Green Flame Assassin (Demon Lord series, book 2) (29 page)

TWENTY

“Never bring wolves to a cat-fight,

or you’ll have angry pussy on your hands
.”

                                             —Caine Deathwalker

Osamu’s leather-gloved hands were rock-steady on the steering wheel as we tore through mid-town Sacramento.  He flicked a glance at the side view mirror.  “Caine-sama, who do you think is following us?” 

I shrugged.  “Long list to choose from.  It could be any of the local factions: Our Lady of Green Fire,
a wolf, or one of the dhampyr.  With my luck, it’s an old girlfriend with a meat cleaver.” 

I’d have to handle this without the liger.  Kat and Josh had been left behind.  They were making a date out of our casino trip, and had wanted to linger.  That was cool with me.  I wasn’t sure how they’d get home without the VW or limo, but they’d figure it out.

The car phone chimed. Osamu picked it up and listened, nodded, and put the phone back on the console.  “The girls are in place, and not happy with being called away from their clubbing.”

“Then let’s bring them a chew toy.”

We roared along a fairly empty street.  There were houses on both sides of the street, and a lot of vehicles along the curb.  This struck me as a little risky with the thick canopy of branches making a tunnel overhead.  I easily imagined one of those limbs coming down and caving in a car roof.  Of course, the canopy overhead was why the girls were here.  I knew they were above the road, doing the werekitties-in-the-tree thing.  My job was to bring them something to pounce upon.  Ambush 101.  A thirty-foot drop wasn’t a problem for the transformed party girls.  I just hoped they remembered we needed some questions answered before they were done playing with their prey.

“Slow up a little,” I said, “like we’re looking for an address.”

Osamu tapped the brake.  The limo rolled on a few blocks, stopping at a red light.  A vehicle pulled up on our bumper.  The blue halogen glow of headlights through our tinted, back windshield kept me from making out most details of the following car.  I could have activated my
Dragon Sight
tattoo and mystically enhanced my senses, but there was no need to waste magic, and I’m not into pain for its own sake.  It was easy enough to see when the trap was sprung; the other car’s headlights bobbed and we heard loud
thuds
.

I opened my limo door and stepped out onto the street.  The scene was magical with overarching trees holding up black sky.  Leafy branches exploded with vivid greens where streetlights brushed off the gray gloom of night.  Some of the houses were still lit up, casting runners of light across various lawns.  The windows of the red Camry were shattered.  Jewel-like shards of tempered glass were strewn on the asphalt.  The roof was caved in.  There were foot-sized indentions in the hood.  The werekitties tails poked out from under short, frilly black skirts.  They wore matching tights and black sports bras, displaying bare abs as they ringed the damaged vehicle, looking for movement.

Cleo sniffed delicately, her face naked without her usual glasses.  A look of alarm flashed across her features.  She took an involuntary step backwards, and stopped herself.  “Wolves!”

Dani and Terri went from casual slouches to tense, combat crouches.  Their curved fingers became fuzzy claws.  Their ears migrated to the top of their heads, going pointed and also fuzzy, laying back on their heads.  Their tails lashed with nervous energy.  After a second, Cleo copied their posture.  It was funny, seeing the warrior side of them.  Few shifters willingly face pissed-off wolves.  The courage I was seeing bordered on stupid, but it was magnificent.

But then again, they had Osamu and me to back them up.  I changed the clips in my guns, going for silver loads with a few explosive rounds mixed in for good measure.  That done, a gun in each hand, I moved behind the ladies.  I wasn’t surprised to find Osamu on my right, his demon sword in hand.  Wearing his black chauffeur’s uniform, gloves, and cap, he did a credible imitation of Kato from the Green Hornet movie.

We froze, listening to a chorus of deep, base growls.  The shifters in the vehicle were voicing their rage.  The caved-in roof reverberated to blows.  Furry fists broke through.  Clawed hands peeled the ragged metal back.  Werewolves scrambled out, five of them, bloody and unstable.   On two feet, they were in half-phase, holding themselves between man and wolf, wearing shreds of clothing, but no shoes.

These weren’t ordinary werewolves.  Either that or they were drawing heavily on pack magic.  My guess was confirmed when I saw them wearing leather cords round their necks with little medicine bags attached.  It looked like the pack’s new Alpha was using his shaman to turn run-of-the-mill wolves into an elite hit squad.

I started emptying my clips, going for heart shots.  One wolf shuddered as silver slugs ripped through his torso.  His growl became a choked yelp as he slumped to the street, thrashing as death closed in.  I clipped a wolf’s shoulder, and chased another back over the vehicle which he used for cover.  The remaining three wolves closed with the kitties, forcing me to hold my fire.

Closing in on the hiding wolf, Osamu circled the vehicle’s front grille.  I left the girls to their own devices, followed Osamu.  He was most likely to need help.  Sure, he had a demon sword—and was spry for his age—but he
was
only human.  A couple scratches and bites, and he could find himself howling at the moon.

The wolf sprang from cover.

Osamu spun, slashing.  Both of the wolf’s arms came off at the elbows.  Continuing the motion, Osamu turned his back to the shell-shocked werewolf, sliding his sword behind him.  The demon sword thrummed with joy as it pierced the wolf heart, coming out the creature’s back, severing his spine.  Osamu kicked backwards and the wolf slid off his sword.  I’d seen wolves come back from much worse, but this wolf lay still, eyes glazing in soulless death.  The sword had drained his soul.  Its hum of satisfaction had an odd sexual quality to it that I could relate to. 

Osamu flicked the blade, spraying blood onto the street, and looked at me as I stopped in front of him.  “Yes, Caine-sama?”

“Uh, never mind.”  I turned my attention toward the remaining wolves.  I hopped on the damaged hood, vaulting to the opposite side of the vehicle. 

Dani was holding her own, circling her wolf, staying just out of range of his claws.  Every time he slashed at her, she dodged and slashed the attacking limb before it pulled back.  The wolf’s fur was drenched in his own blood, new tears opening as older ones healed shut.

Terri had
her
wolf stumbling back under a rapid-fire barrage of kicks, her toe-claws ripping at his throat and eyes, with an occasional stab at the groin to keep things amusing.

Cleo was in trouble though.  Having ripped her clothes to tatters, her wolf had her on her back, his drooling jaws close enough to bite away her lovely face.  She writhed under him, unable to throw him off.  The tip of her brindle-colored tail twitched vigorously.

I had a couple of rounds left in both guns.  I lifted my PPKs, taking careful aim. 

Osamu touched my right sleeve.  “Wait.  He has her right where she wants him.”

“What?  Oh, I see.” 

She wasn’t trying to buck him off.  She was rubbing her crotch against his, and from his pleased rumble, he liked it a lot.  She lifted her head, laved his nose with a pink tongue, and rubbed cheeks with him as she reached down to grip what must have been a massive lupine erection.  Claws seized both her breasts.  The wolf leaned on her, arching as he probed for entry between her legs.

Cleo reached up and filled her hands with his mane.  A look of lust dominated her face, bloodlust, as she jerked his head sharply.  His neck vertebrae cracked and his spinal cord was torn.  The head came off his neck, completely ripped away.  The wolf’s headless body spazzed, still trying to fuck her as she tipped it to the side and picked herself up.

I stared.  “Wow.”  I dropped my nearly empty clips and loaded fresh ones.  “Remind me to never underestimate a werekitty ever again.”

Osamu crossed to Dani to lend her a hand.

Cleo flashed me a grin, running over to support Terri as her wolf ripped off his medicine bag, tossing it to the street.  He’d finally figured out that half-woman-half-cat was a nature state for the werekitties.  They fought well in that form.  He was actually at a disadvantage, unused to killing this way.  Bad movies aside, wolfmen aren’t as effective as four-footed wolves with their humanity completely swallowed.  No longer in stasis, the wolf’s shift continued, but it would be several minutes before the change completed.  The time lag was why half-states were useful to shifters in emergency situations—those able to pull them off.

  The wolf flopped and rolled, trying to stay clear of Cleo and Terri until its shift finished.  I helped the girls by firing between them, zipping the wolf from brain to crotch.  Its magical healing useless against silver ammo, the animal crumpled and died, drooling onto the street as its change hit reverse.  Death always brought back the human form.

By the time I turned my attention to Dani, she’d gone low and broken both her wolf’s knees, creating an opening for Osamu. 

His humming sword blurred.  Garnets—flaring like new-born stars—left pin-point trails of light where the handguard passed.  The yellow tiger’s eye on the pommel added a thicker, golden streak as the glossy black katana lopped off the wolf’s head, which hit the street and bounced under someone’s white pickup truck.  The wolf’s body slammed to the pavement, and we were done.

As sirens filled the air.

Someone had called the cops.  Turning, holstering my guns, I shot a glance across the houses on both sides of the street.  More lights were on.  Many of the windows had people staring out into the night.  A few braver souls had ventured onto their porches. 

Their work done, the girls ran to a tree and leaped up into the branches, climbing quickly from sight.  Lost in the canopy, they’d make their own way home.

Casually, Osamu strolled over, flicking his wrist, sending the demon sword back into the limbo it had come from.  Together, we walked back to the limo, finding it surrounded by a bevy of chicks, some of them hot, some of them not so much.  They wore jeans and sneakers, pink berets, and white tee shirts with long-stemmed roses silk-screened on them.  The roses were pink.  The writing over them said: Thorns of Justice.  Under the roses, it said: Citizen’s Patrol.