Hunted By The Others (21 page)

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my eyes widening at the mass of furred bodies pressing in around me in the alley.

Werewolves don’t look much like men or wolves when under the influence of the full moon. Most of them can shift fully into wolf or human form, but when under the sway of the moon, they are something in between. The ones surrounding me either crouched on their hind legs, clawed “hands” resting against the walls or the ground and long, bushy tails sweeping behind them, or they stood completely upright, even the shortest towering well over my head. Their muzzles were long, dog-like, with pointed ears perked or flattened against their skulls. When they lifted their lips to snarl or snap at each other, they revealed elongated canines up to three inches long.

Their clothes for the most part lay in tatters on the ground around them, revealing sleek muscles overlaid by thick, just as sleek fur. Like any creature, their coloration varied; some had reddish pelts, others were brown or gray or black, some were salt-and-pepper, and one or two were a solid white.

I was startled when I realized I could see in such detail even in the alley, lit only by dim streetlight from around the corner. Then I remembered the belt, my fingers dropping to my waist as that odd awareness of another “self” drifted into my consciousness.

Even shifted, Chaz was easy to recognize. While the majority of the wolves had green or yellow eyes, his were a solid ice blue like a husky’s. His fur was the same steel gray color I remembered from when he changed in my living room. None of the others had his color, or his massive, muscular bulk. He was a hunk as a human, and he made most of his money as a personal trainer; as a Were, he could bench-press a car.

One of the other Weres started creeping toward me, black fur bristling, green eyes wide and staring like a cat that just realized a bird was trapped in a room with it. My heart started creeping up into my throat and I took an involuntary step back, before Chaz suddenly slid between us with a kind of sinuous grace you wouldn’t expect from a creature so large. As the black Were jerked back, Chaz snarled, baring fangs long enough to cleave through flesh and bone as he crouched down on all fours in front of me. The other Were turned away, snapping at the air before slinking back to cower behind some of the others nearby.

“Thanks,” I muttered, though I found myself pressing back against the dingy brick wall when those icy predator eyes turned to me. I stiffened as he came closer, moving with a peculiar ease on all fours, though it was only so he could press his cold, wet nose against me and start nudging me deeper into the alley.

Incredibly creeped out, I did as he urged, walking slowly through the multitudes of shifted Weres, who watched me with their hungry, glowing eyes. Chaz strode a little ahead of me, leading the way through the darkness. We didn’t go far before he reached down and dug his claws under a manhole cover, lifting it with ease and setting it quietly to one side.

At first, I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to follow until he crouched down to become eye level with me, pointing one of those curved talons at me and then to the opening of the alley. He then swept his hand around in a gesture that I took to mean the werewolves around us and himself and then pointed down into the sewer. I nodded, understanding. He and the others would find their way to the restaurant following the sewer lines. I would have to go in the front to allay any suspicion.

One thing you could say for Weres, they retain most of their human intelligence when shifted. I watched in fascination as, one by one, they crept on quiet paws past me and down the shaft leading into the dark tunnels below the city. Chaz went last, pausing to look back to me. I reached out a tentative hand to gently brush over his furred cheek, and he tilted his head, closing his eyes as he rubbed one of those pointed ears under my hand. I was amazed at how soft and thick the pelt was, though he turned away and was gone before I could analyze either of our actions any more closely.

I turned back toward the distant light beckoning at the mouth of the alley, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket and dragging the edges close around me so no one could see the guns, shoulder holsters, or stakes.

Consorting with Weres? I didn’t take you for that sort
, a by now familiar voice whispered in the back of my skull.

“Yeah, whatever. They’re going to help tonight,” I muttered, hoping any people on the street wouldn’t think I was crazy and talking to myself. Except that this was New York, and chances were nobody would notice or care.

I looked up and down the street as I reached the end of the alley, turning toward
La Petite Boisson
.
We are going to fight vampires?
the voice asked.

Sighing and lifting one hand to run over my face, I glumly told it what I could. “Vampires, other Weres, and a sorcerer.” I didn’t like the twinge that last gave me, some touch of emotion or something like it from the belt that I couldn’t readily identify. “They have my friend and a powerful magic item that I need to find and take away from the sorcerer.”

Ah, the
Dominari
Focus. That is troubling.

It didn’t speak again after that. I wondered how in the heck it was that every supernatural creature and even inanimate objects in this city seemed to know about this thing when I’d never heard of it.

Then again, vampires, Weres, and magi had been the stuff of cheesy movies and silly kids’ novels up until a few years ago. If someone had told me even a week ago that I’d be working with a mage trying to save a vampire, while my werewolf boyfriend helped keep my ass out of the fire, I would have laughed myself silly. As it was, I was still having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that I was talking to a
belt
, for Christ’s sake.

It seemed that Chaz’s pack had scared off a good portion of the pedestrians, as the street was unusually empty for a block or so. Legally, packs were restricted to public or national parks or their own homes when shifted. They could shift at will, but most of the time didn’t change fully, instead choosing the halfway point because they were forced to shift that much by magic or hormones or whatever it is during the full moon. Being locked into restricted areas while shifted was supposed to be for “their safety,” but it was mostly because they scared the hell out of humans when they were something half-man, half-animal. And scared humans smelled like food. Which led to all kinds of problems, lawsuits, so on and so forth, that nobody, including the Weres, liked to deal with.

Not to mention that Animal Control had a field day when they picked up a Were in full animal form who then shifted to human in the back of the truck or the cages at their facilities. Usually it was teenagers who pulled that prank, though the last couple of snots who tried it got some hefty fines and even jail time for their trouble. Though you’d think the fact that there were timber wolves running around downtown Miami might have tipped someone off.

I didn’t start seeing normal foot traffic again until I got within two blocks of the restaurant, and that was because of the line waiting to get in. Figuring they were expecting me, I bypassed the lot, heading straight up to the big guys with muscles straining their matching suits who were guarding the front door.

One of them headed toward me when he saw me coming, looking at a clipboard and nodding. “Shiarra Waynest?”

“That’s me.” I stopped about a yard away. He looked me over with disdain, not liking the look of my combat boots or trench coat, no doubt. Didn’t fit with the diamonds and silk of the usual clientele. Tough titties.

“This way, please.” Without bothering to hide his sneer, he gestured for me to follow him around the side of the building, away from the crowds. Not liking where this was going, I did so, my hands easing from the pockets of the trench to rest with a comforting kind of familiarity on the belt. For some reason, the brush of my fingertips along the leather grips of the silver stakes and the cool metal casings of extra rounds for the guns made me feel immeasurably better, more secure.

The guy pulled out a key and opened a locked, narrow passageway between the restaurant and the next building. It was well lit with small recessed lights trailing all the way to the end, and there was barbed wire protecting the top of the fenced wrought-iron gate. I noticed with unease that you needed a key to get
out,
as well as in, to the passage. The way led to another entrance on the side of the restaurant, which was covered by a short awning and up a few steps. He produced another key for it.

He unlocked the door and held it open for me, revealing a cheerfully lit stairwell leading above the main part of the restaurant. No way to go but up.

“Just follow the stairs. Someone will meet you at the top and show you the rest of the way.”

The guy sounded flat and bored. However, I could see the curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me. He didn’t know what I was here for. Interesting.

I stood there for a moment, indecisive. Knowing it was a trap did not make it any easier to force myself to walk into the lion’s den. It was the thought of what they would do to Sara if I turned tail now that goaded me into walking past the bouncer and taking the first step onto the stairwell, even as the door swung shut with an overloud “click” of a lock behind me.

There was nothing overtly ominous about the stairs. None of the lightbulbs illuminating the way were out or even flickering. The stairs and banister were of a matching dark wood, the walls a nice, clean off-white. No artwork, no posters, no graffiti. Starkly clean.

When I got to the top (forty-two steps, I counted), there was another door. This one was also a plain, dark wood and had a brass handle with no lock. It opened easily under my touch.

My lips parted slightly in surprise and I glanced around the room with wide eyes. There were a number of Weres lounging on the carpets. They looked up immediately when I opened the door, raising their large, shaggy heads from their paws. There were far too many for me to possibly fight. I stood straighter, one hand sliding toward a gun as one of the Weres rose and approached me. I flinched but stood my ground, watching warily as it reached out one long, muscle-corded arm and pulled the door farther open. The door creaked alarmingly under its grasp and I couldn’t help but notice that its claws left little indentations in the wood.

It made a sweeping gesture with the other paw—hand—whatever, baring its teeth at me in a silent snarl as it motioned for me to enter the room. Then it just stood there, waiting, slaver trickling down the side of its jaw as it stared at me with overbright golden eyes.

The idea of running sounded really good right then, possibly even while shooting at it, but there was no way for me to outrun one of these things. Shooting at it would probably just piss it off, especially since I hadn’t sprung for the silver-plated bullets back at the White Hat Weapons Emporium.

There were too many to fight, and since I wasn’t interested in having it drag me wherever it meant for me to go, I reluctantly followed its direction and stepped into the room.

Five more Weres were watching, waiting, their tails and claws twitching as they crouched along the walls. Watching, but just that. I imagined they’d probably jump me quick enough if I tried anything funny. The first one turned, I guess assuming I’d follow it as it made its way across the room. Two more followed up the rear, and I had to try really, really hard not to look over my shoulder every few seconds as we made our way down a hall past several doors and to another room.

It looked like it had originally been a ballroom of some kind, large and echoing. The ceiling was high, domed, with an ornate chandelier dangling from the center and illuminating the softly glowing wood of lovingly waxed floors. Real candles on tall brass stands stood in alcoves around the room, adding to the cheerful warmth of the place. There were no windows, but I was pretty sure this room was over the main lounge and eating area downstairs.

A pentagram marred the floor directly under the chandelier. It was big, much bigger than the one in Arnold’s apartment. That same ozone-ish smell hung heavy in the air, a shimmering haze rising up from the circle. Sara was in the center of it, lying on the floor with her eyes closed, unmoving.

A small, ugly sound rose from my throat, and I started to step forward but the lead Were put its arm out, barring my way. It pointed to something I hadn’t seen at first, a small table at the other end of the room where a man and woman sat, another man standing a few paces behind them with arms folded. Another Were, bigger and far scarier looking than Chaz with a number of visible pink scars under its reddish-brown fur, was crouched next to the table, arms across its bent knees as it stared at me from across the room.

I did as I was directed and took a few steps toward them, skirting around the bubble rising from the floor. Sara didn’t stir, and as I passed, I watched for a moment to make sure she was still breathing. Much to my relief, she was. Aside from a bruise I could see forming at her temple and her clothes being a little rumpled, she looked okay. I prayed that the one bruise was all they’d done to her.

I approached the table, jumping slightly as the door thumped shut behind me. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that the standing man was Royce. He came around, face and eyes empty of emotion, pulling out a seat for me opposite the seated couple. The table held a decadent spread of food and drink. I came forward but remained standing before the table, mustering a glare for the two at the table.

The guy was smiling a secret little smile, mirth twinkling in his bright hazel eyes. He was dressed well in a charcoal gray suit, his dark hair neatly combed away from a narrow face. Slender, pale, and with an air of suppressed energy almost as frightening as what was exuding off the Were at his side, I started when I recognized him as the boy Sara had been sent to find by his crazy White Hat parents.

“David Borowsky,” I whispered, noting his pleased nod. My gaze slid to the girl sitting next to him, her bright cherry lips curved in a sweet smile as she regarded me with a kind of insincere amusement. There was something dangerous glittering behind the flinty gray depths, her delicate china doll features showcased by her long chestnut hair, which was swept up into a cascade of artful curls. She was wearing a long evening gown the color of heart’s blood that left her shoulders and neck bare, a single faceted ruby the size of my thumbnail hanging from a delicate gold chain at her throat. I was willing to bet the dress would swirl around her ankles when she stood up. My words for her were almost, but not quite as, surprised. Definitely confused.

“Tara. No, Anastasia Alderov. How?”

David gestured to the chair Royce had pulled out for me. “Please sit, Shiarra. Did I say your name correctly? It’s rather unusual.”

“Yeah, well, my parents were hippie gamers who liked fantasy novels.” I stayed standing. “What do you want with me? With Sara?”

Anastasia laughed, a soft tinkling of bells. “Cuts right to the chase, doesn’t she?” I was a bit surprised to note a rough Brooklyn accent lurking behind the mellifluous voice. It didn’t match the china doll face, the delicate hands, or the pretty dress. She smiled at me, a dazzling curve of lips baring just a hint of pearlescent fang. “Oh, don’t be so surprised. Born and raised in Brooklyn Heights, though I was living in Chicago up until recently.” Malice dripped from the honey-dipped tones of her voice, and I knew without doubt that she had been the one to speak to me through Royce. She turned to look at David, and the two of them locked eyes in a sickeningly sweet way which said to me that, despite being evil and all that, they actually had feelings for each other.

This vampiress was not under the influence of the focus. Both of them used it. Both of them controlled the local vamps and Weres. And considering how many Weres greeted me on the way in, it looked like he was a lot better at it than she was. This kid was the sorcerer?

Fuck.

“Your parents have been looking for you, David,” I said, realizing that he looked older and more sophisticated in the suit and with his hair slicked back than he had in the photo his parents had given me, taken of him in a ratty T-shirt with his hair dangling in his eyes.

Tight irritation lines appeared around his eyes, the hint of a pout curving his lips. “My parents don’t own me. I’m old enough to do what I want. Go where I want.” His gaze returned to Anastasia, softened. “See who I want.”

Good God. The little emo freak was kidnapping and murdering and causing mayhem to spite his parents?

He turned back to me, and I backed away from the vicious force behind his gaze. “Anastasia doesn’t like you. Royce wanted to turn you into one of his own, did you know that?”

I glanced at Royce. He remained as he had been, hands clasped behind his back, black eyes staring at nothing in particular somewhere off to the side of the table. No movement, no breathing, still as a stone and about as lifelike.

“Anastasia wanted to become a vampire but Royce wouldn’t accept her. Thought she wasn’t good enough for his tastes.”

The vampiress narrowed her eyes, that glint of malice switching from me to Royce in a heartbeat. Suddenly, the reason she hated me so much became clear, if no more insane than any of the other reasons I had imagined they wanted me dead.

Incredulous, I spelled it out, seeing how they both glared at Royce and nodded while I spoke. “She was jealous of me. That he wanted me but not her. But how did…who made you a vampire then?”

“No one
you
would know. He was a patron of the arts. When I went to school out in Chicago, he saw me and took me under his wing. When I asked to come back here to negotiate a treaty with Royce, he let me go.”

“So what does that have to do with you two being together? Or the focus?” Or me, I wondered. At least they were obliging me for the time being, answering my questions. Maybe if I kept them talking long enough, Chaz and the others would find a way to sneak in.

David smiled a pleased cat-that-got-the-canary smile, one I didn’t like at all. “We went to high school together. Stayed in touch by e-mail when she went to Chicago. When she came back, we wanted to do something special, live the kind of life we dreamed about. So I made a new
Dominari
Focus.”

My jaw went slack, eyes widening. This kid had the kind of power it took to make something like that? I mean, I was impressed with a talking belt, and it apparently took a whole coven of magi working together to make one. This was something entirely different.

He looked with something like pride to the gigantic Were panting at his side, then with a hardened, sadistic joy at Royce. “The vamp fought pretty hard not to kill you. You’re lucky, you know. The last meeting you had really took the fight out of him. He would’ve made you his slave if he could’ve bound you instead of killed you. We would’ve just killed you quickly and kept using him to front this little empire of his, and live a nice, safe, happy eternity together. He would’ve made whatever was left of your life hell.”

Oh, and that made me feel ever so much better. I shifted my weight, one hand stealing toward the stakes as he told me this. An air of tense readiness took over Royce and the Were, sensing I was up to something. That didn’t stop me. “Well, aren’t you the most kindhearted of souls. So what do you want with me now? Really?”

He slowly stood, the Were rising to tower at his side, Anastasia leaning back comfortably in her chair to watch. A calm, sly grin curved his thin lips as he reached one hand into the pocket of his dinner jacket, pulling out the ugly lump of the focus to set it on the table before him. He kept his fingertips on it.

“Why, I want to give you your reward for getting in our way, for making my baby jealous. For being so intuitive and resourceful. For helping my parents try to stop me, you redheaded little bitch.” Despite what he was saying, his voice never wavered or grew angry. Just the same antagonizing calm, grating on my nerves.

Anastasia looked so pleased, I knew I was in deep shit. Alarmed, I tried to think of something to do, something, anything to stall them. “Look, I don’t think—”

He cut me off as he offhandedly gestured in my direction with his free hand, chuckling softly. “I’m going to make you an Other so I can use you like the rest. What did you think I was going to do, make it easy and kill you quickly?”

I gasped and jerked back as Royce and the big werewolf both rushed at me at once, hands and claws reaching out to grab me.