, what could she have done?
“I wish you had been,” a low, gravelly voice said.
Sasha jerked her attention toward the voice, muscles coiled, heart beating in near arrhythmia as she spied Rod in the hall shadows. From his silhouette she could see that he was naked and his hair tousled. But his eyes . . . God in heaven, they glowed in the darkness. Instinct made her level her weapon at him.
“Missed you, babe,” he said with chilling amusement in his voice. “I got fucked up in Afghanistan, had to come home to heal.”
She could barely speak, but slowly moved out of the kitchen where she felt boxed in. Trapped. “What happened over there, Rod?” she whispered.
He let out a long exhale as though bored. “The pack turned on me, babe. Fucking losers.” He stepped forward and she noticed that he favored his left side. “But I ate, and I feel so much better now. Did I mention that I missed you?”
“You’ve gotta get to a hospital . . . to Doc Holland on the base. He’s the only one that knows how—”
“No,” Rod said with a menacing snarl. “It’s gone too far for that. I finally figured out how to heal on my own. Sasha, it is so good.”
All she could do was stare at him, blood draining from her knuckles as she gripped her nine and he slowly walked forward. Doc had told them how bad it could get. That they could actually become what they’d hunted.
“Don’t move!” she shouted, backing up into the kitchen again as he stepped into a shard of moonlight. His once handsome mouth was distended by a set of upper and lower canine teeth. Nearly hyperventilating, she supported her right hand with her left.
“Open the fridge,” he said in a too-calm voice. “You’ll see that I’ve finally beaten this thing.”
Sasha froze in the middle of the kitchen floor, half afraid to open the refrigerator, not sure what she’d find. Dried, blackened blood covered the counters and cabinets. Every surface was scarred. Sweat was beginning to bead on her brow. She was so close to vomiting that it was hard to breathe. The stench of death in the air revolted her as she opened the fridge with two fingers.
Soft appliance light from the refrigerator illuminated the darkened kitchen. She practically gagged at the mixture of spoiled food scents and rotting animal flesh in the room, but was thankful that there wasn’t anything weird in there to further claw at her heart. She shut the door and fell against the appliance and then wiped her brow with her forearm, mentally spent, but kept her weapon and eyes on the potential threat.
A low rumbling chuckle filled the kitchen. “See. No meds left, and I’m fine,” Rod said, moving closer. “The first time you change is the worst. After that, you can go back, once you eat. That’s all we have to do, baby, is eat once the wolf hits.” He stopped advancing as she took a wide-legged stance, nine-millimeter at the ready. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Sasha. All those nights we used to have fun together with the pack . . . now we can take it to another level. We’ve both thought about it. C’mon, why would I hurt you, babe?” He glanced down his body and chuckled. “Does it look like I wanna hurt you?”
Tears had made her vision blurry as she looked at the man who’d once been her mentor. Something horrible filled his green eyes; his hair seemed to be getting longer and shaggier as she stared at him. His shoulders were now roped with layers of sinew that he’d never owned and his fists were gnarled and huge. That he was standing before her with a dripping erection amid the carnage in his home revolted her. She blinked away the tears and swallowed hard. “Rod, back up,” she said in a near whisper. “Don’t make me kill you.”
He didn’t back up, but didn’t advance, either. He tilted his head as his gaze narrowed. “What did you say?”
The two stared at each other for what felt like forever.
“Not you,” he snarled. “You’ve turned on me, too!”
Her gaze ricocheted around the small enclosure for a way out. He was blocking the entrance, but the pass-through was a slim option. And that’s when she glimpsed it: a severed, naked female foot just behind the wrecked entertainment center.
It all happened in what felt like slow motion. Rod’s gaze followed and trapped hers; in a blur of transition the sound of bones cracking and form changing filled the room. Sweat was flung off her brow as she instantly pivoted, lined up her shot with his chest, and squeezed. Something huge and dark and incomprehensible was airborne and coming her way. She stooped and kept firing into the barrel chest, momentum causing the creature to continue hurtling forward. It collided with the wall; she was up and had backed far away from the crumpled form in seconds, weapon still trained on it while she gasped for air.
What had been a beast was slowly transforming into the naked body of a man—the man she knew as Captain Rod Butler. The man she’d known as her mentor and potential lover. Glassy green eyes stared up at her, and a destroyed chest and torso lay open and gutted. Every now and then the body twitched, making her start. She swallowed hard and covered her mouth with one hand, but kept her right arm extended with her gun on the beast.
“This is what I had come to warn you of,” a deep male voice said in the shadows.
Sasha spun, fired several shots not caring, her ears tuned to the movement that was agilely sweeping past furniture and rounding the living room. In flashes she could see a huge outline as she caught glimpses between shadows, her body turning three hundred and sixty degrees to follow it as she ran into the living room, splintering wall units, shattering windows, sending shells into brick and drywall—then suddenly she was pinned from behind, both arms held tightly to her sides by incredible pressure and strength.
A fierce, angry growl tore from her throat at the same second her cowboy boot heel came down hard on an instep and her body lurched the massive weight over her. For a second the image sprawled on the floor, and she fired at it two-handed, but in another second it was gone.
“Stop shooting, you’ll kill an innocent!” a deep, rough voice commanded.
“Fuck you!” she yelled back, trying to get a bead on his location from his voice.
“The drywall,” the voice said, winded but continuing to move, making her circle with it. “Nines go through that and brick and windows—kids, mothers, regular people live here, Sasha, stop fucking shooting! I came to be sure he didn’t attack you!”
She couldn’t catch her breath, but could hear sirens in the distance. His words made her stop for a split second and think beyond the survival panic. Her mind latched on to the image of Jim’s innocent neighbors as her line of vision caught sight of some family’s dead golden retriever in the middle of Rod’s living room floor. Her mind quickly brought up memories of being at his home during football games, and seeing children sledding. The front bay window had been blown out. Sirens were getting closer. Dogs were barking. An unseen threat was in the room with her. Moonlight and freedom was calling her name. Rod’s dead body was in the kitchen. The authorities wouldn’t understand.
“Your boots, your car, your jacket, your phone, everything on you is being tracked by someone, Sasha!” the voice said in a low, urgent whisper. But it hadn’t moved from the last location, wasn’t circling her as though hunting her, and spoke at a level only one with superior hearing could detect. “Listen to the tone of the tracking devices—can’t you hear them? The high-pitched whine? Stop taking their medicin
e and you’ll be able to call your wolf!”
Two lunges and she’d reached the spoiled sofa, hit the back of it, and propelled herself in a flip roll through the front window. She landed on the hood of her Nitro on all fours. He knew her name. He’d been following her all night, of that she was now sure. He’d been in Darien’s basement—that had to be what she’d sensed. She was inside her car within seconds, engine started, wheels screeching and eating up asphalt as she careened out of the driveway.
Where to go, where to go! Her mind was ablaze. She couldn’t lead this thing back to her apartment where she might have to engage it in a firefight to kill it. God forbid stray shells might pierce a wall to harm Mrs. Baker. But she had to draw it to where she could even the odds. Ronnie’s lot, now that the place was closed. There wasn’t another building for miles and the lot was wide open and surrounded by a thicket of mature trees.
Sasha slid into the exit on two wheels, dangerously close to a rollover, but kept going. Yeah. She had all sorts of ammo in her trunk—of the automatic variety. Something was tracking her, someone was hunting her. Rod had Turned. Woods and Fisher, her best friends in the whole world, were missing, too. Doc was unreachable. Yet the stranger spoke levels of truth. Her bullets could have killed someone.
She said a quick prayer that Butter’s neighbors had been in bed; that her wild shots had passed over sleeping heads but hadn’t struck anyone.
Driving like a maniac, she reached down and yanked off her left cowboy boot heel, ripping the slanted wood block from the leather in one tear and then looked at it hard. Nothing.
“Bullshit!” she shouted, but still crossed her left shin beneath her right calf to trade feet on the gas and removed the heel from her right boot.