Blood and Bullets Read online

  “Why are you working for a bloodsucking piece of shit?” Yeah, it was obvious to ask, but still, I had to try. “I know what you are, and I know you understand me. If you don’t answer me, I will shoot you in the head.” The gun rose back level with his face, the laser dot focused on his eye, making him blink and move his head. “All my bullets are silver, and you know what that means for your kind.”

  Silver hurts lycanthropes. They can absorb damage from regular bullets like it is nothing, but even a tiny amount of silver changes the odds to the damage being almost human level. Plus, if the silver stays in their system, it begins to poison their blood, setting up a violent allergic reaction.

  The WWere-gorrilla shook his head and slammed his fist against his skull. His long arms wrapped around his body and his head threw back in a howl. It was a plaintive, desperate sound. Brown eyes turned back to me, staring past the gun I still had pointed at his head and looking into my own eyes. I watched his form began to change: coarse black hair thinned, his arms shortened, and his legs grew longer. He became a bit more human. It was fluid and fairly subtle. Gorillas look a lot like humans as it is, so his transition into a half man, half gorilla wasn’t spectacular.

  “His familiars are all simians. I don’t have a choice. I have to kill you by his order.” The voice was strange, not human. Partially because the throat and mouth were wrong, but also because he was struggling through what seemed to be a lot of pain. I wasn’t surprised. Vampire powers are a bitch to fight against. They make your head feel like it going to explode and like your blood is going to boil in your veins. He was unfortunate that his form of lycanthropy made him susceptible to Gregorios’s power.

  Vampires sometimes have familiar animals, which means they have the ability to vampirically control that animal. Unfortunately for this guy, that extends to lycanthropes of the same strain. Were-gorillas are pretty rare, so I was sure Gregorios had been keeping this one for a while.

  “If it weren’t for him, would you attack me?”

  That huge head shook sharply. A definitive “No.”

  “Are you going to lose control soon?”

  Again the head moved, this time up and down. Yes.

  Black fur flowed back over his skin as his body shifted back to the mass of his animal form. Another roar shook the walls and vibrated against my skin.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I meant it.

  The bullet smashed into his knee, sending a gout of blood spurting against the wall beside him. The fur and flesh peeled away to reveal red muscle and off-white bone. The effect was immediate and his bulk crashed to the floor. A loud, shrill scream from him made my eardrums vibrate. Flailing around in pain, a huge fist smacked the wall, leaving a hole.

  His knee was a ruin of blood and fur. Silver will kill a lycanthrope, and it damages like a normal bullet does to a human. He would heal the knee, but it would take a while. I hated to do it, but there was no choice.

  Well, I did have a choice, I could have killed him.

  Pulling a blessed rosary from my pocket, I stepped to him. As I got near, his screaming was swallowed in grunts of pain and his flailing had become shuddering convulsions. Fat rivers of tears streamed down his face, turning the fur on his cheeks into an inky darkness. Breath tore from his lungs like a ragged flag snapping in the wind. Carefully, I dropped the rosary around his neck. His fur ran with a shudder as the cross blocked Gregorios’s powers.

  “You’re free now.”

  He nodded and rolled over toward the wall. His breathing was still uneven, sobs racking his chest, shaking his form, but I didn’t have time to stop and nurse him. He was on his own. I had done all I could for him. Hopefully he would get somewhere to receive medical attention. I didn’t think it would comfort him to know I was going to kill Gregorios.

  Then again, after being a vampire’s butt-monkey, it might have.

  11

  The room the lycanthrope had come from was open but cluttered. The fake stone wall motif continued, but then what else would you expect from a dungeon? Paisley wallpaper? Low track lighting cast shadows around the room.

  A kneeling bench sat on one side of the room. It was black leather and had a low cushion for someone to kneel on and lean over the higher bench portion. The bench had large eyebolts at each end that held chains and leather cuffs. A submissive would kneel and lean over the bench chained into place for the dominant to punish them. Down the wall from that was a St. Andrew’s Cross, a large X made of black painted wood. This also had eyebolts and chains ending in manacles to stretch the submissive in a standing position for punishment. The far wall had a rack that held canes and paddles of all sizes and shapes. The wall beside it was a smorgasbord of floggers, whips, crops, chains, and cuffs all on hooks. It was like an S&M version of your grandfather’s tool shed.

  In the far right-hand corner sat a dark throne-like chair. It was painted black and red. Metal studs traced all its edges. It was large and impressive. In front of it was a rug where the submissive could worship the dominant. There were more drapes on the walls in that red brocade material. Candle sconces added dim lighting that gleamed on the chains and oiled leather.

  I didn’t see any hiding places or doors for escaping. I didn’t see Gregorios either. I knew he was there, somewhere. How did I know? I could feel the moths in my head again. He was calling his kiss, his group of vampires to his side. He was there, somewhere in the room.

  And he was scared.

  My arms were getting tired of holding my gun out. Like I said before, the son of a bitch is heavy. But I still didn’t see Gregorios anywhere. I needed to find him before any other vampires got there for backup. Unfortunately, the moths didn’t act like a Geiger counter. It wasn’t a hot or cold thing. I either felt them or I didn’t. I knew he was in the room, but I couldn’t use it to pinpoint his location. I fired my gun into the drapes to the left of the throne. No movement or sound. “Gregorios, come on out. You know you can’t hide from me. I will find you.”

  I shot into the drapes on the other side. Same thing. Nothing.

  “You can stop calling for help. All of your kiss is dead. I killed them just like I am going to kill you.” He didn’t know that I was lying. The moths in my head blinked out of existence. Good, that shit was annoying.

  I pointed my gun at the throne. It had to be the throne, there was nowhere else to hide. It was the only thing big enough for him to hide behind. I squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession and wood exploded on the back of the throne. Tensing, I waited for something to happen.

  There was no movement or sound except the echo of the shots I had fired. Dread crept down my neck. I had never run into a vampire that could turn invisible. That didn’t mean they didn’t exist. If Gregorios was one, I was well and truly fucked.

  Shit! I spun around, pointing my gun in all directions, frantically looking for some sign of him, somewhere, anywhere. My chest was tight in a band and my skin crawled, waiting for him to be behind me. I’m good, but if a vampire could get the drop on me, it was over. I’d be one dead hombre.

  Taking a deep breath, I centered myself, pulling calm into my lungs. Panic would do me no good whatsoever. First things first, I swapped the clip in the Desert Eagle. I didn’t know how many bullets were left, I hadn’t been counting, but I had shot a lot and I wanted a fresh clip.

  As the clip slid home, I pushed that thing inside me, my power, out into the room. If Gregorios was being invisible, then my power would feel it. My power is a weird thing. I’ve had it since that angel I saved brought me from the brink of death with a transfusion of her essence. Since then, I have been able to tell when supernatural powers or magick have been used around me.

  It was a strange thing that I have gotten more comfortable with over the years. It feels like a feather-light blanket is inside of me, and it curls and slides out of my body. You can’t see it; hell, I can’t see it either. It’s a feeling, a sensation. It reacts in different ways to different powers. Like the moth thing, tha
t is a response to some kind of mind-to-mind communication.

  Anyway, my power shifted and pushed into the room and it found ... nothing. I couldn’t sense Gregorios anywhere. It meant that he was not using any vampiric power to hide, so where was the bastard?

  It clicked. Sometimes I forget just how unhuman vampires are. I knew exactly where the cold-blooded bastard was. My gaze turned up and sure enough, he was hanging on the ceiling. He was upside-down, fingers dug into the ceiling and holding himself with his own strength instead of vampire magick. The Desert Eagle tracked up as he screamed down at me, spittle flying off of his fangs.

  The two shots I fired at him both missed as he launched himself off the ceiling and at me. His outstretched hand hit my gun as he landed beside me. An electric shock ran all the way up my arm. The Desert Eagle fired wide and stray as it was ripped from my hand. My right arm tingled, numb from the blow. It was a lot like if you hit the wrong thing with an aluminum bat. My arm felt like it had been electrocuted. Dead to sensation and weak, it hung by my side.

  The vampire landed in a crouch on his feet like a cat. He looked exactly like Greggie. Black hair flowed around him, and he was dressed in a cross between Renaissance fair and Goth club wear. He stood up, staring at me with red, glowing eyes. A hiss rolled from his lips. His face and neck were knotted and distorted, fangs glistening in the low light.

  Gregorios didn’t stand there long. With a flash of vampire speed, he swiped a clawed hand at me. I ducked it clumsily and stumbled back a few feet. If he got hold of me, I was done.

  Lunging after me, he swung those long-nailed fingers again, trying to slash my flesh to ribbons. I shuffled back and snapped a kick to his shin. It connected solidly, driving his leg out from under him. Down he went, landing on all fours.

  He was only there for a split second before he threw himself at me again. Clawed hands scratched wildly at the air as I sidestepped and kicked him in the stomach. My foot sank into his belly and lifted him up. He flipped in midair and landed on his back. Scrambling away, he crouched, staring at me.

  That is the one thing about vampires: They can’t usually fight for shit. They are incredibly strong. They can pull a human limb from limb, and they are fast as lightning; but for all their strength and ability as advantage, most of them fight like schoolgirls.

  See, vampires generally don’t turn their victims. Being predators, they prey on the weak in society naturally—the homeless, the disenfranchised, the sick, and children. You know, victims, people who are not going to put up too much of a fight, culling the herd of humanity like lions on the Serengeti.

  Every so often they will find one of their victims intriguing enough to make a new vampire. Now, this person is still a victim. Vampires, like muggers, will generally avoid a strong, confident person who looks like they will put up a fight. Then once they turn their victim, they create an incredibly powerful creature of the night. Because of this new gift of strength and speed, the new vampire gets overconfident, secure in its position as the top of the food chain. Vampires generally have no fighting skills whatsoever. They don’t start with any and never take the time to learn them. Good thing, because if they did, they would be almost unstoppable. It’s one of the few reasons humans can survive. That and sunlight.

  I shook out my right hand. Feeling began creeping back in with pins and needles. Gregorios rose from his crouch. His hair was wild, alternately plastered to his skin and sticking out in all directions, and his eyes were glowing red. He tensed, drawing in his physical power to attack me again.

  My left hand came out from behind me with the Taurus .44 Bulldog. It’s not a very big gun, and in my hand it looks positively dainty. My fist is bigger than the whole gun is. But it holds five bullets, and .44 Magnums are powerful. Extremely powerful. It’s a close-range gun; the one-inch barrel means you have shit for accuracy over about ten yards. But as I said before, it is dead reliable. It will fire every time I pull the trigger, and I did pull the trigger, twice, and put two .44 caliber silver bullets into Gregorios’s stomach.

  My ears closed again from the thunder of the bullets. Warm air from the concussion of the bullets leaving the barrel washed over me. Gregorios bent at the waist like he had been hit by a baseball bat. The two slugs exploded out of his back in a spray of black blood and gore.

  .44 caliber Orion Outfitter bullets, in like a penny, out like a pizza.

  Silver coating made them work on a vampire like they work on a human, and from just a few feet away they took their phosphorus load with them. Gregorios sank to his knees, arms crossed over his midsection. He was 600 years old and even now, even with all that damage, he wouldn’t die from it. But it hurt like hell, I just knew it did. Striding over, I snatched a handful of his hair and leaned in close to his face.

  “Tell me why you tried to have me killed earlier tonight.”

  His eyes rolled up at me, the red bleeding out of them from the pain he was in. His skin was slick with sweat, beaded up like melting wax.

  “I did nothing to you.”

  The voice was everything you expected it to be. Thickly accented, deep, and smooth as buttermilk even through his pain. The accent wasn’t familiar, something European and old country, deep and scary. Well, it would have been scary if it weren’t for the thread of pain running through it, raising its pitch sharply.

  My voice was even. Dull and cold with a lack of emotion. “If you didn’t try to have me killed, then tell me who did.”

  “I will tell you nothing.”

  My left hand slammed the butt of the Taurus between his eyes. Purple washed across the bridge of his nose, the bruise florid against his waxy skin. “Wrong answer, asshole.”

  He gave no resistance as I drug him over to the St. Andrew’s cross that was on the far wall. If he wasn’t wounded, the chains I clamped on him wouldn’t stand a chance of holding him, but he was, so they would do.

  I had just finished fastening the last cuff when a huge racket filled the hallway, getting louder as it moved toward the room. It was a cacophony of noise—hissing, screaming, and high-pitched howling. Picking up the Desert Eagle where it fell, I turned to the door to meet the rest of the kiss.

  The noise got louder and louder as it got closer and closer. A light from the hallway was getting brighter and brighter. The noises were worse. Whatever was making it was right outside of the room. I could hear nails scratching the walls outside in the hallway. The hissing was a wet sound, sliding through the air; the howls were ear piercing. Sliding in a new clip, I released the slide and pointed my gun at the door, shoulders tense.

  Larson stumbled backward into the room.

  He was holding up his cross and it was shining like a star. Following him were three of the vampire girls from the lobby. The hissing became deafening as they spilled into the doorway. The black girl spotted Gregorios chained to the X. She got the attention of her sisters and the hisses became screams. Their clawed hands flailed around them as they worked themselves up into a frenzy. Larson, God bless his soul, stood his ground and kept them corralled in the doorway. Good thing, if they had actually crossed the threshold, they would have had the room to get around the glowing cross. The vampire he had gone off with was missing, so was Blair.

  The three were the redhead, the Hispanic girl, and the black girl. She was tall, leggy, and her skin was turning a burnished copper color from a lack of sunlight. Her hair was natural, and her eyes a bright almond brown. Makeup had been expertly applied and looked strange on her vampiric face. She was worked up and had her fangs extended in a heavily lipsticked mouth.

  The Hispanic vampire was very petite and slender. There was no visible makeup on her face, and her long black hair was cut in a blunt straight cut, bangs thick over her large hazel eyes. She looked young, maybe thirteen when she was killed. She was dressed young also, in a schoolgirl’s uniform that was a fetishist’s dream. It was made of skintight vinyl that clung to her every line and plane. She should have been the least scary of the three because she was th
e smallest, but it was just the opposite.

  Children who are vampires are downright spooky. Vampires are against the laws of nature anyway, adding to that the perversion of childhood innocence, and she was disturbing on a far deeper level than her sisters.

  The redhead was luminous. I didn’t know when she had been turned, but it had been a while. Decades or more of no exposure to ultraviolet light had made her pale skin glow and shine. She was almost translucent. I could see the faint blue lines of veins under her skin. Her red hair was standing on end as if she were in a windstorm, the tresses whipping back and forth like snakes plugged into a light socket.

  That one had some power of her own. Her bright green eyes glowed with unholy energy, and I felt it humming in the air. I didn’t know what it was, but her power felt hot, like fire. It was aimed at Larson and not me. Luckily for him, he had the cross to keep it from affecting him too much. The strength of it felt like it would have made his blood boil in his veins. She had on a black sheath dress, split to way above a generous hip, flashing ass and more as she leaped back and forth in her black spike heels.

  Larson was holding the cross high and standing his ground, but he didn’t look good. Maybe it was the redhead’s power spilling around the safety of the cross, maybe it was the screams of the three—shrill, bloodcurdling screams that grated on your nerve endings like sandpaper.

  Maybe he was just tired. He had held them off all the way down the hallway and into the dungeon with only a cross. He had done better than I would have thought, but that didn’t matter now. I could see him faltering, his strength waning. If he dropped the cross or stumbled, they would be on him like a pack of rabid jackals.

  He’d done what I had asked, he had kept them from coming up behind me. Puny Larson had held the monsters at bay and it was time for me to relieve him. I’d had enough of their damned screeching anyway. Pointing my gun in their direction, I sighted down my arm and along the line of the laser. The world narrowed to just them, the end of the barrel, and the red dot. Whistling loudly, I got their attention. They all turned as one and snarled in my direction. My lungs filled with more calming air.