Bitten 2 (5 page)

“Hurry up before someone sees us!” a voice hissed up ahead of me. A moment later the sound of shattering glass cut through the air, and unease crept through me.

Peering ahead, I struggled to see anything between the closely parked cars. I could just make out a figure standing close to where I’d parked my Jeep, the light of the nearby streetlight doing little to illuminate the face beneath a baseball cap. Something half remembered fluttered at the back of my mind, adding to the wariness blooming in my gut.

“Aren’t you done yet?” the same voice asked, tight with tension.

“Almost. Keep an eye out for anyone coming,” another voice responded in an irritated growl.

A loud pop made me jump, and the sound of rushing air spurred my cautious steps into a jog.

“What the fuck?” I said as my Jeep came into sight, several spider web cracks marring the windshield where someone had smashed it.

That someone was probably the man standing on the sidewalk with a bat draped over his shoulder. Drawing closer I recognized him as the kid who’d shouted hate-filled epithets at me earlier in the evening. Crouched in the gutter with a knife in his hand his buddy was making short work of slashing my tires.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from my car!”

“Shit! She’s coming. Move your ass, Mike,” Baseball Cap hissed, already backing away.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, breaking into a run.

Wiggling his knife in an effort to remove it from the tire he had just stabbed, Mike looked up with wide eyes to see me pounding down the sidewalk towards him. Giving up on pulling the knife free, he sprang up and ran after his friend who had already made it halfway down the block. There may be honor among thieves, but there didn’t appear to be any among whack-jobs.

“Oh no you don’t,” I muttered, dropping the file folder near my Jeep and giving chase.

It was easy enough to catch up to the straggler, the wolf lending speed and power to my pumping legs. Landing a hand on his shoulder, I pulled him to a lurching stop, my grip on his shirt the only thing keeping him from ending up in a tangled heap on the sidewalk.

“Get your filthy werewolf hands off me!” he shouted as I whirled him around to face me. He looked a year or two older than his friend, close shorn, dark hair and bright blue eyes making him look like any one of a hundred college kids.

Christ, are they recruiting these guys in daycare now?
I thought, my surprise at him being so young almost making me loosen my hold on him.

“Let me go of me, you bitch!” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips.

The rain of spit peppering my shirt instantly dispelled my surprise, bringing my anger roaring back to life.

“What the hell were you doing to my car?” I asked, tightening my grip on his shirt.

Rather than answering, he tried to pull away, and discovering that he couldn’t budge, resorted to spitting in my face with a shocking degree of accuracy. I jumped at the wad of phlegm hitting me in the eyes, blinding me for a moment.

That’s disgusting!

I was reaching to wipe the spit from my face when my spidey-senses tingled, every muscle in my body coiling tight like a spring. Opening my eyes, I felt a cold sweat break out over every inch of my skin. Mike had produced another knife that he was now waving mere inches from the tip of my nose. Releasing my grip on him as if his shirt had caught fire under my fingertips, I lurched back out of his reach. Sharp, pointy things are generally bad, and I knew that the Humans for Humanity crowd were known for toting silver.

Something in the gift, curse, virus—whatever you want to call it—that gives life to the beast living inside all weres also makes us susceptible to silver in a horrifically violent way. We can heal damn near anything short of beheading or full amputation, and even then I’d heard of rare cases where a were was able to regenerate a severed limb. Injuries inflicted with silver, however, are another matter entirely. The mere contact of silver against the skin is like a severe allergic reaction, with prolonged exposure leading to blistering, burns, and scarring. A wound made by silver will leave an ugly scar and oftentimes continue to plague the victim with pain for the rest of their days.

Silver is not something we weres tend to fool around with.

It had been an unhappy day when I’d had to don a pair of heavy duty work gloves and pull every piece of silver out of my jewelry box shortly after Samson had attacked me. As thanks, I’d emptied a full magazine of silver bullets into his face eight years later. It was one of the best damn things I’ve ever done.

Wind milling my arms, I reared back a pace or two, and regarded the asshat glaring at me. Settling into a ready stance he’d probably seen in some crappy Kung-Fu movie, he waved the knife at me again. Beyond his shoulder his friend disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.

Giving the air a sniff, I almost sighed in relief when I couldn’t detect any traces of the familiar oily stink of silver. The lack of silver didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous, but I was bolstered by my certainty that he didn’t have anything that could cause any permanent damage unless he landed an incredibly lucky blow.

“Stay back wolf!” he said, brandishing the knife as he took several shuffling steps backwards.

“Hey man, I just want to know why you trashed my Jeep,” I said, raising my hands. “I didn’t do anything to you. Hell, I’ve never even met you before.”

“Because you’re a travesty against God!”

“I bet more than half of the cars on this block belong to the half-naked vamps strutting around inside Asylum. So why’d you single out
my
car?”

“He told us if we saw you that we should make things difficult for you.” A moment later his cheeks darkened as if he’d just blurted something he wasn’t supposed to.

The intellect of these guys is astounding. It’s a wonder they know how to tie their own shoes.

“Who told you?” I asked, forgetting about the threat of the knife for a second as confusion swept through me. Holbrook’s former partner, Johnson, had ties to Humans for Humanity, but he’d disappeared without a trace after escaping from FBI headquarters when I outed him. Was it possible he’d come back to town looking for revenge? I wasn’t sure I could handle the deranged former FBI agent without Holbrook’s help.

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“Who told you?” I asked again, daring to take a step forward. The thought of Johnson resurfacing lent fire to my anger, burning through the fear of my would-be assailant’s weapon. “Was it Johnson?”

A flicker of recognition flared on his face for an instant before the knife came up between us, wielded in a shaking hand. Ignoring the threat of the knife, I reached for him, batting the blade aside with ease. The last time I’d gotten into a fight, I’d been suffering from broken ribs and the after effects of being drugged with wolfsbane. I had no such problems now, and my lips spread into a triumphant smile as the knife fell to the sidewalk with a clatter.

Grasping Mike by the front of his shirt with both hands, I shook him roughly. “Tell me.”

Wide eyes regarded me, and for a moment he looked as though he would answer. The scent of his fear filled the air, calling to the wolf with its sour perfume. Since killing Samson, the wolf’s hunger had developed a merciless edge. She seemed to be lingering closer to the surface than before, always there, pressing on my consciousness like a weight. It took a force of will to resist her desire to scare Mike into pissing himself and in my moment of distraction the tables turned.

Shaking my head to refocus my thoughts, I looked back at my newest fan to find his lips contorted into a vicious smile, his eyes shining with sinister delight. I didn’t have time to wonder what he was grinning at before I heard the whistle of something slicing through the air a second before the bat connected, causing my arm going numb while pain spread across my shoulders.

I tried to dance out of the way of the bat’s next swing, but my disorientation from the first blow made me a fraction of a second too slow. The bat caught me across the back, making my breath lodge in my throat, bringing shocked tears to my eyes.

“Hit her again, Jason!” Mike cheered as he collected his knife from the ground and began to dance about in sadistic glee. Now that his buddy was there using me for batting practice, his fear had fled. Funny how the whackos always feel better when the numbers favor their side.

Gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, I stumbled backwards, staggering into the side of a parked car. Above the sound of my own wheezing breath, I caught the sound of the bat coming at me again and managed to get my good arm up in front of my face just in time. The impact of the bat slamming into my forearm sent pain running up to my shoulder in a fiery path, and when I heard a loud crack I had to wonder if Baseball Cap had broken my arm. Squinting through the pained tears blurring my vision, I was relieved to see that it was the bat that had snapped rather than my arm. Taking advantage of the Idiot Twin’s momentary shock I gave my fingers an experimental wiggle and was glad that they responded to my commands.

Well, that’s a relief.

“You bitch!” Baseball Cap snarled. “He told us you’d be trouble.”

Throwing his broken weapon aside, he snatched the knife from his friend’s hand and advanced towards me, appearing far more comfortable with the knife in his hand than his buddy had. The accelerated healing and increased speed of the wolf meant I could tolerate a hell of a lot more punishment than a mundane, but that didn’t mean I relished the idea of taking a beating. Besides, being faster and stronger will only get you so far when you’ve got no idea how to fight or defend yourself.

Chuck Norris I’m not.

I heard the whisper of footsteps as Baseball Cap took a step towards me and wondered if my hearing had suddenly developed an echo. When the sound came again a second later, my heart constricted in fear at the thought of more cronies showing up to join in the fun. I was having a hard enough time dealing with my two assailants and was pretty sure that the addition of a third would mean lights out for me. Luck, for once, was on my side.

At the same moment my assailants realized we weren’t alone anymore, I caught the mildew smell of a vamp. Looking over Baseball Cap’s shoulder I spied Chuckles pounding down the street towards us, and, for the first time in my life, found myself grateful for one of their kind showing up uninvited. Hollywood likes to portray vamps as moving so fast that they appear as a blur, and like much of the other stuff that comes out of Hollywood, it’s total crap. If they really moved that fast they’d all end up setting themselves on fire from the friction alone.

Still, vamps
do
move faster than mundanes, and before the Twins had a chance to react, Chuckles knocked the knife aside, sending it clattering to the sidewalk once more. Apparently not the brightest bulb in the box, Mike moved to retrieve his weapon, lurching to a halt when Chuckles rumbled, “Don’t even think about it, meat sack.”

It was fairly benign as threats go, but his milky-white stare and the accompanying flash of fang sent a shiver of fear sliding down my spine. Mike, it seemed, didn’t share my sense of self-preservation and continued to reach for the knife. His movement was halted by a large, pale fist smashing into his face, a fount of blood erupting from his nose. I didn’t bother trying to hide my smile of pleasure as he turned wide, watery eyes towards us.

“You fucking fanger! You broke my nose!” he exclaimed through the fingers pressed over his face.

“And I’ll break your neck next if you try anything else,” Chuckles rumbled, his wide grin leaving no doubt in my mind he hoped Mike was just that stupid. I guessed that the wolf wasn’t the only one excited by the scent of spilled blood.

Before either one of my new friends could fire off some vitriol laden comment that would inspire Chuckles to follow up on his threat, he pulled two zip ties out of his pocket and offered them to me.

“Want to do the honors?”

“I’d love to,” I replied, accepting them from him with a smile.

I guess all vamps aren’t so bad after all.

Once my new buddies had been secured, I retrieved Chrismer’s file from the pavement and followed Chuckles back to the club.

* * *

The thumping music of the club grated on my nerves even more than the first time as Chuckles and I herded the Idiot Twins towards Cordova’s office. I anticipated an endless string of shouted insults and threats and was genuinely surprised when they both remained tight-lipped. It seemed they actually had enough common sense to avoid inciting the wrath of a dozen vamps in an enclosed space.

Will wonders never cease?

Trudging up the narrow stairs, pushing Baseball Cap ahead of me, my legs felt heavy with weariness. Keeping one hand on the back of his shirt to keep him from inadvertently falling flat on his face, I had to wonder at how quickly things had spiraled out of control. I hoped that it wasn’t a portent of things to come, but had the unsettling feeling that such a hope was doomed from the moment I’d agreed to work for Cordova.

A widening of her eyes was all the sign Cordova’s receptionist gave at our unannounced arrival, and in a flash she had risen from her seat and come around the desk.

“Is everything alright?”