Part 39 (1/2)

Rhage prayed for an outlet as he stalked the bar alleys downtown. In the cold rain he was a twitchy mess, anger and agony seething in his chest. Vishous had given up trying to talk to him two hours ago.

As they emerged on Trade Street once again, they paused next to the front door of Screamer's. An impatient, s.h.i.+vering crowd was waiting to get into the club, and there were four civilian males mixed in with the humans.

”So I'll try one last time, Hollywood.” V lit a hand-rolled and repositioned his Sox cap. ”What's up with all this quiet? You're not still hurting from last night, are you?”

”Nah, I'm good to go.”

Rhage squinted into a dark corner of the alley.

Yeah, bulls.h.i.+t he was fine. His night vision was shot to h.e.l.l, its acuity way off no matter how much he blinked. And his ears weren't working as well as they should, either. Normally he could hear sounds from almost a mile away, but now he was concentrating just to catch the chatter from the club's wait line.

Sure, he was upset at what had happened with Mary; getting shut out by the female you love will do that to a male. But these changes were physiological, not tied to emotional, crybaby c.r.a.p.

And he knew what the problem was. The beast was not with him tonight.

It should have been a relief. Getting rid of the d.a.m.n thing even temporarily was a blessing beyond measure. Except evidently he'd come to rely on the creature's flinchy instincts. G.o.d, the idea that he had a kind of symbiotic relations.h.i.+p with his curse was a flipping surprise, and so was the vulnerability he was now sporting. It wasn't that he doubted his hand-to-hand skills or his flash and slash with a dagger. It was more like his beast gave him information about his environment that he was used to relying on. Plus the ugly-a.s.s thing was a terrific trump card. If all else failed, it would lay waste to their enemies.

”Well, what do you know,” V said, nodding to the right.

A pair of lessers were coming down Trade Street, their white hair gleaming in the headlights of a pa.s.sing car. Like puppets on the same string, their heads turned in unison toward him and Vishous. The two slowed. Stopped.

V dropped the cigarette, crus.h.i.+ng it with his s.h.i.+tkicker. ”A lot of d.a.m.ned witnesses for a fight.”

The Society members seemed to realize this as well, making no move to attack. In the standoff, the odd etiquette in the war between the Brotherhood and the lessers played out. Discretion among h.o.m.o sapiens was critical to retaining the secrecy of both sides. The last thing any of them needed was to get into it with a throng of people watching.

While the brothers and the lessers glared at one another, the humans in their midst had no idea what was going on. The civilian vampires in the wait line, however, knew what was doing. They shuffled around in place, clearly thinking of running. Rhage pegged them with a hard look and slowly shook his head. The best place for those boys was in public, and he prayed like h.e.l.l they got the message.

But of course, the four of them took off.

Those d.a.m.n lessers smiled. And then sprinted after their prey like a couple of track-and-field stars.

Rhage and Vishous flipped into high gear, tearing off at a dead run.

Foolishly, the civilians headed down an alley. Maybe they were hoping to dematerialize. Maybe they were just scared stupid.

Either way, they drastically increased the likelihood of their deaths. Back here, there were no humans around on account of the icy rain, and with no streetlights and no windows in the buildings, there was nothing to prevent the lessers from doing their job out in the open.

Rhage and V ran even harder, s.h.i.+tkickers pounding through puddles, spraying dirty water everywhere. As they closed the distance on the slayers, it looked as if they were going to take them down before the civilians were caught.

Rhage was about to grab the lesser on the right when a black truck cut into the alley up ahead, skidding on the wet asphalt and then finding traction. The thing slowed down just as the lessers caught one of the civilians. With a messy flip, the two slayers tossed the male into the back and then wheeled around, ready to fight.

”I get the truck,” Rhage shouted.

V took the slayers on as Rhage sprinted forward. The truck had slowed for the pickup, and its tires were spinning out, giving him an extra second or two. But just as he came up to the F-150, it took off again, shooting past him. With an awesome surge, he launched himself into the air, catching the lip of the bed just in the nick of time.

But his grip slipped on the wet metal. He was scrambling to get a better hold when the rear window slid open and a gun muzzle came out. He ducked, expecting to hear the sharp crack of a bullet discharging. Instead the civilian, who was trying to jump out, jerked and grabbed his shoulder. The male looked around in confusion and then fell in slow motion back into the bed.

The truck ripped free of Rhage's fingers, and he twisted as he fell, landing faceup. As he bounced and skidded on the pavement, his leather coat saved him from getting shredded.

He leaped to his feet and watched the truck round a distant street corner. Cursing like a son of a b.i.t.c.h, he didn't stick around to mourn the failure, but ran back to V. The fight was on and it was a good one, the slayers confident in their skills, far from their recruitments. V was holding his own, his dagger out and doing a number on the slayers.

Rhage fell upon the first lesser he got to, p.i.s.sed off at losing the civilian to that truck, rank mad at the world because of Mary. He beat the holy h.e.l.l out of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d with his fist, cracking bones, breaking through skin. Black blood kicked up into his own face, getting into his eyes. He didn't stop until V peeled him off and shoved him back against the alley wall.

”What the f.u.c.k are you doing!” Rhage had half a mind to go at V because the brother was blocking his access to the slayer.

V fisted the lapels of the trench coat and gave Rhage a good slam, as if trying to get him to focus. ”The lesser's not moving. Look at me, my brother. He's on the ground and he's staying there.”

”I don't care!” He fought to get free, but V held him in place. Barely.

”Rhage? Come on, talk to me. What's going on? Where are you, brother?”

”I just need to kill it... I need...” From out of nowhere, hysteria crept into his voice. ”For what they do to... The civilians can't fight back... I need to kill...” He was cracking up, but couldn't seem to stop the fracturing. ”Oh, G.o.d, Mary, they want her...

they're going to take her like they took that civilian, V. Ah, s.h.i.+t, my brother... What am I going to do to save her?”

”Shh. Easy there, Hollywood. Let's just cool out.”

V clamped a hand on Rhage's neck and smoothed his thumb back and forth over Rhage's jugular. The hypnotic stroking brought him down first by inches, then by yards.

”Better?” V asked. ”Yeah, better.”

Rhage took a deep breath and walked around for a minute. Then he went back to the lesser's body. He riffled through the pockets, finding a wallet, some cash, a gun.

Oh, this was good.

”Look what I got,” he muttered. ”Say h.e.l.lo to Mr. Black-Berry.”

He tossed the device to V, who whistled under his breath. ”Nice.”

Rhage unsheathed one of his daggers and buried the black blade in the slayer's chest. With a pop and flash, the thing disintegrated, but he didn't feel like he'd done enough. He still wanted to roar and weep at the same time.He and V did a quick patrol of the neighborhood. All was quiet. With any luck, the other three civilians had taken their a.s.ses home and were right now s.h.i.+vering from adrenaline overload in safety.

”I want those lessers' jars,” Rhage said. ”You get anything off the one you took out?”

V waved a wallet. ”Driver's license says One Ninety-five LaCrosse Street. What's in yours?”

Rhage went through it. ”Nothing. No license. Why the h.e.l.l did he carry-Huh. Now this is interesting.”

The three-by-five index card had been neatly folded in half. On the inside was an address not far from where they were.

”Let's check this out before we head over to LaCrosse.”

Chapter Thirty-three.

Mary packed up her overnight bag under Fritz's watchful eye. The butler was dying to help, shuffling from side to side, aching to do what he clearly felt was his job.

”I'm ready,” she said finally, even though she wasn't.