The Noose Of A New Moon (Wolfbrand Book 1)

by Helen Harper

  There was a bar on the right with several mask-wearing bartenders. The bar top was made from burnished walnut, which caught the amber lights hanging overhead and gave off a warm, inviting feel. The glasses were polished to within an inch of their sparkly lives, and an ice sculpture that looked suspiciously like a rip-off of Rodin’s The Thinker stood at the far end. Opulent fabrics draped the walls, adding to the luxurious atmosphere.

  The floor was filled with groups of well-dressed people, all wearing masks to conceal their identity. The chatter was a muted hum compared to the beat of the music supplied by the DJ on the dais opposite the bar. There was a large space in front of the decks in which stood a lectern and a microphone. Devereau hoped sincerely that he wouldn’t have to listen to any long-winded speeches.

  ‘Close your mouth, Dev,’ Scarlett murmured.

  He snapped it shut just as a muscular, topless waiter appeared with a tray of impressive looking canapés. ‘Would sir care for a caviar blini?’

  ‘Sir would indeed,’ Devereau replied, plucking one of the tiny pancakes from the silver platter. The waiter offered it to Scarlett but she shook her head and patted her stomach, as if the tiny mouthful might tip her non-existent diet over the edge.

  The waiter nodded smoothly and moved away while Devereau frowned down at the poor excuse for food. ‘What’s this shiny stuff?’ he enquired.

  Scarlett peered over his shoulder. ‘Gold leaf, I believe.’

  ‘These folks aren’t rich enough already? They have to eat gold as well?’ He threw into his mouth. It was cloying and salty but not entirely unpleasant.

  ‘They probably shit gold too,’ she remarked, making him choke. A couple nearby wearing matching blue outfits looked over at him. Scarlett thumped him on the back and smiled at them before drawing him out of their line of sight. ‘I don’t see any sign of our murderous gunman from Canary Wharf,’ she whispered. ‘But there’s a great deal of other weaponry on display here.’

  Devereau swallowed the blini and followed her gaze. She was right: dotted around the room at strategic points were a number of solid men, including the bastard who’d put a bullet in Jonathan Lee’s brain. He was wearing a mask now, but he was recognisable by his pale eyes and thick neck. Devereau tried not to glower at him and continued looking round. While all the men wore plain masks, none of them concealed the fact that they were armed to the hilt. He spotted several guns and more than one lethal-looking knife. These people weren’t playing around.

  ‘That doesn’t bode well,’ he muttered.

  Scarlett agreed. ‘Loud music, posh food and flowing drinks. But somehow I don’t think that’s why these people are here. They’re waiting for something.’

  Devereau caught sight of an elderly woman dripping in pearls who was checking her watch. ‘It must be something to do with that stage where the DJ is.’ He swivelled round. ‘Maybe this is some weird sex party thing.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sounded doubtful.

  ‘Look.’ He nudged Scarlett with his hip to direct her attention towards the far corner. ‘There’s another door. I bet it leads somewhere interesting.’

  ‘We should check it out.’

  He smiled grimly. ‘Indeed.’

  They started moving towards the unmarked door but before they got close to it the room was plunged into darkness and the music faded out. The door they were sneaking towards opened and several shadowy figures emerged.

  Devereau strained his eyes but he couldn’t make out the features of any of the people. They ascended the stage to the dais in single file. The DJ was already stepping down, her head bowed. There was a hush of anticipation across the entire room.

  ‘Well,’ Scarlett murmured, ‘this is going to be interesting.’

  There was a single cymbal clash and the dais was illuminated by a splash of bright light. Devereau squinted, blinking. Five people. His eyes narrowed. And two of them were unmasked and bound in heavy chains.

  He felt Scarlett stiffen. ‘Fuck,’ she muttered in a low undertone. ‘Fuck!’

  The audience pressed forward and Devereau heard several muted whispers of appreciation. He gritted his teeth and continued to stare at the five people on the stage. Two of them were identikit versions of the bouncers outside; the only differences were that they were wearing black masks that covered their eyes and their noses and were carrying what appeared to be Tasers. The other masked man was about six feet tall, with dark hair. His mask was the same blood-red as the writing on Devereau’s purloined invitation. He had a triumphant, almost predatory smile.

  Devereau knew that Scarlett’s reaction wasn’t because of this bastard’s air of superiority or because of the bouncers. Her hissed expletive was the result of seeing the two bound captives.

  He reached across and placed a hand on her arm in a silent bid to keep her calm. She was trembling beneath his touch. Her rage was visceral and raw – like his own. She clutched his hand tightly and he squeezed hers in return. ‘Wait,’ he whispered. ‘Just wait.’

  ‘You know what they are, Devereau.’

  He nodded curtly. ‘I do. But we’re surrounded by armed men and we still don’t know what’s going on here. Wait.’ He gazed at the trussed-up figures, the pain between his shoulders increasing by the second.

  There was one man and one woman. They looked young, perhaps in their early twenties, although that wasn’t necessarily the case. The man was hollow cheeked, with thin arms and a scrawny body. His skin was remarkably pale and his dark eyes were dull, as if he were drugged, but his glazed eyes and thin features didn’t detract from his appeal. Whoever he was, he was intensely good looking, exuding a sort of stoned sexuality that put Devereau in mind of the skinny male models who’d been so popular in the nineties. Those models hadn’t possessed sharp white fangs, however.

  The woman was about a foot shorter. Her eyes displayed the same lack of awareness but her strawberry-blonde hair was thick and gleaming. It matched the patches of fur that were visible across her bare arms and legs. Devereau glanced at her hands and noted the claws on the tips of her barely human fingers.

  Something deep inside him roared viciously with anger. One male vampire. One female werewolf. And Devereau was holding a card that had a number displayed on it. He already knew what was about to happen and he could barely contain his wolf from bursting through and killing every single person in this damned room.

  The tuxedo-ed man wearing the red mask stepped up to the microphone. He tapped it with the tip of his finger and the thud echoed round the room. He cleared his throat and his smile widened. ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We are very pleased to welcome you to our little gathering this evening.’

  Nobody clapped, nobody said a word, but everyone gazed at the man on the dais as if he were a god. The adulation scratched at Devereau’s skin, digging into his flesh and tearing its way through his veins and arteries. Scarlett gripped his hand even tighter and he remembered to breathe again. He glanced towards her. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line but, when she felt his gaze, she opened it to form a single word, silently repeating his own advice back to him. Wait.

  He nodded. Wait. It was all they could do for now.

  ‘I know you were expecting someone else but unfortunately our usual master of ceremonies is indisposed at the moment, so you’ll have to make do with my poor attempts instead.’

  Devereau spotted several smiles of good-humoured acknowledgement. He wondered if the usual MC was indisposed because Martina had killed him.

  ‘For those of you who don’t know me,’ the man continued, ‘you can call me the Master.’ Beneath his mask, his eyes glittered with malicious amusement. Devereau’s jaw clenched as Scarlett’s nails bit into his palm. ‘But if that’s too much of a mouthful, I also answer to Dom.’ He grinned nastily. ‘And boy, does Dom have some treats for you this evening.’

  Devereau counted to ten in his head and looked round at the security personnel. There were at least twelve armed men, not including the two on the stage and the bounc
ers outside. There was no way of telling how many others were beyond the closed door. And he wasn’t factoring in the personal protection that the individual audience members had with them, such as William whose voice they’d heard outside. In his werewolf form, Devereau possessed more strength than several of them combined, and with Scarlett by his side that strength doubled. But he knew in his heart of hearts that, no matter how good they were, they’d never be a match for this many pricks with this many guns.

  His impotence clawed at him, suffocating him. Devereau knew that if he lost his concentration for a second, he wouldn’t be able to hold back his wolf. He had to maintain focus. There was no other choice.

  On the dais, Dom’s smile disappeared. ‘Before we get underway, it would be remiss of me not to remind you of the rules. They are sacrosanct. Anyone who breaks a single one, in fact anyone who even thinks of breaking the rules, will face the harshest of consequences. It has happened before, and you know that our justice is swift and without mercy. It doesn’t matter who you are or what power you might think you wield in the real world.’ His voice grew louder. ‘You do not breathe a single word to anyone about what has occurred within these four walls. Should you be fortunate enough to be one of tonight’s lucky winners, you do not broadcast news of your winnings to anyone. In the unfortunate event that someone does discover your good fortune and you cannot deal with the results yourself, you must inform us immediately so we can take appropriate steps to minimise the fall-out.’

  He smiled again, so suddenly and so darkly that Devereau felt his stomach clench in response. ‘However if you do win, and if you do follow the rules, you will gain immense power and a level of protection that almost nobody else in this country enjoys.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Good luck.’ He beckoned behind him. The two other masked men grabbed hold of the vampire and pushed him forward.

  Scarlett’s body jerked but she remained in place. ‘Devereau,’ she hissed.

  He gritted his teeth. ‘I know.’

  ‘This,’ Dom said with a dramatic flourish, ‘is Lucifer.’ He patted the vampire on the shoulder. ‘He was created five months ago and since then has proved to have both power and speed. He is also a fast learner.’ He jerked his hand. A projector screen started to lower from the ceiling. ‘Behold.’

  The screen flickered to life. The video it displayed had a wobbly, home-made quality, which Devereau assumed was done on purpose to add authenticity. It showed a man walking down a quiet street. He wasn’t wearing a mask but his head was angled away so his identity wasn’t clear. A car, with its numberplate pixilated, pulled up alongside him. The couple next to Devereau held their breaths. A second later, the passenger door opened and the vampire sprang out. He threw himself at the man, his fangs latching onto his neck in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Sixty seconds,’ Dom declared. ‘Sixty seconds is all it takes a truly motivated vampire to drain a human of their blood.’ He jabbed at the drugged vamp next to him. ‘And believe me, ladies and gentlemen, Lucifer is truly motivated.’

  Devereau glanced at Scarlett again. She gave a tight nod, indicating that Dom wasn’t lying. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted a woman a few metres away licking her lips. Sickened, he turned away.

  On the screen, the hapless victim collapsed to the ground. There was a moment of stunned silence from the audience that quickly gave way to applause, a smattering at first that grew and grew until it included foot stamping and shouts of approval.

  ‘We have to do something,’ Scarlett said beneath the roar of the crowd.

  ‘No chance,’ Devereau muttered back. ‘We’ll be cut down in seconds. The smart thing to do is to wait and see how this plays out, then take our chance to free these two when there are fewer people around.’

  ‘Tell that to yourself,’ she said. ‘I don’t think that werewolf inside you is feeling quite so patient.’

  He looked down and realised that his hand was covered in golden-tipped fur. Swallowing hard, he forced it to melt back into human skin just as Dom started speaking into the microphone again. The main lights flickered on, revealing the audience.

  ‘I will start the bidding,’ he intoned, ‘at one million pounds.’

  Almost immediately, twenty hands shot into the air, black cards waving towards the stage, their red numbers displayed.

  ‘Two million,’ Dom said. ‘Three. Four.’ He paused. ‘Five.’

  Some hands dropped. Others were raised.

  ‘Ten!’ yelled an American voice from the other side of the room.

  ‘Twelve!’ countered an Australian.

  ‘Fifteen!’ screamed a British woman.

  Dom’s grin was so wide it almost split his face in two.

  Devereau spotted the three bouncers from outside; two had taken up position at the exit, effectively barring it, and the third was striding towards the dais and motioning to Dom.

  ‘We’ve got a problem,’ Devereau muttered as the MC bent down to listen to the bouncer. ‘I think someone’s found our unconscious couple outside.’

  Dom straightened up as the vamp and the werewolf were dragged hurriedly backwards by the security men and hauled off the dais. ‘I apologise for the interruption,’ Dom said. ‘It appears that we have a couple of intruders in our midst.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dom had barely finished his sentence when weapons were unholstered all around the room. Devereau noted several sharp gasps. His skin started to itch; the animal inside him wanted to be freed and its strength was growing with every second. Futile as it might be to try fighting their way out, it wouldn’t be long before there was no choice.

  ‘What?’ Scarlett’s voice rose above the clamour. Devereau turned to her, alarmed. So did many others. ‘This is outrageous!’ she shouted

  A man standing just to the other side of her drew back his shoulders. ‘She’s right! You guaranteed our safety. There are supposed to be checks!’

  ‘Who is it?’ yelled a woman from further away. ‘Who isn’t supposed to be here?’

  Two men at the front of the crowd turned and started pushing their way towards the barricaded exit. ‘Let us out!’ one demanded. ‘We’re not staying a second longer!’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Dom bellowed. ‘Stay calm! If you allow us to check everyone’s identities, we will resolve this matter swiftly. As a result, you’ll even get to witness Lucifer in action. Stay where you are and—’

  ‘I’m not removing my mask,’ Scarlett shouted.

  ‘Yeah!’ There were yells of agreement. One of the men by the door tried to push past the bouncers. They both pointed their guns in his face and he responded by drawing out his own weapon.

  All hell broke loose. People surged for the door, pushing towards it. On the stage, Dom dropped his hands.

  The captive vampire and werewolf were no longer in sight. Devereau spotted the far door closing and sucked in a breath. Scarlett had seen it too. Together they moved against the crowd, heading deeper inside the building rather than trying to escape.

  ‘This is our shot,’ Scarlett muttered. ‘Come on.’

  The shouts of the frustrated would-be bidders were getting louder. One of the security men raised his gun and fired at the ceiling. There were a few screams, but his action only served to rile the others. Someone threw a glass at the bouncers that shattered against the wall above their heads. Another shot was fired – this time Devereau couldn’t tell where it was from or whether anyone had been hit. He didn’t care if they had been.

  Holding Scarlett’s hand, he heaved himself through the last of the panicking crowd and ran after Dom, who was fleeing through the rear door.

  ‘Don’t change!’ Scarlett yelled at him. ‘Not yet! Not until there’s no other choice!’

  Devereau gritted his teeth. That was easy for her to say but he could already feel the growls rumbling deep inside his chest. He tamped them down –just – and lunged for the door. Then they were through and sprinting down a wide corridor.

  There were several doors leading
off it. As he passed by one of the open ones, Devereau glimpsed seven foot-high cages inside the room. He could smell blood, both old and new, overlaid with the scent of despair. Something inside him snapped. His growls changed to snarls, and he felt his teeth lengthening and his bones snapping.

  Scarlett sprang in front of him and forced him to skid to an ungainly halt. ‘No.’ Her voice was quiet but forceful. ‘You will not change. We can’t afford for these bastards to know who is after them. Right now our supernatural status is our only element of surprise. Change now and we lose that.’

  Devereau’s jaws snapped but Scarlett’s expression didn’t change. She reached out and placed her hand across his still-human chest. Her touch was warm and soothing, and it did the trick. The animal inside him subsided and he gasped. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry.’ She spun round and started running again. ‘Move.’

  He watched her retreating back for one long second then he shook himself and took off after her.

  There was a storeroom filled with crates of champagne. There was a kitchen with hastily abandoned canapés scattered across a stainless-steel workbench. There was a meeting room with a long table. But there were no people.

  Devereau closed his eyes and blocked his other senses. He heard the clang of a door somewhere to the left. He swerved that way and located another corridor. ‘Here!’ he yelled over his shoulder to Scarlett.

  He picked up speed, throwing himself forward with every ounce of energy his pathetic human legs could offer. He felt a brief rush of cold air and realised there was a fire exit ahead of him that lay slightly ajar. Dom had gone this way – and that meant the captive vamp and wolf had, too.

  Devereau flung himself through it.

  No sooner had he stepped onto the weed-strewn gravel path outside than the shooting started. Something slammed into his shoulder, its velocity knocking him backwards. That was just as well because otherwise the second shot would have smashed into his skull.