Fever (5 page)

“Won’t work, kid,” he heard as he stepped out of the car.

He
didn’t bother to decipher what that meant. There were too many werewolves to fight alone. That much he did know. They had to get inside.

He opened
the truck as Vincent staggered out of the car, hospital gown covered in blood. Oh, yeah. He’d forgotten about the state of the backseat. On top of everything else, his car was ruined from the inside out, damn it. It would take at least a week to fix. Again.

Shouldering
his rifle, he grabbed two duffel bags dusted in silver and headed for the room.

As far as he could tell, the room hadn’t been broken into. Nevertheless, he told Vinc
ent to wait outside while he searched it for any obvious trip wires, explosives, and poisons. He emerged with a nod less than five minutes later. Though making use of every chain, bolt, and lock would do little to fend off a werewolf, it made him feel better.

“Grab the mattress and stand it up against the back window,” he directed Vincent.

Radio… radio…

He tossed clothing from th
e bottom dresser drawer, distantly hearing the mattress scooting across the floor. The morning light disappeared as he continued his search. It was replaced by a dim glow when the lamp on the bedside table flickered to life.

“Kid?”

There it was, as beautiful as the day he bought it.

“Kid?”

Now all he needed to do was radio Eddie, demand backup–

“Kid!”

Logan looked up in irritation. “Vincent, you don’t hear me calling you Vin, or Vinnie, do you? My name is Logan. I realize it requires two syllables instead of one, but…”

Vincent
’s solemn expression was enough to make him trail off.

“What?”

“You can’t radio for help.”

His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”

Vincent sighed and gingerly moved to sit on the edge of the box-spring. “If you contact anyone you’ve previously radioed, they’ll pick up your signal through the radio they stole and track it.  You might as well ring the dinner bell.”

“They can track a ham radio signal? That’s not possible.”

“Werewolves aren’t possible.”

Thoughts raced through his mind. If they couldn’t radio for help, they were screwed.
So was the prowler who would soon arrive to investigate their disappearance. They didn’t need one prowler. They needed a small army.

“Oh, come on. There must be something we can do
to signal for help.”

Vincent blinked heavily. “Aside from burning the town to the ground, t
here isn’t. I’ve tried.”

“How do you know this anyway? They track a signal you sent out?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yes.”

Logan swallowed
, not quite expecting the most obvious answer. “Sorry, man.” Then, hesitantly, “What happened?”

He wasn’t
certain he wanted to know, but the specifics might save his life one day. They might keep him from repeating Vincent’s mistakes.

“I came to
Pinechester exactly as you did. On the hunt for what I believed to be one werewolf. I killed it, disposed of the body, and returned to this motel. The next morning, I woke to discover one of my radios missing. But any prowler worth his weight carries a spare. I radioed my wife, Maria, just as I had the day before. As far as she knew, I was a traveling park ranger who investigated potential poaching threats. It was the perfect cover for the prowler lifestyle.”

By the way Vincent met hi
s gaze, Logan knew his next words wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Mere hours passed. I was packing up the trunk of my car when I heard a single
gunshot in the woods. This was between hunting seasons, so I knew that unless it was someone hunting illegally, it was our kind of trouble. I might have been foolish to investigate the shot alone, but I was somewhat inexperienced.” A wry chuckle. “We don’t become prowlers to ignore trouble, am I right?”

He shifted, wincing
. “I followed a blood trail. There are no words for the feeling I had at the time. Like I knew what I’d find. There was tension in the air. Eventually, I found Maria’s locket.” His voice wavered. “And… bits and pieces. Some hair. An earring. There was blood everywhere, kid. So when I tell you these bastards can track a radio signal, I need you to believe it. Because they tracked mine.”

Logan exhaled. The horrors of Vincent’s description unfolded vividly in his mind. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than following the blood trail of a family member.
Or the blood trail of someone he loved. Even if she didn’t feel the same way.

When he finally broke the silence
, his words were measured. “Why did they kill her? She wasn’t involved with the Society.”

“No. But
the werewolf I killed had a mate.”

“
And so he killed your mate. An eye for an eye.”

“Yes.”

“You remained in town to take your own revenge?”

Vincent smiled brokenly
. “Something like that. It wasn’t until I understood the history of Pinechester that I realized what I’d gotten myself into.”

“Didn’t you
conduct research before you came here?”

Vincent gave him
a hard look. “Didn’t you? Werewolves don’t divulge their history to the Society. We only know what’s already been discovered.” He hung his head. “The things I found…”

“You learned
things the Society still doesn’t know? If you’d contacted them before I came here, you could have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Things aren’t as black and white
as they appear. If you want to learn something, learn that. I don’t trust the Society any more than I trust werewolves.”

It was a bold statement.
“You don’t mean that.”

“I said it, didn’t I?”

“But you work for them!”

Vincent didn’t answer. From the way his eyes were glazing over, it wouldn’t be long before he
fell asleep or passed out. Before that happened, Logan needed to know the basics of the danger they were in.

“Tell me what you found,” he demanded.

Silence.

“Vincent,” he snapped. “I know you’ve got trust issues, but I’m not about to sit here in the dark while innocent people in
Pinechester are eaten alive.”

“If that’s your concern, you can stop worrying.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Vincent looked up. His expression was chilling. “There are no innocent people in
Pinechester. Remember when I told you that it used to be a werewolf sanctuary? That’s all it was. If you weren’t a werewolf, you weren’t able to move in. Complications would stand in your way. Better opportunities would arise elsewhere simultaneously. The werewolves never hurt anyone trying to move here, at least not at first. They just wanted to live somewhere secluded, untouched by prowlers. Or potential prowlers. In other words, somewhere isolated from humans.”

“
And you know all of this how?”

Vincent shrugged. “I sifted through a couple thousand files in the basement of
City Hall.”

Ugh.

“Somewhere along the line, the coexisting strategy of the werewolves failed. There were fights for power. Maintaining the human façade became unnecessary once there were no humans to hide from.”

He rubbed the back of his neck before continuing. “
Changes in broad daylight divided the town. Violence between packs worsened. A lust for blood infected the town like a virus. They all but destroyed themselves. Only one pack remains, and it consists of the survivors. The strong ones.”

Logan
didn’t know how to respond. He felt shock. Confusion. Rage.

Yeah. He’d
start with that.

“Let me get this
straight. There are over two dozen werewolves in Pinechester, an entire pack, and you’re telling me this
now
?” There was a ringing in his ears as he stood, breathing heavily.

Vincent
also rose to his feet, albeit more slowly, hospital gown and all.

“Less than 24 hours ago, I was saving your life, kid,”
he snapped. “Between collapsing in the woods, remaining conscious in the car, and waking up in the hospital before we escaped, there hasn’t been time to tell you much of anything.”

“Hasn’t been…” Logan trailed off, searching his brain for a retort. “You could have told me when
we were hiking back to town.”

“I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

Okay. That was a valid point in their line of work. But Logan was still pissed.

With a scoff that sounded
incredibly childish, he grabbed a pair of jeans from the dresser and threw them at Vincent. “Just put some real clothes on. You look ridiculous.”

He turned to dig through one of the duffel
bags he’d grabbed from the car. His hand ran over the hilts of silver knives, cases of silver bullets, and the barrels of his spare guns. Where was that bottle of silver shavings? One dusting of that stuff and werewolves didn’t find any prowler such a pleasant meal prospect. He’d dust them both and they’d go from there. Hopefully Vincent would keep the Tinker Bell references to a minimum.

“Hand me that other duffle bag, woul
d you?” he asked over his shoulder.

Vincent stood by the door, clad
only in jeans. He was peering out the peep hole.

“And put on a shirt,
for Christ’s sake. It’s bad enough you make the rest of us look like–”

“Shhh.” A finger came up to silence him.
“There’s at least one werewolf out there. We need to leave.”

Logan felt his heart thump an extra beat, but he
shook his head. “We have time. We’ll give this room a literal silver lining. That will keep them out until–”

“What?” Vincent broke in. “Until we starve to death?” He gr
abbed a gun from the dresser, abruptly grunting in pain. Releasing the weapon to cradle his bandaged abdomen, he went on, “I hate to tell you this, but they’re out for blood and they aren’t waiting until our fort is secure.”

Logan grabbed
the radio and the nearest bag of weapons. “So, what, this is personal now?”

“
If you’ll recall, I killed a member of their pack yesterday. This is more personal than you know.”

“God, it’s like a werewolf soap opera. I’m trapped in daytime TV.”

“If you want the bad news all at once, they probably think you’re the killer.”

“What? Why?”

He never heard Vincent’s answer over the shattering glass.

Vincent raised an arm to shield his eyes as the window shattered behind the mattress. A werewolf dove through the frame in wolf form, its momentum shoving the mattresses forward. The kid didn’t have time to move before he was pinned to the floor beneath it.

He may have been out of sight, but his scent saturated the room.
He wasn’t out of danger.

With only seconds before the
werewolf rose and sought him out, Vincent ran forward. There was no time to change before he leapt onto the werewolf’s back, hands clawing upward to break its neck. Unfortunately, his weight was no match for it and only further pressed Logan to the floor.

Kill
, the wolf snarled inside him. It unleashed a wave of untethered rage.
KILL.

H
e tightened his grip, but the werewolf snapped its jaws and bucked him off. Razor-sharp claws tore through his jeans and raked into his thigh.

Pain
.

V
incent’s shoulders hit the wall panels, his hips slipping off the mattress. His struggles to stand only further boxed him between the mattress and the wall.

Viewing
him as the immediate threat, the werewolf pounced. Claws dug into the muscle of his chest.

“
Logan!” he yelled, throwing his head back against the pain. The mattress wasn’t moving, which meant he might have been out cold.

Already weak without the last
dose of silver antidote, Vincent felt his energy drain with his blood. Even his murderous inner wolf could no longer lend him the strength to fight.

T
he werewolf reared back to clamp its teeth around his throat. But then it paused. Growling, it ducked its head and
sniffed
him. The breath was hot and moist against his throat. Vincent swallowed against the fear welling in his gut, turning his head. The snout left a wet trail as it moved behind his ear and then to the blood on his chest.

The
werewolf’s scent drifted down to him. Recognition dawned. It explained why his inner wolf was so enraged, and why he was still breathing.

“
Mitch. You killed my wife,” Vincent breathed. The room became tinted as the wolf’s eyes overtook his own. It wanted justice.

But the werewolf
appeared unconcerned with this single aspect of change. It tilted its head, eyes mocking. Claws dug deeper into Vincent’s chest, as if warning him against changing any further.

Bones
began to shatter and fur faded away as the werewolf resorted to its human form.

The disadvantages of doing so were overwhelming,
especially when it meant relinquishing the upper hand. But if Vincent was hoping for a fair fight, he was sorely disappointed. The man’s hands remained clawed and his teeth remained sharp.

“I remember you.” Mitch
lazily dragged his claws down Vincent’s chest, drawing a yelp from him. “Years ago, you killed my mate. Once you turned, I was under orders to leave you alive. To let you suffer as an outsider or join our pack. But you know what I’ve realized?”

He lowered his head to whisper into Vincent’s ear. “I could never live in a world where your heart still beats.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Vincent lashed out, fist catching him in the nose.

His
claws abruptly retracted. Vincent spasmed with the spike of agony that accompanied their retreat. Blood coated his chest between ribbons of skin, but the knowledge that his wife’s killer was so close and vulnerable renewed his resolve.

Even as Mitch
retaliated with a punch to his jaw, Vincent’s rage-fueled strength was returning to him. He drew up his legs and buried his heels in Mitch’s chest, launching him across the room. There was a dull
thump
when his body hit the floor.

Vincent scrambled to his feet.

He unleashed an inhuman roar as he leapt forward, allowing the eyes of the wolf to guide him.

Spasms wracked
Mitch’s body as he attempted to change and regain his full advantage. But it was too late for that. No sooner had his knees hit the floor before Vincent tackled him, going for the throat even without the wolf’s teeth. They wrestled and rolled, clawing, kicking, biting, and punching for the upper hand. It was a fight to the death, to further avenge their fallen mates.

At long last,
Vincent found himself again pinned to the floor. A cruel blow to the bandages over his abdomen left him gasping for breath.

Bla
ck spots danced in his vision. His eyelids fluttered as the room began to spin.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he
vaguely heard. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

A hand grabbed
Vincent’s hair, twisting while it dragged him to his feet. His arm was yanked behind his back. Mitch shoved him forward, cracking his chin against the wall and effectively pinning him in place.

“
Turn,” Mitch growled into his ear. “Let the prowler see you for what you really are.”

Vincent snapped his head back, hearing a
crack
. His arm was released, allowing him to sag against the wall. The panels were smeared with his blood.

T
urning, he saw the change overtaking Mitch. The speed with which it occurred was astounding.

H
e had less than a minute to act. It was enough to send him stumbling toward the duffel bag of weapons. He was too weak to grapple with Mitch again, let alone change into a wolf himself. Unconsciousness was threatening to drag him under, even as his heart pounded with adrenaline.

The duffel bag
radiated with a violet glow, plainly warning him against the presence of silver dust. It was unfortunate the bag’s contents were his only hope of survival, because digging for them might finish him off.

The zipper burned his hand
like fire when he pulled it back. The wolf snarled inside him, forcing his hands away from the source of the poison. But Vincent fought back, plunging his hands deep into the bag. His defiance left the wolf with no choice but to retreat from the silver, eyes and all.

The sickening odor of burning flesh
permeated the air. Twitching as if an electric current was running through him, he attempted to focus on the weapons under his fingertips.

When he retrieved a gun
sure to be loaded with silver bullets, Vincent staggered back. He used his other hand to curl his finger around the trigger. It was already weeping and beginning to swell. His vision blurred as the extent of his injuries rapidly caught up with him. But he was able to raise the gun.

Through a foggy haze, he saw
his wife’s murderer stand in wolf form. The gun wavered. Vincent used both hands to hold it still.

T
he burning. The burning was unbearable.

A warning
growl broke from Mitch’s throat as he crouched. Teeth bared, he almost appeared to be grinning. As if he sensed Vincent’s latest weakness.

T
he motel room door banged open. Shots rang out, echoing in his ears. There was a deafening roar, a blur of movement, and more shattering glass. Mitch’s scent faded as a draft breezed through the room.

It was cold.

Vincent felt his knees buckle, too unsteady to hold him up any longer. They hit the floor. He swayed there, finally sitting back on his heels to avoid falling forward.

What was happening?

“Whoa. Hang on, pal,” he heard a woman say. She smelt of pine and leather. Black boots with a confounding number of laces passed him. “Logan, where are you?”

There was a muffled groa
n from somewhere. Springs creaked and then–

“I should ha
ve known I’d find you hiding under the bed. You’re bleeding. Are you all right?”

He heard Logan curse
. “I hit my head again. I think– oh no, not you.”

“Hell of a way to greet someone, love. The guy by the door belong to you?”

Vincent lost his struggle to remain upright as footsteps approached him. He fell against the wall, dragging air into his lungs.

Whatever adrenaline rush he’d felt, whatever
emotional need for revenge had plagued him, it faded in wake of pain. All-encompassing pain, almost as excruciating as the change.

“Oh, man.” Logan dre
w in a breath when he crouched beside him. “Get a towel, Anna. We need to stop the bleeding.”

A hand lightly gripped
Vincent’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He took it for what it was, although his shoulder throbbed from when his arm had been twisted behind his back. There were very few places that didn’t hurt.

“Vincent, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. Just stay awake. Hey, hey. Look at me, man.”

His head turned in the direction of Logan’s voice, eyes half-mast. The only thing he wanted to do when he heard the words
stay awake
was to sleep. Objects were hazy, scents beginning to dull, words spoken as if underwater… He just needed to rest awhile. To allow the wolf to heal him. It would have happened in a day or so if he hadn’t been poisoned by silver. But the way things were unraveling, he’d be lucky if a week of bed rest rendered him well enough to walk.

Footsteps returned from the bathroom. They were lighter and more graceful than Logan’s footsteps
, despite the clunker boots. Anna. Returning with a towel. When had she left?

The towel was draped over his chest, and pressure was applied. He
closed his eyes. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Werewolf or not, he was rapidly nearing the brink of his pain threshold.

There was a startled gasp.
Following a draft of movement, he heard the sound of a bullet sliding into a chamber.

“Anna
, what the hell are you doing?”

“Back away from him, Logan.”

“Have you lost your mind? Put the gun down.”

Vincent struggled to open his eyes and fi
nd his voice. She knew. Her tone had gone cold, as if she were distancing herself from a kill. Did that mean she was a prowler too?

He met her eyes over the barrel of the gun. They were blue, and hard.

“Look at his hands,” she continued without blinking. “Those are silver burns. He’s a werewolf.”

Vincent heard the slight ca
tch in Logan’s breath. That pained him more than when his hand was picked up and studied, breath ghosting over the surface of the burns.

When his hand was abruptly dropped, he knew there c
ould be no more hiding.

“Back away,” Anna repeated. “Before he changes.”

Logan swallowed, running a hand over his face. Though his eyes shot daggers at Vincent, his words were soft. “He still saved my life.”

“You’ve got
to be kidding. Why are you helping him?” The gun lowered slightly as she looked at him in exasperation. “He’s a killer, Logan. They’re all killers.”

“And what the hell are we?”

“Excuse me?”

“
Your grand reentrance into my life is about to include shooting someone in it.” He jerked his head in Vincent’s direction.

Anna
lowered the gun to her lap, tossing her blue-black hair over her shoulder. Her attention was solely on Logan now. “I am trying to save you.”

“I haven’t needed you to save me for some time now.”

“And apparently that time is up. Eddie directed me here. He said you missed your scheduled call-in.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I gathered that when I rode into town. I saw the state of your crap car out front. What’s going on?”

Vincent cleared his throat, draw
ing their attention. He didn’t mind listening to their banter. Found it rather intriguing, in fact. But the pounding in his head had gone from bad to worse, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

“Are you going to shoot me?” he whispered.

“That depends on how useful you are,” Anna answered before Logan could. “What do you know?”

“
I know I need–” He paused to cough, surprised by how raspy his voice sounded. “I need a dose of silver antidote. Probably more now.” A glance at his hands. “They keep a supply in the hospital. Mix it in the lab.”

Logan and Anna exchanged a stunn
ed glance.

“There’s an antidote to silver?”

He nodded, fading fast. “Purple liquid, in vials. One dose per vial. It contains enough components of silver to absorb and neutralize what makes it harmful to us. It should be in the first floor lab. Probably the basement too.”

Before darkness claimed him, he uttered a final word.

“Hurry.”