Part 4 (1/2)

THE SALAMANCA HUNTERS MINUS SKYE; ESTHER AND LESLIE LEITNER.

Holgar sniffed the air and felt his hackles rise. Something was wrong. He had gone to the open-air market in Toledo's main square to take a message to one of Father Juan's contacts and to pick up some groceries for dinner. He had given the note to the fishmonger and then gotten some shrimp.

But as he began to make his way from the white-tented stall, he kept catching the movement of shadows from the corner of his eye. It was broad daylight. It couldn't be Cursed Ones, so who was it?

Holgar tried to look casual, like any other shopper, but knew he stood out. He was very tall, very husky, and very Danish. He had volunteered for the a.s.signment. The chance to get outside had been too good to pa.s.s up. He was going mad sitting around in the monastery. But he was beginning to realize that he had been foolish to go. Father Juan should have sent someone who would blend in better.

He turned a couple of corners, trying to get downwind of whatever was following him. The marketplace itself, though, proved a huge distraction. It was difficult to smell anything over the aromas of meat, fruit, and sweat. But still he had to try. A werewolf's sense of smell was his keenest attribute, and one he relied on heavily.

Another flash of movement. He whipped around, but no one stood out in the busy crowd. Then something threw itself at him.

He ducked. Razor-tipped claws sliced the air just above his head. He dropped to the ground and rolled. But when he looked up, the wolf that had swiped at him was nowhere to be seen.

Holgar swore and stood slowly, warily. He was surrounded by noise and stench, and he couldn't track his a.s.sailant.

A man walked by. As he pa.s.sed, Holgar caught the faintest scent of wolf. Holgar jumped to the side, but from the throng a silver knife flashed, slicing open his s.h.i.+rt and jabbing into his side. Holgar howled in pain, then felt all eyes turn toward him. Although the vampires had made themselves known to the world, the werewolves had not. Panic flared. There were at least two a.s.sailants after him, but if he continued to draw attention with his werewolf howling, the crowd might decide he was a madman who needed to be apprehended.

He turned and hurried in the direction of the monastery as fast as he dared. Once on the road he began to trot, and to pant in pain. Howling, gasping; for helvede-d.a.m.n it-was he going to change? Holgar had yet to transform except on the full moon. He hadn't been old enough, mature enough to change at will. But the tingling sensation that signaled the change gathered in his wound.

He could feel the other werewolves following him, and now he could smell them too. Three separate scents. He loped, scanning the hillside for a place to make a stand or ambush them.

A bend in the road offered him the only opportunity he was likely to get. Heart racing, he crouched behind an oleander bush and waited.

The man with the knife came first. He was bushy-headed, blond, and muscular, like him. Likely a Dane. Holgar swept the man's feet out from under him, leaped on top of him, and wrenched away his knife. Holgar hissed as the silver cut his palm.

”What do you want?” Holgar yelled at him in Danish.

”To kill you, traitor!” The man struggled to throw him off.

”I'm not a traitor,” Holgar said, displaying aggression by lowering his head and baring his teeth. The tingling sensation was suddenly overwhelmed by incredible pain. Silver poisoning?

”You kill your own kind,” the man insisted, raising his chin defiantly as he glared into Holgar's blue eyes.

”I defended myself,” Holgar said, mind racing. The man wasn't a member of Holgar's pack back in Denmark, so why did he care?

Something slammed hard against Holgar's back, throwing him to the ground. The knife skidded out of his hand, and ma.s.sive jaws fastened onto his shoulder, missing his throat as he twisted.

Adrenaline racing through his body, Holgar threw off the wolf; then he reached for the knife. His fingers grasped it and he spun around, just in time to plunge it into the heart of the werewolf. The wolf fell on top of him with a scream. A roar of shock escaped Holgar. It was Nils Hansen, someone he'd been friends with since they were cubs.

”Nils,” he whispered, ”what were you doing?”

Holgar couldn't wait for an answer. The silver was tainting his blood, pus.h.i.+ng through his veins and arteries. It wouldn't kill him, but it could incapacitate him, and Jenn had said that they were leaving the monastery that night. He had to get help.

Just inside the monastery's arched walls, Father Juan intercepted Holgar and quickly ushered him into a small room where everyone was already gathered. Antonio sat apart. The vampire lifted his head up as Holgar entered, and Jenn ran to Holgar's side.

”What happened?” Jenn asked.

Holgar grimaced at his b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt, then made a face at Jenn. ”Got stabbed. Not badly, though.”

”Careful, wolfie. Sucker might think you're dinner,” Jamie said.

Holgar had a mind to make Jamie dinner. He shook himself of the thought.

”I was attacked by three werewolves. It was revenge for the wolves I killed in the battle at Salamanca.”

”They attacked you in broad daylight?” Jenn asked, as Father Juan pulled the s.h.i.+rt away from the wound so that he could examine it. Holgar sucked in his breath, and Jenn touched his hand in sympathy.

”Motivated,” Antonio said.

”Sloppy,” Jamie drawled.

”They took advantage of the market crowd. I killed one,” Holgar said. ”The other two took off.”

The new girl, Sade, hugged her arms around herself and started rocking. Holgar wished they wouldn't take her with them. She was too fragile. No good in a fight.

”Let's circle back to that in a minute,” Jenn said, looking worried. ”We're meeting because Greg and Project Crusade have made a new headquarters for themselves in Budapest.”

”They've moved out of the U.S.?” Jamie asked with a raised eyebrow.

”Apparently,” Jenn replied, fussing over Holgar. With a pang he thought of Skye. If she'd been there, she'd perform a healing spell, and chide him for putting himself in danger. ”I'd leave too. Solomon's putting Americans into camps.”

”Concentration camps,” Antonio added, and Father Juan nodded.

”As with World War Two,” Father Juan said. ”Antonio's war.”

”It was h.e.l.l on earth.” Antonio's voice lowered. ”Hitler tortured those people horribly. Starved them. Ga.s.sed them. The Cursed Ones are just as bad. We must stop them.” Then he raised his chin. ”I fought in that war, but this war is my war now.”

”Por supuesto.” Father Juan inclined his head in Antonio's direction. ”Forgive my words. Sade,” he said gently, ”there are some bandages and ointment in a black bag in my room. Could you get them for me?”

Sade stopped rocking and hurried out of the room. So maybe she could be helpful after all.

”Solomon's putting people in camps all over the world,” Jamie countered, sliding his glance at Jenn. ”Not just your U.S. of A. In case you haven't noticed.”

”I noticed,” Jenn said. ”I only meant-”

”You don't need to explain,” Holgar cut in, irritated with Jamie's nitpicking. ”You're our leader.”

”Alpha b.i.t.c.h,” Jamie retorted, and Holgar growled menacingly. ”Just kidding,” the Irishman added, even though it was obvious that he wasn't.

”We need to find out what the black crosses are up to,” Antonio said. ”What they know. What they're doing.”

”Exactly what I was thinking. We need to send someone to Budapest,” Jenn said.