Authors: S. L. Eaves
He glances around. His hands are shaking and, more importantly, looking less human by the second.
“Uh—you better come in then. You can use my phone.”
Fur begins sprouting from the seams of his clothes. His nose and ears start transforming. I step back nervously.
“On second thought—“
I didn’t have a chance to finish.
There is a faint whiz. His head snaps back.
Smoke rises from his burnt eye socket.
He staggers backward. I duck instinctively and look up as puss oozes down his cheek.
Another whiz. This bullet strikes him through the heart.
A gasp, then a thump as he hits the doorframe. I bend over him, watching the hair recede from his jaw line, claws retract as human hands re-emerge.
“Whoa.”
“Let’s drag him inside before someone sees.” Crina is at my side, predictably calm.
“Why’d you drag it out? And why’d he start to change like that?”
“He was a werewolf. What’d you expect?”
Recapping those past few moments in my head, I remember how he’d looked at me.
“It was the blood wasn’t it? It set him off? And you knew it would.”
“He was newly turned, knew he’d react to the blood; human or demon.”
“That’s cold.” I turn my attention to the corpse in the doorway. I bent down and pull him inside. She closes the door behind us.
“I wanted you to see what we’re up against.”
I go to his fridge and remove a beer. She follows me in and hands me a towel for the blood that’d sprayed my face.
“In your state, you’d continue viewing us as evil if you saw me taking out a human. I’m trying to make you see the truth behind our facades…It’s not like I let him attack you.”
“Well I should be thanking you then,” I say sarcastically.
She glances around his place. “You did well. Now help me make this look like a robbery gone bad.”
“I’m guessing him living alone makes this a lot easier?”
“Yes. Particularly in that we can now enter to cover our tracks and extract intel without having to create a bigger mess.”
“That’s how it works? You can enter their home after death?”
“Yep.” She nods.
“You could’ve at least armed me.”
Chapter 15
After thoroughly ransacking his house and taking all the cash we can find, we make a hasty departure. Robbery victim to the police; casualty of war to the wolves.
Crina drives us into Bristol. Feeling chatty, she talks mainly about wolves, but I am just glad for the conversation. But it isn’t long before the topic turns to Catch.
“If you don’t mind my observation, you and Catch seem to have grown awfully close awfully fast.”
Crina’s eyes do not stray from the road and I can’t read her tone.
“We have this inexplicable connection. As though I knew him before I’d ever met him. And once I did, I…it’s been tough to stay away.”
I struggle for the right words to express my conflicted emotions toward the brooding Brit.
“I get it. I fell for the guy who turned me. It’s natural.”
“Yeah, I mean I guess it’s the blood. Honestly though once we did meet, it was like ‘hey what took you so long?’ Strangest feeling…as though we’d been together in another life. Ironic perspective now, I suppose. What’s your story?”
“I saw Dominique in my dreams before I ever knew he existed. Always as a figure looming in the background, haunting me. Then when we met, we carried on as if we’d known one another our whole lives. I told him of his uncanny resemblance to a ghost in my visions. He said he’d seen me in the same way, had been reaching out to me in his subconscious. Accused me of haunting him.” She grins faintly.
“Are you two still together?”
I haven’t heard his name before tonight.
“He died in the firestorm.”
“Oh. Damn. I’m sorry.”
“I should have been there, too. I was miles away visiting the grave of a mortal. Someone I’d known in my past. He died and I could never bring myself to visit his grave. But I needed closure, so with Dominique’s coaxing, I went. Eighty years without setting foot on my homeland…let’s just say my timing was horrible.” Her voice trailed off.
“Or perfect. He saved you. Unknowingly, but from what I gather no one survived, right? If you think the outcome would have been different, that you could have saved him, you’re delusional. And you’re just torturing yourself with that reasoning.”
Crina pulls the car into the darkest corner of a deserted lot.
“I was immersed in my past, while my present was being ripped out from under me. Take my advice and never look back.”
She kills the engine and adds, “Catch is like a brother to me. We’ve fought side by side for two decades. He’s saved me from precarious situations more times than I’d like to admit. As valiant a fighter as I ever knew.”
I nod.
She jumps over the driver’s side door. “Keep him fighting.”
We creep along the wall of a shopping mall. Tonight is a new moon and, in the absence of street lights, we are naturally shrouded. Crina stops suddenly, a few feet from the door. She points first to the camera above her head, then to the security code box by the door’s handle. She reaches up and pulls the wiring from the camera. The little red light flicks off. She removes the 9mm from her side holster and begins attaching a silencer. I tap her arm and walk over to the grid. She watches me curiously as I bend down and pick up a handful of dirt. I proceed to blow it over the grid and Crina observes over my shoulder.
The grime reveals oily finger prints on four numbers. I begin punching them into the keypad and three combinations later the grid beeps and Crina eases the door open.
“Clever, but my way is faster,” she jokes.
“True. But anyone can shoot their way in. I’m trying to impress you here.”
The department store greets us with eerie silence. Our enhanced vision helps us navigate, but I still manage to snag myself several times on clothes racks. This is not Crina’s first time. She tears through the aisles with whirlwind precision; clothes vanish from the hooks, some making their way into her arms, some to the floor.
“Are there cameras in here?”
“Yeah, but they’re decoys.”
She tosses me a couple shirts.
“Relax. Try these.” She ducks into the dressing rooms.
Hell with it. I go right to the one thing I’d always wanted but could never afford. A leather jacket. The designer’s names aren’t familiar, but their labels look expensive. I select the jacket with the most digits on its price tag. Once I nab the most luxurious leather jacket the store has to offer, it is easy to steal the little things like tees and jeans.
I am at the register fumbling with the jacket’s pesky security tag when Crina bounds over.
“Here, this screams you.”
“What, does it have college letters on it?”
She laughs. “It’ll look hot under that jacket.”
“Yeah, if I can ever get this damn thing off.”
“Allow me.” With one quick sweep across the magnetic contraption, she pops it right off.
Smiling, she hands me the coat. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“You don’t think much of me do you? I mean as a prospect—trainee—or what have you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Just sensed it.”
“Honestly, you have to earn my respect. And yes, I will test you. But look at it this way—if I don’t test you, it means I don’t care enough to bother.”
“So I’m worth it, then? I can deal with that.”
“Good.”
She stuffs a bunch of clothes into bags. It seems the outing has been a success. We pack the coupe’s tiny trunk and speed off.
“Wow, that was awesome.”
“That was nothing. We’re just getting warmed up.”
“Oh yeah?”
She points at my arm. “We gotta get you something to go with that jacket.”
Minutes later, we find ourselves standing outside a motorcycle dealership.
“No way.”
“Do your little fingerprints trick.”
The night is still and this area of Bristol doesn’t see much foot traffic after dark.
I hear the shrill of a train horn from somewhere nearby. I cautiously approach the intimidating glass doors. A few seconds later we enter a showroom full of beautiful sports bikes and ATVs.
“Catch said he was teaching you how to ride. Think you can handle one of these babies?”
His lessons had focused mainly on four-wheeled forms of transport. He’d shown me some basics, but I am no pro by any stretch of the mind. I don’t let that discourage me.
“I’m a fast learner.” I mount a black-and-blue Ninja.
Crina takes her time eyeing the inventory.
“You should pick by comfort. You’ll be repainting it later, assuming you don’t wreck it.”
After perusing, she chooses a sleek Kawasaki ZX-14. She grabs a couple plates from the back room, along with keys.
“Put this plate on for now and these keys should work. If not, you’ll find others in the back. They’re sorted by series. Helmets back there too.”
“What’s a vampire need a helmet for?”
“Bugs.”
I follow her instructions, choose a silver ZZR with way more torque than I can handle, and soon we are blazing through the streets of Bristol.
Off balance and shaky at first, I have some trouble adjusting. Ten minutes in, I am unstoppable. We cut through the crisp night air. As we ride along the river, the distinct sweet and salty aroma begs me to breath it in. Every second feels like my first and last on earth. We weave in and out, cutting through parks, playing chicken with cars. After a few hours of joy riding, we find ourselves clanking along the wooden planks of the docks.
Before I know what is happening, Crina is zipping full speed down a long stretch of pier, heading straight out into the water. When she gets to the end, mere inches from the edge, she leaps straight up into the air, flipping backward as her bike continues its forward surge right off the pier and into the water.
She lands on her feet, standing coolly as she watches her bike submerge before her.
I gawk from the base of the pier, my helmet partially raised above my head. She strolls nonchalantly back toward where I stand, straddling my bike.
“Now that was a rush.” Crina is grinning broadly.
“You’re nuts.”
“You need to learn how to live, now that—”
“Now that I’m dead,” I finish.
“Now that nothing’s holding you back,” she corrects.
“Uh huh…”
“Let’s go retrieve my car.”
She hops on the back of my bike and directs us back to the alley where we’d stowed the coupe.
When we return to the mansion, I spend some time in the stables admiring my new toy. As it happens, the stables are equipped with a body shop and house an array of exotic sports cars, motorcycles, and even a couple ATVs. Access to a collection like this could get a less disciplined individual into some trouble.
Chapter 16
It is a crisp fall evening and I awake with the distinct feeling I’m not alone. Unsettled, I roll over to find Catch perched at my bedroom window, a statue on the sill, the curtain pulled back. The sun has almost completely set and he watches the indigo sky.
“Catch?”
He turns, regarding me with warm eyes.
“When did you get back?”
“Just before sunrise. I couldn’t sleep. Somehow I wandered in here.” He cracks a smile. “I guess I missed you.”
I sit up. “Four long days. Was your trip a successful one?”
“Yes, gladly, the mission was a success. The streets of Rome are safe from wolves again. Will you take a walk with me?”
I throw a sweatshirt on over the tattered Sex Pistols tee I’d swiped from Catch’s collection. I’d acquired the habit of sleeping in his shirts, and he laughed when he saw it and offered to bring me more.
We stroll the paths around the grounds. Our trail is cloaked in ancient trees whose branches reach across the sky, illuminated in the twilight. I take my time soaking in the atmosphere. Catch is the first to break the silence.
“I know things have been…different lately, tense sometimes. I want you to know it’s not what I want, but it’s how I feel it has to be. I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I feel like I should, but it’s not even possible. No matter how hard I might will it. Do I trust you? Probably more than I should. Do I love you? I don’t know, but I feel something and it’s not hatred.”
Catch takes my hand in his.
“I can work with that. Trust, love…must be earned.”
He returns my questioning expression with edgy laughter.
“I hate it. Used to be only time I felt passion was during combat, now…you bring out a side of me I didn’t know I had. Very unnerving.”
He pokes me flirtatiously in the ribs. I mess up his already disheveled hair.
We walk like this for a while, enjoying a comfortable silence and playful jesting.
“How is training going?”
“I finally got to leave the base.”
“That so?”
“Crina took me out on one of her hunts. Took me shopping too.”
I feel like adding that last part would lessen any negative reaction to the first. It doesn’t.
“You went after a wolf? The two of you?”
“Yes. She did all the legwork. I just…observed. Are you mad?”
“No, just disappointed. I wanted to be the first to take you out on a hunt.”
“You still can, officially. I don’t think Marcus knows I joined Crina.”
“Ah well, good then. I’m glad she took on a mentor role in my absence.” He nods as if trying to convince himself.
“Regardless, it was nice to get out. Not that our ventures haven’t been fun, it’s just I sometimes feel like a prisoner more than a contributor. If this is my future then I want to at least make myself useful.”
“It didn’t bother you? Watching her kill one?”
“Uh not really. I mean I can’t say it was enjoyable, but knowing what he was and what he did—it seemed justified, in my mind.”
“Sometimes the hardest part is seeing them as monsters. Especially if you still identify with humans.”
“Well I am not about to go all cheerleader about it, but I get it. I’m starting to understand… and I think once I see these wolves in action I won’t have a problem taking up your cause.”
“Our cause.” He smiles.
“Right… anyhow, tonight I get to play with knives and swords and such.”
“Ooo, they’re trusting you with the heavy artillery. Scary.”
Laughing, I say, “Well I wouldn’t call fencing heavy artillery. They haven’t let me near the explosives or machine guns yet.”
“And if they’re smart, they won’t,” he jokes, running his hand up the back of my sweatshirt.
“The swords are made of silver…” I pull his hand away and he responds by shoving me against a tree. “…to pierce the heart.”
He kisses me fiercely, pinning my arms above my head against the trunk.
When he unglues his lips from mine, he looks into my eyes.
My gaze is defiant. “I am not the answer to anything and I cannot fix you.”
It had just erupted. Months of bottled-up insecurity.
Catch is not thrown by my outburst. In fact he reacts as if he expected it. My arms are still pinned above my head, spine grinding the tree bark. He whispers into my ear.
“Adrian believes you’re the answer, not me.” He steps back, his words still hot against my cheek. “And if you can’t fix me, no one can.”
He grins shrewdly, releasing his grasp.
And thus is our dance. The continuous bantering of a love, hate, can’t live with-can’t live without you relationship.
We are inseparable and, very possibly, insufferable.
***
Weeks pass and I have yet to participate in battle. The others would argue that I had indeed joined them on many excursions, but not having yet killed my first canine, I maintain rookie status. Leaving meant going to kill something, so I realize the irony in being anxious to get my own mission, but I can’t stay holed up watching the rest of the clan come and go. Most of my time is split between the physical—weapon and combat training—and the mental—studying intel, reading reports, surveying targets. I log many hours in the tech room helping Jiro comb through reports of wolf attacks.
Catch and I do squeeze in the occasional joyride through the lush English countryside. He’d been teaching me how to drive, but those outings are few and far between. Vampires come through sporadically, replenishing their supplies, receiving new orders, then dispersing. Marcus has an open door policy for rogues. Even if they don’t want to take orders, if they come with information on werewolf activity, they are welcome to blood and a place to crash for a few days.
The open invitation also draws in many vampires on the verge of demise. Many having received nearly fatal blows in attacks from wolves, slayers, and other demon predators I can’t quite wrap my head around. But I hear the stories. And I see the gruesome afflictions, the agony, the despair.
Xan and Jiro field incoming werewolf sightings, monitor tracking, and occasionally Marcus sends vamps out on recon—typically indicating surveillance, but more often it stood for “clean up.” Covering our own tracks often takes more work than the actual hunt.
I wait—albeit impatiently—for my first official assignment. And the more I see, the more I learn, the more the hate inside me festers. I start to understand the cause and appreciate the sacrifices being made for it.
The two libraries, or “vaults” as Catch calls them, consume much of my down time. The most extensive collection of literature is kept in the main study on the first floor, while the rarer volumes are kept in a library on the third floor, Marcus’s private collection. Marcus joins me some nights in the main study as I peruse the volumes. He tells me stories and helps me decipher some of the ancient works; he is a great teacher. Sometimes we sit in silence, drinking grain alcohol and blood over a game of chess. These nights are few and far between, however; the war is escalating and both our plates are full, his especially.
I hate when Catch leaves on assignment. Not because I can’t bear the separation, but because I am jealous, itching to be fighting by his side. Their training, the constant commando mentality—it is effectively brainwashing me. Marcus assures me it won’t be long.
He feels I am ready and I know I am ready, but there are other issues to consider. Exactly what I’m not sure. Is he saving me for something? Awaiting word from Adrian?
One night when the team is out chasing a couple wolves through the streets of Dublin, Marcus challenges me to a game of chess. I join him in the library. Marcus does not often engage in combat. I’m not clear on why but got the impression the others felt he was too valuable to risk in the field. Believable, sure, but I can’t shake the notion that they are covering for something.
Catch has said he used to participate in the front lines until Adrian’s reprimand—the careless turns—and that Marcus only joins combat when direly needed. I once heard him proclaim “he was too old for this.” The rumors of his days as a vicious mercenary are hard to miss.
Looking at the refined creature seated across from me, it is hard to believe him a ruthless killer. His notorious ‘fly off the handle’ temper seems all smoke and mirrors to me.
“A man I once knew said, ‘When the honorable lay down their swords, the weak will die and evil will reign supreme.’”
As if he is reading my mind. “Does that make us the honorable ones? The heroes?”
“Either that or it makes us the weak.”
“Weak or strong, without evil, without enemies, we have no heroes,” I respond.
Marcus raises his eyebrows, eyes still studying the board.
“But without heroes we have only ourselves to blame.”
“The eternal struggle.”
He moves his pawn.
“You think us nothing more than a cliché?” He speaks without looking up.
My eyes go to the board.
He continues, “We fight because we have to, but we also fight because there are those that cannot. Those that need protecting. Those necessary to keep the balance intact.”
I move my bishop and meet his gaze. “Understood. But that implies we are the good, we are the courageous, the honorable, when there is little redeeming about our kind. Our breed exists as a catalyst for destruction.”
Marcus smiles. “The same could be said for humans.”
He takes my bishop with one subtle sleight of hand, replacing it with his knight. He continues, “Vampires cannot be heroes?”
“Just because we are fighting something evil doesn’t make us good. All I’m sayin’.” I concentrate on the board.
“This mansion is filled with warriors. Without werewolves, without adversaries, who would we be? Where would the inner demon focus its energy?” Marcus sighs. “The hunger is not simply for dinner; it’s for something much deeper, something primordial. And if we can find an enemy to feed it, well, it helps to have something to fight for.”
I’m not comfortable with the illusion that we are the nobler of the species. But in the absence of the illusion there is a reality I am more fearful to know.
I slide my queen across the board.
“Checkmate.”