Dying Bites: The Bloodhound Files-1 (31 page)

“Hi,” she says. She’s got just a touch of a southern accent. “And here I thought I’d have to have supper all by my lonesome.”

I study her for a second before replying. She’s got long, oil-black hair, a face with the kind of high cheekbones and long jaw that can look either striking or odd. On her it’s definitely striking. She’s dressed in a loose-fitting black silk blouse and a dark purple skirt, with high-heeled black leather boots that go all the way to the knee.

“Hi,” I say, taking a seat. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Not at all—glad to have the company. I’m Mona.”

“Jace.”

“You mind if I join you? I hate eating alone.”

I shrug. “Sure, fine by me. You a local or a tourist?”

She closes her book and joins me, her glass of blood in hand. “Oh, I’m just visiting. Thought I’d surprise an old friend of mine, but it seems she’s out of town. Bad planning
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 262 of 370

on my part. Figured I may as well look around a bit while I’m here. You familiar with the place?”

“Afraid not.” Too bad; a local contact might have been useful. Still, maybe she can provide me with some information. “I’m from Seattle, flew in by seaplane. How’d you get here?”

“There’s a Coffin Express—you know, one of those buses where you can sleep the whole way? And it’s an awfully long way from Anchorage, I’ll tell you that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. How long have you been here?”

“I just got in a few hours ago.”

Strike two. Mona wasn’t going to know anything I didn’t—

“This town has a fascinating history, if you’re into humans.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, sorry. That’s my field of study—humanology. I know it’s kind of trendy now, but I’ve always been interested in unenhanced people. My best friend when I was a child was one.”

I’m dying to ask her what a pire means by “when I was a child” but don’t want to blow my cover. “Really. What happened to her?”

“Him. Died of a human disease—cancer. Such a shame. Of course, he only would have lived seventy or eighty years, anyway—but that’s one of the reasons I find them so intriguing.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 263 of 370

“I have to admit, I really don’t understand the fascination. Aren’t they just inferior versions of us?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Oh, no, not at all! They’re amazingly resilient, especially when you consider the fact that they have no supernatural abilities—well, not inherent ones, anyway. They’re the forerunners of both the pire and thrope races—we wouldn’t exist without them—and they basically created civilization as we know it. We should respect our progenitors, don’t you think?”

Damn straight. “I suppose, when you put it that way. What were you saying about the history of this town?”

“Oh, yes. It was the site of a massacre, some three hundred years or so ago. A clan of pires and a pack of thropes both approached it simultaneously, and fought to see who would own it. Legend has it that the Inuit who lived here—it was only a fishing camp at that point, and not a permanent one—negotiated a peace between the two by using the only bargaining chip they had: their own lives.”

“You mean—”

“I mean the spoils the two groups were fighting over were the humans, who all loaded their parkas down with rocks and threatened to jump into the sea if the fighting didn’t stop. The residents knew they were going to lose either their lives or their humanity, but they demanded to be able to pick which one. The pires and thropes agreed to the deal—but by that point, they were all very hungry.”

“So become dinner for a pire or a thrope. Not much of a choice.”

“In a way, it’s the very essence of being human. Knowing they’re going to die one day, and fighting for the only real power they have—the power of choice.”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 264 of 370

I nod, trying to look nonchalant but actually pretty impressed. This woman’s summed up the most basic difference between my race and hers: when you know life isn’t forever, the decisions you make matter. You don’t have the next hundred years to try to fix a mistake.

“Funny,” I say, “I have a friend who’s a history buff, and she’s never mentioned that story.”

“Oh, I doubt she’s heard it unless she’s a humanologist; it’s not a very well-known tale.”

Mona finishes her blood and gets to her feet. “I’m going to see what’s keeping our waiter—while I’ve been yammering on, you’ve probably been thinking about food.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

But she’s already on her way. The waiter shows up a few minutes later and apologizes for not having noticed me.

Mona doesn’t come back.

The second night is a little wilder. I can hear motors revving in the street, and some howling. Still, I don’t get any urgent messages from Sheriff Duvalier, so I decide that as long as the town isn’t going up in flames he can handle it on his own.

Besides, I have a lot to think about.

Stoker’s offer bothers me on several levels. He may or may not be telling the truth, but what’s really disturbing is how well-informed he is. Am I dealing with a leak, or is it just more magic?

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 265 of 370

I’m not going to take the deal, of course. For one thing, all professional ethics aside, it would require me trusting someone who’s demonstrably a sociopathic killer. Just not that desperate, thanks.

Not yet, anyway.

I think about what Mona told me and the fact that Gretchen didn’t mention anything like it. Oversight? Or is it just an old story with no great significance? For that matter, is Mona really who she says she is?

I’m starting to jump at shadows. Tomorrow I’m going to nail a few of them down and make them talk.

“You know,” I say to Charlie, “I think I’m going to stop making plans. Just go straight from objectives to total chaos, save some time.”

Charlie and I are standing back-to-back, so I can’t see his face. But I can hear the T. rex in his growled reply: “Yeah. Time’s kinda short at the moment.”

Two zerkers in front of me, three in front of Charlie.

We’re standing in the middle of an alley, while Bethel’s entire population seems to be busy partying a mere two blocks away. We were taking a shortcut from the inn to the middle of town proper—only someone, it seems, was waiting for us.

None of them are in were form, but that hardly matters. The three facing Charlie are on their bikes, the two facing me on foot. All are armed: the three riders with nasty, longhandled axes, the other two with a weighted chain and an honest-to-God scythe. From the way the thrope’s handling it, I’d say he knows his way around a wheat field.

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 266 of 370

I recognize the zerker with the scythe by his helmet, with the long crest of butcher knives along the top; he was with Bearbreaker at the crime scene on the tundra. His human form is lanky and weak-chinned, with squinting black eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t the local Fed,” Squinty says. “You smell good enough to eat, in more ways than one.”

“Sorry, but you just stink,” I say. I’ve got the Ruger aimed squarely between his eyes.

“That’s not even an insult, just a description. Seriously, invest in some soap and burn your clothes.”

“I like alpha females. It’s so much more satisfyin’ to break ’em.”

“I don’t break easy—”

I’m drowned out by the roar of another blizzard bike at the end of the alley. Full throttle, tires squealing, barreling toward us like a bat out of Hell.

Bearbreaker. Going for the dramatic entrance, no doubt. I wonder what he’ll have to say when—

He’s not slowing down. And even more bizarrely, he’s riding sidesaddle.

The other three bikes more or less take up the width of the alley. He can’t go around, and unless his bike can fly, he can’t go over. So what—

Charlie and I both realize what his plan is and flatten ourselves against one wall of the alley. The zerkers on the bikes don’t have enough time—or maybe they just don’t believe what they’re seeing.

Down to ten feet away and moving like a rocket, Bearbreaker twists the bike sideways, hard. It broadsides the backs of the other three bikes simultaneously, but without its
Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 267 of 370

rider; he kicks off against the frame an instant before impact, using the bike’s momentum to launch himself into the air.

The crash is amazingly loud. Blizzard bikes are large, heavy, and have many chromed bits that break off easily. This all goes tumbling down the alley toward Squinty and his friend a split second after Bearbreaker soars over their heads like a flying squirrel who’s been pumping iron for twenty years.

The zerkers on their feet are both fast enough to get out of the way. Two of the riders aren’t so lucky—they wind up as the filling in a motorcycle sandwich. The last one manages to leap clear, leaving Charlie and me facing three extremely disgruntled thropes who are already shifting into half-were form. Guess tradition doesn’t count for much when your most important possession has just been trashed.

Charlie fastballs some silver at the one in the lead, but the ball glances off a piece of armor. I have my gun out and leveled at Squinty, who’s charging straight at me. He’s not quite as fast as Cassius, but there’s no time to think, no time to do anything but react.

I shoot him.

The slug takes him high in the chest, punching through his chain mail like it isn’t there. He skids to the ground at my feet, his snarl rising to a high-pitched whine as his brain figures out that his heart has just exploded. One of the butcher knives on his helmet clips my shin, but I barely feel it. I’m staring at the dead man at my feet. The man I just killed.

His features revert to human, just like in the movies. His eyes are wide open, and look more confused than anything. If he could still speak, I bet he’d be saying, “What the hell was that?”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 268 of 370

“You all right?” Charlie’s voice. Sounding concerned, not tense. Fight must be over.

I look up. Another thrope sprawled on the ground—Charlie’s second pitch must have been in the strike zone. The third one is nowhere in sight—guess he hightailed it when he realized the odds were against him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Farther down the alley is a twisted pile of metal, rubber, and fur, which is already starting to curse.

A little past that is Bearbreaker, facedown on the ground and motionless.

“Looks like he broke his fall with his head,” Charlie says. “Knocked himself out. Funny, I always thought that was just a saying.”

I walk, none too steadily, over to where Bearbreaker lies. “Give me a hand,” I say.

“We’ve got to get him out of here before the others pry themselves free.”

Louder cursing, sprinkled with dire promises and ungrammatical threats. “Yeah, all right,” Charlie says. “But he’s not staying in my room.”

We—well, Charlie, mostly—get Bearbreaker back to the inn. As soon as he dumps Bearbreaker on my bed, Charlie heads out the door.

“Where are you going?” I demand. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and I’m feeling a little shocky.

“Roof. If the zerkers decide to storm the palace, I’d like to have some warning. And the chance to pick off a few before they get too close.”

“And you’re okay with leaving me alone with this?”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 269 of 370

“Hey, it was your idea. You want to adopt a stray, you walk and feed him.” And then he’s out the door before I can come up with a clever reply.

I look down at the giant sprawled on my bed. Knowing how quickly thropes recover, I can’t imagine he’ll be out for too long. I hope not, anyway.

Because the longer he’s unconscious, the more time I’ll have to think about what just happened.

I don’t have to worry—no more than a minute passes before he groans and his eyelids flutter. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a second before saying, “Where am I?”

“The exotic Jace Valchek Suites, where Your Comfort Is Our Extreme Inconvenience. You might want to consider a helmet in the future.”

“Why? It’s not like I own a bike. Anymore.”

“Sure you do. It’s just gotten married to three others.”

“I think the word is ‘welded,’ actually. . . .”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

He winces. “Please don’t yell. And you’re welcome.”

“We could have handled it. All you did was force a confrontation.”

“No, I delivered a pre-emptive first strike. Maybe you could have taken those five, maybe not, but they were going to attack, no matter what you said—”

Dying Bites – Bloodhound Files 01

Page 270 of 370

“I could have handled it!” I shout. “It didn’t have to . . . I didn’t have to—”

He’s looking at me strangely. Why is my face wet?

Everything’s gotten all blurry, and I quickly sit down on the edge of the bed, afraid I might be having another RDT episode. I’m not dizzy, though; it’s just hard to see, with all this stuff in my eyes. . . .

And then I just let it go, all at once.

I don’t break down like that very often, and when I do I kind of lose track of everything outside of my own head. I don’t cry very loud, but I cry hard; afterward my ribs are always sore and my throat hurts.

I gradually become aware that I seem to be leaning against a wall. A big, musky wall that has a catcher’s mitt gently pressed against the small of my back. I take a deep breath, already scripting the verbal barrage I’m going to unleash to show him I don’t need his sympathy.