He wanted Marlow to run.
“Fuck you,” Marlow told it.
He drew his gun for the second time and blew out the wolf’s kneecaps. Flesh and bits of bone sprayed out behind him, and his legs crumpled under him. The earless wolf went down with a frustrated snarl and clawed at the ground as he dragged himself forward. Black claws raked deep ruts in the road.
It wouldn’t have bought Marlow enough time with Cade, but he had less distance to cover now.
Marlow turned and ran. This time it took a few more steps to convince his body to quit it with the news he was doing himself harm. Half his attention was behind him, and the rest was on the thin black bars of the cross he could see silhouetted against the moon.
Nearly there.
Sweat itched at the back of his neck and under his arms. He vaulted a fence and cut through a garden, over empty flower beds. On the second floor of the house, a curtain twitched behind the heavy bars as someone looked out. Marlow saw a thin slice of a face, and then the curtains jerked closed again.
Marlow didn’t blame them. He was the one stupid enough to be out after the moon rose, and he wasn’t even getting paid for it.
The sound of voices raised in soaring chant drifted from behind the heavy shutters on the church. It nearly drowned out the hot snort of a predator’s breath as it bore down on him.
Marlow tightened his grip on the gun. It was empty, but he curled his finger around the trigger anyhow. The Night Shift went down swinging.
He reached the edge of the church’s lot and spun around, empty gun half-raised out of habit. The earless wolf crouched, muscles like steel cables in its legs, and sprang.
Marlow braced himself. That would do about as much good as the empty gun. The wolf hit him, and then both flew backward until they crashed into the fire hydrant. It snapped off, and water sprayed up. Marlow got his arm up, braced against the wolf’s throat, as teeth snapped together an inch from his nose. Slobber dripped, warm and sour with the stink of meat, on his face as the wolf bore down on him.
Then it was gone. Marlow blinked at the sky and then looked over. Cade, fur still singed and crisped, and the black wolf tore chunks out of each other as they fought in the road.
Marlow let his head drop back against the pavement and then levered himself up onto his elbow. This wasn’t even close to the worst night he’d ever had. He didn’t get to give up tonight.
He clenched his teeth and limped up the steps to the doors. The song inside crested and then broke off abruptly as Marlow hammered his fist against the wood.
“Night Shift,” he rasped through the crack. “I’m on foot and fucked.”
There was a pause. It dragged on long enough that Marlow wondered if Father Bellamy had finally listened to one of the lectures. Then he heard the bolts on the far side slide back.
He risked a glance back.
Cade punched a clawed hand into the black wolf’s stomach and ripped up toward the barrel chest. Bright chunks of intestine bulged through the tear, vivid pink as the Ganesh graffiti, and the wolf finally backed off with an attempt at a defiant snarl. The black werewolf retreated slowly, head down and mouth open as it panted, but once it was gone, Cade looked around at Marlow.
“Thanks,” Marlow said. He’d be the only one who remembered the sentiment, but he still felt better to have it said.
The sound of his voice made Cade cock his head curiously. For a moment, Marlow entertained the ridiculous idea that somehow Cade recognized him for a single breath. Then Cade snarled and threw himself at the steps, just as the parishioners pulled the door open for Marlow.
He was dragged inside by impatient hands, and the door slammed shut behind him. Cade hit the century-old wood with his full weight, but it held.
“Thank God,” Father Bellamy, a tall, gray-haired man with a round, soft-cheeked face, said as he crossed himself piously. “I wasn’t sure we’d get to you in time.”
“Neither was I,” Marlow said. He sagged down onto a pew and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and fingers buried in his hair. The adrenaline had started to fade, the aftertaste of it acidic in the back of his throat, and all the aches and pains he’d collected made themselves felt. His mind wasn’t still anymore either, as the full significance of the last few hours finally sank in. He rubbed his thumb over his forehead and wondered aloud, “What the fuck happened?”
Chapter Two
CHUNKS OF HALF-DIGESTEDmeat and hair splattered the ground between Cade’s bare, filthy feet. He spat the sour taste out of his mouth and then replaced it as he retched again. There wasn’t much left to expel from his guts, just watery bile and the sharp dregs of yesterday’s whiskey.
He braced his forearm against the grimy wall and rested his sweaty forehead on it. It hurt to swallow, his stomach ached, and for some reason, he stank of meat grease and burnt hair. Cade let out a ragged, shaky breath and swallowed hard to dislodge the lump of gristle and regret stuck in his throat.
“You okay there?” someone asked him. They put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed an awkward circle, as if he was a baby that needed to be burped. “Do you need me to call someone?”
“I don’t need anything,” Cade lied between clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it.”
