Bitten 2 (46 page)

“Is that where the scars came from?” I asked, the warmth of cruel amusement blooming in my chest when remembered pain flittered across his face. “Daddy didn’t want a dirty little wolf as his son?” I goaded, certain now that he was the wolf who’d attacked Dermot and left him for dead.

Although sorrow welled up within me for the kid whose father had beaten and scarred him, that didn’t erase the anger I felt towards the monster he’d become. For a monster is what he was; a vicious beast filled with only hatred and bitterness. Still, that didn’t explain why he’d done the things he had. Chuckles had given us a glimpse of his motives just before his death, but Metembe’s driving force remained a mystery.

Any further questions I might have asked were cut short when he launched himself across the distance between us in a single burst of energy, his ferocious snarl the only warning I got. I’ve never been hit by a semi, but I’m pretty sure being tackled by 250 pounds of enraged werewolf feels about the same. I felt something in my ribs give way, but didn’t have time to investigate before I was fighting to keep his enormous hands from closing around my throat.

Writhing like a barrel full of eels, I tried to buck him off, but may as well have been trying to move a mountain.

“I told you to keep your nose out of it,” he hissed as he delivered a clumsy swing to my chin. I could tell he had put nowhere near his full strength behind it, but it still landed with enough force to rattle the teeth in my skull. “Even when I left that dead coyote on your doorstep you couldn’t stay out of it. You had to interfere.”

“You were killing people!” I shouted, raising an arm to block the next fist that swung at my face. The blow sent a shock of pain up to my shoulder, only to be replaced by numbness a second later.

“Vampires aren’t people. They’re corpses who forgot they’re already dead,” he snarled into the narrow space between us, forgetting for a moment to beat me to a pulp.

“What about the weres? The fae? Were they soulless beasts as well?” I demanded. “What about Dermot? You tried to kill him!” I screamed up into his face, remembering my long vigil at the leprechaun’s bedside, praying he’d pull through.

At first my questions had simply been a way to keep him talking in the hopes that it would distract him from wringing my neck long enough for me to get away, but as I thought of Dermot lying battered and broken in the hospital bed, fighting for life, I was consumed with the need to know why Metembe had been driven to kill.

A shadow of something akin to sadness flickered across his face at my question before disappearing beneath the gruesome mask of his fury. “They were a casualty of war.”

“Casualty of war?” I parroted, my voice high with disbelief. “What war?
You
did this.
You
started this fight. They were people. They had families and loved ones, and you killed them!”

“I killed only those undead travesties,” he snarled as if that defended his actions.

“Oh, that’s right, you let Chuckles take the fall for the other deaths,” I spat, ignoring his brief look of confusion at my use of Marcus’ nickname. “What made him so special?”

Appearing to figure out who I meant without an explanation, he replied, “He was convenient. The fire of hatred already burned inside him.”

“And you just capitalized on it,” I said, my words more of a statement than a question, but still he nodded, a smile of twisted satisfaction curving his lips. “What did you stand to gain from it all?”

Metembe swelled with pride when he replied. “The joy of seeing
Mon Roi
on the throne. One who deserves to rule, instead of that talking corpse. He has polluted this city, my king would rid it of the filth that poisons us.”

“This was all a power play?” I asked, stunned.

Even as surprise washed over me, another emotion rose to swirl in the chaos of my mind. For a moment I forgot the immediate danger I was in, my curiosity overwhelming every other thought. I wanted to ask if Hank had been in on the plan, but was afraid of what the answer might be. I’d felt betrayed by the revelation that Chuckles had been involved in the murders, my affection for the sarcastic vamp just beginning to bloom. I wasn’t sure I could handle learning of Hank’s deceit too.

“Enough talk,” Metembe rumbled, seeming to remember why he’d lured me here, and that he had me pinned beneath him. “Now, you die.”

“Yeah, about that... take a rain check?” I asked, stalling for time in the vain hope that a way out would pop into my mind. Instead, all I could think was that I hoped someone would look after Loki, and that Holbrook wouldn’t be too heartbroken by my death. I’d almost lost them both once before, and now it looked as though I was hovering on that precipice again.

Fuck this!
I thought, rage lighting a fire in my belly as he rained down blows that reverberated throughout my entire body, sending tendrils of pain along every nerve.
I’ll be damned if anyone else gets to look after my cat, and I sure as hell am not ready to give up on Holbrook.

Fueled by emotion, I gave up trying to block the fists aimed at my face, and instead fired off my own shot. I was distantly aware of the prickle of my nails lengthening into talons, and at the last second unclenched my fist to rake my claws across his face. Metembe let out a thunderous howl, rearing back to clutch at the deep furrows my claws had left across his face. Not wanting to stick around to see how much damage I had done, I delivered a punch to his gut and gave another heave of my hips. I almost whooped aloud in triumph when I dislodged him, but thought it better to focus all my energy on getting the hell out of there.

Wiggling out from under the snarling were, I shuffled backwards until I had room to push myself up to my feet and make a run for it. I’d taken no more than three or four steps when a band of hot steel closed around my ankle, compressing the delicate bones painfully and pulling me back down to the ground. Pain jarred my shoulders as I landed face down, barely having enough time to get my arms out in front of me to break my fall.

“Get the fuck off me!” I shouted, kicking out blindly with my free foot.

A pained grunt was all the reply I received from my assailant, his grip on my ankle remaining tight and unbreakable.

I am not going down like this,
I told myself, already reaching out to the wolf.

The change began as a burning tingle along my already agitated nerves, wrestling a strangled groan of pain from my throat even as my vocal cords shifted from human to wolf. My thoughts turned hazy as the wolf surged forth to take control of my body only to be knocked back a second later when an enormous fist collided with the side of my head. Agony echoed through my skull, disrupting the change as it brought tears to my eyes and left me wondering which way was up.

Opening my eyes, I promptly squeezed them shut again when a wave of nausea hit me, the world spinning out of control. The sour taste of bile rose in the back of my throat, mingling with the coppery tang of blood from where I’d bitten my tongue. Rolling onto my side and spitting blood, I waited for the dizziness to pass as I became aware of the fact that the iron grip on my ankle had disappeared.

Maybe he decided to take a break,
my fuzzy mind supplied.
It must be hard work beating someone to death.

My musings on Metembe’s state of exertion were cut short by the heat of his hands closing around my throat in an unrelenting grip that had surely felled lesser men. Using the hold on my neck, he raised my head from the frozen ground until the warmth of his breath ruffled the hair clinging to my cheeks. It took a herculean effort to force my eyes open, my vision blurred by tears I didn’t even feel. Metembe hovered above me, his face couched in shadow except for the glowing coals of his eyes. That glimpse was all I needed to comprehend the depth of his hatred for me, and himself.

“Stop,” I pleaded in a croaking whisper, even as my vision narrowed down to dark pinpoints until only those golden eyes were visible in the darkness. “Please...”

The strength was ebbing out of me with each second, and I knew that if I didn’t do something soon, it would be the end of me. My fingers were clumsy and slow to respond when I lifted them to claw at the hands compressing my windpipe, but my actions were as ineffectual as if I was trying to chip away at stone with my bare hands. All too soon, my thoughts began to slip away like smoke carried off on the wind, leaving my mind filled with the cold blackness of space.

I could barely feel my fingers anymore when I gave up on trying to peel his hands away from my throat and let my arms slip down to the ground, leaden and cold. The last of my energy was almost spent, and each strained beat of my heart sent a wave of pain through my body. This was it, this was the end. If I didn’t act now, he was going to kill me.

Mustering the last of my dwindling strength, I reached out blindly to run my hand over pine needles, clumps of snow, and twigs, scouring the ground for something I could use against him before he succeeded in choking the life from me. I was on the verge of giving up hope and resigning myself to the fact that I was going to die at the hands of the deranged were.

Funny how this seems to keep happening. I’ve seriously got to rethink some of my life choices. If I live. Which doesn’t look likely.

A final breath was forced out of me by another squeeze of his burning hot fingers and I felt my eyes slide shut of their own volition. I was too tired to fight any more. He’d beaten me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

MY FINGERS GAVE a final twitch as death rose up to wrap me in its cold arms and draw me down into darkness. But rather than feeling death’s cool embrace, instead I felt the roughness of a rock against my fingertips, one I would have sworn hadn’t been there a moment before.

Wasting no time pondering the rock’s miraculous existence, I clutched it with numbed fingers like the lifeline it was. No larger than the palm of my hand, it may as well have been a boulder for the effort it took to raise my arm in my weakened state. My energy had withered to that of a newborn pup, but my stubborn desire to live drove me on. Intent on choking the last dregs of life out of me, Metembe was oblivious to the hand swinging at him until I smashed the rock against the side of his head.

I have no doubt that if he hadn’t been preoccupied with ending my life, the strike would have been as inconsequential as the annoying buzz of a fly. As it was, I caught him off guard; the surprise of my attack driving him backwards as much as the paltry strength behind my swing. His grip on my throat loosened enough for me to suck in an agonizing breath, the sudden influx of oxygen making my head spin and my lungs burn. The air had never tasted so good, nor hurt so much, as I sucked in one gasping breath after another until I thought I might pass out from the dizziness.

I knew I should move, that remaining where I was would mean death once Metembe regained his balance, but every inch of my body was weighed down as if I was encased in concrete, and my thoughts flowed as slow as mud. White sparkles danced across my vision, making Metembe look as if he was surrounded by a swarm of pixies, and I was forced to close one eye to bring him into focus long enough for me to slam the rock against his temple a second time. Timing my attack with a buck of my hips, I managed to unseat him, providing just enough leverage to push him off to the side and drive a knee into his groin for good measure.

When all else fails, go for the family jewels,
I thought, remembering the day my grandfather had uttered the same words when telling me how to deal with playground bullies.

Determined not to let the dark were get the better of me again, I lashed out with my foot to deliver a kick to his face and then scooted backwards out of his reach as fast as I could. Stones and crusts of ice scraped at the skin of my palms, but I didn’t slow as I propelled myself back on my hands and butt. I wanted nothing more than to collapse on the frozen ground and sleep, but fear drove me onwards, prompting me to put as much space between us as I could.

I hadn’t made it as far as I’d hoped before he came back to his senses and let out an inarticulate snarl. Blood dripped into one golden eye from the fresh gash bisecting his eyebrow as he raised his head to glare at me. Murderous rage shone bright as the noon day sun in his eyes, and he looked more beast than man as he rose to his hands and knees, crouching low to the ground like a cat ready to pounce. Moving with more speed than I would have expected, he leapt at me, teeth gnashing and growls erupting from his throat.

This is it, I’m going to die,
I thought, knowing I didn’t possess the strength for another fight. Still, I couldn’t stay where I was.

Forcing my legs to move, I climbed to my feet, and almost went down face first when my watery knees threatened to give out. Breaking into a stumbling run, I angled my path across the meadow towards the closest break in the trees, hoping to lose him amongst the shadows. I knew the chances of outpacing him were about as likely as me sprouting fairy wings and pooping rainbows, but I had to give it a try.

I really shouldn’t have given up track in high school,
the bitter voice in the back of my mind commented while I pumped my arms in the vain hope that the motion would help to power my aching legs and ease the burn in my lungs.