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He laughed. “The queen should have finished you off when she had the chance. ”
Jackson had mentioned Marcus’s queen earlier, and now this wolf seemed to be suggesting she’d had a chance to do me in. I was still wondering who they were talking about since there was no queen in the east, but I was pretty sure his words meant she was the one who almost killed me at the Chameleon.
“I think you’ll find it’s a lot harder to finish me off than you might imagine. ”
“We’ll find out. ” He lunged for me, but his foot snagged on his fallen friend’s arm. He didn’t fall, but the stagger gave me enough time. I didn’t waste the effort to incapacitate him painlessly. Instead I smashed my gun into the back of his head.
Knocking Jackson out had made me feel bad. Bringing this guy down brought a smug, satisfied smile to my lips. I surveyed the floor and the three unconscious figures and let myself breathe a small sigh of relief.
The easy part was over.
That taking on three full-grown werewolves had been the easy part made me want to vomit.
Chapter Thirty-One
I dragged the inert bodies into the box and used the braided curtain tiebacks to bind their hands and feet and tether the three of them together. Once I felt sure they wouldn’t easily be able to free themselves if they woke up, I went in search of my quarry.
Access to the basement was through a trap door behind the tattered gray movie screen. When the Orpheum used to host plays, the door had probably been for easy access to the stage for surprise entrances or dramatic death scenes.
Now it would once again play a part in a very different kind of death scene.
I took a long, deep breath and pulled my cell out of my jacket pocket. I’d only been gone an hour but Desmond was likely awake by now. Part of me wanted to use the phone to call Keaty and ask for backup. I couldn’t make myself do it. Maybe it was because Keaty had saved me the first time I met Peyton, and now that I was facing him for the last time I had to do so by myself.
It was stupid, but I had to know in six years I had become the kind of hunter who didn’t need help to kill a three-hundred-year-old vampire. Since meeting Peyton I’d killed others older and stronger than him, but something about the Cajun vampire made me feel as foolish and weak as the sixteen-year-old he’d once bitten.
I looked at the phone once more before putting it back inside my pocket. Pulling my jacket around me, I balanced on the balls of my feet at the edge of the gaping black hole. I only smelled mold and dampness, the scents of the dark, no vampires or wolves.
I jumped.
It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the total darkness and a few more to take my surroundings in. Below the stage, mildewed sets and props lined either side of the walls. Glass from broken stage lights dusted the floor, making a sound like dry leaves on autumn sidewalks whenever I put my foot down.
Raising my face, I sniffed the dank air, trying to sense anything alive over the pungent odor of decay. Then, as faint as a whisper, I detected something real, something with a beating heart.
I sidestepped the glass the best I could and moved in the direction of th
e smell.
A short distance down the hall the ceiling dipped low into a small crawlspace that led to a maze of storage spaces and dressing rooms. I crouched, bracing my hands against either wall, and tentatively sniffed the air again. The scent was stronger here, so I dropped to all fours to follow it down the rabbit hole.
Several dozen feet of squat, tight space later the tunnel tilted upwards and began to grow larger. I could rise to a hunched standing position and used it as an opportunity to grab my gun, preparing myself to step into the open.
I ducked low to the ground, shrinking as far into the shadows as possible and taking advantage of my superior breath-holding abilities. I listened for crunching glass behind me, or anything to suggest someone ahead was aware of me and waiting to confront me at the mouth of the tunnel. All I heard was the echoing thrum of the subway as it careened through a station a few blocks away.
The sound of my own heart was a quiet, fearful thump. As far as I could tell, no one was coming. I sniffed the air again, trying to distinguish the different smells.
There was a mishmash of lupine aromas. Too many to give myself an actual head count, but enough to make me a little queasy. Jackson had told me there were six guards, in addition to Marcus and his queen. I was hoping he hadn’t lied.
I slumped back, holding my gun to my chest and keeping my breaths steady against a wave of panic. What was I doing here? This wasn’t a nest of rogue vampires or one errant wolf. This was a dissenting pack, and until this moment I had only been viewing their leader as a pawn between me and my goal of bringing Peyton to the council.
Yes, Marcus was a puppet in Peyton’s larger plan, but I hadn’t put enough thought into the coup he was plotting. Within the werewolf community there were those who believed choosing a ruling class through family lines was outdated. I didn’t fully disagree with them, but I also respected that Lucas would only ever do things for the benefit of his pack.
Furthermore, I didn’t think for a second Marcus intended to make the wolves a democratic society if he usurped Lucas’s throne.
But those who believed his campaign of false promises would protect their leader with their lives, and I had been a fool to underestimate the scope of his following. These werewolves were more than just guards. They believed they were warriors for a righteous cause.
I would have given anything at that moment to berate myself aloud, but that was out of the question.
Well, moron, if this is the end, at least you can feel good about splurging on silver bullets.
