Bite Me (London Undead) (7 page)

“Rest up, feed again, then I want you to go back and scout the scene a second time. I want to know if any friends or family show up.”

Something. There was something odd about that building and the change in the zombie attack pattern.

Nods all around.

Seth stood, allowing the rest of them to stand and leave the room. It didn’t surprise him when Danny remained.

“You’re hunting.” And Danny wasn’t talking about fat bunnies in Hyde Park.

Seth shook his head once. “I’ve got a gut feeling, still no real trail to follow, yet. Something’s not right about the changes we’re seeing in the zombies. You see anything different in those samples we got for you?”

“Tests can take more than a single night.” Danny grimaced, sitting on the arm of a sofa. “Based on my initial findings though, the virus is still active in the tissue samples we’ve seen and looks to be the same with the limited equipment I’ve got. It hasn’t mutated. Whatever the source is for this new behavior, it doesn’t seem to be the virus itself. I’ll ask the boys to bring in samples on the next patrols just to be sure.”

Seth made a mental note to track down some of the new ones—the faster corpses.

“It’s not the virus and it’s not the hosts, because the humans aren’t evolving or some of them would be developing an immunity to the virus.” Seth had done his time in university not once, but several times over the decades he’d been a werewolf. “There’s some external factor, something we’re missing.”

Magic.

Rage simmered, but Seth couldn’t ignore it any longer, couldn’t let his hate blind him to the potential threat.

“And why?” Danny was right there with him in worrying.

“It’s not likely to be the were-cats, but keep alert next time you go see them.” Territorial aggression or no, they’d all been upfront with each other thus far. No. If there was a bid for power, it was some of the other supernaturals. Vampires, for example, loved cities as hunting grounds, and the chaos of the epidemic gave them freedom to prey on humans amidst the confusion. And there were fae who fed on those emotions. “If one of the other groups fishes for information, I want to be sure they know we’re aware of an issue, but I want all cards on the table. We
all
share what we know and I want to be there if there’s anything to be said.”

A nod from Danny was all he needed. The medic would be careful.

“Let’s see what this next patrol turns up.” He walked past Danny, dropping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And keep an ear to the ground for any other occurrences like this one.”

“I’ll check in with our contacts. Our patrol stumbled on this by coincidence. Could be one of the others saw something similar.”

Seth curled his lip. “I hope not. If a pattern does come up, let me know.”

“This smells like magic, Seth. There’s no natural causes, not from the virus. If one of the other groups confirms it, we’re going to have to be prepared to deal with it.”

Danny wouldn’t flush the game out in front of the junior pack members. He knew what it did to Seth.

Anger churned in his belly, a familiar burn. He’d lived in a state of almost constant temper since he’d lost Sarah—dead because the witch couldn’t resist the call of power. She’d brought the consequences to their doorstep, their home, when he hadn’t been there to protect her.

Damn magic users and their hunger, their need for more and more power. Nothing but evil.

“Sarah didn’t share the spell with others.” Seth choked on the name of his deceased lover.

“No. What she did was find a way to control zombies. If she could, so could others. She was good, but she wasn’t singular.” Head down, shoulders hunched, Danny was obviously prepared in case Seth lashed out. The medic had big balls to put the truth out there for discussion.

He was indispensable to the pack, and to Seth, because of it.

“The price won’t change for a different magic user. Spells, power, always require a price.” Seth wanted to spit in disgust, get the bitter taste out of his mouth.

Sure, Sarah had figured out how to control zombies, but she hadn’t considered the cost. When her endurance ran out, her spell had back-lashed. The “controlled” zombies had been drawn to her and attacked her where she rested—in
his
home. He’d lost everything he’d held dear in one night, unable to get there in time. All because his lover couldn’t resist the temptation to solve things with magic and had gone back on her promise not to.

She’d broken her word to him and he hadn’t been able to save her.

“Magic can be harnessed for good things.” Danny meant well, but Seth didn’t want to hear it.

“Yeah. The idjits who try to use it go mad with the power, or else they’re too daft to control it properly to begin with.” Seth struggled to untangle the roiling emotions in his belly. He needed to get out, run, find some clean violence. “The magic might be a cure for the zombie virus, but only sometimes and only in the hands of a user in his right mind. It’s never a consistent thing. And at what price? All power requires a price, Danny. You’ve seen it. The magic that makes us what we are takes its price from us every day. The magic this would take, it’d cause chaos.”

Sarah had said the same thing as Danny. She’d wanted to help clear the city of the zombies, use the zombies under her power to contain the epidemic without risking infection to normals. Good intentions, bad decisions and a broken promise had left him mourning her.

No.

He would put his faith in himself and the pack, and destroy the walking dead.

“Where are you going?”

Seth snarled, his anger a living thing inside of him. “Out on patrol to burn some of this off until we have more information.”

Chapter Six

Seth halted on the landing of the pack’s headquarters—a terraced house built in the 1780s identical to its neighbors in every regard save for the reinforced, sound-proofed cellars meant to keep newly changed werewolves safely confined. He imagined he looked like any other man, about to go off on an errand.

A man dressed in naught but a trench coat and denims. He’d left off a shirt again.

Broad daylight as it was, would Maisie mind?

Was he going to see her?

He’d thought to ring her up, not look in on her so soon. Was it too soon? It bloody well would be if he’d no reason to be bothering her in the middle of her day. She was likely busy. He’d no way of knowing.

Stand around much longer and Danny was going to pop his head out to ask what all was going on.

Cursing, Seth yanked his mobile out of his pocket and dialed a number.

It took half a dozen rings before a tart voice answered. “Clinic.”

The tension melted away at the sound of her voice.

“Maisie.”

“And who’s ringing me up, then?” Suspicion and spunk—that was his girl being cautious. Good.

“It’s Seth.” Well, what else was he going to say? He didn’t really know why he’d called other than to hear her voice. “Wanted to see that you got a good night’s rest.”

Awkward. She was going to think he was mad.

“Oh.” Actually, pleasure seemed to infuse the one word, or maybe he was just hopeful. “I...um...I did. Thank you. And you?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Damn, man, find your balls. “I had a bit on my mind and it might’ve made sleep a little frustrating.”

She laughed. “I might remind you, you’re the one who put a stop to it.” A pause. “Though I appreciate why you said you did.”

“And did you give some thought to it too?” The idea of her in his bed heated his blood in a completely different way.

“I might have.” There was an answering heat in her tone, more encouraging than her light words.

He wanted to see her, enjoy the color that must be rising up in her cheeks. Her scent would be turning musky about now and drive him out of his right mind.

Ah hell, he was doing a good job of it all on his own.

“I’d like to take you out for dinner again.” He’d like to lay a plump bunny at her feet and know she’d accepted him as a provider, but he’d settle for taking her to a nice restaurant. He’d convince her to accept him over time.

“You don’t have to.” Maisie sounded distressed and his chest tightened. “I mean, it’d be nice to see you, either way. No need to buy me dinner. You’d be welcome to stop in at the clinic even.”

He grinned. He might stop by sooner than she thought.

Could be she wasn’t used to anyone spending money on her, his girl.

She’d have to get used to it.

He planned to spoil her silly. But telling her so might put her off, so he settled for a baby step. “I’m a big bad wolf, Maisie, and I eat a lot. If you wouldn’t mind watching me shovel a mountain of food into my gullet, your company would make a meal time more pleasant. I enjoyed talking to you over dinner last night.”

“Oh. Well then, I enjoyed your company too.” She sounded flustered and pleased.

Warmth spread through his chest.

“I...uh...I have to go, Seth. We’ve got a patient in the waiting room.”

Seth jolted out of his thoughts. “Oh. Course. I’ll be talking to you later, then.” Maybe dropping by the clinic, as in now, would be too soon.

He seemed to be worrying a lot about what was “too soon.”

He ended the call and cursed himself for acting like a wet puppy. It hadn’t been so long. How did men manage to court a lady with stupid mobiles limiting them to only sound? Conversation wasn’t so awkward in person and he could get a better feel for her moods and reactions, watch her expressions change across her face, her body language.

He’d go see her after all. Besides, she seemed to like him near her right fine.

Since he planned to take her out to dinner, he needed a different reason to stop by. Flowers? Nah. Surely he could think of something more personal, something she’d really want. Maybe something would come to mind while he was out on patrol. If all else failed, he could always get her extra ammunition. Ammunition for that 38 super of hers wasn’t easy to come by.

Best get her full metal jacket rounds. If she ever decided to shoot him again, he’d rather her not have the cheaper hollow points.

He shook his head. When had any man ever grinned over the prospect of being shot?

The grin didn’t leave his face as he started off down the road. He set a path at random, foregoing the normal patrol routes as they were already covered by his wolves. He preferred to be the wild card for those times when chaos could bugger even the best laid schedules.

The sun was high, and most of the fog had burned away this late in the morning. More people walked the streets, rushing from place to place on their errands. They might dawdle some to have a word with a friend here and there, but there was an edge to every exchange.

“Another building. Horrible, it was,” a woman said to one of the ration distributors.

He didn’t turn his head toward the speaker but he slowed his pace to catch more of the conversation. “The zombie hunters are going in with the police. They say they want to try to track the zombies back to where they came from, maybe find a nest of them. Clean ’em out like rats.”

Not a bad idea, that. If the police mustered a decent force to go in and clean out the parks in a coordinated effort, Seth would be willing to support the effort. But he wouldn’t offer his wolves up to be fodder or bait. He’d wait to see whether the police approached him with a decent plan.

He headed up Savile Row, past shops boasting the latest in survival and hunting gear where once they were the finest tailors in London. What businesses remained open had evolved to cater to the clientele with the money to spend.

A pair of constables, apparently on patrol as well, paused near him. They never went out alone anymore—smart move. These two slowed to eye him up and down for a long moment before the older of the two gave him a nod.

In a good mood, Seth nodded in return. He paused to see if they’d say something to him. Dealings between police and werewolves were tentative thus far. He didn’t remember meeting these two, but a man walking about in a trench coat and no shirt probably tipped them off to him being a werewolf. Or, one of them might be observant enough to see the difference in the way he moved.

A shop door swung open and first one then another man stepped out laden with new gear.

“I’m telling you, Sam, we’re going to get us some fan-fucking-tastic trophies. My contact guarantees us plenty of targets. We can shoot all we want. This isn’t like hunting moose.” American, by their accents. Amazing how they could use the same words and still make a bloody mess of the language. “They don’t make you submit an application and wait on the results of some lottery to see if you’ll be awarded a permit.”

“Can’t wait to get out there.” The other American’s voice was a veritable boom on the quiet street. “Show these Brits how to get things
done
. No worries about any apocalypse once we start taking them down.”

The older constable shifted his weight, catching Seth’s eye. The corner of the human’s mouth twitched. Seth raised an eyebrow in return.

He’d be a bad, bad man for finding amusement. He should try to give these hunters a fighting chance, some idea of why zombies were different from hunting natural prey.

“These locals, they didn’t carry decent weapons before the zombies started appearing. I hear they haven’t even settled on a standard issue rifle for their cops yet.” Tourist hunter number one hefted a fancy rifle. “I bet they never used a Henry Big Boy. Mine’s custom.”

Was that ivory inlay on the stock of that rifle? Pretty, pretty for a big man’s weapon.

Tourist hunter number two hefted a sack of garlic heads, holding it far away from his pristine camouflage. Not a speck of dirt on those, anywhere. He must have ordered them custom fit and decided to wear them right out of the store when he’d come to pick them up. “And I’ve got plenty of garlic to throw the monsters off my scent.”

Garlic? Were they hunting zombies or vampires?

Far as Seth knew, the local vampires had no particular aversion to it.

The sharp scent of salted beef cut through the garlic. Seth glanced to his side to see the younger of the two constables holding out an open sack.

“Beef jerky? My mum made it.” Both were chewing away at the snack. “Figure your kind would like it better than tobacco.”

Seth accepted a piece. Nice of the man to offer.

The three stood in companionable silence, taking in the continuing tourist entertainment.

“I hear the Brits are getting so desperate, they’ve got werewolves hunting them zombies down for ’em. Before you know it, they’re going to be out there on horses in those nifty hunting jackets.” Tourist one guffawed. “Can you see it? One of ’em sounding off on their horn with a pack of werewolves running out in front chasing down zombies. It’s all about the sport, I’m tellin’ ya.”

To hell with warning these men. Burning in hell wasn’t so bad. Seth chewed on his beef jerky and kept his advice to himself. He’d caught enough of their scent to remember them. It’d be interesting to see if he came across the trails of these two again.

“Best to let those types go on their way.” The older constable spit on the sidewalk once the two hunters left. “All shiny and new, they were. Out to prove something.”

“Try to give them a word of warning and they won’t listen in any case.” The other constable scratched his head. “At least they tend to go into the parks, away from normal people. Won’t have to worry much about them shooting innocent people when they get all worked up waiting for a zombie to stumble by.”

True enough. They would worry about having all their “trophies” to themselves. Little did they know, their precious trophies would be naught but ashes by the time they arrived back in the States.

“As long as they don’t make trouble for us, they’re welcome to take their shots at the buggers.” Seth tried for an amiable tone. He couldn’t bring himself to smile, even in the name of camaraderie.

Funny how a smile had come to his face so readily the night before.

“Well, and we all appreciate what you and yours do to help keep the public safe.” The older constable coughed. “Takes some getting used to, won’t lie to you there, but we’re learning new tricks. If you get my meaning.”

“We all are.” Seth gave them another nod as they headed off on the rest of their patrol.

He made a mental note of Constables Middleton and Turpin. Danny would find them amenable to contact in the future.

His mood held out for the next hour or so. Cloud cover came and went as the day moved into afternoon. Shadows raced across the streets, alternately revealing then hiding the way London had deteriorated. As he walked, he kicked at fallen mortar and stones from the various buildings falling into disrepair.

Not enough residents left in the city to maintain them.

Most had moved into apartment complexes clustered closer to the police stations. Any homes near the various parks had been long since abandoned, with only the odd small businesses remaining—aside from the businesses directly capitalizing on the new tourist hunting excursions.

A low moan snapped Seth out of his musings.

There, in a tiny alley. The movement raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He approached slowly. Careful.

The zombie hadn’t caught his scent yet. It was scrabbling against the far wall of the alley. The corpse stood on two feet, fairly solid for a rotting thing. As it scraped its hands over the rough stone of the building, bits of flesh came away and streaked the mortar in rot. The tips of bone had been exposed on its fingertips and added a sickening sound with the friction of bone on stone.

It could get out. No encumbrances were visible around its legs. Hell, he’d seen a few of them drag themselves against a snare until a leg came loose. They didn’t care much about leaving a body part behind if they were determined to go after fresh meat.

There was none, though. No one on this smaller street besides him. So what was this zombie after? It kept at the wall, trying to get through. Seth studied the building. Windows boarded up, falling apart, not even a small business in the ground floor to make any noise that’d attract the thing. It wasn’t far from Maisie and the clinic. Most of the buildings in this area were abandoned or close to it.

And still, Seth had a gut feeling the bugger was trying to get
into
the building. It had moved to the very end of the alley, a dead end. It began half climbing a stack of crates as it continued to do its best to pass through a solid wall.

A hiss echoed through the alley.

The zombie froze, made a slow turn. Something live was in those crates. As the corpse crouched over, it uttered another low moan.

A thin yowl issued from a crate. A tiny paw shot through the cracks and swiped the zombie across its jaw, taking away a chunk of flesh.

Really?

He moved without thought. In a flash, he had the zombie by the throat. It took a simple twist to snap its neck and then he crushed its skull.

Another hiss.

He glared at the crate. There. A patch of dirty orange. In moments, Seth had an itty bitty bundle of tabby kitten in his hand. It literally fit in the palm of his hand.

“Poor bastard.”

Golden eyes glared at him with a defiance the tiny body couldn’t back up.

“Where’s your mum, then? You don’t stand a chance on your own.”

No sign of any other cats in the alley, not by sight or scent. However the little bloke had gotten there, it was obvious he was on his own.

He should leave the cat.

It huddled in the palm of his hand, waiting. Seth leaned in close then jerked his head back as the kitten took a swipe at his nose.

He chuckled. This one had fight to him.

“You’re supposed to be frightened.” The kitten seemed unimpressed. Still, most dogs and cats were scared to spitting of werewolves. They gave Seth a wide berth, cowering and running for cover long before he approached touching distance. This one, not so much.