Everafter Series 1 - Everafter (37 page)

Foster and Wilson disappeared into the cavernous entrance of the warehouse. They left the door open behind them. Val immediately began to fidget. “It’s making me crazy, not to be in there with them.”

I linked my fingers through hers. “I know. Me, too.” The Missionary was outnumbered, but he would also have the jump on them. I wondered how old, how experienced he was. And whether his drunkenness would cancel out the benefits from having glutted himself on blood. I hoped Foster was a good shot.

We waited. Down here, the sounds of the city were muted. The unfamiliar hush was eerie. I could make out the soft lapping of the water against the edge of a nearby pier, the rustle of a shutter against brick in the breeze. I leaned forward, straining to hear something from inside the warehouse…

…and pushed back hard against Val’s body in alarm as a series of gunshots suddenly pierced the quiet.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Val was openly clutching her own gun now. “We should—”

“Hell, no,” I said, as firmly as I could. My hands were shaking. “Maybe—maybe they got him.”

She nodded, starting to pace back and forth across the narrow mouth of the alley. I waited, breaths coming quickly, for some sign of life.
Foster took him out,
I told myself. She had taken him down and was either inspecting the corpse, or reading him his rights. This was over.

And then a flash of red fabric appeared in the shadows of the entrance. The prostitute staggered out, arms clutched around her waist, crying uncontrollably. Val and I started forward at the same time. The woman was white as a sheet and couldn’t manage to walk in a straight line. Her skimpy skirt had a jagged slit that hadn’t been there before, and a thin stream of blood was trailing slowly down her leg. I saw Val’s nostrils flare.

“Valentine—”

“It’s okay,” she murmured as we crossed over onto the opposite sidewalk. The hooker noticed us then, and started to back away in dazed alarm. “It’s okay,” Val said again, this time to the prostitute. Thankfully, Val had put her gun back in her pocket. “We’re here to help.”

The woman just stared at her, continuing to sob. I wondered if she was going into some kind of shock, but Val would obviously know that better than I would. “Can you tell us what happened?” Val asked quietly.

When the prostitute sank to her knees, shivering, Val immediately crouched down beside her. She made no move to touch the woman. “How did he hurt you?”

“S-so rough,” she choked out. “Strong.”

Oh, God. The sex was so brutal she had bled. The panther howled inside me, wanting his neck between her teeth. I concentrated on breathing slowly, steadily, through the swell of anger.

“You’re safe now,” Val continued, her steady voice betraying none of the horror and rage that she surely must be feeling. “Did you see the police officers who came inside?”

The prostitute nodded, but began to rock back and forth on her knees. It sounded to me like she might be hyperventilating. Words finally escaped her in a garbled river of speech.

“They t-tried but it didn’t even stop him they’re dead I’m sure they’re dead oh God…”

Didn’t even stop him? What didn’t? Had Foster hit him? But then why would she think they were dead? Of course, if they weren’t at least seriously injured, they would have been out here by now.

Val looked up at me, her face a mask of cold determination. “We have to go in.” When I started to shake my head, she rose to her feet so quickly that I took a step backward. “He’ll think the danger’s past. We’ll catch him off guard. I can’t let him get away. I can’t. Not now.”

My protest died at the pained urgency in her voice. I wasn’t going to argue anymore. This had to end. Clenching my trembling hands, I eased my psychological grip on the panther just enough to let her silent snarls goad me into bravery.

“I’m going first. My night vision is better than yours.”

Our gazes locked. Love, determination, shared purpose—they flowed silently between us in an instant. And then I stepped over the threshold, into the gloom. My eyes adjusted almost immediately, revealing a curving staircase that spiraled up to the second floor. Rising up onto the balls of my feet, I ascended quickly but quietly. Val, not quite as surefooted, trailed behind.

The stairs opened onto a small landing. The door ahead was ajar. Several pairs of boots were clustered around a coarse foot mat, and a heavy jacket hung from a hook in the wall. I reached for the doorknob and pulled as swiftly as I could to minimize any noise. It swung toward us without a squeak. My first impression of the large chamber beyond was a maze: rows upon rows of steel shelves illuminated only by the light of the moon. I was about to step inside when a movement to the right caught my eye. I couldn’t suppress the gasp that rose in my throat at the sight of the Missionary, naked and hunched over two bodies on the floor. He must have heard my breath, because he looked up, blood dribbling darkly over his chin.

Oh, God. Foster. He’d been feeding on Foster. Next to her, Wilson lay motionless, a knife handle protruding from his throat. In that instant, I barely fought down the urge to vomit. And then all hell broke loose.

Valentine’s right arm crashed into my chest, pushing me back. In the same movement, she fired her gun. I dropped into a crouch just as the bullet embedded itself into the insulation that covered the walls, point blank where the Missionary’s head had been just a split second before. Time slowed. I could taste the sharp tang of gunpowder on the air. Val shifted her feet, brought her second hand up to the handgrip, and fired again. The Missionary, riding the blood high of four feedings, moved at an unearthly fast pace. His body was a blur against the drab walls as he acrobatically dodged between the clutter in the room.

He dove behind the nearest shelf. When she fired a third time, the bullet ricocheted off the metal and whined past my ear. “Val!” I screamed. Damn it, she was going to get us both killed this way!

But she was beyond hearing. Striding forward, she reached the gap between the shelves and took another shot. I wanted to move, to help her somehow, but the panther was fighting hard for control in the wake of my panic. She wanted to leap, to claw, to bite until the Missionary was as still as his victims. We were in agreement on the ends, but not the means.

“Stop it!” I hissed, wrapping both arms around myself as she made another play for power, as though I could physically hold her inside of me. Up ahead, Val fired yet another shot. I peered into the gloom, trying to make him out. Had she hit him yet, or had he managed to dodge all of her bullets? I watched her look to the right and then to the left, clearly confused.

And then he appeared directly in front of her, a pale, looming mass. Val lifted her gun, but he was faster. I watched in horror as he raised his arm and backhanded her viciously across the face, sending her flying into the first row of shelves. She lost her grip on the gun as she hit the floor and it skidded somewhere out of sight. Val pulled herself determinedly to her feet and wiped at the blood trickling down her forehead. She dropped into a defensive stance, her fists balled tightly in front of her.

The Missionary plowed his way through the debris that separated him from Val. He ducked her first punch, but her second caught him squarely in the chin. He barely flinched as he reached past Val’s guard and grabbed her throat. In one effortless motion, he lifted her from the ground. She managed to kick him twice in the groin but her dangling legs couldn’t generate enough leverage to hurt him. With a mighty heave, he threw her across the room into the rusted scaffolding along the back wall. The side of her head crashed into one of the crossbars with a sickening clang.

My scream became one with the panther’s enraged howl. As the Missionary moved slowly toward her—limping heavily, I now saw, from a bullet wound in his left thigh—I stopped resisting. My alter ego was our only hope of survival now. I closed my eyes and bowed my head, willing her forth.

She came with speed, faster than ever before. The pain was sharp but brief, the disorientation still present, but far less jarring than usual. I welcomed the muscle slide, the color shift, the piercing hunger.
Hurry,
I urged her, watching as Val lay bleeding on the floor. The Missionary’s mouth was twisted in a rictus of bloodlust and glee.

“Valentine Darrow. What a surprise.” Despite his injury, he kicked Val in the ribs. When she groaned feebly, he laughed. “I don’t care who you are or why they wanted you. I’m going to kill you tonight, and drain your girlfriend dry.”

One final shiver rode up the panther’s spine. I would have laughed in triumph if my voice had been my own. We were one. Whole. He stood only twenty feet away, so weak and unsuspecting. We crouched low, tail lashing, glorying in our coiled strength. When the Missionary finally lunged toward Val, we pounced, knocking him to the ground.

We sank our claws into his skin, for purchase as much as for pain. He grunted, swinging an elbow toward our jaw. With his blood-heightened reflexes, he almost caught us, but we dodged and his bare arm passed within millimeters of our face. It was beautiful, this single-minded purpose. This oneness. He tried to roll, to shake us off, but we sheathed our claws even deeper. Switching tactics, he grabbed us around the torso and rolled, to pin us against the ground. Scrambling, we pushed away from him, raking bloody furrows in his chest as we separated. He snarled then, in anger rather than pain, and lunged toward us.

We couldn’t sidestep in time and his shoulder hit us squarely in our flank, momentarily knocking the wind from our lungs. Our claws slipped against the smooth concrete floor as we scrambled. He wrapped his arm around our neck and as he tightened his grip against our windpipe, we sank our teeth into his shoulder. He cried out then, but he still had one arm free and his hold tightened. We couldn’t breathe through the crushing force against our throat and so we clamped down harder, our teeth tearing through muscle and grinding against bone. But it was a losing battle; as the oxygen in our blood dwindled, darkness seeped in the edges of our vision. Slowly, our grip on his shoulder loosened. Val, I thought and suddenly our thrashing intensified as we fought for our life. But his hold was sure and the darkness became absolute.
Val, I’m so sorry. Please be okay. I love you. I—

A bright sharp crack and we were falling. We hit the floor in a crouch as air scorched through our lungs. It smelled like chalk and burning paper. Just a foot away, the Missionary lay twitching in a growing pool of blood. There was a gaping hole where his right eye used to be. Instinctively, we took a step toward the body, drawn by the scent of the fresh kill.

Starving, we tore into him, shredding the meat from his bones, savoring the warm rush of energy that seeped into our muscles. And then, from the periphery, a sudden movement. Sound. We raised our head, crouching defensively over the remains of our prey.

Valentine. She was leaning against the scaffolding, the smoking gun gripped loosely in her right hand. I could hear the rattling of her breath whenever she inhaled, and wondered whether the Missionary had broken something.
Oh, Val. You need a doctor!

But the panther snarled, taking one step forward. And then another. She could smell the blood that drenched Val’s scalp, neck, shirt. This was easy prey—irresistible.

No!
I shouted silently, willing her to stop in her tracks.
Not her!

But my pleas went unheard. She sank down into a stalk, belly brushing the floor. A menacing growl. The unsheathing of teeth. So much hunger, still. She wanted to sate it. Valentine’s face filled her vision. Even distorted through her strangely monochromatic eyes, Val’s expression was odd—proud and loving, not taut with fear. Sensing this strangeness, the panther paused, ears pricking forward.

“Alexa,” Val rasped. “We did it. You did it. Without you, I’d be dead.”

From the depths of the beast’s chaotic brain, I asserted myself.
Stop. Not prey. She is our mate.
And then I let the memories flow from me, a river of sensations and images trickling through the link between us. Waking up next to Val on a lazy Saturday—reclining on my elbow as I watched the sun dapple her pale skin. Slipping my arms around her waist and inhaling her sweet scent as she stirred dinner on the stove. Arching under her passionate touch, succumbing to the ecstasy wrought by her elegant fingers.
She is our mate. We protect her. Forever.

The panther blinked once, slowly…and then the tension began to flow from her muscles. I would have sighed in relief if I could have. She extended her massive paws in a long stretch, regarding Valentine with curiosity now, instead of hunger.

Val smiled. The movement must have hurt her bruised face, because she winced a little, too. “Hi,” she whispered.

The need to be back in my own body was overwhelming, and I let that impulse carry me into the momentum of the change.
Sleep,
I told the panther—and for once, she did not balk. It was exhilarating, this cooperation. The shift and grind of my emerging bones was barely noticeable over my euphoria. I echoed my feline half and stretched into the transformation, feeling a smile spring to my lips at the familiar pull of my own shoulder and back muscles.

I opened my eyes to find Valentine looking at me like I was some kind of goddess.

“Babe. My God. It’s never…it’s never looked like that before.”

I cocked my head slightly, still reveling in the feel of my own skin. “What hasn’t?”

“The change.”

She sank to the ground then, clutching her right side. The parts of her face not covered in blood were shining with sweat. She was in bad shape. I took a step forward—and paused in surprise. I was standing. Usually, the transformation left me curled in the fetal position, jaw clenched against the agony.

I was going to have to ask Karma about that. But right now, there were far more important matters at hand. We had to get out of here. Val was clearly in a lot of pain, and maybe even bleeding internally. And the police back-up would be here soon.

I knelt at Val’s side. “Where’s your phone, love? We need to call Helen.”