Werewolf Sings the Blues (4 page)

“Who … the fuck are you?”

“Your father sent me. Now go.”

“My fa—”

“Go!” He moves from between the cars into the danger zone, and I pounce into action as ordered. I throw my body on the Corolla's hood and roll as the gunfire begins anew. I land between two more cars and take a breath before launching myself over the
BMW, then the Volkswagen bug. That's the last one. I stand up and
notice the blonde's gone. He said don't look back. I take off around
the corner and up to the second level as the gunfire ceases.

This is not happening. This isn't happening
. I pump my legs as fast as I can. Running in heels is no easy feat. I have to pay attention to each stride and my footing, otherwise I'll break my damn ankles. I'm just about to round the next corner when I hear a man roar in fury. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy movement and turn back down the ramp. As if hit by the Incredible Hulk, Donovan flies backward fifty feet like a ragdoll into the windshield of a car. The entire car jerks and smashes into the back wall from the force, glass and metal twisting. Holy shit. Wha …

Keep going, Viv
.

One level to go. I sprint around the corner just as a car drives toward me. Thank God. “Help me! Please help me!” I shriek as I wave my arms. But the driver wants no part of this. He swerves to avoid me and guns it down the ramp. I begin trembling and have to stop running for a second to stare at the asshole. He didn't stop. For fuck's sake, what is the world coming to?

Just keep going.
Keep going
.

I run.

My Bonneville comes into view along with Blondie's Mustang. Yeah, no way in hell am I getting in that thing. I make for my car but realize I don't have my keys. My bag's on the first level. Shit! I'm gonna have to—

A gunshot slams the air, this one very damn close. My front tire explodes, and I stop mid-stride.

“Freeze, bitch.” Crap. I turn around to find Cooper near the stairwell thirty feet away, training his pistol on me. “Don't you—”

In the stairwell, something behind gets Cooper's attention because, gun first, he spins around. The man doesn't even make it all the way around before the back of his head explodes as a single shot booms around me. Cooper's head jerks back as bits of skull and brain splash out. Motherfu … I'm too shocked and horrified to scream. I can't even move as I hear pounding footsteps up the stairwell. A second later the blonde steps out, gun trained on Cooper's lifeless body. The man bends down, checking Cooper's pulse with his paw.
Paw.
It's really a paw. Cooper must still be alive because the blonde puts two into his head and two more into his heart. I feel nothing, not even revulsion.

The blonde's eyes cock up and look into mine. “He's dead.”

“Oh.”

Blondie shoves the empty gun into his pants and flops the corpse
over to retrieve Cooper's wallet. Just as the blonde finishes desecrating the corpse, my stalker tilts his head to the left like a dog and springs into the standing position. “The police are coming. We have to go.” He bridges the thirty-foot gap between us with a few strides, but I can't move. I can't take my eyes off that body. “Vivian?”

That paw touches my arm. I'm snapped back to reality, or this new version of it. Gasping, I jerk my head up to see his face. It's expressionless except for the eyes. A tinge of concern attempts to break through the ice. “Vivian Frances Dahl, daughter to Frank and Michelle, I am here to protect you and deliver you to safety. No harm will come to you, I swear on my life, but we must leave now. Please get in the car. Now.”

Okay, not a fucking clue why, but I believe him. No other option really. I nod, and he nods back. My fate's sealed one way or another. Blondie takes the keys and cell from my hand, which practically has to be pried open I've been holding them so tight. He unlocks the Mustang, and I follow him in. “Get the gun under the seat,” he says cranking the ignition. As I do, he maneuvers out of the parking spot. Glock 9mm. “If I ask, hand it to me right away and get down. Open your window.” My hand trembles so bad I can barely press the button to lower it. He drives normally, using the paw to turn the wheel. With the other, he hands me the first gun. “There's a spare clip in the glove box. Reload this. Do you know how to shoot?”

“Um, yes. Kind of.”

Down the ramp there's a small group of people, including a security guard, standing around the demolished car and Donovan. Bleeding, but not dead. Shit. He glances from the woman fussing over him to our car. Donovan says something and points at us. The guard's mouth flops open, and he fumbles for his walkie talkie. Double shit. Blondie guns the engine, and I'm thrown back into my seat like we're reentering gravity. We zoom past the bystanders and around the corner. Driving like a maniac he maneuvers us down to the gate. The attendant steps out of her booth, waving for us to stop. Yeah, right. I spot flashing lights and hear sirens to our left as the police approach. Without hesitation, Blondie smashes through the wooden gate. Tires squeal and the back of the car fishtails as he cuts a sharp right turn. Blondie gains control with a few quick wheel jerks, but I grip the door and dash for dear life.

“Put on your seat belt,” Blondie orders, still calm.

Oh. Right.

Though my arms tremble as if I have advanced Parkinson's, I manage to buckle the belt, though it takes three attempts. “W-What the
fuck
is going on? Who the hell are you? Who the hell were they?”

“Shit,” Blondie says as he glances in the rearview mirror.

I snap my head around and count three sets of flashing police lights dangerously weaving between the four lanes gaining on us. Holy fuck I'm in a real-life car chase. It's a hell of a lot more frightening than the movies make it seem. I doubt Bruce Willis would feel like puking, like I do. “How well do you know this area?” Blondie asks.

“P-Pretty well.”

“The highway?”

“Um … t-two rights, then a left at the second light.”

We careen around the first right, back wheels sliding, narrowly missing an SUV. The entire time Blondie's as calm as the corpse he just created in the parking lot. He yanks on the wheel to make the second right. “Those men were trying to abduct you,” he says, emotionless.

“Y-Yeah. Got that part. Why? Why were you following me?”

“I told you. Your father sent me,” he says, gunning through a red light as my back slaps against the seat again.

“
Why
? I haven't seen or heard from him in twenty-eight years. The fucker abandoned me and never looked back.”

“Is that what you were told?”

“Told? It's the goddamn truth! I wouldn't know the man if I met him on the street. Whatever is going on with him has nothing to do with me.”

“I'm afraid it does. Hold on.”

The maniac runs another red light as we turn left onto the freeway ramp. The Mercedes inches from us skids to a stop just in time, but not the Camry behind that. It smashes into the Mercedes.
Oh, please let them be okay
. On the bright side they're blocking the exit so the cops can't follow.

“With what I'm about to tell you, you must keep an open mind,”
Blondie says as he revs the car up to 100 mph. “Is that possible?”

“I-I guess.” I
am
staring at a man with a paw after all.

“Twenty-eight years ago, your father was visiting another Marine named Dave Campbell at his cabin near Liberty Lake in Maryland for the weekend. While on that trip, your father was attacked and Campbell was killed by a rogue werewolf.”

“A werewolf?” And I have officially entered Crazytown, population this asshole.

“Yes,” he says, serious as syphilis. “The Eastern Pack had been tracking the rogue and quickly heard of your father's attack. His new situation was explained, and he was brought back to the compound before he injured himself or others. He remained for three months until he had control of his beast and could return to you and your mother. But when he did, your mother … turned him away. She wanted no part of him or the pack. He returned to Adolphus and later became Alpha to the pack.”

“No, he met some chick and ran off,” I state adamantly. “He didn't become a fucking werewolf because
they do not exist!
”

The man shoves his paw in my face. Damn those claws are sharp. “We exist.” He pulls the paw away and glances at the rearview again. “Shit.” I spin around and see a helicopter gaining on us. “Is that a field to your right?”

“Yeah,” I say after a glance. Like a NASCAR master, he maneuvers past the other cars to the right, taking the first exit. The moment the exit ends near an onion field, the sweet earthy smell invading the car, he switches the headlights off. I can't see a thing. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I have excellent night vision.”

“Because you're a werewolf,” I say with a scoff.

“As were the men I just rescued you from.”

“The U.S. Marshal Service employs werewolves?”

“They were Marshals?” he asks.

“Well, the one guy Donovan, the one you didn't … you know, he had a badge. They said they were looking for you and my fa—Frank Dahl.”

“No. They were there for you.”

“Say's you.”

“Did
I
pull a gun on you?” he asks with a hard glare. “Did I handcuff you? Threaten your life?”

“You've been following me. You attacked me last night,” I counter.

“I did not lay a hand on you. You were drunk. I was attempting to take your keys away.”

“You've been stalking me.”

“I was
watching
you in case something like this occurred.”

“So you knew they were going to do this and instead of warning me you just stalked me until I was in mortal danger? What the hell kind of plan was that?”

“I was under strict orders not to engage with you unless absolutely necessary. We knew there was a possibility this could happen, not a certainty.” He pauses. “And if it did happen, I was under orders to, if possible, capture the rogue and interrogate him as to the location of Seth Conlon.”

I wait a few seconds, but when he doesn't elaborate, I prompt, “
Who is
?”

“Four years ago, after a fifty-six-year reign, Robert Conlon died in his sleep at one hundred twenty-four years old. He had one son, one daughter, three grandsons, and one granddaughter of age. The son was too old and disinterested nonetheless, two grandsons proved themselves to be Betas, which left only two other options: Seth and Tate. As is our custom, before he'd name his successor, the Alphas fought as wolves under the full moon. Seth was bigger, more aggressive. He won. When Bobby passed, Seth was our new Alpha. And for a year we put up with his stupidity. His cruelty. Seth's first order was that your father, I, and several others who could challenge him, be more or less exiled from the pack. Only on full moons were we able to enter the compound, and even then we could not run free with the others. He imprisoned us. He embezzled pack funds as well. The last straw was when he attempted to force some of the younger women to submit carnally.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Your father reluctantly agreed to be the one to challenge Seth. He'd been close to Bobby, and was father to his great-grandson Matthew. He—”

“Wait,” I cut in. “Stop. I have a brother?”

The man's quiet again. From what little I can see of his face from the glow of the dashboard, he remains expressionless. “Your father married Jenny Conlon, Bobby's granddaughter, soon after the divorce from your mother. Matthew was almost a year old by then.”

I scoff. “Fast worker. Ditched one family, instantly got himself another. Sounds like a great guy,” I say with a sneer.

“Your father is the finest man I have ever met,” he says menacingly. “Please do not say a word against him in my presence.”

“Yeah, because abandoning me without a second thought, then dragging me into this bullshit is such a wonderful thing to do. Humanitarian of the year, him.”

“Your father loves you. I would not be here otherwise. There is a war back home. People I love have died. Others are in mortal danger. Your father didn't want this life for you. He didn't want it touching yours. So, though it broke his heart, he stayed away. Only a few even know of your existence. He didn't want you to meet a similar fate as …” The right side of his face twitches.

“As?”

More silence, before, “Your father bested Seth. He won the challenge. Seth was forced to leave the pack, made rogue, told if he remained in our territory, we'd execute him. Through the years we heard reports he was in Canada, in New Mexico, then in the past year, that he was recruiting other rogues. We couldn't pin down his exact location, though I spent countless hours hunting him. Then, three months ago, a D.C. detective and his wife were attacked in the Shenandoah State Park. She died, he lived to kill the wolf, but he was turned. The detective reported that the wolf targeted him first, dragging him out of the tent, biting then licking the wound. It only attacked the wife when she began shooting at it. Price had a knife on him and began stabbing when it set upon his wife, then bashed the wolf's brains in with a rock. It bled to death before it could heal. Price was lucky. We soon discovered the wolf was one of the men alleged to be associating with Seth. Since then we've also seen a significant uptick in maulings, some where the victim died and others where a person reported a bite then vanished or moved away, maintaining minimal contact with friends and family. Pennsylvania, Delaware, New Jersey, Virginia. He's amassing an army around us. We just put the pieces together too late.” He pauses. “Then Jenny went missing. And Matthew.”