Mercy Blade (48 page)

I locked the side gate. Pocketed the ornate key. Walked to Bitsa, parked out front of my freebie house, my Lucchese Western boots crunching on the asphalt. The light of the full moon glinted off the bike’s chrome and artwork, the cougar claws that reached from the seat, along the gas tank, toward the front wheel, standing out in the dim light of midnight. The bike looked wicked good, even strapped down with bags and gear. Even damaged by wolf attack. I checked to see that Angie Baby’s new doll was safely strapped to the bike in its shipping box and wouldn’t tumble to the highway.

I straddled Bitsa and rose up, ready to kick-start her. I heard the sound. The motor of a bike, revving high. Heading this way. I froze. Listening. And slowly, so slowly, swung my leg back over the bike. Pulled off the helmet. And stood there, the wind in my face. Waiting.

The bike downshifted, making a turn onto my street, half a block down. The red Kow-bike puttering to a stop in the middle of the street. Rick put his feet down, bracing himself, his head and face hidden by the helmet and face shield. For a long moment, he watched me.

And then his scent reached me. And my Beast rose up hard and fast, holding me still.

Pelt roiled beneath my skin, so hard that my flesh ached and burned, as if I would shift where I stood. And I remembered Rick’s blood-scent in the elevator at Leo’s. He’d been injured early, hidden, carried out by the wolves. But it was Safia that the grindy had killed first. Safia, who conspired with the wolves behind her lover’s back. Safia, who slept with Rick and bit Rick, long before Magnolia Sweets got to him. It was Safia who first broke were-law. And because she broke were-law, she was dead. The wolves were dead.

And Rick had been infected with the were contagion.

Big-cat
, Beast thought.
I/we smell black leopard. Big-cat
.

Faith Hunter
was born in Louisiana and raised all over the South. She fell in love with reading in fifth grade, and best loved science fiction, fantasy, and gothic mystery. She decided to become a writer in high school, when a teacher told her she had talent. Now she writes full-time, works in a laboratory full-time (for the benefits), tries to keep house, and is a workaholic with a passion for travel, jewelry making, kayaking, writing, and writers. She and her husband love to RV, and travel to white-water rivers all over the Southeast. For more, including a list of her books, see
www.faithhunter.net
.

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