Darkness Returns (7 page)

One of the men, light complected, face a collection of sharp angles, whispered something to the dealer. The dealer nodded, stood, and went over to the dealer at the other table. Dealer One whispered into Dealer Two’s ear, and then Dealer Two announced to his players that the game was over. After some muttered protest from the players, the pair of dealers escorted them from the poker room, leaving Teresa alone with the wolves.

The female with the hungry eyes sneered as Teresa came over. Every step felt like its own triumph to Teresa. She would have to talk fast and talk smart, or the smoky air in this casino would be the last she ever breathed.

The three men all stood like old-fashioned gentleman at a lady’s arrival. Hard to tell in the room’s diffused lighting, but it looked like the stubble on their faces grew a little thicker. Werewolves must have had a hell of a time shaving. Teresa had never seen one without at least a five o’ clock shadow. Even the girl, Teresa noticed when she got close enough, had a blonde fuzz on her cheeks and along her upper lip.

“Do you know who I am?” Teresa asked the crew around the table.

“The scent’s familiar,” the one with the light skin and angular face said. His facial hair stood out on that skin like black ink. “Smells like trouble.”

“I’m not here for any trouble.”

“Then what’s this for?” The girl, still seated, reached under Teresa’s jacket as if to cop a feel, but came out with Teresa’s pistol in hand. She dropped it on the table without any visible concern it might go off with that kind of treatment.

“Standard issue. But you’ve got it now. I’m not armed with anything else.”

“Can I frisk you?” another of the men asked. He had a thick neck with ropes for tendons and a red cast to his face that made him look permanently angry, despite the wide grin cracking his mouth.

“You can do whatever you want if you get me a meeting with your Alpha.”

All of them except for Angle Face broke into laughter. Hungry Eyes even slapped the table. Poker chips clinked together. The gun hopped on the felt.

“Sure thing, babe,” Rope Neck said.

Their facial hair thinned, except for Angle Face’s. His darkened a little more.

“Quiet,” he said, quick, but neither loud nor harsh.

Still, his companions quit laughing as quick as if nooses had cinched tight around their throats.

Rope Neck and the third man sat down and directed their eyes to the table in front of them, the look so dejected and pathetic, Teresa almost laughed herself. Poor little puppies.

She did dare a smile. “So I’m talking to you,” she said to Angle Face.

“We’re not talking.”

“Then why’d you clear the room?”

“Because tearing out your throat in front of patrons would be bad for business.”

Teresa’s heartbeat pounded hard. She tried to swallow, but between the desert air, the smoke, and her fear, she didn’t have a drop left to make it happen. “Look, you can see I’m no threat. Why don’t you fetch your boss? He’s gonna want to hear what I have to say.”

Angle’s eyes narrowed. He made a low, wet growl in the back of his throat. His sharp jawbone popped as he clenched his teeth.

Maybe
fetch
had been a poor choice of words.

“You know we can smell the death of one of our pack on a person forever? It never washes clean.”

“I’m not the wolf killer you want.”

“What do you know about what I want?”

Teresa shrugged, hoping it looked nonchalant rather than like a nervous tic. At this point, she felt close to shaking out of her skin. “I know your packs are ferociously loyal. You hate seeing anything happen to your own. Especially at the hand of a mortal.”

“Which is why I’m going to enjoy chewing on your bones.”

“Again,” Teresa said. “I’m not the wolf killer you want.”

“Just kill her,” Hungry Eyes whined.

“Shut up.” Angle Face cocked his head. He leered at Teresa as if picturing her with her clothes off. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Good. She’d set the hook, had his curiosity peaked. “How about that meet with your Alpha?”

“You’ll have to convince me first. What are you offering?”

Time to put it on the line. “The offer is for your leader, not you. You want to hear it, you listen when I tell him.”

Hungry Eyes shot off her chair and grabbed Teresa by the throat. She lifted Teresa off the floor until her toes dangled a foot above the checkered carpet. “You have a lot of nerve coming in here, smelling like you do, and making demands.”

She had Teresa’s windpipe pinched so that she couldn’t draw breath. Teresa’s face seemed to swell. Her pulse thumped in her ears.

“Hensha,” Angle Face snapped. “Down.”

The hunger in the female’s eyes flared for a second. The blonde fuzz on her face turned a darker shade. Then she let go.

Teresa dropped to her knees, gasping. The air tasted like stale cigarettes, but she gulped as much as she could without hyperventilating. Each breath felt like sand in her throat. While she knelt there, she heard the whisk of footsteps on the carpeted floor behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw the two dealers, a thin man dressed in a black suit and tie like an undertaker or federal agent—take your pick—and a third gentleman with wide shoulders and a barrel chest that bulged against the buttons of his purple silk shirt and skewed the collar. The top two buttons undone exposed thick, dark curls on that impressive chest. His hands looked as big as shovels. His slick, black hair hung to his shoulders. And even from where he stood at the poker room entrance, Teresa could smell coconuts, as if he had slathered on a layer of tanning lotion mere seconds before showing up.

Nobody had to tell Teresa she was looking at the Alpha. The way the wolves around the table went stiff and quiet said enough.

Rubbing her throat, Teresa got to her feet and faced him. About half the room stood between them, but his presence crossed the distance and pressed against her. She didn’t know enough about wolf culture to determine if this forceful essence was earned or bestowed. Either way, even as a mortal, she couldn’t deny its impression. She nearly bowed to him like royalty.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

The Alpha looked through her, as if she weren’t even there. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The female, Hensha, started to speak, but the Alpha cut her off with an actual bark. “Cage, what is going on?”

Angle Face, or Cage, stepped around in front of Teresa, head down. “This mortal. She is part of—”

“I know who she is.” The Alpha drew a long breath through his nose. “I can smell her from here. Why isn’t she dead?”

“Yes, sir.” Cage turned to Teresa. His dead-eyed stare made him look bored, but the hair growing on the backs of his hands signaled his purpose.

Teresa backed up. “Wait a second. Hear me out.” Her ass bumped against the table. Hensha sidled up close and growled. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to go down like this. An image of her sister, laughing, dancing at that stupid club the night she was taken, a purple drink in one hand, her other pumping a fist in rhythm to the music, flickered across Teresa’s internal eye. The picture worked like a kick to her instincts.

She twisted at the waist and snatched her pistol off the poker table and jammed the barrel up under Hensha’s chin. “Nobody fucking move.”

A green shine rose in Cage’s eyes while his pelt grew, covering most of his skin. The center of his face began to push out, forming what would become the wolf’s snout. But his transformation halted there, making it look like something had tried to punch its way out his head through his face.

Hensha grabbed the wrist of Teresa’s gun hand.

“Try it,” Teresa said. “You faster than a bullet?”

“Down, Hensha,” the Alpha said as he sauntered further into the room. Despite everything, his expression didn’t change much. He had thick lips on a wide face and he pursed them slightly. “Down, Cage.”

Cage’s face drew back to a normal shape. The hair covering his hands, forehead, and cheeks receded, though his beard remained full.

The Alpha approached alone. The dealers and the guy in the suit stayed at the entrance.

“Why you bringing drama to my place? I hate drama.”

Teresa’s arm started to ache from pushing the gun so hard under Hensha’s jaw, but she didn’t ease any of that pressure, though she doubted holding the wolf at gunpoint had much to do with the Alpha calling off his dogs. He hated drama. Probably meant he’d hate wolf brains all over the carpet, too.

“No drama intended. But I need to talk to you.”

“What’s a wolf killing government goon got to say to me?”

“I’m not government. Not anymore.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“I didn’t come here as an enemy. I came as an ally.”

“Bullshit.” The Alpha stepped up close. “Bullshit,” he repeated, sprinkling her face with spittle. “You want something from me, ask for it.”

“Craig Lockman.”

“What? You lose him? Last I checked, you two were as cuddly as a bitch and her pups.”

“He’s not what I want. He’s what you want. And I can get to him.”

He pointed a finger in her face. “Now, see? That’s the problem with you mortals. No loyalty to your leaders.”

“If another wolf took you down, what would happen?”

His eyes narrowed. “That a threat?”

“It’s a question. Forget it. I know the answer. An Alpha’s gotta earn his place. If he’s too weak, the role goes to someone stronger.”

He brushed at his face as if moving a lock of hair aside, but all his hair remained oiled back. “The mighty Lockman’s lost his touch, huh?”

“He’s got a severe blindspot.”

“So what? You think you can hire us or some shit? My pack doesn’t do dirty work for mortals.”

“Tell that to the dogs working for Otto Dolan.” The quip came out of her mouth before her self-preservation filter could catch it. If she backed off now, it would make her look not only weak, but stupid. She pushed on. “Oh, wait. Lockman killed both those puppies.”

The Alpha busted open a fat laugh so loud and sudden, Teresa’s heart seemed to stop beating for a second.

“You got teeth,” he said. “You’d make a good bitch.”

Despite the sound of it, Teresa was pretty sure that qualified as a compliment coming from him. She forced a smile. “So can we deal.”

He shook his head. “Told you. We don’t deal with mortals. You want to run with us, you got to be one of us.”

Hensha whimpered. “Scud, you can’t—”

His eyes snapped to her. “Can’t what? You talking back to me?”

Teresa could feel her gun move against Hensha’s jaw when the wolf swallowed. “No.”

“Scud?” Teresa asked, balling up every bit of swagger she had left before it poured out of her. “What kind of name is that?”

“Kind you’re gonna learn to respect when you’re one of my bitches.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want to help me get to Lockman, you gotta join the pack, babe.” His thick lips parted into a toothy grin. “Yeah, you’ll make a good bitch.”

The mix of cigarette smoke and the smell of tropical suntan lotion suddenly felt oppressive. Made it hard to breathe. “I’m willing to deal,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “But that’s off the table. I got no desire to be a wolf.”

“As if your desire had anything to do with it.” He turned to Cage. “Use the honeymoon suite. Make sure you get as many of the boys as you can gather.”

Cage nodded and hurried out of the poker room, knocking against one of the dealers in his haste to obey his master.

The quiver in Teresa’s voice had spread through her body. She gave a reminder shove of her pistol under Hensha’s chin. “Hey. You lay a hand on me, I’ll scatter her brains.”

Scud lifted a shoulder. “Then what?” He raised a hand and twitched a pair of fingers. This signaled the guy in the suit to draw a Dirty Harry style of revolver and move forward. He trained the hand cannon’s barrel at the center of Teresa’s mass, taking a sturdy shooter’s stance.

“Let’s not waste lives here,” Scud said. “I like you. You should be honored to be one of my bitches.”

“Sounds like a real privilege.” She meant it to come out tough, but she sounded scared.

“It is, you cunt,” Hensha said. “You don’t deserve it.”

Scud sighed through his nose, making his nostrils quiver. “You speak out of turn one more time, I’ll let her kill you.”

“Sorry, Scud.”

He tilted his head and held out his hand, palm up. “Why don’t you hand that over?”

Teresa looked from Scud, to the giant O of the barrel staring at her, to Hensha. Sure, she could kill Hensha first, but the suit would waste Teresa a half-second later. For what? The Alpha had agreed to deal. He just had a…stipulation.

Did you think you could do this without having to give something up?

Actually, she had expected to die. She realized this plan had more suicide to it than sense. Only this way she could have gone down at least trying to do the right thing. But Scud here was offering a real chance. All she had to do was surrender her mortality. Become one of the beasts she’d spent most her life fighting.

In a way, it made a twisted sense.

She lowered her weapon and handed it over.

The man in the suit slipped his revolver under his jacket.

Scud’s grin widened as he tucked Teresa’s pistol into his waistband. “Good girl.”

“So how does this work? You gonna have Hensha here bite me?”

Scud scrunched up his face as if he’d puked a little in his mouth. “We ain’t fucking vamps. No. You need to get initiated. Learn to respect the pack. Cage is getting some boys together for that.”

She remembered him mention the honeymoon suite and her throat narrowed. Bile ran up the back of her tongue, leaving an acidic and sour taste in her mouth. Some of her horror must have shown on her face. Hensha giggled.

“Don’t worry,” Scud said. “Every member of the pack has to go through the same thing. Ain’t that right, Will and Freddy?”

One of the men still at the poker table cleared his throat. The other grunted.

“See? Everybody who comes in’s got to know how it feels to be a bitch.”

Chapter Eight