Hope and Vengeance (Saa Thalarr, book 1): Saa Thalarr, book 1 (6 page)

The last night of my human life, I'd missed a dinner with my brother and his new wife. I'd ignored the invitation, choosing to tend one of my horses when the farrier could have done the same. I often regretted that final decision. I'd been caught in the streets late that evening and my human life had ended. Three days later, I'd awakened vampire and thirsty for blood.

* * *

"Xavier, I have a meeting with the Packmaster. I'm sorry I can't explain these occurrences better to you. I can only report what I've seen and heard." Xavier kept asking questions about Anna Madden, and I'd run out of explanations.

"But do you believe her to be psychic? You know how important this information might be, Adam." Xavier's voice was curt as I flung open the door of my rental. Joey and I had run into Corpus Christi after he'd made reservations for a rental for both of us. It hadn't taken long—vampires run quite fast.

"I have no idea, Xavier. This bears greater scrutiny, I believe."

"Then watch her carefully and report everything to me."

"I will," I acquiesced reluctantly.

He ended the call, preventing me from forcing the end of the conversation. I sighed, tossed my phone onto the seat of the SUV and climbed inside. Packmaster Roger Prewitt's Seafood Shop was my destination for the evening.

* * *

Prewitt's shop was a squat, square building with a concrete façade on the front. In the back, where I parked the SUV, it was downright ugly. Pushing the unimaginative architecture from my mind, I slipped my keys beneath the mat, rolled the window down an inch and shut the door. A new, green Ford truck was parked close by and someone climbed out of it when I walked away from my SUV. He was werewolf; I knew by the scent.

"Roger Prewitt," he held out a hand. I took it.

The Corpus Christi Packmaster was dark-haired and dark-eyed, but many werewolves were. He was of medium height, but looked to be lean and well-muscled. I wasn't surprised; werewolf Packmasters had to be damn tough to keep their position in the Pack. According to my records, the Corpus Christi Pack had thirty-four members. Thirty-three, actually, since one of them was dead.

"Sam Greene's widow says Sam told her Bill Gordon's boat was stolen, but that Bill thought he knew where it might be," Prewitt explained as he unlocked the back door of his business. "I know the police have a different story," he added as he led me inside the dim interior.

"That almost fits other information I've gotten recently," I said. "I heard from another source that Bill Gordon's wife may have sold the boat so she could put a down payment on a car. She was already planning to leave her husband, I think, and selling his boat was the way she chose to start."

"That could be, I guess," Prewitt nodded. I followed him down a narrow hall, where he produced a second key to unlock the walk-in freezer. "We've kept the bodies here since they were found."

Both bodies were lined up on wide, wooden tables inside the freezer. I examined the bite marks on both. "This doesn't look like the work of a vampire, Packmaster," I pointed out. "These punctures are too far apart."

"I thought so, too, but I'm no expert on these things," he admitted.

"Was there any smell of blood around the bodies when they were discovered?" I asked.

"None. They were killed elsewhere; I'm certain of it. Whoever left them in the wildlife refuge was likely hoping they'd be consumed by predators or swallowed by the swamp."

"And no evidence turned up anywhere on the ship channel, where they were reported to have gone fishing?"

"Nothing. I've sent my best trackers out several times, but they had to be careful not to tread on the local authorities' toes."

"Understood."

"Can a vampire really drink somebody dry?" Prewitt's eyes met mine briefly.

"That's a common misconception," I muttered. "We can't. The best of us can only consume two or three pints at most. If a vampire wants to allow someone to bleed to death, they often slash the throat to hide fang marks. Allowing someone to bleed to death from two small punctures is a very slow process, leaving more than enough time for them to be caught in the act. With the spacing of these wounds, I'm inclined to believe this is something else," I replied.

"But what? I want to give the Grand Master an answer tonight, if I can."

"I'm sorry, but this is something I haven't seen before," I admitted. "We'll have to investigate further. I'll ask Wlodek's assistant to contact the Grand Master, and if he wishes to speak with me personally, here's my card." I handed over a card that bore only my cell number.

"I'll ask him to call," Prewitt nodded. "Do you need more time with the bodies?"

"Just a few photographs." I pulled a tiny camera from my pocket and snapped close-ups of the wounds. "There. That should do it." I pocketed the camera. "You can dispose of the bodies now, if you want."

"I'll do it tomorrow night. We'll weight the bodies and dump them twenty miles out in the gulf."

"Good enough," I agreed. Prewitt locked the freezer door behind him and I followed silently toward the back door. My cell phone rang as Prewitt opened the back door and stepped through it. All hell broke loose after that.

* * *

"What do you suppose is happening?" Merrill turned his gaze on Griffin, who sat inside his study. Griffin had poured wine for both of them, then sat in one of Merrill's wingback chairs, savoring the drink.

"I can't tell you. You know that already."

"There are times, brother, when I'd like to tell you to fuck the rules." Merrill leveled a piercing blue gaze on Griffin.

"We are forced to abide by the rules, Merrill. Just as you are forced to abide by those set down by the Council. All I can say is have patience."

"I have patience. More than enough patience. Patience for two thousand years, Griffin."

"I know."

* * *

Eight werewolves jumped us at once, and Prewitt died quickly, his throat torn out and still in human form. My claws and fangs were out and I'd already decapitated two wolves, but the others were better at strategy. My left arm was practically useless; skin and muscle hung off the bone in shreds after I'd been attacked from both sides. Both my legs were nearly in the same shape; two more wolves had attacked while I was busy killing the first two.

I'd backed against the wall of Prewitt's ugly building, to keep them from assaulting me on that side. Werewolves preferred to attack vampires in packs—it was easier to bring them down that way. I might have been able to fight off four or five, but I was severely injured and six still growled and paced about me, looking for any opportunity to strike. I was a dead vampire and I knew it; it was only a matter of time.

Four of the six stepped forward, preparing to attack when a snort came from behind them. I jerked my head up—I'd been concentrating on the enemy before me to the exclusion of everything else. What arrived surprised me greatly—most animals would run for their lives from werewolves. They recognized the danger and knew to flee. A white horse stood behind the werewolves, and I wasn't sure how or why that might be.

One of the werewolves turned and growled, intending to warn the animal away, I think. The horse's ears twitched as a hoof lifted and pawed the ground in challenge. Knowing horses as I did, I knew this one to be in its prime, with a long white mane and tail lifting in the breeze, its muscles rippling in the light provided by a nearby streetlamp. No horse was a match for a werewolf, however, and now the horse and I looked to be victims of the six surrounding me.

"Run," I whispered, my breath short. The horse shook its head and pawed the ground again. One of the werewolves growled, then leapt at the horse. Fully expecting its throat to be slashed, instead I stared in shock as the werewolf was kicked aside. It yelped once and lay still when it hit the ground. How had the horse moved so fast? I hadn't seen it, and could only imagine that my mind was playing tricks on me after I'd lost so much blood.

"Well, now," I stood straighter. "Looks like a fairer fight." Another werewolf hit the dirt after attacking the horse, and I swept out my hand, decapitating a werewolf who'd turned to watch.

* * *

"How did you know?" I woke briefly as Joey steered my rental into the safe house garage. He and the two Corpus Christi vampires had shown up as the last werewolf died. Joey had lifted me into my rental after I'd been checked briefly by Jeff, who demanded that I be taken back to the safe house quickly. The horse had disappeared the moment the last werewolf fell, leaving me with Joey and the others.

"Got a call from Anna," Joey muttered as he left the driver's side and trotted over to pull me from the vehicle. "This isn't gonna be fun for a while, Adam. They have to scrub all the werewolf saliva out of your wounds, and it's gonna hurt."

"I know." Wearily I closed my eyes as Joey lifted me easily and carried me down the steps leading into the safe house.

Werewolf saliva is poison to any vampire. Enough of it will kill a vampire if it isn't washed out of the wounds—the vampire's healing reflex will attempt to close the wound, locking the saliva inside to infect the flesh around it.

Death by werewolf saliva isn't pretty, either; I'd seen photographs of puddles of dissolving flesh after an attack by werewolves. My vision swam and I lost consciousness for a while, until Jeff began scrubbing my ripped flesh with a stiff brush and peroxide. The screams—my screams—started then.

"He's fighting us," I heard Joey's voice and footsteps. "We have to get the wounds cleaned out."

"I know. Let me help."

Anna's voice. What the fuck was she doing here? Not only did she not need to see this, it was dangerous. For us, as well as her. Plus, she now knew the location of the safe house. In my foggy consciousness, I promised myself that I'd punch Joey for bringing Anna here the moment I was able. My vision was blurry, but I recognized Anna's face and scent as she leaned over me.

"Adam, you'll feel better in a minute. I promise," she said to me. As confused as I was, I had no idea, short of staking or beheading, if anything might make me feel better.

"Hold still," she soothed and settled onto the bed beside me. Surprisingly, Anna lowered her forehead until it touched mine. What happened after that I have no words to explain. The pain fled and I was floating away. The last thing I heard before I was gone completely was Anna's voice, asking Jeff to continue his efforts.

* * *

I woke on clean sheets, my wounds almost healed. Only a few red marks remained where I'd been ripped apart—I examined my arms carefully to make sure. Vampires heal quickly, but the wounds I'd suffered should have kept me down for days. Instead, I was nearly whole and felt surprisingly good.

Sitting up in bed, I discovered the strangest sight. Anna was sitting on the floor beside my bed, her head leaning against the side of my mattress. She was asleep. I frowned.

Had she witnessed the rejuvenating process, where I'd stopped breathing as the sun came up? If she had, we could all be in trouble. I didn't want to place compulsion; somehow that felt repugnant to me, although it could prove necessary.

Another thought wriggled its way into my brain. She was there. I was there. My body was certainly awakening. Reaching out carefully so as not to startle her, I gently traced her cheek with a finger before leaning in to place a kiss. That alarmed her and it took every bit of speed I could muster to keep her from getting away from me.

"Here, now, where might you be going?" I allowed the accent to come through in my voice. Anna's green eyes were frightened, I saw that immediately as I held her tightly and pulled her body over mine.

"Adam, no," she whimpered and struggled against me.

"But your wiggling is giving me ideas." I smiled, attempting to calm her. Fear enveloped her, and I had no idea where it had come from, unless she had seen things the night before that might require compulsion.

"Adam," she dropped her forehead onto my chest and went still.

"Anna?" I stroked her hair carefully. It was fine and soft as silk against my hand. I couldn't recall the last time I'd touched any woman's hair, and I wanted to bury my nose in Anna's.

"Adam, I," she hesitated. "I don't have any good memories of sex," she added eventually before lifting her head.

"What?" I blinked at her. She was trembling, now, and that worried me.

"I just don't." She attempted to push herself away from me. My arms tightened about her in reflex.

"It was bad every time?" I studied her face—she was terrified.

"There was only once," she closed her eyes in remembered pain. "It wasn't, well, consensual."

I think it was at that moment I first vowed to find the bastard who raped her and make him dead—in a very painful way. When Anna's body shivered against mine, I wanted to kill the bastard twice. Once for raping her, and the second time for making her afraid of me.

"Then we'll take this slow," I whispered, rolling over and taking Anna with me until her body was partially beneath mine. "When you're ready, I'll love you properly and you'll have better memories. I guarantee it. For now, I'll settle for a few kisses, followed by an extremely cold shower." I breathed in her scent and nuzzled her ear before placing the first kiss at a sensitive spot beneath her earlobe.