Mercy Blade (Jane Yellowrock #3)

Mercy Blade (Jane Yellowrock #3) Page 7

“Leo might have something to say about that.”

Roul threw up his hand and the wolves in human form closed in several steps, others now blocked the door. My heart jumped into my throat. Two naked guys were on their knees, backs hunched, taken by the change. The alpha wolf lifted his head, as if readying himself to howl.

Beast had been eerily silent, not bragging that she could take them. Not a good sign. A dozen possible outcomes flashed through my mind with a single heartbeat, none of them ending well for me. “Wait.” I took a chance. “We’re still under parley rules.”

Roul ducked his chin, his lips back, his teeth all pointed, no longer human. “Shhpeak.” I had a feeling that was the only word he could manage at this point, his voice lower and gravelly.

“Since the death of his son, Leo’s been deeply in the dolore. I don’t think he cares what you do to him as long as vampire grief rides him. I’m betting he’s spoiling for a fight, not in a courtroom but under a less than full moon, and he’ll take a lot of you down with him, if it comes to physical battle. He’s powerful.” I remembered seeing a hint of the power of the Master of the City, calling his vamps to heel. “He has the might of all the vamps in the city to draw upon. I honestly don’t think you’ll survive. Even in wolf form.”

Roul swallowed, fighting down his beast. I recognized the struggle. He took another breath. “We ... not go back.”

Without a detectable sign from Roul, the pack closed in. They had spread their attack circle as far as the walls and chain barriers permitted while I stood here and chatted. I should have run, hard and fast. Crap!

Magic permeated the air, prickling on my skin like electricity. Like fire ants stinging. Like a warning of war. Beast growled, low and dangerous, the sound of her anger coming from my mouth.

Three wolves had shifted fully; they stood, ruffs upright and teeth bared. Others were coated with a mist that hovered on their skin, darker than the gray mist of my own change; it was tinted faintly blue, swirling faster than my own change-energies. Looking angry, somehow. These crouched and threw back their heads, a human mime of a wolf howl, but silent, agonized. The three fully changed wolves stepped in front of them, protective. Wolf magic grew, crackling like flames on dry tinder. I couldn’t catch my breath in the electrified air of the bar.

Roul stood before the front windows, only his head and hands changed, wolf claws, doggy-shaped and blunt, but bigger, evolved for grabbing and bringing down big prey. They were all naked, even the girl, crouched in the shadows, on a pool table, turned away from me, halfway through her change, her wolf-bitch-in-heat stench hitting the air like a warning.

I was in big trouble. Thanks to Leo Pellissier, who sent me here to talk.

Six wolves had fully changed and I still didn’t know what to do. There was no getting past them and outside; I couldn’t open fire without it being clear self-defense. Where is the security camera? This is a setup. Has to be. But I didn’t see a camera anywhere.

A black wolf lunged, maw open, slavering. Beast shoved her power into my bloodstream. Adrenaline like fire in my veins. Flight or fight. Time did a little twist and bump. Slowing like cold honey.

I fired the shotgun one-handed. Beast’s strength took the recoil. As it backlashed through me, I fired the handgun at the wolf-bitch, the shots overlapping, but a blurred form dropped from the pool table and was gone. I’d missed her entirely. Closer, the charging wolf yelped, barely heard over the concussive report. Hit in the chest. He flipped back in midair. Dead. The mostly human shape behind him curled in on himself, keening, his magics disrupted by the pattern of silver shot that peppered him as it spread out.

Beast-fast, I fired the M4 twice more, taking down two wolves.

Fired again at a leaping wolf, freshly changed. This one was bigger, stretched out in midair. He took the shell full face. His jaw, teeth, and brains exploded backward. Silver burst into flame in his blood. He fell in a heap at my feet. The others seemed to sense they faced a more deadly opponent than they had expected, and one hit the lights. The place went black except for light through the windows. I crouched into a shadow, knowing their wolf eyes were better in the dark than my human ones, even if I drew on Beast’s vision.

The semiautomatic barked in my hand, hitting and missing as I methodically emptied the magazine at wolves, counting rounds as I fired. The wolves were freaking fast, streaking close and swerving, and I missed most of the time, in the dark. I fired the last two shotgun shells at two wolves silhouetted in the doorways like guards, hoping the silver fléchettes would slow them down. There wasn’t time to reload the M4. I set the shotgun at my feet. Digging one-handed in a pocket. My fingers touched a replacement magazine for the nine mil as I fired the last rounds in the H&K. Three wolves leaped at me. Knocked me to my butt. Claws digging at me even through the armored leather. The magazine slipped away, into the deeps of the pocket. Huge teeth and fangs ripped. Tearing at me through the leather armor. Flinching at the taste of silver rivets and studs. Snarling. Growling.

I rolled and got the magazine out, snapped it into the sidearm, the sound lost beneath concussive deafness. I grabbed for the six-shot from my ankle holster. A wolf came out of the dark. Snapped at my face and I dodged. Fired. Teeth snapped on my ear. The pain was distant, my blood hot on my skin. I got the backup gun free. My brain having trouble with the different firing sequences between pistol and semiautomatic. Muscle memory finally won, and I fired with both hands. But I had a feeling I’d missed almost every shot since the lights went out.

Fangs ripped at my hand. Fingers went numb. The H&K clicked, empty again. I dropped the sidearm. Pulled a vamp-killer. Fired the last two shots with the pistol. Pulled and emptied the two shots in the derringer. I was down to blades. I was a goner. The wolves were too fast, too many. My hands were slick with blood, some of it mine. I stabbed upward, cutting into the belly of a red wolf with amber eyes. Sliced the ham-string of another. Both fell away.

A monstrous wolf landed on me. Knocked out my breath in a grunt I couldn’t hear over my damaged eardrums. Fire Truck. Had to be. His jaws snapped down. At my throat. And met the silver collar. He yelped in surprise, teeth caught in the chain-mail mesh. Jumped back. Ripping the protective necklace from my neck, the rings and the busted clasp caught on one of his canine teeth.

I sliced across the face of a shaggy wolf with Roul’s blue eyes. He danced back out of blade length. And then farther. The movement of the wolves halted, all of them looking up.

I panted, trying to catch my breath. Hurting. And became aware that I wasn’t alone. A slender form landed beside me, silhouetted in the window, poised on the balls of his feet as if he’d dropped from the black ceiling. Another opponent. Crap.

In an eyeblink, I took him in. He stood bent-kneed, two blades drawn, silvered swords, one long, one shorter, but not Japanese in style. Spanish, maybe. He was dressed all in black, top to toe. Lots of silver. More than I wore. Weird what you think in the heat of trying to stay alive and figuring you aren’t going to.

He held the blades in what was clearly a martial position, one blade pointed forward at two o’clock, the other to his left side at his nine o’clock, making small circles, at an angle to the ground. His stance made the wolves his target, not me. I had help. The relief was so sudden that nausea rose up my throat, burning and acidic. Zorro, I thought, naming him. I wanted to laugh at the thought, but I didn’t have the breath.

“Roul, Roul, leader of the Lupus Clan,” he said. I heard him, even over my concussed ears. His voice was like ice cream, cool and rich, melting into a pool of hot caramel. I shivered at the tone, his words in an accent that would have been sexy had I not been bleeding, in pain, and thinking I might die shortly.

“This is not the way—to kill the messenger.” He made a little tsk-tsk sound. “You knew that Leo would not permit your wolves in his city without a fight. Do you desire to waste all your energies on this, the first round of the game? No, no, no. Think. You have made your point and bloodied your opponent.”

And that opponent would be me. I took the opportunity to stand, feeling pain in one knee and ankle. I had landed wrong when they pushed me down. I swallowed and the fang abrasion in my neck and throat pulled and stung. That was gonna hurt until I could change. Bad.

I adjusted my grip on the weapons, and pain zinged up my arm. My fingers were ripped; one, maybe more, wasn’t working at all. Someone turned on the lights in the pool area, the illumination like a camera flash, throwing the room into harsh relief.

I spotted the smallest wolf, the bitch, on the fringes of the fight, under the pool table she had been sitting on earlier. She was bleeding, weight on three legs. She was the one I’d ham-strung. I grinned at her, knowing my expression was vicious. I was hurt, but some of them were hurt a lot worse. Not that that would have kept me alive much longer. Sheer numbers would have won in the end.

“Withdraw for now,” sword-guy-Zorro said, “and wait. Leo must come to you eventually, one-on-one. That is a battle you may yet win.”

Roul threw back his head and howled, throat exposed, the sound not mournful at all, but filled with fury, like nothing nature had ever planned or created. Magic sizzled and hissed through the room. And they attacked.

Zorro stepped in front of me, blades flashing. I turned my back to his. Tried to place my feet for better balance, but the knee was weak. I dropped to my good knee, injured one up, foot on the floor. I cut upward. At the underbelly of a wolf. A second wolf came from my left. Fast. Faster than I could move. Fire Truck. The massive wolf bit down on my elbow. Bones crunched. Mine, unfortunately.

Pain shocked through me, up my arm, down to my fingers, paralyzing. With one arm, I fought off another wolf, but Fire Truck sensed my weakness. His jaws relaxed, left my wounded arm for an instant. Snapped back in, mouth open. Latched on again, just below the injured joint. Growling, he shook me, slinging my entire body left and right, across the blood-slick floor. I gagged with the pain. Stabbed at him. Caught him on the side.

From above, I saw a flash of silver. Fire Truck yelped. Dropped me. Zorro stepped across my form, booted feet to either side. I curled around myself, shivering with shock and pain. Found the H&K under my side, jabbing. One handed, I changed magazines, clumsy and slow.