Mercy Blade

CHAPTER 21 Killing Teeth Tore Through . . . and Took Me by the Throat

I knew several things instantly, putting it all together in overlapping possibilities. There was no scent of Rick on the wolves. I’d been set up. The weres in the hotel had gotten loose and called their buddies. Or there had been an undetected wolf watching when I went in the hotel rooms. I hadn’t sensed a sentry, but there might have been one. Or maybe the helpful clerk had placed a call when I left. However it happened, they’d been watching for me. And I wasn’t getting out of this one without an ass whupping.

It was six to one, two humans, four oversized wolves, and a car full coming back this way for the second wave. The humans were the most deadly, despite the wolves having fangs and claws. The humans had guns; they took cover behind truck doors.

I had to get through this bunch. Fast. I aimed Bitsa between two wolf attackers. Pulled the M4 left-handed, clumsy. Needing the right on the accelerator. Thumbed off the safety and braced the butt stock against my forearm. I didn’t need to ready the tactical shotgun for firing. It was built to be ready. I pointed it at the wolf on the left. Estimated he was forty feet away. Gunned the engine. Eating up the distance until I was close enough to fire. “Die, doggie,” I muttered. And squeezed the trigger.

The firing concussion was muted by the riding helmet. The weapon bucked. The hand-packed round hit the wolf in the ribs under his right front leg. The silver fléchettes exploded inside, ripping through and out in a spray of blood and gore. Not a direct hit, but good enough. I pointed the gun at the wolf beside him, much closer now. Braced the barrel on my right arm. Pulled the trigger. The first dogboy was still twisting and falling when his partner took the second round in the neck, dead on his feet. Not hard to do. Not hard to kill. Living with it later would be a bitch, though. Living was always harder than killing. A lot harder.

Threat level down by two. I took my first breath since gunning the engine, tasting burned powder and blood, hot on the air. I took out a wolfman next. Only feet away. Easy shot to the leg, showing beneath a car door. He fell, his mouth open, screaming; his gun spun in the air.

I was on them. Level with the semicircle of attackers. I tried to swivel the M4 as a human, hiding behind the wheel well, stood. But I was moving too fast to point and shoot. The gun boomed, kicked, and I missed by a mile. And felt the punch to my left side as I was hit. Beast slammed adrenaline into my system.

From the left a shadow loomed.

I tried to lift the M4 into firing position. My left arm wasn’t working.

The shadow fell toward me. Dark body. Paws out. Vicious snarl I heard over the engine and the firing concussions. Before I could react, he hit. Claws against my helmet, scraping. Jaws brushing my nape. Hot, fetid breath.

His body hit my shoulder. Twisted me around on the bike seat. Slinging the shotgun toward him, but my hand wasn’t working well enough to pull the trigger. My right foot slid off the footrest. My helmet was yanked to the side by claws, adding to the twisting torque. Then the axis of the wolf’s leap left him behind.

Another wolf hit the front wheel. His paw disappeared into the wheel spokes. He screamed. Blood splattered. I kicked out, pushing on his body to face myself forward. His own weight pulled him from the bike. Bitsa recovered as if by herself, and roared ahead. Only speed saved me.

I was past them. But I was hurt. I had missed the second human, the shooter. Blood was running across my leg. Fast. And I couldn’t catch my breath. I shrugged the M4 into a better position on my lap and bent over the bike, roaring down the road. Knowing I was leaving a blood trail a puppy could follow. I had to get to Leo’s to get help. My heart pounded, too hard, too fast. Pain spread, wrapping around me like a silken web, an unseen spider drawing the strands tighter. I wasn’t going to make it. I had too far to go.

Shift, Beast growled. Now.

I let off the accelerator and allowed the bike to slow, my left hand barely holding on to the M4, unable to manage the brake or clutch. Bitsa sputtered, the wrong gear for the loss of speed. I turned off the road onto an overgrown track in the scrub, an unused farm field entrance or hunting trail, and bumped over the ruts. Thirty feet off the road, Bitsa died. I braced with both feet on the ground and eased her down. And the world tilted. Spun. I landed. My face in the dirt. I heard my pained grunt. The light of day began to telescope down. Until I could see only a sliver of a broken beer bottle in a clump of spiked grass, the label weathered into a gray glob. I felt my heart stutter.

Beast roared up over me. Filling my vision, her scream echoing inside my head as her killing teeth tore through the gray place and took me by the throat.

I panted. Little puffs of breath. Painpainpain beating with heart. Tilted head and let helmet fall to ground. Swiveled ears to hear, rotating both, searching for wolves. Pack hunters. Only silence. No cars. No soft feet padding close. I fought pack hunters once before, in hunger times. Killed many. But lost hunting territory. Humans and pack killed all prey. Mountains on fire killed rest. Did not want to fight pack again.

I sniffed breeze. Smelled rats, many. Stray cat. Smell of yellow jacket nest in ground, sound of buzzing nearby. Painful stingers like big teeth. Manure from horses and cows. Smell of chickens. Close. But no pack. Pack had dead to mourn. Was safe for now.

Looked around. Huffed breath. Was lying in Jane blood and Jane clothes, pelt sticky. Needed food inside Bitsa, for shift. But Bitsa was on side, food underneath. Stupid Jane. I pulled back paws from boots, paws and claws pushing on dead cow skin. Stood, back paws inside more cow skin, front paws inside Jane jacket. Jane guns and Jane claws of steel tangled in cow. Pulled self out of stupid human clothes. Saw bullet drop from side to ground and pawed it. Ugly man guns. Shook pelt free, hacked. Shook again, standing in sunlight, free of Jane except for her blood and her gold necklace. It bounced against my neck.

Still no wolves. I sniffed guns, holding head low to ground, inspecting big shotgun. Jane’s favorite. Vampire killer. Now wolf killer. Better than killing teeth and claws. I huffed, disgusted, smelling fired gun. Stinks. But still better. Beast never killed three wolves in one day. Jane was good hunter.

I clamped on butt with teeth, far away from killing mouth of gun. Pulled into brush, out of sight of humans. Pulled rest of guns too. And Jane’s clothes, filled with knives—Jane’s claws. Left Jane’s bike. Bigger than dead cow. Too hard to hide. I held head to air, sniffing. Turned in slow circle. Scent of water nearby, stagnant and full of crawly things, too small to hunt. Smell of animals and farm on slow wind. Chickens. Many chickens. Saliva flooded mouth at thought of chickens. White feathers tasted bad, but meat beneath tasted good. Blood tasted good. Hunger held on to belly like killing claws. Thirst squirmed like snake in belly. I moved into brush, padding toward smells. Good smells. Found water. Slurped water, frogs, wiggly things, drowned squirming snakes of thirst. Plopped beside little pool and groomed pelt, sticky with Jane’s drying blood. But belly ached.

Changing from Jane to Beast, or Beast to Jane, was always hard. When dying, was harder still. When sun was up and moon was sleeping, was impossible to shift shape, unless death was near. When Beast was dying, death gave power to shape-change, no matter time of day or night. Jane understood. Skinwalker-magic. The magic of her kind.

But changing gave pain. Belly twisted in talons of predator called hunger. Pelt forgotten, rose and followed scent of food.

Trees thickened and branches weaved together in sky overhead. I padded faster, found tree with low limb and leaped, climbing high. Reaching with claws. Thick tail circling for balance. Caught bark and pushed/pulled up tree, shredding bark. Pine filled nose. Like Gee. Bird Gee. Reached limb and found balance on it. Looked down. Around. Found farm. Chicken farm. Jane still asleep. Chickens are mine.

I/Beast could count to five. There were many-more-than-five chickens in long chicken house. Two humans and two dogs in yard. Big truck full of many chickens in street. Human men moved cages of chickens from house to truck. Sound and smells all wrapped together, good chicken smells and stinky man smells and truck exhaust breath, and loud, ugly noises and good chicken noises. Dogs yapping. One raced in circles, chasing tail. Stupid dog.

Wind hid my scent, drawing it away. I crouched in brush to leave no prints, beside house full of chickens, unmoving, pelt hiding me. Waiting. Man dropped cages. More than five chickens got away, weak and sickly-looking, big bodies wobbling on weak legs. Making sounds of pain. Human let prey get away. Stupid humans.

Three chickens ran toward Beast. I rushed out of brush and grabbed chicken, killing teeth snapping around neck, jaws crunching down. Taste/smell of meat and blood, hot in mouth. Dropped chicken and snapped neck of second chicken. Grabbed both. Ran.

Bounded back into bushes. Raced away. Paws on animal path. Dogs barked and raced after. Humans shouted. I reached trees and raced up high into limbs. Fast, claws strong. Leaping, tail shifting, helping with stable landing, placed food in branches and leaped to ground. Hid. Dogs raced after. Two dogs. One big with big teeth. One small with stinky rotten teeth. Raced past. Noses to ground. Came back. Circled, circled. Never looked up. Stupid dogs.

Little dog with stinky rotten teeth stopped. Quivered. Nose off of ground. Snout aiming at me. I growled. Leaped, pushing off with back feet. Claws half sheathed, teeth showing. Swiped at dog. Hit his side with paw and saw him fly. Hit tree. I screamed and swiped at big dog. He yelped. Ran away. Tail tucked between legs. I screamed with victory. Trotted to dog beneath tree. Not dead. Claws half sheathed did not kill.

Batted him over. No blood. Breathing. I leaned close and huffed, learning his scent. Licked his body, harsh rasping tongue pulling on dog pelt. Licked his face and eyes, like kit, slow to move after birth. He stirred, whimpered. Good enough to make Jane happy. Jane liked dogs. Stupid pack hunters.

Tall in trees, far away, I ate chickens. Meat and bones and pulling sinew. Feathers slick with blood. Beaks pointy, crunched like small bone. Feet crunched, all bone and skin. Chicken gone. Licked snout. Found feathers stuck to muzzle. Settled to groom away dried Jane blood and fresh tasty chicken blood. Took nap in sun, high in tree. Free of Jane.

Woke and listened to forest. Bird, turkey, armadillo, possum, rats, rabbits. Watched hawk hunt, soaring overhead, diving toward prey. Watched sun drop toward end of sky. Groomed self again, removing last of Jane blood.

Jane woke to taste of her blood on my tongue, her mind slow. Crap. What was that?

Werewolves. I hacked in disgust. White feather blew from lips and floated on air. Pack hunters. Jane killed three. Good hunter.

But why? Jane raised up, trying to be alpha. Werewolves out here . . . Before dusk. Crap, crap, crap! They were coming from Leo’s! They already hit him. Maybe hours ago. I didn’t smell Rick on the wolves. Did you smell Rick? We have to get to Leo’s!

No Rick-smell. Long walk. Hot day. I rose and dropped limb from limb to the ground. Went back to the puddle of water. Drank. Slowly. I am alpha. Not Jane.

Jane went silent, stuffing anger down in brain like paw on kit. Pretty please?

I hacked. Long walk. Hot day. And started toward Leo’s den. Slowly.

Jane looked through Beast eyes at Leo’s clan home. Watched barn, house, land all around house. Horses stood in center of field in tight circle. Prey animals, stomping, snorting. Shaking manes. Smell of fear on air. Smell of wolves strong, but not new. Not fresh.

Jane thought, Why aren’t there any people? Last time I was here, I must have seen ten people in the garden and barn. At least the sheriff’s deputy is here.

The deputy was standing on front porch, stick in hand, staring through open door. After long moment, he turned, went back to his car. Made punching motion and put cell phone to his ear. “Roul. Yeah. I see. You think you got her subdued? Can you keep her that way? Shit man, we weren’t supposed to act until moonrise. Sun screws up the stasis spell. If this gets out before dark, when we can get back in—Yeah. Right. Okay.” Deputy punched button on phone and got in car. Started engine, low growl like cat, and drove slowly away, tires rolling over small rocks and shells. As car drew even, smelled werewolf stink.

Deputy was werewolf.

Yeah, Jane thought, surprised. I recognize him from the biker’s bar. And smart me, I told Sloan to send a deputy to Leo’s. If the wolves got one of their own in as a cop, then they’ve been planning this return to Leo’s territory for a long time, maybe just waiting for the opportunity. She went silent inside of head. Worried.

I huffed and lay chin on paws, peering through tall grass. Smelled blood on air, strange blood. Like blood dropped on hot stone, vampire blood and pack blood, mixed. Scorched and burnt. And smell of magic. All coming through open front door.

I hunched shoulders and shuffled paws forward, through grass. Raised belly off ground and crouched toward house, through flowers, over shredded bark, moving slowly, like stalking, but no prey to pounce on. Moving toward Leo house and blood smell.

At bottom of front steps, smell of magic and blood grew stronger, smells flowing on air from open door of Leo house. Big-cats do not hunt for prey in daylight. Dusk hunter. Night hunter. Dawn hunter. Best under pregnant moon, full and bright on ground. Not day hunter, to creep up man steps to man house to see inside. But lifted paw and set it on bottom step. Pawpawpaw up steps fast, sheriff-deputy-wolf-smell beneath paws. Ready to leap from steps into bushes. But no need. No people moved. House was silent. Smell of blood and magic growing stronger.

Witch magic, Jane thought. Which makes no freaking sense. Witches and vamps don’t work together unless the negotiations are a lot further along than I thought. But then, nothing about vamps makes a lot of sense. Let me see inside.

I padded to front door. Looked inside. White marble floor was splattered in blood. A young female lay on stone, eyes wide, one hand lifted up. Blood looked fresh, wet and new. Much blood. Female did not breathe. Heart did not beat. But she did not look dead and blue.

Not yet, Jane thought. Nettie. She served me breakfast once. She helped me with the search of Tyler’s room. She can’t be twenty-five.

Careful to avoid blood, I padded with hunter’s crouch into house, stubby tip of tail jerking with Jane’s worry. With fear of being in man house in Beast form. Walked across bird of prey in stone. Leo’s heraldic device, Jane thought, studying bird. Whether that thing is an Anzu or not, I don’t know. But it isn’t a phoenix. How could I have missed that?

Inside foyer, in living room, found more bodies, looking dead, no breath. Many bleeding from bite marks. Not alive. But not dead. Afraid. Standing or sitting in small groups, looking at nothing, as if they had been herded into room like sheep.

Maids, enforcers, gardeners, grooms, the butler, and chef, Jane thought. Stasis spells everywhere. The werewolves attacked, bit a bunch of them, and put stasis spells over it all. Spells they bought from a witch. But the deputy said the spell went wrong in the daylight. But . . . What do they want?

To take over as alpha of city, I thought. Working with Leo’s enemies.

Yeah. Okay. Power play. I get why they bit Leo’s blood-servants. Turn them and take away his support system. But why kill Nettie?

Girl ran? Predators would chase; instinct for chasing. Girl fought? Predators would subdue. Kill may be accident. Or wolf-bitch, jealous. Like Jane with Ricky Bo. Heard sly tone in voice, hacked with laughter.

I’m not jealous.

I blew through nose and padded across room, around stasis spell, careful to avoid blood droplets. Into a corner where something gleamed. Metal. Silvery. Jane’s chain-mail throat collar. It was mangled, torn by predator’s killing teeth.

Jane stared, thinking. They wanted someone to think I was part of all this.

Pack hunters planned to make Leo think you are enemy. Make Leo think you turn against him. Jane was surprised. I snorted again. Sometimes Jane stupid.

Take it. And let’s get out of here.

I lifted necklace in mouth and turned, tail swinging. Started from room. Heard click. Froze, dropped belly to ground. Useless move. No tall grass to hide behind. Belly-crawled to sound, to doors, like closet doors in Jane’s house-den. Door was cracked open. Click inside.

Maybe more chickens. Maybe rabbits! Clicking inside. Unsheathed claws on right paw and caught door, silver collar dangling from jaw. Pushed it open with soft squeak of metal.

Sweet! Jane thought, pushing into front of brain, taking over as alpha. Leo’s security system.

I stood on back legs and put front paws on desk. Lights blinked. Light box with picture showed Leo, his image fuzzy and reddish, like blood flowing in stream. He was awake and sitting on a bed, holding his arm close to his body. Blood was drying on his clothes, much, life-stealing blood. Spell over Leo’s bed was red. A witch spell like one from Jane’s Molly. Hedge of thorns.

The time stamp is moving forward. This is real-time, Jane thought. Leo’s in his lair, awake, and injured, bleeding. Behind a hedge of thorns spell. And what is that, in the corner? It looked like part of a human hand, fisted. His attacker is there with him, caught in a stasis spell. Which makes no sense because they passed me on the road and set up the ambush.

As if he could hear Jane thoughts, Leo turned to the monitor camera and stared, his eyes ringed with pain like prey. I thought at Jane, Protective spell, in his den. Evangelina gave it to him? Cat eyes fell on small object on floor at Leo’s feet, inside hedge of thorns. Stake. Enemy attacked.

And it’s silver-tipped. Crap. It’s one of mine, one I lost at Booger’s Scoot. Leo needs help, but I can’t call for help in cat form. I can’t shift until dusk, and we can’t risk breaking the spells before dusk or Leo might just up and die. Again. Crap. This sucks.

Beast is alpha. All day. In daylight. I turned and padded from house into yard, across sun-heated ground, into barn. Wolf smell was everywhere, thick carpet of it. I entered stall and dropped Jane collar in shadow near barn door. Drank from horse water in stall to remove metal taste from mouth. Smell of pregnant female horse everywhere, in water, in straw on floor of stall, old urine and dung strong. I sneezed to force dust and horse smell out of nose. Pregnant horse would be much meat. Winter food to replace deer stolen by wolves.

No! Jane thought. No horses!

I hacked and spotted hole in ceiling. Cave to sleep in. Leaped up wall, paws on railing, against window sill, pushed up into hole, front claws scrabbling, pulling body through. Moments later, was in darkness of hayloft and lay across pile of hay. Hungry again. Lay still, listening to mice. Too small to hunt. Only one mouthful crunch. Across barn, female cat hissed in warning, showing killing teeth, saying she would protect. Smell of kittens and milk showed reason. I yawned and lay head down.

Heat felt good. Closed eyes and slept.

Not long later, I woke. Dusk was near. Light like skin of fruit in sky. I was hungry. Barn was still silent but for horses below, milling and frightened. Scent of wolves and big-cat predator in their barn. I could kill and eat horse.

No! Jane thought.

Little horse. Baby horse.

No! Hey . . . Wait. You could eat a horse. You’re making a joke.

I hacked in amusement and padded to end of barn. Door for hay was latched closed. I unsheathed claws and caught latch with one claw. Let it fall. Beast is smart. Good hunter.

I pushed open door. Movement in tree line pulled eyes. Black shape. Spots showing beneath black coat. Kemnebi. The black were-leopard leaped over a downed tree, long, slender tail moving like tail of house cat, different from stubby Beast tail. His legs were short, his body long.

Graceful. Lissome, elegant. He’s beautiful, Jane thought. Almost as beautiful as you are.

I chuffed, the sound nearly lost in the movement of horses below. But the leopard flicked his ears, swiveled his head. Found us in the gloom. His eyes were greener than Beast’s, his skull larger, snout angled down.

He spun and jumped to the downed tree. Crouched. Stared at us, tail whipping. And he roared. Leopard roar, jungle cat roar, chuffing hollow sound. Beast pelt rose as air vibrated with his call. Horses milled below, snorting and stomping. One bugled. Barn shook as horse kicked wall. And Kem pushed away from tree, his body rotating, spinning, twisting in mid-arch. The scrub claimed him when he landed. I looked at ground fifteen feet below. And dropped down. Headed back to Bitsa. Jane could be alpha now. Next time big-cat was alpha in daytime, wanted to be in mountains, near loud stream. Sleep on sun-warmed rock. Hunt and eat deer. Better than chicken.

I came to lying on the dirt in my dried blood. I was starving, naked, and worried. I sat up and inspected myself, checking for new scars. And, yep, I had a new one. The bullet wound was an angry-looking, round, puckered, red hole under my left arm. The bullet had entered between my sixth and seventh ribs and punctured my left lung. And nicked a major vein or artery, to take me down so fast. The new scar was a handspan away from the other bullet scar on my chest, the one that had likely resulted in my shifting from Beast’s cat form to human when I was twelve. I’d wandered out of the forest shortly thereafter and lived as human for a long time before I’d found my Beast form again.

I didn’t scar much, except for life-threatening injuries, and most of those decreased in severity over time as I shifted back and forth from Beast to human. My throat, arms, and chest were ridged with scars from this gig, however. Working for the vamps was proving to be dangerous business.

I pulled my clothes out of the brush and shook them. My undies had been ruined by one of Beast’s claws. My bra had a bullet hole in it and was so caked with dried blood that it flaked off when I shook it. My silk long johns were crusty with blood. I knew from experience that I’d never get the stains out. I couldn’t make myself put them on. Ants had found their way into my leather pants, swarming the caked and clotted blood, and they didn’t want to leave. I turned the pants inside out and beat them against a tree. Ditto my leather jacket, which had a bullet hole under the left arm, to complement the wolf-teeth rips in the elbow. All the leather gear would need work. As soon as the clothes were free of insect life, I dressed, commando style. I thought about putting on the church skirt still in the saddlebag, but combined with the butt-stomper boots and the bloody jacket it wouldn’t look or work any better.

As I dressed, I had to wonder why no one had called in the peculiar situation at Leo’s. Was the stasis spell strong enough to take all the blood-servants and -slaves over? Maybe it was combined with a keep-away spell. I wondered how much a spell like that might cost. But mostly, I was hungry. Ravenously hungry. And I remembered the boudin balls and the peanut bar—because chocolate would melt—the chips—for starting a fire, not that I needed one—and bottled water in the saddlebags. I ate everything and drank all the water, relieved myself, and dug out my GPS cell phone. I dialed Bruiser and he picked it up on the first ring.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls!” he ground out. I could almost see his teeth gnash.

Been busy being ambushed, shot, shifting into a mountain lion, and taking a nap, didn’t sound like a smart thing to say. And if Bruiser had access to the GPS tracking on the phone, he’d know I was lying if I said I’d lost the signal. “I was ambushed by some werewolves on the way to Leo’s and got shot at. Furry little yappers are awful shots. All they got was a nick along my ribs. Get out here, and bring me a change of clothes, would you? Jeans, T-shirt, undies.”

Bruiser swore softly and the anger dropped from his tone. “Pawing around in your lingerie drawer would sound interesting if you hadn’t just said you’d been shot.”

“It’s not bad. Looks worse than it is.”Which was a lie, though I looked okay right now; not like the shot had nearly killed me. “Anyway, I got away, and went in through the woods.” I filled him in quickly about the scene in the clan home. “You need to get out here, because we’ll need to call the cops.”

“It will be dark soon. Leo and Tyler can handle it,” he said. I could hear the faintest tang of bitterness in his words. Why should he help his former boss and his replacement?

“According to the security monitor, Leo is injured and Tyler”—I thought back to the people gathered inside—“isn’t there. I think he’s involved with all the problems. Involved as in responsible for. And responsible for framing you for murder.”

“Sod it all,” he cursed. “I’ll be there, with our lawyer, in an hour.”

“Bring me some food. A half dozen burgers. I’m hungry.”

“A half—”

“And make it fast.” I hit the END button and tucked away the cell. There was something very satisfying in ordering the MOC’s prime blood-servant around. Remembering the bite marks on the blood-servants gathered in Leo’s, I called Gee; left a message on his voice mail. “I know you’ve been trying to bring the wolves and the vamps together. But the wolves attacked Leo’s today. He’s hurt. He might need the Mercy Blade.” I closed the cell. I didn’t know if Gee was taking my calls, not after I’d accidentally stabbed him while trying to break his hide-me spell, but it was worth the shot.

I picked up Bitsa. She seemed little the worse for the bullet /claw/fang-based contretemps. Her paint was scarred and a wheel spoke was bent and coated with werewolf blood, but I could get that fixed with a little side trip to Bitsa’s maker in Charlotte, North Carolina, when I went back to the mountains. For now, she was roadworthy and that was what counted.

I motored through the deepening dusk to Leo’s. When I got there, the place was still shut down under the stasis spell, though the evening security lights had come on.

I down-clutched and rode through the twilight light into the azaleas, where I parked Bitsa and waited in the shadows for Bruiser.