Blood Rules (7 page)

“And what's your definition?”

He was so still that I might've mistaken him for a standing dead person. Undead was technically more like it.

“A monster,” he said, “is an accident. A thing with appetites that go against the laws of man, but with the consciousness to still regret its hunger. Humans don't realize how we struggle with what we survive on. If they did, they might be able to come to terms with us.”

“There're monsters like my neighbors who live just fine with those appetites. They're at peace with what they are.”

“And
you're
at peace?”

He had me there. Right after I'd killed Stamp's employees—bad guys, one and all—I'd truly believed I'd been justified. Someone had to stop them. Someone had to step forward and be the force of reckoning if nothing else in the world took care of it. It was only afterward, when the consequences started falling on me and my neighbors, that I pulled back from what I'd done; I'd been a coward by not sticking by what I'd set into motion.

And you know what? It scared me to realize that the consequences of killing were the only things that made me fight my ingrained instincts. Otherwise . . .

God-all, otherwise I might be one of those monsters who lived just fine with themselves. With a cure, I didn't even necessarily want to be human as much as I only wanted my lack of control to be remedied. I liked the power I had as a were-creature, but if I had to go human to protect my neighbors, I'd do it.

I tried to explain all this to Gabriel. “Were-creatures can stop themselves at a half-change point, but that leaves us with the consciousness you mentioned. So we don't have much call for that state of being. When we're in full were-form, though, it's almost like our minds are separate from our bodies. Our hunger leaves morals way behind until we come back to humanity. That's when you realize the damage. But the thing is . . .”

I warned myself against saying it, but omitting the truth would be just as good as lying to him, and I couldn't lie anymore after all he'd been through because of me.

“The thing is,” I continued, “bad guys like Stamp's employees . . . and like the men who killed my mom and brother and then turned me into a werewolf . . . Gabriel, sometimes I wonder if there's a reason we were given our powers. Have you ever thought that monsters evolved and then grew in number because we were meant to balance the bad guys out?”

“Are you saying this is nature's plan?”

“Could be.”

It seemed to take him half a night to turn to me, and when he did, he was glowering. When a vampire glowers, it ain't pretty, with his gaze a slow, crimson burn, his expression downright mean with a threatening change.

And, help me now, but it sent a monsterish thrill twisting through me.

I talked away, as if that'd smooth me out. “I used to be so afraid of what I can do—it's part of the reason I never went outside unless I had to. Outside was where I could be a wolf and run as wild as everything else out here. But after Stamp came along, and with some time to think about how the world works, it's made me wonder . . . Can I be better than those bad guys?
They
kill because of greed or sometimes no reason at all. I killed out of defense.”

“And that makes you superior.”

“No. It's just that I love most of my neighbors, although it's hard to say the feeling is returned. So isn't wanting what's best for them—the good guys—the superior part? Wouldn't it have been wrong to
not
protect them? You used to tell us to fight.”

“Your fighting went far beyond the methods I was talking about.”

“Why? Should I have just used shotguns against them instead? How is that different?”

He kept right on glowering, and it mangled our connection. Instead of just humming, it sizzled, electric under my skin.

“There's even a part of me,” I continued, “that wonders if, someday, I was meant to track down those bad guys who tore my family up and visit justice right back on them.”

The notion of bringing karma on those men made me full, as if it were a meal I'd already feasted on in my fantasies. I dreamed in karma. You could even say it was what kept me going.

If a vampire could look gobsmacked, Gabriel would qualify. “You're not some kind of reckoning god, Mariah.”

“Then who's taking care of what gods should be doing?”

Obviously done with the discussion, he left.

Was he put off by my logic? Or had the final straw been the religion talk? I'd heard once that you shouldn't gab about religion or politics if you wanted to keep on someone's good side. Nowadays that was doubly true.

Back Before, when the world had been so much simpler, there'd been established religions. There'd been scriptures, which had led to the expectation of rewards for being a true believer. But after the calamities, many believers had fallen, telling everyone that there'd been no rapture or repayment for their faith; their patience had been stretched enough because, to them, the calamities had been the predicted Armageddon. All but the most devout had turned to other objects of worship until newly organized religions ran legion with everything from followers of blogs to fans of entertainers to converts of slick-tongued politicians.

Everyone needed something to believe in, and the more immediate the returns, the more attractive the group. As I said, no one likes to be left behind.

I ran to catch up to Gabriel. We weren't moving with preter swiftness, so I wasn't as worried about catching much surveillance attention.

“If
you
haven't accepted what you are,” I said, “why're you out here with me in search of a cure? Don't you have to admit what you are before you set out to correct it?”

“You're really testing me.”

I probably should've paid heed to that, but, again, I was beyond lying these days.

“In a perfect world,” I said, “everyone might come to respect each other, and there'd be no need for monsters to balance anything.”

“This isn't a perfect world,” he said in that gritty vampire tone.

Then I went way too far. “If it were perfect, Abby would've stayed with you in the first place. She wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have had to come looking for her.”

He turned, his gaze flaring, and I stepped back, even though there was a world of space between us. But I'd been wanting to say all of this for a while. I guess I was even seeing how far I could push him before he ditched me. Might as well know his limits now before we got close to the hubs.

“You didn't know her that long,” I said. “You didn't know me, either, Gabriel, before we—”

“Don't say ‘became intimate.' ” The tips of his fangs peeked out from his lips. “What happened with us didn't even approach the definition.”

Bam, right in the gut. He'd been my first, so it'd been intimate for me, at least.

Disappointment pulled me down, as if my skin were so heavy that everything was falling with it.

“You want revenge on me then?” I asked softly. “Because this is the best time for it. Who would know if you reckoned with me way out here? Who would even care besides Chaplin?”

Gabriel just red-glared at me. The link between us grew to a sawing screech, cutting into my nerves.

Then he somehow regained control, his eyes cooling to the normal gray of his human façade, just like the color of the unforgiving sky.

It was as if he'd snipped a cord, and I felt switched off.

“Revenge is a fake, temporary concept that doesn't matter in the end,” he said. “It wouldn't make
me
feel any better.”

“It might.”

Before I knew it, he'd zoomed over to me, stopping just short of my face. His eyes were back to burning into mine, and I reared away, pushing my hands against his chest as he hissed.

“If you tempt me,” he said through his elongated fangs, “I just might take you up on it. So don't.”

But I did, perversely leaning my head to the side so that the ugly moonlight would shine over the thudding vein in my neck. I could hear my pulse beating throughout my body, even between my legs, where my sex was going achy and damp.

His skin was cold, but mine was heating, and the balance of temperature seemed to clash in the small space between us, resulting in a hammering dirge.

He hissed again, obviously hating that I was doing this to him. I hated myself a little, too, but I wanted him in me again, healing me.

When he kept restraining himself, I looked up into his blazing eyes. Fevered, I locked onto his open thoughts, sensing the struggle of a man in an ancient tale trying to push a boulder uphill. And Gabriel had never been taught by his maker how to do anything but keep pushing that weight forward, even though he always ended up backtracking because of the fruitless effort....

Stung by his tragedy, I closed my eyes.

Why was I goading him? I was acting like a true monster—the kind humans thought we were. No wonder they'd wanted to kill us.

My fever seethed over and through me. A change was coming—it was pounding harder and harder—and I shrugged out of my backpack, then my holsters, sprinting toward the diner.

The feracat, I thought, juices flooding my mouth. Time to hunt for it, to divert my growing appetite toward something less destructive.

As my skin and muscles got hot enough so that the growth and thrust of bones came fast, I wiggled out of my shirt. My heightened werewolf senses sprang to the forefront—the piercing bluish sights, the vivid scent of night and dirt—and I skidded to a halt, shucking off the rest of my clothing just before my body shot up and out, so much taller, wider.

My claws sprouted, and I panted in hollow time, my teeth thrusting out of my gums, hair flowing out of my skin. I bit back a howl, then sniffed the air, tracking the feracat near the diner, which was only yards away by now, and finding its tangy scent.

I was an animal who saw through that blue-hazed vision, latching onto a hole beneath the diner and pouncing to it, then howling again as the massive, black, glow-eyed feracat screamhissed at me and I lost all humanity with one, fast swipe.

When I came to, I was lying on my heat suit, which covered a dirty, uneven linoleum floor. My clothing lay on top of me. Round me, upset tables and lopsided aqua-upholstered booths loitered like shocked observers. The murk-weakened moon spied through the broken shades on the windows, creating barred shadows.

I sat up, clutching my shirt to my chest, my pants to my lowers.

Sore. Damn, my body was sore.

Across the diner, near some stools, Gabriel sat, reclining against the counter panel, staring straight ahead at a long fluorescent bulb that hung from the ceiling, scratched by wires.

“I already checked this place inside and out,” he said in a near whisper, but I suspected his forced calmness wasn't so much about his trying to be quiet as it was about his coming off a blood high. His chin was streaked with red. “No other preters about. No Shredders, either.”

I felt so very naked in front of him, and not because I literally was, either. He'd seen me change. And it wasn't just about turning into a were. I'd confronted him with some disgusting words, and it'd happened way before I'd gone wolf. I'd exposed my true thoughts, and they'd been grotesque.

He kept talking, as if that would keep him from looking at me. “I already buried the feracat's remains and cleaned out its cove underneath the diner. Lots of critters have settled in there, but they can come back after we've rested in their home for the day. It'll be cooler down there than in here, and you can wear your heat suit, besides, while we get some sleep.”

I cleared my throat, then gestured to the upset booths. “Did I do all this?”

“It was destroyed before we got here.”

“Gabriel, I'm . . .”
Just say it.
“I'm so sorry.”

He still acted nonchalant. “Don't worry—you left enough of the cat for me. You ripped out its side and worked on that while I had a feast at its neck.”

Hearing him talking about our wild feeding so matter-of-factly should've shaken me up, but to tell the truth, it bothered me more that Gabriel had obviously refused to dress me, even after I'd turned back into my human form.

He couldn't stand being close to me.

Was it because my nakedness would make him lose more control? No, probably not. He just couldn't stand to be round
me
.

I slid into my shirt, and he suddenly became real interested in the spot of pink paint-stripped wall on his left.

“I'm not apologizing about the food,” I said. “I'm sorry for talking to you like I did. It was wrong. I overstepped.”