Way of the Wolf: Shifter Legacies 1 (33 page)

Vampires really were dead, though they disputed that and argued it amongst themselves all the time. Angel had no doubts though. Her
gifts
leaned toward necromancy more than she was really comfortable with admitting, and although she had never been strong in that aspect of her power, it did give her an insight into the subject few without it could match. Vampires were corpses animated by magic, and it was the magic not the blood that fuelled them. Their souls now, they were a problem of another sort, one only the clerics seemed fit to answer. Gavin was a person not a zombie, which was another sort of magically animated corpse, and no one doubted that zombies had nothing between their ears but rotting mush. And what about ghouls? She wasn’t qualified to say whether vamps had souls or not, but they had something.

Where Gavin’s blood cursed him to an undying half life in his own words, shifter blood lent him power. Spence was alpha, a strong shifter meant to lead, but he preferred not to get involved in pack politics. That was unusual in any alpha, but he was weird in a lot of ways. Not many shifters were friends with witches like her or vamps like Gavin either. Angel marvelled again that she could actually stand in the presence of these two men and think it perfectly normal. As she had said to Gavin earlier, she really did know stuff that most people wouldn’t believe. She had seen Spence wearing his other forms many times and watched him change back. She had even seen him grow claws on an otherwise perfectly human hand—he had that much control over the change.

Spence was as strong in his way as Gavin was in his. The effect of his blood was immediately apparent. Gavin’s eyes blazed with hunger. If anything, the blood had made his craving worse. He clamped restraining hands upon his friend’s arm as if to prevent his escape. Spence had no such intention. He looked ecstatic as if Gavin’s touch was an exquisite pleasure. Angel shifted uncomfortably at the sight. It was somehow an intensely personal moment for the two men—there was no denying it was sexual. She wished that she, and not Spence, was feeding him.

Gavin’s face had filled out now. The shrunken and ghastly white visage of moments ago was gone replaced with one full of health and vigour. The gaunt alien was gone, and the man she had come to know these last few years was back, but still his throat worked rhythmically and his lips remained sealed to Spence’s wrist.

“Mister Gavin?” she said edging forward, but there was no response. She grabbed Spence and shook him, but his eyes were rolled up and his jaw hung slack. She pulled on his arm trying to free it from Gavin’s grasp, but it was like pulling on an iron bar. “Mister Gavin stop!”

He snarled and continued feeding.

Frantically she pulled on Spence’s arm, but to no effect. In desperation, she grabbed Gavin by the hair and wrenched at him. He snarled again and his eyes locked upon her face. In his eyes, she saw rage and madness and a promise of retribution.

“You’re killing him!” she screamed into his face and the eyes flickered. “Let go! Let him go you’re killing him!”

Understanding flashed into Gavin’s eyes, and with a howl of rage he threw Spence bodily away from him to land in a dazed and panting heap across the room. Gavin was up and leaning against the far wall, and Angel hadn’t seen him move. He was magnificent in his power! She shook with fear and lust, more lust than fear she realised and was disgusted with herself. She went to check on Spence who was trying but failing to stand. She helped him up, but he staggered sideways and fell to hands and knees again.

“Stay there. Let me see it,” Angel said and crouched to take his wrist, but his nature was standing him in good stead. The wound was barely seeping. It closed and faded as she watched. “Okay,” she breathed. “You’re okay. Stay there for a minute.”

“Is he?” Gavin said from across the room. “Did I…?”

“No, he’s all right. He’ll be all right in a while,” she said to his back, and he finally turned to look at her.

She gasped and stumbled back in shock at what she saw. He was… he was
glowing!
A cold white glow radiated from his skin as if he were filled with so much light he couldn’t contain it. His eyes shone with power—Spence’s power. He would have turned away and hidden it from her, but she mastered her reaction and closed the distance between them.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. It was warm. “There’s no need to hide it from me. I know what you are.”

The choked laugh was more like a sob. “You think this is me?” He raised a hand and gestured at his face. “It’s not. What you saw on the roof is me—a corpse that won’t lie down. This,” he said making a fist of his glowing hand, “I stole.”

Angel shook her head. “Not this time. Spence gave it to you.” Gavin looked up at the reminder and was beside the shifter in the blink of an eye. Angel shook her head and muttered, “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Here old friend, let me help you up.”

Spence waved him off. “Don’t fuss, Gavin. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“About that,” Angel said. “He won’t make it home before light.”

“No problem,” Spence said finally managing to stay upon his feet, though swaying a little. “I have a spare room in the back. Nice and shady.”

Gavin snorted. It had to be more than shady or he would burn. He left the room to investigate and Angel took the opportunity to have a private word.

“You know what went down?”

“Gavin told me it would be tonight.”

Angel watched the door for Gavin’s return. “He killed the sonofabitch, but he didn’t have time to hide the body before the cops showed up.”

Spence frowned.

“Don’t you see? O’Neal was a newborn. Gavin needs the corpse to find his maker before the bastard makes more of him.”

“He might not—”

Just then Gavin came back in, “I’ll need more blankets to hang at the windows… what?”

“Nothing,” Angel said and reached for her coat where it lay over the back of a chair. “I gotta go, Mister Gavin.”

Gavin sighed. “When will you stop calling me that?”

“I already told you,” she said heading for the door.

“I’ll see you out,” Spence said following Angel into the hall. “About that…
matter
we were discussing,” he said very quietly so that Gavin would not overhear.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Be careful.”

Angel grinned. “I’m always careful.”

* * *

“She’s in shock…”

“Let’s get a line into her Angie, whole blood.”

“Bp’s dropping!”

“Let me see here… nasty… bleeding heavily… might have nicked the artery… hand me the…”

Chris groaned and shook. Red eyes… red eyes staring and burning into her. There was a voice whispering in her head. The words. Listen to the words the voice insisted but she didn’t want to. They made her feel like she was drowning. She groaned. Red eyes hovering before her. She screamed shrilly and struck out with fingers hooked like talons for those eyes.

“
AEiii!
Hold her! Hold her down damn it!”

The eyes went away and Chris tried to struggle to her feet. Someone grabbed her and she screamed thinking it was him again, but there was more than one person piling onto her. She yelled and kicked but her brief surge of strength was fading quickly. She was panting with the effort to move and sweat was pouring into her eyes making her blink madly at her surroundings.

“Chris! Oh goddess, what did he do to her?”

“You’re not helping her. Wait outside!”

“She needs me!”

“John!” she screamed. “Goddess help me, he’s got me!”

“Chris!”

“Wait outside I said!” someone yelled from close by. “Someone…
anyone
… give me the damn
strap!
Let’s get her locked down people. Someone kick that idiot out of here! Angie, get that line in! We might have to sedate her.”

“But the anaesthetic.”

“If we don’t stabilise the bleeding she won’t live long enough to reach the theatre!”

“Right.”

Listen to the words… Listen to the words…

No, she mustn’t listen! She struggled humping her back off the ground in a spastic effort to get free, but with her arms pinned all she managed to do was wave her butt in the air. The thought would have been funny if not for the terror her captivity caused her. Jenny Lovett and Leila Newell… she couldn’t let him do that to her! She struggled harder but it was no good. The voice in her head wanted her to be calm. Let go, it soothed. Let the fear go and float free of pain. No! Pain was life; if it hurt it meant she still had a chance. John would come. He wouldn’t let O’Neal have her. She hammered her head against the ground in an effort to make the voice let her go but there was no pain. Why didn’t it hurt? She slammed her head back again and felt a yielding surface like a pillow under her head. She glared around not understanding and flinched.

“Too bright,” she groaned looking wildly around for O’Neal. She couldn’t see him. She wasn’t in the alley any longer. He’d gotten her away somehow. “Oh goddess save me, don’t let him…” she mumbled hardly aware of what she was saying. When she turned her head and saw that he was trying to strap her arms down, she found the strength by way of sheer terror to wrench one leg free and lash out.

“Ooof!”

She was grimly satisfied to hear the sound of someone crashing onto the ground and cursing. “You’re under…” she panted. “You’re under arrest for the murders of… you have the right to remain silent.”

“You can arrest me later,” someone muttered. “After I save your life.”

Save her life? It was so surprising a thing for O’Neal to say to her that she was caught unawares. The voice surged up before she could fight it. She howled in despair as her thoughts were drowned under a torrent of soothing words. Before she knew it the blazing eyes hovering before hers captured and held them. Chris collapsed back to the bed mesmerised by the soothing words.

Listen to the words… Listen to the words…

“She’s going into arrest!”

“Give me… cc’s of epinephrine… shock her…
clear!
”

Pain!

Listen to the words… Listen to the words…

“Shock her again!”

Pain!

Listen to the words… Listen to the words…

Floating… no pain… blackness.

* * *

19 ~ Barrows

Special Agent Barrows had spent years of his life on the road. He rarely spent longer than a couple of weeks in any one place and hadn’t seen his kids in over two years. His work was responsible for two failed marriages, a limp that was more pronounced in the winter months, a heavily scarred shoulder, and an ulcerated stomach that his doctor said was caused by work induced stress.

The hotel he was staying in might be a dump… no strike that. The hotel
was
a dump—the bed was lumpy and uncomfortable, the carpets should be dragged out and burned, and the tiny kitchen was only fit for growing mould not cooking. Despite that catalogue of disadvantages, he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else right now. He had lived in dozens of places just like this since Executive Director Hawkings had recruited him out of the FBI’s Criminal Investigation Division, and into his shadowy world of unsolved crimes and mysterious happenings.

Hawkings, who was then the newly promoted Assistant Director for the Office of Special Investigations, had been actively recruiting men and women from other divisions within the FBI and later from other walks of life (including various police departments, colleges, and even certain industries) for years.

Barrows had come to his attention when he read a report regarding the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of Senator George R. Martinez. It was a suspicion that Hawkings himself had held back then, and like so many other investigations that OSI undertook, was hard to prove. It had taken him months of mind numbing research and digging, most of it on his own time when his superiors dismissed his suspicions out of hand, to prove those same suspicions correct. It was that kind of dogged determination together with a willingness to consider outlandish ideas that made him, according to Hawkings, the perfect candidate for recruitment into OSI.

Twelve years in OSI, and what did he have to show for it? Two ex-wives, two ex-kids, an ex-girlfriend squatting in an apartment that she insisted was his
ex-apartment
because although he was paying the rent, her name was on the lease, and a nearly empty pizza box in a hotel room that stank worse than a whore’s boudoir. He had seen more than a few of those in his time, so he knew. But then there was the job. He had that didn’t he? Damn right he did, and it was an important one. The job had always been more important than anything to him. That’s why the ex-wives. Even now he couldn’t say he was wrong to pursue it so hard.

If he was honest with himself, a thing he tried to avoid at all costs when thinking about certain things like the kids, he loved his job more than anything—even his kids. That made him feel like a bad person. Well so be it. He
was
a bad person in some ways. But he was a good person, the best person he knew, where certain things were concerned. Things like the case he was on right now, the secret case that only a select few knew about.