by S. E. Chase
Michael ran after Layton.
Idiot. Confronting a suspect without cover or backup—hell, he didn’t even have a bulletproof vest on.
Then the creature raised the gun.
Shit. Einar didn’t need another partner killed in the line of duty.
Michael threw himself at Layton.
The gun went off. Once and his gut felt like fire. Twice and it was hard to breath. He knew he’d been hit, could feel warm liquid soaking his shirt, but he found the strength to turn and face the shooter.
Thompson threw down the gun. “Useless piece of metal,” he growled, “since you’re dead.”
“Shut up.” Michael clutched his gut, blood welling through his fingers. It was dark, viscous. Not normal. Crap. But he wasn’t dead—yet. Why was it yelling that he was?
“Should’ve chopped off your head,” Thompson screamed. “Would’ve done it right. Never trust subordinates. Those doddering fools! Goddamn Donnie!” He charged and rammed his head into Michael’s stomach. Michael collapsed into a snow bank, gasping. He willed himself to keep going. Took a deep breath and rolled away.
Thompson charged again.
Michael yelled and grabbed his legs. Smashed fists hard into his knees and pulled him down.
Thompson slashed Michael’s neck.
Layton was motionless, staring wide-eyed, mouth open.
Michael scrambled away, scanning the garbage-strewn alley. He needed a weapon, fast, something to take Thompson down for good.
Chop his head off. Behead him—that’s the trick.
He shook his head. Remembering.
Fuck. Kait’s boss, Ellery Scott Thompson. You’re . . . a police officer. How interesting.
Words echoed. Well, now he’d find out how interesting it was to be killed by the mundane cop.
Find a blade, a big one.
Among the shipping barrels, pipes, and wire reels lay large segments of metal debris. Michael grabbed a flat chunk of metal, sharp edge out, and held it up in both hands. It was the only thing he could find. He bolted forward, lunging.
Thompson roared.
Michael kept coming.
Thompson scrambled for the gun. He picked it up and fired. The bullet ricocheted off a wall. He screamed and leapt, teeth shining and claws extended, roaring at the top of his lungs.
Michael slammed the metal sheeting into his neck, using its edge as a blade.
With a look of stunned surprise, Thompson snarled and then realized what had happened. His eyes widened. Too late. His head fell from his body, thick black blood spurting in the snow. It rolled to Layton, who took one look at the yellow eyes and fanged mouth and screamed.
*
Einar heard the shots and screams. He ran faster, swearing. Reached the carnage as Michael skidded in the snow and bolted down an alley after Donnie, blood trail marking his path. Einar ran to Layton and knelt, hands on his quivering shoulders. He didn’t like the guy, but didn’t want to see a cop injured by two raving monster assholes.
“Robert, what happened?” Einar pulled him to a sitting position. “You okay?”
Layton looked up, pupils dilated. He pointed to the handcuffed dealer. “Got him. But there were two others. Not. Human.” He pointed to Thompson’s head. “Your junkie killed him. Ran at him. Rammed a metal sheet into him. Wasn’t scared.” His eyes were glazed. “Fucking monsters. Jesus, he killed a fucking monster.”
Einar’s heart skipped several beats. “Shit. Where is he?”
Layton stared. “Iceland, Christ, your informant saved my life. I don’t get it. Didn’t stick with the program. He took two bullets for—”
Einar ran to find Michael.
*
Michael tore through the alley, heart pounding, adrenaline dulling gunshot pain.
Donnie slid in the snow, clawed hands flailing, not as agile as Thompson. Michael grabbed his shoulders and forced him down.
Donnie growled and extended his claws. Bared his teeth, dug a claw into Michael’s arm, slipped from his grasp and sprang up, yanking a broken board from a doorway. Slam. He hit Michael across the chest, shoving it into his wounds.
Michael collapsed, winded.
Donnie charged. Pinned him, ripping off his coat and slashing his neck. He pressed his weight on Michael, bullet wounds throbbing.
Shit. Donnie was stronger than he looked. Where was backup? Weren’t the uniforms and Einar tracking them? Where was Layton?
“You’re DEAD!” Donnie screamed. “My parents took care of you. I gave mother the saw!”
Michael struggled. With a heave, he pushed Donnie off, wheeled around and dragged him to the ground.
“You’re dead, dead, DEAD!”
Michael halted, then swayed. He felt light-headed.
He’d lost a lot of blood.
“My partner’ll take care of you. Thompson will finish it. We’ll make sure this time.”
Michael tried to focus. “Thompson’s dead! He charged me. I got him with a metal slab. Decapitated him.”
“NOOOOO . . .” It echoed through the zone. “You never understood. Imbecile!” He barreled into Michael. Grabbed his head and slammed it to the ground. “Thompson was supposed to live forever! He was perfecting the means to immortality. What have you done?”
Michael stared into the crazed eyes, unable to block the screams piercing his eardrums. He lay exhausted, bleeding out in the snow.
Then memories flooded—the case they’d been working on, saving the boy, being bitten, Donnie, Thompson, Kait’s kidnapping. What he’d done. The whole nightmare flashed like a thunderbolt.
Him strapped to a table.
Dying.
Jesus Christ.
Michael rammed into Donnie, knocking him away.
He fell back, snarling.
Michael struggled to his feet. He swayed. “Look at you! You got your wish. Was it worth it?”
Donnie charged. “I’m immortal! I can have what I want. The woman is mine. I want her. I’ll take her.” He pushed his hand into Michael’s jaw, drew a claw across his mouth.
Michael spat out blood. “Doesn’t work that way. You can’t have Kait. She doesn’t want you.”
Donnie roared and sank claws into Michael’s gunshot-riddled chest.
Michael punched him. “She never wanted you—whether or not I was around. You don’t make the choice.”
“I want her. I’ll have her.” Donnie whipped him around and shoved him down.
Pain flooded, body growing numb. Shit. How could he lose so much blood and be alive?
Donnie sat on him, crushing the air from his lungs. “Think you’re a big deal, cop, don’t you?” His voice cracked. He dragged a claw along Michael’s face. “Like my handiwork? I destroyed your pretty features. Welcome to the freak show.”
“Appearances can be deceiving. Kait’s not that shallow.”
Donnie cuffed him across the mouth.
He spat out more blood.
“I regret not taking her. I should’ve made her mine. Thompson was wrong— focus on the work, focus on . . . blah, blah, bullshit. I should’ve fucked her brains out. Done it in front of you. Made you watch.”
“Stay away from her!” Michael roared, bolting upright. He grasped Donnie’s hair and yanked his head, smashing him to the ground. Attacked like an animal, beating him senseless.
Anger engulfed him.
About everything. The kids, murders, the case, his life, what they'd done . . .
Blood, breaking bones, screaming. He mangled Donnie, trapped him, blood erupting, claws across Donnie’s face, claws ripping . . .
He stopped.
Looked at his hands. Searing pain radiated from his fingers. Elongating clawed fingers. Nail beds splitting and bleeding, large curved claws emerging from bone.
Christ.
He slumped to the ground.
Donnie laughed. “That’s right, cop. Claws. Coming out of your fingers. Hurts to bloody fucking hell the first time.”
“Monster!” Donnie sneered. “Can’t believe it took this long. You were just too broken to get angry. Real angry.” He howled. “Toxic substances have coursed through you since it bit you. Haven’t been human all this time, freak. Your blood enabled our drug. You’re the catalyst for this epidemic. You are one of us.” Donnie shoved him flat into the snow. “Anger, idiot. Anger flipped the switch.”
“No . . . fuck . . .” Michael stared, shock flooding his system.
Donnie dug into his flesh and shook him. “Anger fuels the change, cop! Understand? Dead. You are dead! You. Are. A. Monster. Woman won’t have you. She’ll be fucking terrified.”
Michael tried to stand.
Donnie punched him. “I’ll take her this time. She’s mine. Say goodbye to your head, monster!” Claws pinned him down. Donnie bent to his throat, fanged mouth open and dripping blood. He leaned in.
Michael closed his eyes.
Get it over with. Put me out of my misery.
Then Donnie wasn’t there.
Einar bolted into the alley, yelling at the top of his lungs. Threw himself like a freight train, knocking Donnie off Michael.
Donnie scrambled, claws spread.
Einar tackled him as he snarled, lunging, raving about death and monsters.
“You’re a monster, cop,” he howled. “Dead! A freaking monster like us.” He spun and stood, shoving Einar away.
Michael lurched into his path and sank claws into his leg, holding him in place.
Donnie screamed.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole!” Einar hauled Donnie to his feet and slammed him into the wall, twice, hard. Punched him, clenched fist ramming his face again and again.
Several sharp teeth fell to the ground.
Einar kneed him and dropped him in the snow.
“That's for fucking with my friends.” He slapped on metal handcuffs and three zip ties, grabbed a piece of rusty chain from the ground and wrapped it around him. Chained him to a fire escape hanging from an abandoned building, and tasered him. Four times.
Donnie slumped.
“I want to cut your head off.” Einar crushed his face into the rusty iron. “But someone has to be accountable for the drugs and murders. Three years of carnage. Those kids. Thompson’s dead. Tag, you’re it. You’ll rot in prison for eternity, asshole. I’ll make sure of it. Have fun with immortality in the slammer. Bet that wasn’t part of your plan.”
*
Michael crouched against a wall until his legs collapsed. He slid to the ground, bloody smears marking his fall. Everything was spinning, plunging into darkness.
He gasped for air.
Ran his tongue over sharp teeth, stifled a scream.
Stared. Claws.
Why? Fuck. He’d started to remember, think life was worth . . .
Einar.
He looked up and snarled, then cringed, stunned at his own reaction.
Einar came toward him.
“Stay away. Get out of here.” He was terrified he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
Einar slowed.
“Don’t.” His eyes glowed. He was covered in blood. “You saw what they were. Fuck.” He swallowed. “What I am.”
“No.”
“Get back.”
“Hættu þessu. Stop that.”
“Shit. Listen to me!” He pounded claws into the snow. Pain shot through him. He shuddered. Took another rasping breath.
“I’m not scared,” Einar said. “You saved Layton’s life. Just saved mine. Donnie would have gotten me if you hadn't pinned him.”
“Kill me.”
“No.”
“Chop off my head.”
“No.”
“Do it. You have to kill me. I don’t want to hurt you or Kait. Don’t want to hurt anyone.” He flexed his claws, wide-eyed. “Shit,” he whispered, “ . . . I remember . . . the monsters. Remember what they did. Christ . . . ” He started shaking. “They drained . . . the monsters . . . those kids . . .” Slammed his head against the wall.
Einar grabbed him. “Stop. Don’t bash your brains out. I’m not chopping your head off.”
Michael flinched, pupils dilated.
“Breathe, Mikey. Breathe. Close your eyes. Breathe.”
He closed his eyes, opened them again.
“Listen to me,” Einar crouched in front of him. “Please. Look at me. Michael.”
He shuddered.
“Kyrr. Calm down.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Claws . . . don’t make a monster.”
“Fuck—”
Einar grabbed his wrists. “These came out when he threatened Kait. You were protecting her.”
“No, no, no . . . I'm a fucking monster.”
Einar took a deep breath. “Shit. I'm sorry. I . . . look . . . at least you’re a damn chivalrous monster, Mikey.”
“You can’t fix me. I’m not human.” He closed his eyes.
“Michael, I—”
“They killed me.”
“It sucks. But . . . you’re here.”
“How—what am I?”
“We don’t know.” Einar hung his head. “Shit. That’s what we were afraid to tell you. We didn't know what to say.”
“I’m not alive . . . am I?”
“No. It’s an issue.”
He fell silent, breathing ragged, heart pounding. Stared at the holes in his chest, one so catastrophic that rib bones were visible. If human he’d have died by now.
Einar tightened his grip. “Don't look. Focus on me.”
“God . . . you have to kill the monster. You know it. No other option . . . ”
“No. You’re our friend. Don’t care what you are—or aren’t.”
Michael curled and shivered, losing moorings. Claws grew longer.
“Kyrr, Calm down. Eģ skal vera hjáyður. I’ll stay with you. Breathe.” Einar yanked off his coat, wrapped it around him. “Don’t think. Listen to my voice . . .”
His breathing slowed. He stopped shaking. He moved his hands and flexed elongated fingers, retracting his claws. He buried his head in his hands.
Sirens drew close.
Einar pulled the coat tighter. “Mikey. Look at me. We'll figure it out, okay? I’ll buy you a book on mediation. Besides—you don’t get angry much. Except at me.”
“What’d they do?”
“We don’t know. Marta’s working on it. No answers yet.”
“You can’t help.” He shook his head. “Jesus, I’m a fucking monster.”
“Come on, Mikey.” Einar sat beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “I can deal with you. I’m the monster man, remember?”
Michael shook his head. How could he not be freaked out? He was talking to a monster.
“It’s not about fangs and claws. You save people. Don’t think about yourself. Hell, it’s been problematic to your health. Layton, even—”
“You had your share of dead partners . . .”
“Christ . . . that’s why?”
He shook his head. “I can’t risk—”
Einar waved him off. “Layton’s the third person you’ve saved by throwing yourself into doom. Whatever your whacked out reasoning . . . ” He squeezed his shoulder. “You need a better strategy. Have to work on that. But you’re fearless about protecting others—that’s not monstrous.”
Michael lowered his head. “Kill me. It’s safer. We can't risk it.”
“That’s stupid.”
“But—”
“You protected me.”
“What?”
“Gave me the goofy runic troll. I’m covered.”
“I’m serious, Einar. Please. Kill m—”
“Enough. I’m not cutting off your head. Kait would never forgive me.”
He stared. Einar was not normal.
“Don’t give up, Mikey. Whatever you are. We don't give a shit about your issues.” Einar pulled him cl
ose. “Let’s get your wounds treated. Everything else comes later. Kait will agree—guaranteed. You aren’t alone. Christ, you’ve saved three people and dealt with more trauma than most of us face in several lifetimes. Let us help.”
Einar wasn’t going to listen.
Michael shuddered and slumped forward.
Einar wrapped his arms around him.
CHAPTER 25
Monsters were all the news again in Seward City. ‘Monster Madness’ screamed one headline. ‘Freaking Monster Frenzy,’ cried another, asking if a plague of locusts could be expected soon. Press had a field day, sensationalizing everything from the takedown of King Rat and strange vials with diabolical drug to the decapitation of one monster and capture of a live one, now confined under guard at the city holding center, screaming its head off. It refused to grant interviews.
Media personnel flooded the station and loitered along the sidewalks. Antennas and news vans clogged the streets. Cresson caught hell from his wife for not being on the scene. Rabid press personalities recalled the case of two years earlier and the cop who’d saved the boy from a monster before being killed in a fire.
Was it the same monster?
Would Seward City ever be free of monster hoards?
Reporters and bloggers clamored for news from one of the cops involved, begged for details about the monsters. Several reporters tried to track down the homeless guy who’d beheaded the monster with sheet metal, but he’d disappeared. No one knew his real name or where he’d gone.
Or they weren’t talking.
The ME had been at the scene but refused to discuss it.
Camera crews camped in the streets, reporters and crewmembers assigned twenty-four hour ‘snap the monster hunter’ shifts.
The media were so focused on monsters they didn’t notice lesser comings and goings. They weren’t interested in a woman helping one slight, thin pale man hobble up the stairs, hands deep in pockets of a long coat.
Michael walked with halting steps, Kait beside him, arm around him.
Einar was right.
She hadn’t blinked at the latest complication. When she arrived at the ME's office—where they'd taken him figuring it safer than the hospital—and Einar explained what had happened, she’d had a moment’s pause—any sane woman would. Then she said they’d figure it out.
When Michael woke, he feared her reaction. Couldn’t look at her until she pulled up a chair, lifted his head and kissed him on the lips. Told him claws were no big deal—they could be trimmed, like Loki’s. She was impressed he'd unfurled them at threat to her. Besides, they’d met because he sang about a green-eyed dragon. Dragons and monsters were related, so he was her green-eyed monster.