Blood Cure Page 6

  Incapable of speaking in the presence of such a gift, I threw myself at Sam and hugged him tight, careful not to impale him on my new weapons. Unlike my waster, these could skewer any enemy. Sam squeezed me back before letting go.

  A wayward tear rolled down my cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

  Sam nodded, and stepped back. “Try them out.”

  I lunged and parried with an imaginary foe, learning the new weight of the sword. It felt completely different from what I was so accustomed to, but after only a few minutes, it felt as though I’d always had it, like a long lost part of me had returned.

  “These are perfect,” I praised. “Bring on the shadow creature and the werewolves.”

  “What?” Sam asked, quirking his right eyebrow.

  I decided not to tell him about the incident with the Alpha at the funeral, or the shadowy thing in my bathroom. There was no point getting him all excited over nothing. More than likely, I’d never have to deal with either of them again.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Can you show me how to strap the sheath for the sword across my back? Then I have to open the shop and get to work.”

  “Sure.”

  I’m right-handed, so the dagger sheath hung from a leather belt on my right hip where I could grab it easily. Sam showed me how to strap the sword sheath on quickly and efficiently by myself, and how its placement under my shirt and hair would conceal it.

  The intense way he talked about everything, his knowledge of the sword and dagger, the grim expression on his face, gave me the impression he wanted to say something else. I bit my lip, waiting for him to say whatever it was.

  Sam had always been there, ever since I could remember. He watched out for me at school, and when I turned ten, he started teaching me how to defend myself. He became the big brother I’d always wanted.

  I opened my mouth to ask him what he needed to tell me, but before I could, he pushed me toward the fireman’s pole and told me to get to work. My hands grasped the pole as I found myself sliding to the concrete below. My teeth jarred when my feet hit the floor, and the odd feeling from moments ago snapped. I’m sure it’s nothing.

  I made my way to the office where I deposited my new weapons—it probably wouldn’t make a very good impression with potential customers if I greeted them armed—then I hurried to the front doors and opened them. If luck ran my way, people would think the rainbow of bruises that littered my arms came from wrestling unruly engines, not from getting my ass beat by my best friend.

  ***

  On my way home, I called Sally. She sounded much better, and said she would be going back to work tomorrow, that she needed something to do to get her mind off Tom. Sitting at home alone gave her too much time to think. I told her to let me know if she needed anything.

  I opened the front door and stopped in the middle of the living room, trying to decide what to do. It had been a long, hard day, full of sore, aching muscles. I was tired, hungry, and filthy. Should I take a shower, or eat first? I turned left and headed for the kitchen.

  My stomach growled as I nuked a plate of homemade chicken pot pie and put the rest back in the fridge. I taught myself how to cook by watching cooking shows on television, since I hadn’t had a mother growing up.

  A sudden case of melancholy came over me as I thought about her. I’d always dreamed of what it would have been like to have her around. Shortly after I turned six, I found a box of clothes in Father’s closet he’d kept, so I played dress up for hours. Father did a wonderful job raising me, as good as anyone could have, but it just wasn’t the same as having a mother. And the stories he told me about her made me miss her—or at least the thought of her—even more.

  If I hadn’t been so lost in my memories, I might have heard the soft tattoo of nails clicking on the ceramic tile, but I didn’t. The next thing I knew, something very large and heavy slammed into me, knocking me across the room.

  My head hit the wall so hard, spots exploded in front of my eyes. My vision swam as passing out became a real possibility. Somehow I managed not to, and I looked up. A very large werewolf stood in front of me. Dark smoky gray fur, bright amber eyes, and ferocious teeth that dripped saliva on my clean floor filled my vision. He let out a deep rumbling growl, daring me to move. My heart stuttered to a halt in my chest, before pounding out a rhythm so painful my eyes watered.

  “What’s the matter, are you afraid of the big bad wolf?” a threatening voice mocked.

  Very slowly, I looked over the back of the werewolf, and saw the owner of the voice. It belonged to another werewolf from the local pack I recognized from Tom’s funeral. He’d given a brief, yet heartfelt eulogy.

  With as much bravado as I could muster, I said, “Look mister—whatever your name is—do you know what’ll happen if he bites me?”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, skipping the introductions. “But that will be after he rips your throat out.”

  He had me there. My blood worked fast, but werewolves moved faster. I would bleed to death before he finished turning human. Even if I did somehow survive, he’d be just as dangerous as a man, and there’d still be what’s-his-name to deal with.

  I decided to bide my time, and try to find out what all this was about while I thought of a plan. Careful not to move too fast, I sat up a little straighter with my back against the wall and eased my hand slowly to the floor, where it rested next to the dagger I still wore.

  I’d strapped it and the sword on before leaving the shop, more out of convenience than anything else. The werewolves, so confident in their superiority, hadn’t bothered disarming me. I hoped to have the opportunity to show them what a big mistake they’d made.

  “Look, I know you guys are upset about losing two of your pack mates, but what’s this all about?”

  The werewolf in front of me never relaxed as he waited for his companion to answer. His large amber eyes tracked my every move. I shuddered at the thought of what he could do to me.

  “Oh, please. Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re responsible for their deaths.”

  My jaw dropped. “What? What the hell are you talking about?” I fought the urge to jump to my feet and scream at the top of my lungs that I didn’t do it. I’m not sure what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it.

  “The penalty for this, as decreed by our laws, is death,” he declared, as if I hadn’t said anything.

  I swear the werewolf in front of me smiled. My heart skipped a beat and my body tensed, preparing for combat. When the fur along his back twitched, I threw my body to the right and heard the werewolf crash into the wall. I rolled to my feet and spun to face him. He shook himself off and stalked toward me.

  As quickly as I could, I glanced around and looked for the other guy. I didn’t need any unexpected surprises. He stood across the room, leaning against the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room, watching us like a couple of prize fighters, and he knew who the winner would be. Arrogant prick. I wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face.

  Later! I needed to concentrate on my current problem—not getting eaten by Fido. With my heart in my throat threatening to choke me, I backed up a few steps, extracted my dagger from its sheath, and threw it at him. The werewolf dodged it and lunged.

  Drawing on the training Sam had drilled into me, I pulled my new sword from its scabbard and spun to the right in a dance move, avoiding being slashed by sharp claws by mere inches. I swung the sword in a downward arc with all the strength I could muster. It sliced through the werewolf’s neck with ease—as though hungry for the kill—severing his head from his shoulders before either of us realized what happened.

  Shocked, I couldn’t move. I just stared down at the dead werewolf that lay at my feet and thought, What have I done? I’d never killed another living soul before, at least not on purpose. Suddenly, my vision blurred and my ears rang. I’d just killed someone.

  The emotions flooding in threatened to overwhelm me, but then I remembered the other werewolf in the room and
fear empowered my muscles enough to look up. He’d frozen in place as well, with a look of total disbelief on his face. Then he met my eyes and hatred stared back at me.

  Shaking, I pointed my sword at him, the blood from the fallen wolf made a wet plopping sound as it puddled on the tile. “Don’t do this. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I will defend myself. Their deaths had nothing to do with me.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” was all he said before he leapt through my living room window, shattering the glass all over the floor. Moonlight shone through the large hole in my wall, and made the shards of glass sparkle. If my hair hadn’t been soaked in sweat and blood, it would have blown in the breeze that found its way into my living room.

  With the immediate threat gone, unable to stand any longer, I collapsed on the floor a few feet from the dead werewolf. The change back to human his death caused had begun. His bones snapped and popped back into place, reforming a black, naked, physically fit body—minus the head. It had rolled over next to the cabinets, leaving a bloody trail in its wake. Cold, filmy white eyes stared back at me. Thank goodness I hadn’t eaten. If I had, I would have added to the nasty mess already pooling on my floor.

  Barely able to breathe, I turned my head where I couldn’t see him and called Sam. My hands shook so hard I had a hard time dialing his number. Stupid cell phones must have been designed by dwarves. When he answered, I told him what happened, trying my damnedest to remember the details past the pounding and lightheadedness. In a calm, cool voice, he told me he was on his way, and not to do anything until he got there.

  No problem. I hung up the phone and passed out.

  ***

  When I came to, my sofa and Sam came into view. He sat on one of the kitchen chairs next to me. My head throbbed from the impact with the wall, and my stomach twisted in knots.

  “Sam? What happened?” I tried to sit up so I could see him better, but thought better of it when a wave of dizziness threatened to swallow me. I eased back down and lay still.

  “Well, judging by that gash on your head and the hole in the wall in your kitchen, I’d say you have a mild concussion. You’re damn lucky you didn’t pass out before you killed that werewolf.” Deep lines covered Sam’s face, making him look as though he’d aged ten years since I last saw him. He wiped a strand of hair out of my face and wrapped it behind my ear. The lines on his forehead softened and he added, “You did good.”

  It didn’t feel like I’d done a good job. The fact I killed someone, even in self-defense, made me sick to my soul. A piece of my innocence died when that man in my kitchen drew his last breath. The only consolation I had was being alive.

  A thought occurred to me and I groaned. “What am I going to do with the body?” I’d never killed anyone before, how the hell was I supposed to know what to do with a body? I rubbed my eyes, trying not to imagine what my kitchen looked like.

  “I called George,” Sam said. “He came and picked up the body while you were unconscious, then I cleaned up the blood as best I could.” He sounded like he hadn’t just seen a dead body in my kitchen.

  Damn, how come I didn’t think of that? “Thank you,” I said.

  “So why don’t you tell me what happened here, Keira.” He crossed his arms over his muscular chest and leaned back against the chair, giving me a look that clearly said he wasn’t moving until I spilled the beans.

  I sighed. What the hell? He’d find out eventually. I started by telling him about the shadow thing I saw in my bathroom, and then told him what the other werewolf said about me being responsible for both deaths. How he seemed convinced I somehow killed them. Hearing myself recant the events that led to a dead werewolf in my kitchen made me shudder and realize just how lucky I was.

  Sam uncrossed his arms and got to his feet, then paced across the room. He rubbed his hand back and forth across the stubble on his chin. Finally, he turned and faced me. “You should speak with your father about the shadow thing. I believe he may be able to shed some light on that subject. As for what the wolf said, you know it’s a lie. You had nothing to do with their deaths.”

  “My father?” Ignoring the pain as much as possible, I forced myself into a sitting position so I could look at Sam. “What does my father have to do with anything?”

  He had the decency to look abashed as he walked over and sat back down on the chair in front of me. “Keira….” He hesitated, uncertainty in his eyes. “There are things regarding your…heritage, which you do not know. It is not my place to tell you, but your father’s. I swore an oath I would send you to him when the time came.”

  “My heritage? Sam, what are you…”

  He pushed up from the chair so fast it toppled over and crashed to the floor. “Do not ask me to break my oath to the man who is not only my chief, but also my friend,” he snapped.

  I shrank away from him as the rest of the words died on my tongue. Sam had never raised his voice to me before. Not even when we were kids.

  Sam took several cleansing breaths. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Just speak with your father as soon as you can. He will explain.” Several silent moments passed between us. The sound of the wind whistling through the broken pieces of my living room window made my head throb even more.

  I didn’t want him to snap at me again, so I let it drop. “Thanks for everything, Sam. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” I slowly stood, forced my aching body to walk the few feet that separated us, and hugged him. “I’ll talk to my father as soon as I get the chance. Promise.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re welcome, Keira; anytime. Would you like me to stay with you for a while? You know you need to stay awake with that possible concussion of yours. Better yet, why don’t you go to the hospital? I’ll take you.”

  “Nah, I’ll be fine,” I hedged. “You go ahead and go home. You’ve done enough for one day. I’ll stay awake by cleaning up the rest of this mess. It should take most of the night.” Looking at the damage in my kitchen was the last thing I wanted to do.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind.” He glanced in the direction of the kitchen, then out at the half moon, now unhindered by glass, and grimaced.

  “I’m sure, Sam. Thank you.” There’s no way he would agree to what I planned to do next, so I faked a smile. “My head already feels better.” Liar. “You may have to cover for me at the shop tomorrow, though. Depends on how I feel.” I walked him to the door.

  “No problem, just say the words.” He hugged me gingerly, and then said goodnight.

  After Sam left, I went to the bathroom and took a hot shower. The near-scalding water felt great on my aching muscles, helping to relax them and wash away some of the soreness. I dressed in my favorite leather bustier and pants, figuring the bustier would be easier to get on than a shirt would. In the kitchen, I retrieved my dagger and sword. Sam had meticulously cleaned them and left them on the counter for me. They slid into their holders with ease, and I shivered with the thought of how easily the sword had sliced through the werewolf’s neck. I shook myself, trying to rid my mind of the memory.

  Sam was right. I had to stay awake, and I needed answers. My father lived two hours away so talking to him would have to wait until later. I could have used my cell phone, but whatever he needed to tell me felt too important to discuss over the phone. On the other hand, the drive to the Blu Moon only took thirty minutes. Despite the fact I’d almost been killed by werewolves a few hours ago, I grabbed my keys and went in search of one.

  CHAPTER 8

  The half moon slowly worked its way across the night sky as I drove to the Blu Moon. Stars danced and twinkled like thousands of diamonds, helping illuminate the mostly deserted stretch of highway between my house and the club. Driving was the last thing I should’ve been doing with my head throbbing the way it did, but I had to talk to George. I couldn’t think of any other werewolf that might talk to me, rather than kill me on sight.

  I just hoped he’d made it back to the club after leaving my apartme
nt with his dead pack mate. Hell, I didn’t even know if he worked tonight, but I didn’t have any other choice. At least none I could think of anyway.

  Since it wasn’t the weekend, I found a spot and parked right up front when I pulled into the lot at the club. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to ignore the nausea brought on by the flashing neon sign, then opened the door and headed for the Asian muscle-bound bouncer at the door. It wasn’t George.

  “Hi Mark, have you seen George?” Mark was one of the few human bouncers at the club. From what I knew, he was ex-Marine, special-ops trained, and a total badass. He possessed that exotic Asian look most girls went gaga for, but instead of being handsome or fine-boned, he had bulked up for the Corps and was just as big as most of the werewolves I’d met.

  “No,” he said. I wondered if the drugs he’d more than likely used to acquire that large of a body limited his vocabulary to one-word answers. If the man had ever spoken more than ten words to me in the year I’d known him, I couldn’t remember.

  “Thanks for the help,” I popped off as I stepped through the door. A wave of nausea struck me as the overhead sound system blared, assaulting my ears and adding to the thumping in my head. I didn’t care for the radio stations they played during the week, much more preferring the live bands on the weekends. I needed to find George quick. If my head pounded any harder I was going to throw up.

  I pushed my way past two werewolves practicing their version of Dirty Dancing and sidled up to the bar. “Hey Raz, have you seen George tonight?”

  The four-foot, pudgy man behind the bar angled himself toward me, but didn’t stop sorting the bottles of alcohol along the back wall. Even with the stepstool he stood on, he barely reached the bottom two rows. The rock charm that signified he belonged to the troll family of supernaturals hung from a gold post that pierced his right eyebrow. Tonight, like every other time I’d been around him, he smelled like corn chips and I wondered if that was indicative of trolls in general, or just him. His perpetually grouchy nature always prevented me from asking him any questions.