Blood Moon (13 page)

Her mother threw her arms around her once more and her voice was thick with barely suppressed tears. “Oh, Sophie. Some men came to the house last night and they… they shot your father. He’s dead.”

Sophie pulled away from her mother. This had to be some sort of terrible joke. Her dad couldn’t be dead. He was big, and strong. He’d have protected them from the bad men. She looked to her Aunt Kasha, but she was weeping into Uncle Dmitri’s shoulder, and tears flowed freely down her uncle’s cheeks. She jumped to her feet on the far side of the bed and backed away from her family. “No! It’s not true. You’re just saying that. Take it back!”

“Sophie…”

“No! You’re lying. Where’s my dad?” she yelled, then ran towards the double doors at the far end of the room and threw them open. The view beyond the doors stopped her dead in her tracks.

Twenty-foot-high steel fences, topped with coils of razor wire, stretched out as far as the eye could see, with tall towers every fifty feet. Rows of single storey buildings, identical to the one she’d just come from, sat in the middle of a large expanse of concrete, and beyond the fence she could see armed soldiers patrolling with savage-looking dogs. Two CCTV cameras whirred and angled themselves towards her as she stepped outside. Her mother came up behind her and put her arms on her shoulders. “Come back inside, Sophie. Please. It’s not safe out there.”

Sophie turned to her mother, unable to get the words out past the tightening in her throat at first. “Mum… are we in prison?”

Her mother didn’t answer, just stroked her hair and guided her back into the building.

She looked up into her mother’s tear-filled eyes. “But why? We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, darling. They didn’t come for us because of anything that we’ve done. They came for us because of what we are. Do you understand?”

“Because we’re werewolves? Like they said on the news?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Some people are scared of what they don’t understand. They hate anything that’s different to themselves. We need to be strong, and we need to help each other. Can you be a big girl and help me?”

Sophie sniffed and wiped her nose on her pyjama sleeve. “Yes. I can be a big girl. I’ll take care of you. The others will come for us soon. Michael and the rest of the pack will come and kill all of these bad men and then we’ll be able to go home again.”

She looked up into her mother’s face, hoping to see her agreement, but she turned her head away and wiped her eyes. “I hope so, baby. I really do.”

25th December 2008. Trecorras Cottage, Llangarron, Herefordshire. 08:15

Marie rolled over in bed and reached out for the warmth of John’s body, but found only empty space where he should have been. She momentarily wondered where he’d gone before the memories of the previous night flooded back and the sudden wave of grief threatened to engulf her. She could smell his lingering odour on his pillow, which still bore the indentation of his head. His clothes were folded neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. It was as if he were still here instead of lying on a mortuary slab in that military base. As if he would come through the bedroom door at any moment with a cup of coffee, kiss her on the forehead and retreat before she could tell him to fuck off and leave her in peace. What she’d give for another chance to have him make her breakfast. To apologise for being such a bitch. To throw her arms around him, hold him close and tell him that she’d always loved him. The crushing loss was like a weight on her chest, making it hard to draw breath or find the will to do so. She felt as if she’d been hollowed out and all of her thoughts and emotions replaced with a terrible, cavernous emptiness that nothing would ever fill.

The first glimmering light of dawn shone through the cracks in the curtains, and she became increasingly aware of her aching bladder and dry mouth. She tried to ignore the sensations, wanting nothing more than to stay in the warm bed and pretend that John still lay there beside her, or that he was downstairs. To hold onto the fantasy for just a little longer. It was no use. The more she tried to ignore it, the more insistent the ache became. She put a tentative foot out from under the duvet, wincing at the frigid air against her toes, then forced herself to get up and scurry to the en-suite bathroom to relieve herself. After that, she resolved to spend the rest of the day in bed. Michael and Daniel could go fuck themselves.

Marie grimaced as her bare backside made contact with the ice cold toilet seat, then sighed with relief as the pressure dissipated. Her senses instinctively reached out to take in the sounds of the house, a fact that surprised her a little. She’d almost gotten used to the muted, crippled, human awareness that she’d been stuck with for the past six weeks. Now, it was as if someone had turned the dial up to 11. She could hear not only Michael’s rhythmic snoring along the hallway, but could also make out the steady beat of his heart through the solid stone walls. She stretched out further, listening to the sound of a mouse scrabbling about in the attic. The sound of the back door to the cottage opening and being very carefully closed. The unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked. The smell of sweat against metal and gun oil, with an undertone of fear.

Oh shit!

She knew it was Daniel holding the weapon. His scent was unmistakable. The lingering after-tones of that terrible aftershave he wore wove through the other aromas like a tapestry. She tried to extend her senses further, to identify some external threat that would justify him entering the house with a cocked and loaded firearm, or explain the sour tang of fear in his odour, but the only sounds and scents from outside were those of the world coming back to life.

That only left one explanation. He was coming for her and Michael.

She tried to remember where her own pistol was, then realised it was still downstairs in the hallway where she’d left it last night. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, looking for something she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing more threatening to hand than a toilet brush. She shook her head, disgusted at herself. Had she forgotten so quickly? She didn’t need a weapon to deal with Daniel. She was a weapon.

She eased herself from the toilet and silently crouched on the freezing linoleum floor, then closed her eyes and willed the change.

Nothing happened. And she could hear Daniel’s first tentative footsteps on the staircase. There wasn’t much time.

She plunged into the darkness of her mind, following her instincts, searching for the animal presence that lurked deep within. That familiar, other part of herself that she’d lived with since she was eight years old.

It wasn’t there. Not
her
wolf, anyway. What she found was newborn. Little more than a whimpering puppy. Immature. Still gestating until the light of the full moon gave birth to it. It made sense then. The werewolf side of herself
had
been killed by Steven Wilkinson back in High Moor. She had been human, but the teeth and claws of Anya re-infected her during the battle in Scotland. She was a werewolf, but she was a
different
werewolf, and not yet a mature one. Her emotional state last night had brought on the change prematurely, and she’d been left with some residual capabilities, such as the enhanced senses, but she wasn’t certain if she’d be able to fully transform, or what the attempt would do to her.

Fuck it. It’s not like I have a choice.

She dug deep, dredging up every scrap of pain and anger she could muster. Reliving the sight of bullets tearing into John as he fell to the tarmac and lay still. Drawing on the pain and loss, not only of John, but at her exile from the pack. The terror she’d felt when Connie hunted her in the woods, or when Oskar, Anya and Leonid had come for them at the cottage in Scotland. The fury at Daniel for turning on them after they’d been through so much together. The thought of his traitorous flesh tearing under her fangs, and the taste of his hot blood as it gushed across her muzzle.

Her skin prickled and itched as thick brown fur burst from her pores. The bones in her back shattered and reformed in an instant. Vertebrae popped and cracked along her spine as it arched, twisted and contorted. Vicious, black talons burst through the ends of her fingertips in a spray of blood. Sharp bone shards split her gums while her skull warped and her jaws elongated.

She could sense Daniel outside the bathroom door. Of course he would dispose of her first. As a trained, experienced field operative, she was far more dangerous than Michael. He hesitated, hand barely grazing the door knob, his sweat reacting with metal. A surge of fear flashing through him, releasing pheromones into the air. He must have sensed that something was wrong. Marie didn’t intend to give him time to react. She bunched her muscles and launched herself at the wooden door, shattering it into a cloud of ragged splinters that carved grooves in her flesh, only to heal again in an instant.

Daniel tried to bring his pistol up, but she caught his arm in her mouth and bit down, feeling satisfaction as the flesh parted and bones crunched. The gun went off, blowing a hole in the ceiling, raining plaster dust down on them like snowflakes. Marie ignored it. Her senses were aflame with a glorious bloodlust. She snarled, released her grip on Daniel’s arm, and darted her head forward, her fangs seeking the exposed throat of her enemy.

“Marie! Stop!”

Michael’s voice rang out, and she paused, delaying the killing blow. Just. Her fangs rested upon Daniel’s throat, drawing pin-pricks of sweet blood. She could feel his heart hammering beneath her, the nervous gulp of his Adam’s apple against her tongue. It would be oh-so-easy to end this treacherous German bastard and feast on him. And she wanted to. She wanted to more than anything in this world.

“Marie. Let him go. Now.”

She angled her head towards her brother, bringing a small yelp of pain from her prey. Marie snarled in frustration then slackened her hold on her enemy, allowing his head to fall back against the carpet. She remained on top of him, however. Pinning him to the floor. She gave her talons the tiniest flex, allowing them to dig through his clothing and pierce his flesh. Just a little. Enough to make the prey cry out.

“Marie. I mean it. Get off him. Let me handle this.”

She gave her brother a look of utter contempt, but removed herself from Daniel’s shaking body and backed away. Just far enough to allow him to breathe. If he tried anything. If he tried to transform, or if the hand holding the pistol so much as twitched, she’d tear the bastard’s head off and damn what Michael said.

Michael made his way along the corridor and removed the pistol from Daniel’s hand. “So. It happened, then? Lukas and Krysztof took over the pack and ordered my death?”

Daniel spat blood onto the carpet. “Yes. I wasn’t happy about it, Michael, but my loyalties are to the pack. Not to any individual. You know that.”

Michael pointed the pistol at the German’s head. “I know, and believe me, I’m not taking any of this personally. The question is, I suppose, what do we do with you now? If we let you go, will you leave us be? Or will you come after us again?”

Daniel shook his head. “You may as well kill me. Lukas was very specific in his orders. If I don’t send back photographic evidence of your death, they’ll consider me a rogue and send enforcers after me.”

Michael rubbed his chin, then smiled. “Not necessarily a problem. Have you never heard of Photoshop? However, you still didn’t answer the question. If I let you live, am I going to regret it?”

“That all depends, Michael, on what you intend to do with your freedom. Will you and Marie disappear? Or will you simply show up again in a few weeks? If so, then all you are doing is delaying my death sentence.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to get back to Moscow and prevent Krysztof and Lukas doing something stupid. No matter what they say, or what Krysztof decrees, I still have support within the pack.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “So you would throw the pack into civil war? While we are being hunted by the entire human race? Michael, what on earth gives you the right? This mess is as much yours and Marie’s fault as it was Connie’s. Can you honestly say that you are still fit to lead?”

Michael slumped against the wall and lowered the pistol. “Honestly, I don’t know anymore,” he raised his head and fixed Daniel’s gaze, “but let me ask you this. What are your orders once you’ve disposed of our corpses?”

“The humans escalated things last night and attacked every pack family living in the United Kingdom. More than half of them are dead or captured. My orders are to meet up with the survivors and co-ordinate the retaliation.”

“Retaliation? Are they fucking insane? That will just escalate things further. Daniel, please, don’t do it. Put them off until I can get back to Moscow and try to talk some sense into them.”

“I can’t. The best I can do is buy you some time. A few days at most. But I won’t try and stop you from escaping. Just consider what you’d be walking into, and what the consequences of a civil war will be.”

Michael nodded. “Fair enough, but I have to do something, Daniel. I can’t just walk away from this. There’s too much at stake here.” He turned to Marie. “Come on, little sis. Put your fangs away and get your shit together. We’ve got to be in Folkestone by nightfall.”

Marie let out a small whine. Folkestone could only mean one thing. They were going to attempt a tunnel-run.

Chapter 9