Bad Blood

by L. A. Banks

  Dexter was shivering but still seemed like he wanted in on the negotiations. “Let’s put it this way, the humans had a stash of werewolf toxin that finally got out into the black market . . . it’s damned easier to get it out of vials than off one of those motherfuckers.”

  “One of us always gets badly ripped up when trying to capture them alive,” Guillaume said nonchalantly. “Recently, when we figured this awesome shit out, we tried getting a live one of our own. Results were ugly and the damned thing torched when our hunter crew had to blow it away or die. That’s what’s been happening to the different human factions who want one, too. The only way to drag one in alive is to figure out what human has the virus, and then grab him before the full moon. Gotta get the SOB before he Turns, get his blood just before he goes into transition while enough virus is pumping through him. But nobody but the American feds has really been able to figure out yet how to contain the damned thing once you catch it.”

  “That’s what drives the price up,” Dexter said, sniffing with a leering smile. “Supply and demand, brother.”

  “But God bless America, the humans had a live one in a lab, until they had to snuff him. Had an exhaustive supply of the good stuff, already packaged in vials. We heard you were seeing this chick that has pure shadow in her. Maybe between her and some of the other bitches that you could get to be donors, we could do a little business with the humans. Once they see there’s another use for the product beyond making soldiers, somebody will wanna get paid. You know once a new drug is made, you can’t keep it off the streets. Besides, they need another werewolf to run tests on. We can get them that, since we have virus now— in fact, seems every one of their nations wants one to play with. All we have to do is shoot up some Joe Schmoe, they lock him up, and he’ll Turn on the next full moon. Shadows who want the product, can pay for the product—then pay for what they need to come down.”

  “You can buy your way out of being a beta, man,” Dexter said, laughing. “Fuck an alpha challenge. With this shit in your veins—you’re invincible.”

  “Here’s the best part, though,” Guillaume said with a sinister smile. “Not only will their nations pay, but we’ve got a contact real high up that found out it works on them, too.” He looked both ways and his snarly smile widened to reveal yellowing teeth. “If the humans shoot up with a werewolf vial, they get like us. If they then take a hit of shadow blood, it brings ’em right back.” He leaned in toward Max. “But it’s a permanent condition. Once they go werewolf, they can’t go back . . . have to keep taking the shadow hits—this is where we rule the free fucking world.”

  “I know you want in, man,” Dexter said. “You’re the only one who got bitten back in the day and have both wolf strains in you—you’ve always been rogue. You’re like us. The three of us could hunt werewolves together, go through demon doors and bring them out alive. Normal shadows can’t. Humans can’t. Do you know how much one would bring on the open market? So, what do ya say? You in or out?”

  Max stared at them for a moment, trying to decide which one to attack first.

  Guillaume’s gaze narrowed. “The choice is really rather simple, mon ami.” He held up two massive fists. “On the one hand is world-dominating wealth and power, on the other hand is your certain demise. You can either work with us and make your lady help us with her inside-the-system connections . . . or we can just go find Silver Shadow and the rest of your pack that’s still holding out for your decision. Be wise, think carefully. We can still make the downer product the hard way, with your asses in chains. You decide. But remember, these were the shadows who always ostracized you. Surely you’re not going to protect a bunch of sons of bitches that made your life a living hell?” Guillaume shook his head as he lowered his hands and clasped them behind his back. “Tell me you’re not that stupid.”

  “Who’s your contact?” Max asked as calmly as possible. They obviously needed something else from him, or he wouldn’t still be alive. It had to be his connection to Sasha and her ability to get in and out of the labs. Max measured his response, trying to probe for more information. “I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

  “Uh-uh, uuuhhhh . . .” Guillaume said, wagging his finger. “Cut us out, non. We cannot have that.” He glanced at the human henchmen. “These gentlemen also need to get paid. They work for various government human interest groups who want to be sure their investments are protected. So, I cannot, mon ami—even though we go way back.”

  “Not to cut you out,” Max said, backing up as they continued circling. “But to be sure we don’t get screwed. Like, I don’t want to find me and my lady chained to a lab table for the rest of our lives.”

  “Don’t worry. A human who tried to back out of the deal got his face ripped off. We won’t let you get screwed—but we won’t be, either.” Guillaume stared at Max hard and dropped his voice to a lethal whisper. “Now, for the last time, old friend, are you in or out?”

  Footfalls yanked their attention in the same direction at the same time. Sasha! Unaware of the ambush, she broke through the barred door in a black leather blur, her black combat boots sounding as she landed hard, one hand on the floor to catch her balance.

  “Get her! Take her down alive, what’s in her veins is worth her weight in gold!” Guillaume shouted to the henchmen by the door.

  Max whirled around before Guillaume could bring his attention back to him, and with the dumbbell in hand, he crashed it into Dexter’s jaw. Guillaume transformed right before his eyes with Dexter, both ripping through their clothes to become huge, upright walking lycanthropes with extended demon claws, red glowing eyes, and distorted snouts. Sasha moved like greased lightning, going in and out of shadows, silver nine gleaming as she took a single, dead-aim shot each time, felling snarling predators by the exits with a bullet right between their eyes.

  Spinning into the shadows, Max came out in flashes, wielding the dumbbell to crush skulls, break femurs, and drop Uzis before they got a shot off. But to his horror, Sasha rushed into the commotion, as panicked human henchmen began firing. Machine gunfire split the walls and shattered windows, spitting death in her direction. Enraged, half-transformed demons dashed after Max, chasing him into the shadows, but their deformed shapes never took to the shadows.

  “Run!” Max shouted. “They can’t cloak in the darkness!”

  To give Sasha time to somersault away from a spray of Uzi bullets, Max hurled the short dumbbell, felling Guillaume temporarily. As Dexter fled, Max grabbed the long two-hundred-and-fifty-pound bench press weights by one end of the plate stack and swung it like a discus— releasing it to wipe out six human weapons bearers.

  Sasha became liquid motion, heading into the shadows at breakneck speed. Max was right behind her. The demons were on the move, and they had to get them. Out in the frigid blast, he and Sasha hunted side by side. She ditched her spent nine-millimeter, threw him a partially spent Uzi, and kept one for herself. He sniffed the magazine. They glanced at each other and nodded. Silver.

  As they stalked through the shadows for their fast-moving prey, they both seemed to know that this was only the tip of the iceberg. A slight scrape sounded above. They both looked up and fired. A huge compressor came hurtling down. Max pushed Sasha away and crashed through the wall. He heard her gunfire report and then heard the gun hit the ground. A large metal rail whizzed out of nowhere toward him and grazed his shoulder as he ducked. He headed toward Sasha, but a huge predator tackled him from above.

  Zigzagging through the debris and warehouse shadows, Sasha had the dark-haired demon in her sights, if she could just get around him . . .

  Cutting through the buildings, she tried to take a shortcut to head him off. She refused to lose him, had to bring the target down. Max exploded out of the side of a building with his hands gripped around the throat of the demon, its claws digging into his neck—she gave up pursuit of her target and was wolf.

  Airborne, she came down on the back of the huge demon, savagely tearing into his neck.
He screamed and released Max for a second as he tried to get Sasha off his back. In that brief moment when he stood, Max became all wolf, his massive jaws gouging out the demon’s exposed underbelly.

  Entrails everywhere, Sasha had the upper section of the beast, Max had the lower section of it, and they pulled in unison, severing the body. Max leaped over what was left and brutally tore the head from the body, exploding the creature into a bright spray of burning embers.

  He nuzzled her quickly, eyes alert, she flanked him for a moment as they caught the scent of the one that got away and bounded in the direction of the fleeing demon. But as they leaped from shadow to shadow he began to skid to a halt to slow down as his amulet warmed, then began to burn.

  It all happened in slow motion. He didn’t have time to teach her to read the warning and she was leaping shadows too fast. He shifted into human form and tried to keep up with her wolf, yelling for her not to follow it into the shadow where it was headed. But she turned back to look at him in midair. Pure momentum did the rest as he yelled, “No!”

  THIS WAS THE coldest, darkest shadow she’d ever encountered. It had no bottom, it seemed, because she just kept tumbling, falling faster and faster until her breath fled from her lungs. Then as the darkness abated to a dim twilight on the way down, fetid scents consumed her, turning her stomach.

  Scorching heat replaced the freezing darkness and tore at her skin, collapsed her chest, and made each breath a hot wheeze. Smoke caused her eyes to water, and when she hit bottom, the sound of cracking, snapping objects made her think she’d broken every bone in her body. She couldn’t breathe, much less pick up a scent in the horrible, foul air.

  Dazed and badly bruised, she gasped for breath, trying to stand. But her wolf had retreated from the sheer uncertainty of it all and her human hands pushed against what felt like bones and gore. When her eyesight finally took it all in, she resisted a scream and stood quickly on a pile of rotting bodies.

  Various stages of decay squished between her toes. The long silver amulet around her neck was glowing white-hot. Soon growls and barks filled the air with unmistakable howls of the hunt. She was under attack.

  Spinning in a quick circle, she tried to detect any form of cover, but the shadow trees were all filled with eyes. Survival her objective, she dug her hands into the pile and drew out the longest, most jagged bones she could and armed herself with a weapon in each hand.

  Something moved quickly and lunged. She ducked and came up beneath it with the sharp-edged bones and was showered with blood. Whatever it was, she got the best of it. Crouching, feral, she snarled as she keened her senses for the next attack. Something moved fast, was on one side of her, then the other. She spun and it came out to lunge for her throat and drew back. She speared it in the eye, a second of hesitation from the silver cost that particular beast.

  Backing up quickly, she dug in the pile for another bone to replace the one that had just saved her life. But rather than come away with a weapon, something had her by the wrist and was yanking her down.

  She would have swung a blade wild and cut off her own arm rather than go in the direction of the carnage to become a part of it. From some reservoir of strength she plunged her other hand down and stabbed as hard as she could—and fell back as she broke free. But multiple things landing and beginning to come out of the shadows told her that it would only be a matter of time. There were just too many of them. They all leered at her, walking upright on horribly half-bent hind legs, eyes gleaming, and fangs like yellowed, curved hooks dripping green-gray ooze. Their thick, matted fur was writhing with larvae. Surrounded, she clasped her amulet, looped it over her head, and held it out, brandishing it with one hand while wielding a thigh bone with the other.

  The largest one came forward first, sniffed the air and smiled, then lunged. Sasha ducked, swung the amulet and caught him in the cheek, then lobbed a punch that sent blood splattering. The place where the amulet struck began to burn, and the beast howled, quickly becoming completely engulfed in flames. The others snarled and barked at her for a few moments, eyes narrowed, and drew nearer.

  It was in their gleaming, evil gazes. They were weighing the odds. She might burn a few to death, but not all. If they rushed her, it was over.

  They went airborne. Sasha swung the amulet, spinning in a circle. To her surprise, the ones on the front line burned in the air, raining cinders down on her as a ring of fire set up a protective wall. A loud crashing sound made her jump back and she saw Max push off the feeding pile and rush toward the fire bearing an Uzi. He extended his hand through the inferno toward her and she clasped it without thinking twice, pulling him into the protective ring. The moment he was inside, he opened up with silver shells, cutting a swath in the twilight darkness, causing a demon retreat and opening a path.

  “Go!” he shouted, pulling her out of the safe ring.

  She looped the amulet over her neck, running hard and fast beside him. Sharp objects cut into her feet and soft gore made her refuse to look down. It was getting darker and darker. The encroaching cold was consuming, limb paralyzing.

  “You have to call your wolf to get out of here,” he shouted, breathing hard. “Don’t think—feel. Do!”

  In the next bound the gun fell away from his body and his forward-moving form transitioned into the beautiful, massive black wolf that he was inside. Only his amulet swung as he looked back at her with worried amber eyes. She ran to him and the fluid silver form came down on all fours to run hard and fast against the cold.

  Heavy headwinds knocked them back as they entered a realm of complete darkness. Total trust was her only companion. She had to hear his breaths, follow his heartbeat, and trust his body heat as they flanked each other— scent was near impossible in the freezing, howling blackness. Then there was light. Gray twilight and asphalt. They were back at the warehouse district.

  Max scented the ground and shook his head no.

  She transitioned. “Damn!”

  He transitioned beside her and punched a warehouse wall. “Son of a bitch!”

  “I can’t believe we lost one of ’em! Shit!” She walked in a circle, naked and shivering.

  Max pulled her into a shadow. “We’ve got to find our clothes and get out of here.”

  She nodded and moved with him, limping slightly, the soles of her feet bleeding.

  SHE HAD NEVER been big on being a thief, but sneaking into a vacant hotel room and getting a hot, soapy shower after where they’d been—hey. Having a fresh pair of clothes to put on and some gun shop ammo—definitely.

  Wolf stealth was awesome, but she felt more at home now that she had twin nine-millimeters stashed under her vest, a couple of assault rifles in easy reach in the car they’d hotwired, and a beautiful, serrated-edge hunting blade that looked like something out of the movie Psycho tucked in her new boots. What could she say? Call her crazy, but after the shit she’d just seen, she was a weaponscarrying kinda girl. Only thing missing was some C-4.

  Glad that Max’s healing hands were enough and she didn’t have to eat to close up the cuts and bruises, she thanked the Almighty. There was no question that she’d been sickened enough by what she’d seen to want to shut the doors to every hellhole realm.

  Max seemed as disgusted as she was, if not more so. Shadows were involved. Now he understood where she was coming from; not that she had ever wanted him to feel this sense of betrayal. But it did open his perspective on things—betrayal was betrayal. Some humans and nonhumans alike did things for selfish, personal gain. It made life suck for those individuals who were trying to live by some code called fair and moral. Her people, her government, had some shady dealings going on within its ranks and that made her ill.

  They sat together in a bar where he knew some people, staring down into their Guinness stout. She felt badly that he couldn’t trust a soul now, except his grandfather, Doc Holland, and her.

  Sasha covered his hand, watching the disillusion glitter in his intense expression. “I know,” she sa
id. “I just have you, Doc, and Silver Hawk.”

  Max shook his head. “They were Shadow clan, Sasha . . . for thousands of years our mission, our honor, has been the same.”

  She nodded and squeezed his hand. “A four-star general was playing God, and we don’t know why or how far up the food chain this bull goes on our end . . . There was some personal gain involved. Had to be.”

  Max lifted his head abruptly and stared at the television behind her. She spun in her chair.

  “They killed him,” Max said flatly. “Must have gone to his home, entered right through a window or vent shaft, and did him before he could draw his next breath. They said they’d ripped the face off a guy who didn’t want to play their game anymore. How much you wanna bet that your general didn’t have a heart attack like the media says?”

  Sasha just closed her eyes and took a sip of her beer. “I would have liked to have asked him some hard questions. Damn! Guess it’s between him and his maker now.”

  “You’ll have to be very careful going home . . . there’s going to be a witch hunt, or in our case, a wolf hunt.”

  “I know,” she said quietly, setting her beer down with precision. “Storm is almost going full blast, give it another hour or so.” She looked up at him and touched his face. “I’m going to call in from a pay phone using the code that connects me anywhere. I’ll tell them what I know so far and will make contact through the special line in Holland’s office that I know is recorded six ways from Sunday. That way, he won’t be implicated in keeping vital intel from them—I’m reporting in to a trusted source that I’m supposed to stay in contact with because of my medical condition. Then I’ll say I’m on the move because I’m being hunted, but I’ve made contact with my guide, you. Then it won’t seem like I’m running or you’re running . . . or like we were anywhere in the vicinity when the general, literally, lost his face.”