Howling Moon (5 page)

Raphael didn’t argue. He couldn’t. His heart was pounding too hard with belated panic. Something was very, very wrong. He told himself to calm down, take things one step at a time. He just needed hold the illusion, get to the house, change, and eat. Simple. But it didn’t feel simple. Tomorrow he was going to the doctor. Betty or Tatya were sure to know what was wrong with him. They would fix it – whatever
it
was.

Raphael took a deep breath. Everything was going to be fine. It was important not to fear. The cat was seriously underfed. Having her smell his panic could be a very bad thing. He watched her carefully, checking for any signs that she might turn on him. There were none. She looked impatient and more than a little bit bored. She gave him a look that said, as clearly as words,
Can we go now!

“I’m fine.” Raphael growled in his throat. “Since you’re so obviously worried about me.”

The cat snorted in derision, checked
pointedly
for traffic by looking one way and then the other, and crossed the road.

Raphael fought down an irritated growl. The last thing he needed was a smart-ass cat. He shook his head and followed a step or two behind. They were in a residential area now. The din was excruciating. Raphael could hear every television, and all the area dogs were barking their heads off. It hadn’t occurred to him to use magic to mask their scent from
animals.

Raphael’s head started throbbing in time with his heartbeat. The cat, too, was irritated, her tail slashing through the air, the muscles of her back tightening into knots. “Two more blocks,” Raphael whispered, trying to sound reassuring. “Just two more blocks.”

The cat stopped abruptly. She tilted her head sideways, snuffling. A low growl rumbled through her massive chest. Raphael tightened his illusion as he raised his head to scent the breeze. He caught the scent.

Jack.

That instant the night was cut by the howl of a wolf, ending in a woman’s scream that cut off abruptly. Dear God! What had he sent Betty into?

Before he could react, even think, the cat reared her head back and
roared.
The sound hit his magic like a sledgehammer blow, driving him to his knees with bruising force. The cat disappeared in a blur of speed, leaping over an eight-foot privacy fence almost too fast for his eyes to follow.

Raphael stumbled to his feet and took off at a run. He couldn’t change, not here where the combined light of the moon and streetlamps made it all too likely someone would see. Only when he reached the fenced backyard of the Wildethorne house could Raphael let loose the power he’d been fighting since sundown. He felt the glory of power surging over him as the heat of his magic disintegrated most of his clothing. He felt muscles and bones shift and reform; felt the thick black fur sprout from his skin. The gun thudded to the ground. When Raphael leapt through the shattered remains of the French doors he was fully a wolf.

The kitchen was a big room, taking up most of the back of the house. But it was not big enough for the fight that raged inside. It was a scene from
hell, or a slasher movie. Blood,
and
worse, was
everywhere, pooling on the floor, splattered over the daisy-print wallpaper, running down the sides of the center island.

Raphael stood, transfixed, watching the jaguars fight. Catherine had locked her jaws into the thick band of muscles across Jack’s neck and shoulders, wicked claws knifing through his mottled fur as she tried to slice into his delicate underbelly, break his neck, or both. Jack roared with pain and rage, pouring blinding purple magic into the woman in waves, trying to force her back into human form while at the same time he slammed her body against the walls of the kitchen trying to break her hold.

The woman was doing fine. Hell, she was doing better than fine. If Raphael tried to join the fight at this point he’d just hinder her. There was no maneuvering room as it was. The two large cats were taking up virtually all of the available space.

Raphael shifted his attention to an inert figure curled in the far corner. A pool of blood spread from Betty’s body across the white tiled floor. He could see her breathing. She was alive. Betty was alphic, and a powerful healer. Even so, Raphael wasn’t sure she would make it. Not without help. The shimmer of her aura was dim and weak – she was fading.

The fight shifted. For just a moment the path was clear. Raphael darted in, moving to aid his pack mate and gave an involuntary gasp at the extent of Betty’s wounds. Jack had eviscerated her. Through the gaping hole in her abdomen Raphael could see her lungs move. Blood spurted in rhythm with her heartbeat. Raphael forced himself to ignore the sweet metallic smell of blood, forced down his beast, the hunger, and the rage. He concentrated, willing himself to human form. He had a small healing talent that he’d trained himself to use, but he needed his human hands to help her. The cats would live or die, but Betty was
pack.

He closed his eyes, struggling to concentrate. It was hard. The cats fighting was a distraction, and part of his magic and energy was already going to mask the sounds coming from the house. Betty’s help with the shields had fallen when she had. He didn’t dare let the neighbors hear what was going on. The Sazi secret would be kept, even if it cost all of their lives.

Raphael felt weakness coming over him in waves. The hands he used to press Betty’s intestines inside her body were trembling with the strain. He pulled power from within the depths of his being, shoving pure, untrained magic into Betty’s body, forcing her,
willing her,
to heal. He was able to stem the blood loss, close the wound, but that was all, and it might well not be enough.

Raphael’s eyes dimmed, his breath coming in gasps. He’d pushed himself this hard before, but he’d never in his life felt so weak. He forced his head to turn, to see what was happening with the cats. Jack had managed to throw the woman off, but at a cost. His neck and throat were a red ruin where large chunks of flesh had been ripped away. Blood poured from the wicked wounds Catherine had inflicted on his sides and belly. He stood just inside the swinging doors that led to the rest of the house, staring at the feline lying in a stunned heap a few feet away. His gaze turned to Raphael, green eyes narrowing as he bared his bloody fangs. Jack’s muscles bunched; he lowered his body moving slowly forward, stalking the other man.

Raphael took the gun from Betty’s limp hand, aiming it steadily. He prayed there were still bullets, that the clip was not empty.

“Ramirez – “ Jack’s voice was a rumbling growl.

Raphael didn’t know what he would have said, for they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and the click of claws on concrete just outside the kitchen door.

Jack hissed, moving quickly away. His eyes remained locked on Raphael. Raw hatred burned in Jack’s glance, the scent of it pouring from him in waves that filled the room. As much as Raphael wanted Jack’s death, the jaguar probably wanted his more.

Slowly, deliberately, he stalked forward.

Raphael pulled the trigger. The cat’s speed faltered with each shot, but momentum carried him forward. Blood poured from scorched wounds and dripped from Jacks fangs, but still he came forward. The hatred in his eyes was a living, breathing thing.
“I will kill you.”
The words echoed both inside Raphael’s head and through the kitchen.

“No.” A familiar feminine voice answered from the back door. “You won’t.” Tatiana Santiago stood limned in moonlight, dressed to me nines in a designer suit, high-heeled pumps, and
holding a high-powered rifle. Next to her stood a wolf the size
of a small pony – her son, Michael.

Adrenaline rushed through Raphael’s veins as he heard the bolt of a rifle slide home. “Tatya, no!”

“Listen to the nice man, Tatya. There’s not enough magic left in the shield to silence a rifle shot.” Jack glared malevolently from one to the other of his three opponents.

“Maybe I’m willing to take my chances,” she answered coolly.

Feet slipping in the pooled blood on the floor, Raphael grabbed the countertop and hauled himself upward. Pain stole the breath from his lungs as he strained to make torn and battered muscles work. “You can’t.”

She stood framed in the doorway, feet shoulder width apart, rifle raised and aimed.

“He needs to die.”

“Yes. But we can’t kill him.” The bitterness in Raphael’s voice was palpable.

Jack laughed, then coughed. Bloody bubbles appeared at his lips. The silver bullets hadn’t killed him, but combined with the injuries Catherine had given him, he wasn’t in good shape. Far too injured to risk going against the three wolves.

“I won’t let him kill you.” Tatya held the gun with a cold confidence that made it clear she meant every word. Michael, meanwhile, began edging away from his mother, moving slowly to the right, his muscles bunched and teeth bared for an attack.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Another time, Ramirez.” With a blur of speed that should
not
have been possible for anyone so badly injured, he was gone.

Tonight was a night for impossible things to happen. Raphael relaxed and groaned.

Tatya set the rifle on the kitchen counter and bent down to check on the wounded. She gave a soft gasp of dismay at the extent of Betty’s injuries. Still, the Second Female was a tough customer. Raphael could hear her weak pulse and reedy breathing. He felt a surge of power, saw Tatya’s pale green aura begin glowing more brightly. He watched, fascinated, as her magic flowed in a steady stream over Betty’s wounds, stabilizing and even reversing the damage. When he was sure Betty was safe, he called out to the alpha female.

“Tatya – “

She crossed the kitchen to where the woman lay. The cat had reverted to human form when Jack knocked her unconscious. She lay sprawled where he’d left her, blood pouring from open wounds, arm splayed at an unnatural angle. Even so she was beautiful. Sun streaked golden hair, creamy skin – and a heart-shaped face that was a near perfect image of Fiona Monier when she’d left Jack for Raphael.

Michael stood over her protectively.

“Mike, step away so your mom can treat her.” The wolf took two steps back, but he continued to eye Raphael balefully. He didn’t quite growl, but he stood his ground between him and the woman. That was surprising, considering how low in the pack Mike was, and how much weaker in power.

Mike was a lesser alpha. There really wasn’t much human left in him when the full moon called his beast, but his attention and reaction to the Turner woman was odd, and a little concerning. It was a complication Raphael didn’t need. But there was a worse one coming: sirens, distant, but approaching fast.

Raphael forced himself to stand. “Mike, find the front door and stand guard. If you hear anyone coming, bark like hell. It may buy us some time.” Raphael put every bit of his authority into the words until finally, reluctantly, Mike did as he was bid and pushed through the swinging doors.

Raphael checked the aunt. She was unconscious, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

Catherine was not so lucky. Her pulse was steady, as was her breathing, but blood matted in her hair where her head had impacted against the corner of the kitchen island.

“We should probably get the three of them upstairs and to bed,” Tatya suggested.

“Is it all right to move her?”

He felt, rather than saw, her glare. It had been a stupid question. She was a physician as well as one of the most powerful healers in the Sazi world and knew her job. He should’ve known better than to ask, but her hostility to the question seemed out of character. He shook his head and held out his hands in apology, then set the gun on the kitchen counter. Bending down, he gently lifted the woman from the floor.

Tatya stepped over to the French doors and pulled the curtains closed. “Can you cast a solid illusion of glass? We want things to look as normal as possible if the police come around back, and
I
have to concentrate on their wound’s!”

“I can try.” The effort it took was phenomenal. Sweat poured down his face. But he managed.

Tatya lifted Betty gently in her arms. The two of them walked with their burdens through the darkened living room and up the staircase. He’d never been in this particular house, but the floor plan was a common one in the city. Chances were good that the bedrooms would be upstairs.

The staircase turned sharply, opened into a narrow hall. There were doors on either side, and a third door at the far end of the hallway, just beyond a second staircase. Raphael followed his nose, carrying Catherine into the bedroom that bore her scent. Tatya carried Betty through the opposite door.

Raphael kicked aside a tall pile of packages from the afternoon’s shopping trip that littered the floor between the door and the unmade bed. Gently, he set Catherine’s body down and fought the urge to lie down beside her. He was so
damned
tired. But it was more than that. He wanted to hold her naked body next to his – just to be near her. He felt almost drugged by her scent, and being so close to her made the effects worse.

He reached down, gently brushing a strand of her golden hair away from her face.

The sound of voices beneath the window, and Michael’s frenzied barking brought him abruptly back to the present.

Raphael rushed into the bathroom. There was no time to spare, but he had to rinse Catherine’s blood from his body before talking to the police. He only took a minute, but by me time he was done, there was the sound of a heavy fist pounding on the front door.

“I’ve got it!” he called, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry through the open window. He grabbed the first thing that came to hand from the white wicker laundry hamper – a pair of lavender sweatpants. He pulled them on awkwardly as he hurried to the bedroom window.

“Who is it?” he asked. He already knew the answer. A police cruiser was parked in front of the house, and he could smell fresh gun oil even over the scent of the roses planted beneath the window.

“Police. Open up!”