A vampire raving out of his mind was a terrifying thing to behold.
Slade strode down the cracked sidewalk, his boots crunching through leaves fallen victim to Seattle’s colder December temperatures. His thoughts were a swirling mess, while every fiber of his being pulsed with certainty that all hell was about to break loose.
He wanted to believe the youngster captured on his brother-in-law’s cell phone video had been tortured to the point where he’d broken, but his gut instincts wouldn’t allow it.
Denying the obvious couldn’t change reality.
The kid had been sick. No. Not just sick. Mad. As in foaming-at-the-mouth, Cujo mad.
He shuddered inside his leather jacket. What had the kid been infected with? Their race was susceptible to illness, same as humans, but he’d never known of a vampire to display the symptoms the youngster had shown while held in a government cell.
What had the bastards done to him? Had they infected him with something formerly unknown to his race? The implications triggered icy spikes of fear to run down his spine.
If only he could stop thinking about it. But the images were burned into his mind—had been for the past two months. Something asshole-ugly was brewing out there and had the vampire community in its sights.
Unease gnawed his guts in sickening contrast to the cheery Christmas lights and whimsical decorations on the homes he passed. Most of which were inhabited by humans, though a few belonged to vampires who decorated, not for love of the season, but to blend in and not be discovered.
Predator instincts on alert, he prowled with the intention of finding trouble, something to ease the ache in his soul. But then, he was only doing what was expected of him by the Resistance.
The feeling that nothing mattered anymore, at least not for him, weighed down on him.
He cut down a dark side street, then another, and another.
His phone shrilled to life with “Iron Man,” his ring tone for Ashton. Without breaking stride, he fished it out of his pocket. “What’s up?”
“The Wolf you’ve been hunting was spotted on Almeda, if you’re anywhere close to there.”
“Well, well. Just so happens I’m about three minutes away.”
“Shit, careful is my middle name.”
“Tell someone who doesn’t know better.” Ashton ended the call.
Slade changed course and took off at a sprint. If there was one thing he hated more than the government officers, it was the vampires who sold out their own for a government paycheck.
He turned onto Almeda and looked for some sign of his target. A silver SUV was parked near a ramshackle house. He squinted to make out the license plate.
Was the son of a bitch in the shit-heap of a house? Now all stealth and business, Slade approached the decaying front porch.
As he neared, muted curses and scuffling came from inside. Someone was getting the shit beaten out of them in there. Maybe worse. And it wasn’t the cock-sucking Wolf Guard.
Aggression and anger spurred him into motion. He charged toward the dwelling and up the cracked concrete steps. Yanking the door open, he stopped cold, too shocked to move.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish