Wilder's Mate (14 page)

He fought harder.

It became more difficult to maneuver, with bodies crowding the narrow passage. Hunter caught one ghoul by the back of the shirt and sent him skidding down the rough wooden floor until he crashed into the bottom of a staircase. Fewer were appearing at their backs now, and the ghouls left protecting the door turned and began scrambling for the knob.

One of them found it. The door flew open and the remaining ghouls fled inside, whether through some lingering instinct to survive or at their master’s command, it was impossible to tell.

Hunter panted for breath and braced his hands on his knees. “I can hold the hall.”

“You sure?” Archer asked.

One of the forms on the floor dragged itself to its knees. Hunter slapped his hands on either side of the ghoul’s head and twisted sharply, cracking its neck. “Yes.” 78

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Wilder’s Mate

The hound’s recent change of heart aside, Wilder wasn’t fully comfortable only having Archer at his back. He’d proven inconstant, and facing Lowe with someone he couldn’t trust beside him was worse than going it alone.

Still, he wasn’t ready to challenge Archer, fight him, so he had no choice. “Break it down, Arch.” The ghouls had slammed the door shut again, but whatever attempts they’d made to block it wasn’t enough to stop a hound. Archer lifted his foot and drove one heel just below the knob. Wood shattered, sending splinters flying as a cry of pain rose from the opposite side.

Archer grinned and pulled his gun. “Just plain old silver, but it’ll hurt ’em, at least.” Wilder strode into the ballroom, two of his own guns drawn. He barely paid attention to the ghouls that rushed forward, the brunt of his focus on locating Lowe. If he could kill the vampire, the ghouls would scatter. They wouldn’t recover, but at least the thrall, the command, would dissipate.

The cavernous room echoed with screams, snarls and gunshots. Wilder felt the anger rising, blood pounding in his ears until it almost eclipsed all those inhuman sounds.

And then the ghouls froze.

Archer put a bullet between a ghoul’s eyes, and he toppled backwards without a whimper. The others didn’t stir, all of their unnaturally focused attention fixed on a door at the back of the room.

“Never seen them do this before,” Archer murmured. “Figured we’d have to fight through them to get to Lowe.”

Repulsion washed over Wilder in a sickening wave. “They’re obeying his will. He’s—”

“Here.” The rich, melodious voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere as the door swung open, revealing darkness beyond. “Have you brought me a gift, Archer?” Archer shifted his weight and tossed a tense look at Wilder. “Wouldn’t say
brought
is ever the right word when it comes to Harding. He tramples just about anywhere he wants.”

“Levity does not become you.” A man stepped out of the shadows, tall and thin, with dark hair and piercing eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a coat and tails, and he smoothed the pinstriped fabric of his sleeve. “Wilder Harding.”

If he made his move now, without knowing where Archer stood or what tricks the vampire might have up that tailored sleeve… “Thaddeus Lowe. You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’d hoped to not have you at all.” The vampire graced Archer with a chillingly disapproving look.

“Your colleague has underestimated you more than once. Fortunately, I am not prone to repeating the mistakes of the hired help.”

Damn straight.
“Maybe my colleague wanted to get rid of you as badly as I do.” Lowe didn’t seem perturbed. In fact, he seemed almost eager. “Not as surprising a revelation as you might have hoped. He has been showing a remarkable lack of dedication of late. Or a sudden onset of complete incompetence.”

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79

Moira Rogers

Archer spat on the floor. “Fuck you very much too.”

“As refined as ever.” Lowe strode to a throne-like chair set in the middle of the room and settled into it without any indication that the sun beating down outside had slowed his reflexes. “Almost all of us have arrived. Do you have any more pithy remarks before we begin?” As if they were there for a tea party. Wilder raised his gun, but hesitated as the full import of Lowe’s words hit him. “All of us?”

“I see what my children see, Mr. Harding. And they bend to my will, even when they don’t wish to.

That’s a child’s duty. And a woman’s. Perhaps you should have left yours at home.” They came in the door to Wilder’s right. He watched in dumb horror as Nathaniel dragged Satira toward the vampire’s chair with halting, jerky steps. Satira’s feet scraped the floor as she slumped lifelessly over the arm that held her.

“Nathaniel has been a far more dedicated servant than Archer has,” Lowe remarked, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I think I’ll make her one of us, to reward him for his accomplishments.” Archer said something,
shouted
something. Wilder moved without thinking, his peculiarly focused anger exploding in a painful rending of flesh.
Changing,
he thought absently, and then that too was swept away in the dull roar of rage that consumed him.

One moment, her perfect plan was falling into place.

In the next, the world went mad.

Draped over Nathaniel’s arm, she didn’t have a good view of the room. Straightening would reveal her bag, and the incriminating bulge the sun-sphere made. Instead she twisted her head and caught her first glimpse of Wilder in his other form.

It
was
Wilder, but if she hadn’t caught a peek at the man standing there a few moments before, she might not have recognized her lover in the monster he’d become.

He was large. Tall, towering a foot or two above the height he should have been. None of his clothing had survived the change. What hadn’t been torn, he ripped from his body with massive claws. Fur covered him from head to foot, and that head—

They called them hounds, but it looked more like the muzzle of a wolf. A growling snarl revealed teeth almost as long as her fingers. A terrifying wolfman out of legend, eyes filled with a rage that eclipsed any anger she’d ever imagined before in her short life.

This was the beast. The unfortunate side effect of a mad scientist’s wild marriage of science to magic.

For the nights around the full moon, every month, this is what all bloodhounds became.

The full moon wasn’t for two more weeks.

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Wilder’s Mate

He charged, bounding two large steps only to be knocked off his feet by Archer, who wielded a heavy length of board like a club. “You came this far to rescue Nate,” he snapped. “I’m not going to let you kill him now.”

Wilder scrabbled to his feet, jaws snapping as he lunged for Archer. The blond hound feinted left and then right, avoiding claws and teeth in a quick, violent dance.

She’d started this by feigning helplessness too well. Perhaps later, when they were all safe, she’d beat Wilder black and blue for underestimating her. For now she had to keep them all alive.

Slipping her hand back into her bag, she slumped forward a little more to cover her movement as she began winding the crank again. Loading the chemicals while Nathaniel struggled to drag her up the stairs as slowly as possible had been a far greater challenge to her dexterity, but the rough sounds of the fight made it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

Instead of giving in to the temptation to peek at Wilder, she chanced a glance at Lowe instead. The vampire had leaned forward slightly in his chair, a look of abject delight on his features as he watched the bloodhounds battle against one another. He’d underestimated her as well—and Nathaniel too.

“He’s summoning me. I’m to bring you to him. Take the gun and shoot me now, Satira, or I’ll have to
take you there. I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I’m not shooting you, Nathaniel. I didn’t ride up and down the Deadlands with Wilder fucking
Harding so I could
shoot
you.”

She closed her eyes and blocked out the sounds of the battle, concentrating on the winding mechanism on the sun-sphere. The vampire was strong, so the weapon had to be primed for its highest setting.

Strong, but not smart.

“Damn it, Satira, this isn’t a game.”

“Of course it is. It’s the game I’ve always played best. You watched me do it to Levi for years. Find
the loophole, Nathaniel.”

Her fingers trembled. A roar sounded from behind her, Wilder’s roar, with pain and rage mixed into a single, heartrending sound. She should have given him a sign, some indication that she wasn’t hurt. That she had a plan.

“There’s no loophole. I have to bring you upstairs. To him.”

“Did he tell you I couldn’t bring anything with me?”

She tried to twist the crank. It resisted, just enough that she knew much more could damage the coil.

She slid her fingers to the top, where a tiny ring sat between the funnel holes. Pulling it up would collapse the barriers between the chemicals and start the electric current. Sunlight, in the palm of her hand.

If she did it now, Nathaniel would die along with Lowe.

“Once we’re close enough, pull the pin, Satira. Don’t wait.”

“I’ll do it.”

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81

Moira Rogers

She’d lied.

Easing her hand away from the sphere, she groped for the modified rounds that she’d slipped from her gun and tucked in her bag. They wouldn’t kill Nathaniel, but they’d burn him—and shock his system just long enough to shake his compulsion.
I’m sorry, Nathaniel.

She curled her hand around two small glass capsules and pulled them from the bag, then took a deep breath. Before she could second-guess herself, she whipped her body around and slammed the glass against his temple, shattering them both in a flash of artificial light.

He didn’t cry out as he stumbled away, and his silence bought her a single extra second before Lowe’s head swiveled around. Before the frozen and slumbering ghouls surrounding her sprang to life.

“Archer!” It took that precious second to draw her gun. “Get Nathaniel into the hallway.
Now
.” He ducked under another wild swing from Wilder and dove for Nathaniel. “Hope you know what you’re doing, girl.”

So did she. As soon as Archer had wrestled Nathaniel out of the way, she shot one of the ghouls and unleashed the only weapon that might buy her the time she needed to end this. “Wilder,
help
!” He faltered and threw a ghoul into the air as he rushed toward her, half loping on all fours across the dusty, littered floor. She caught sight of his eyes, then—yellow. Inhuman.

It took everything in her to hold her ground in the face of his charge. She remembered the words from the new moon—
Don’t push me away.
A different sort of madness gripped him at the moment, but underneath it he was the same. His basest instincts had been brought to light, and she had to trust that she was at the center of them.

He faced down two more ghouls who were reaching for her, one with a wicked-looking scythe in his hand. Wilder ignored the blade and bit down on the creature’s shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain.

The ghouls were no danger to her. Not with Wilder there. Satira gambled everything on it as she pivoted to face Lowe and dropped the gun. She pulled the sun-sphere out of her bag, one finger already curled through the pin’s copper ring. Archer had dragged Nathaniel halfway across the room, but they weren’t clear. Not yet.

So she stalled. She smiled at the vampire and inched the pin up, just a little. Enough so it would jerk free if anyone jostled her before Nathaniel was safe. “You should be more precise with your orders.” The vampire’s eyes narrowed. “And you, my dear, should watch your pretty little mouth. Someone might—”

Wilder roared again and dove for him, teeth bared.

Adrenaline surged. Time slowed. Some tiny, scientific part of her brain babbled at her in Nathaniel’s driest voice, explaining the physiological reaction that made Wilder’s leap take weeks.

At the far side of the room, Archer all but threw Nathaniel through a doorway and dove after him.

Satira tightened her finger and whispered a prayer to a God her mother hadn’t raised her to believe in.

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Lowe flicked his fingers and Wilder stumbled back, clawing at his muzzle as long lines of blood appeared on his fur. The vampire turned—slowly, oh so slowly—toward Satira.

The pin slid free as smooth as one of Ophelia’s silk dresses.

For one moment—a terrifying moment—nothing happened. A gear clicked and something inside the sphere sparked.

Then—light. So much light Satira flinched back instinctively, sure it would sear the flesh from her hands. It took another few seconds for her to realize there was no accompanying heat. Just endless, pure sunlight, growing brighter by the second as Nathaniel’s simple, brilliant plan sprang to glorious life.

Squinting, Satira lifted her precious weapon higher as the ghouls began to scream.

Lowe’s upraised hands started to smoke. His mouth opened impossibly wide, and he let out a scream that sounded like a hundred voices crying out in unison. Sparks jumped from his pale skin, sparks that grew into tiny licking flames and flared up into an inferno that engulfed his entire body.

He was gone in the time it took to lower her hands, the ball of flames imploding in a way that pained her rational mind and stretched the boundaries of physics.

Magic, and a fitting end for a creature borne of dark powers beyond the understanding of men and science. Lowe disappeared as if he’d never been there at all, leaving not even ashes to mark his passing, only angry scorch marks on the floor.

And the lives he’d destroyed.

And Wilder. The violence in him hadn’t subsided. If anything, it seemed to intensify without a focus.

He whirled in a wide circle, seeking foes to vanquish, to feed his frenzy.

The sphere in her hands wouldn’t darken until the energy from the gear mechanism ran low, but tucking it into her bag dimmed it enough to let her blink away tears. “Wilder, it’s all right.” He stopped with a growl and turned.