Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) (24 page)

Read Big Game (The V V Inn, Book 3) Online

Authors: C.J. Ellisson

Tags: #Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Chapter twenty-nine

Drew

 

It’s been hours since
I was dragged into this room and left in a heap on the floor. My injuries healed while I searched every square inch of the dark space, seeking a way out. My labors proved fruitless, forcing me to sit and wait—wondering if the two men will come or leave me here to rot.

The only saving grace in our failed rescue attempt is I didn’t endanger Chelly by bringing her here. Sure, the three in the hotel can’t fly the jet home, but if they don’t hear from us in a few days, they know to board a plane and get back to the safety of the inn.

By the feel deep in my bones, I can tell the sun has risen. The desire to fall into a restorative sleep calls like the warmth of a fire on a cold, wet night. Fear over what awaits when I shut my eyes drives me to bite my tongue to stay awake. Anyone could come in and stake me without my being able to stop them.

The hours run together until I’m no longer aware of the time I’ve been sitting here, resisting the peaceful lull of sleep. A shuffle sounds in the hall. A figure pauses by my door, and a soft knock breaks the silence. Would a captor knock, or just unlock the door and come in?

“Hello?” I call out, feeling stupid. Who the hell could be trying to rescue me?

For the next few minutes I hear metal scraping in the lock. I crawl toward the sound, waiting to see what happens next. The handle jiggles and the cold steel barrier swings inward. Bright light from the hall burns my eyes, blinding me as Rafe’s familiar scent meets my nose.

“Rafe?” I ask, stumbling to my feet. “Is that you?”

“Shh, not so loud, you fool.” He shoves some small metal pieces into his pocket. “Yes, it’s me. Come out, quick.”

I lunge for the door, adrenaline fueling me when my heavy muscles want to lie down and rest. My shoulder smacks into the doorjamb, and I stagger into the hall. Rafe looks cool and collected, the reek of fresh vampire blood coming off him in waves, despite his clean appearance.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Who did you kill?”

Rafe shows no expression, his gaze intense, mouth set in a firm line. “Coraline.” He darts a glance up and down the hall before marching along the long, winding corridor like he owns it. I lurch forward to follow, my movements becoming smoother with each step. “I’ve been searching for hours and have only found you.” He glances back over his shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”

I recount the events as briefly and quietly as I can, all too aware we’re in enemy territory.

“How far did they drag you before placing you in there?” he asks when we get to a point where the hall splits two ways.

I stop dead in my tracks. “Good point.” Rafe hears me halt and turns to face me. “They didn’t take me far. Paul has got to be in one of the rooms nearby. Back the way we came.”

We turn around, and I can’t help but notice something feels different about Rafe. He’s always been a big man, but he’s never used his size before, if that makes sense. He stalks with purpose, whereas in the past he’s held himself more aloof and in the background.

It’s like he’s purposely taken a back seat to Vivian’s over-the-top, despotic-ruler ways. I’d assumed his deference was out of necessity rather than an actual choice on his part. The look in his eye and the way he’s holding that iron poker next to his leg have me scrambling to reassess the laid back man.

The sound of footsteps approaching the corner spurns Rafe to act. The poker swings back and overhead in an arc, smashing into the vampire’s skull as he comes into view, sending the man careening into a wall. Rafe tosses the poker, which I catch before it hits me. He kicks in the nearest door and drags the still form of the vampire inside.

“Get in!” he shouts. “Shut the door!”

Shock runs through me as I rush to obey, slapping on a light and closing the door as fast as I can. Rafe kneels over the vampire, ripping the fallen man’s shirt open, buttons flying with enough force to sail across the storage room. He draws a dagger from behind his back and cuts into the man’s chest as the vampire starts to stir.

Rafe holds him down and shouts, “Hit him again, dammit!”

The command in his voice holds a measure of compulsion, and I leap forward, no hesitation in my actions. The poker comes down and bashes the unknown man’s head, the force splitting it like a melon.

Blood and gore pour onto the concrete and his struggles cease. The horror of what I’ve done pales when I glance down at Rafe, who is wrist deep in the man’s chest. I backpedal, unsure what do to and unprepared for the quickness of this man’s demise.

Rarely have I witnessed a vampire’s death come so swiftly. No clash of power, no fighting, no warning, just wham—someone cracks you in the skull and you’re dead. Rafe remains emotionless as he works, his face a mask of stoic determination.

When he’s done, he flings the heart across the room. It lands with a sickening splat and slides out of view. My stomach heaves as I struggle to swallow my disgust.

“We’ll need to come back later to burn it.” Rafe opens a box and rummages inside. He pulls out some stored napkin linens and proceeds to clean his arms. After a moment, he looks in my direction, not failing to see the shocked horror still on my face.

“He was one of the vampires who abducted us from our suite,” he says.

I nod, not so sure his statement rings true. He took that swing before the man rounded the corner. “How did you know it was him?”

Rafe finishes his clean up and tosses the bloody rags to the floor. In two steps, he’s in my space, staring down into my eyes. “I recognized his scent.”

I nod and look away, wishing to God I could keep my mouth shut. Of course, with his enhanced strengths from Vivian he’d be more attuned in his senses.

Rafe gently takes the poker from my unresisting hands and steps toward the door. This is a side of Rafe I’ve never seen and I’m unsure how to proceed. He is undoubtedly the leader in the seethe without Vivian present, and we need to focus on getting to her, no matter the unpleasant tasks.

“Can you handle this, Drew?” he asks, no judgment in his tone, just a calm acceptance.

I straighten my spine, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Yeah. Sorry about that. The fight happened so fast, I wasn’t prepared.”

“I don’t fight.” Rafe looks over his shoulder and smiles, the humor not reaching his eyes. “I kill.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t fight an opponent stronger than you.” His breathing appears even, despite the adrenaline he must have coursing through his body, and his eyes look steady. “The only way you’ll win is with the element of surprise—which you lose in a straight fight. You strike first, go in hard, and make the kill. You may never get a second chance.”

I nod, unused to the guerrilla-warfare train of thought. The sport of fencing I grew up with had rules and honor. Steps to follow and an understanding of how parties involved played the game.

The death laid out behind us is stark and horrible, cold and unyielding, swift and unmerciful. As Rafe slips into the hall, I can’t help but make the comparison—he’s all of those things, too.

And to think, all this time I thought Vivian was the one to fear the most.

 

 

 
Chapter Thirty

Jonathan

 

Candy returned thirty
minutes after the sun rose. She arrived cold and exhausted, but full of information. The vampires are no help in the daylight, and Eric, Pat and I prepare to slip through the tunnels to track and capture the hunters. We’re each armed with tazers and zip-cords to secure and bring them back for questioning.

Kotsana ranted to kill them on sight, and had to be sedated by the doctor in an upstairs guestroom. Romeo’s pack isn’t too thrilled with not being included on our upcoming venture, but since they can’t access the tunnels or get past the sniper rifles it’s a moot point.

Weak sunlight from a cloud-filled sky casts an odd half-light to the outdoors. Approaching these bastards like men, face-to-face, is the only way to subdue them without injury. Pat bitched the entire way here about wanting to put a cap in their asses, too. Shouting he’d like to see how they liked it. His complaining was more for our amusement than anything else.

I don’t doubt his integrity. He’ll stay the course. Besides, we aren’t carrying guns. Despite the possible danger, I feel light-hearted and unafraid. We’re on our land—frozen tundra that it may be—and we’re going to take it back from the demented bastards aiming to kill us.

As we approach the first location Candy showed us on the map, I signal for the other two to fan out. Adrenaline washes through my system, bringing my wolf senses and instincts closer to the forefront. The yearning to rip and kill runs just below the surface, like a caged beast eager for the slightest provocation to lunge.

Our steps through the brush are slow, measured, and quiet to not reveal our location. Ahead, behind a tall bush, I see the darker shadow of a man. He’s covered on all sides by branches, and if I hadn’t approached from the right angle, thanks to Candy’s direction, I could have easily missed him.

I reach the edge of the scrub and whistle softly. The camouflaged man whips around at the noise, his rifle caught in the branches, a surprised look on his face. My fist snaps forward and cold clocks him once, hard. He goes down like a bag of rocks, as Eric and Pat rush forward, no pretense at stealth needed anymore.

We manhandle the guy out of the bush and roll him over, zipping together his wrists then ankles. Pat takes great glee in biting off a length of duct tape and slapping it over the man’s slack mouth.

“That’s one bitch down and two more to go. Boo-yah!” His fist pumps through the air.

We search his pockets and disarm him of all weapons, taking clips and knives with us. Eric smashes the hunter’s radio and leaves it next to the man’s former hiding spot.

“Hustle his body back to the cabin and put him face down on the floor,” I say to Eric. “Pat and I will go to the next location, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Meet you soon.” He hefts the unconscious man over his shoulder and runs back the way we came.

“How ‘bout letting me take point on this one?” Pat asks, the eager light of the chase in his eyes.

I open my mouth to agree, but something holds me back. The first catch may have been easy, but if anything happens with the next two, I don’t want either pup in the direct line of fire. I shake my head. “Not this time. Let’s stick to the plan for now.”

“Yeah, fine. You’re a fucking glory hound is all. Admit it.” The crooked-nose bastard smiles and ducks into the woods before I can reply.

I laugh softly and move to catch up. We walk side-by-side, loping deep into the tundra to search for the next hunter. According to Candy, this one is hanging out in a deep fissure where the land pushed up on a frost upheaval.

Forty-five minutes pass before we work our way up behind the guy. The crack in the frozen ground he’s hiding appears long and narrow. I step too close to the brittle edge and slip, sending a rock cascading down the interior.

The sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough to alert the man to our presence. He leaves his rifle on its secure mount and grabs his radio while turning to investigate. He’s a mirror image of the first camouflaged guy, slightly bigger with a scraggily, brown beard. He spots me as I try to halt my slide.

One gloved finger punches the radio button and he screams, “Greg, they found me!” He drops the radio and fumbles for his sidearm.

I dive to the bottom of the shallow ravine, watching him take aim. Scrambling to stay moving, I launch myself to the opposite slopping dirt wall, right as the hunter squeezes off the first shot. The bullet misses by several feet and the steaming muzzle takes aim again.

Pat drops onto the hunter from above. The young Were shoves his tazer into the back of the man’s neck, zapping him before another shot flies.

The big guy jerks and drops, proving no matter the size, a tazer makes a great equalizer. Eric runs up while we’re securing the man’s spasming limbs. The sharp, astringent scent of urine fills the air, and a dark, wet spot grows on the front of the unconscious man’s pants.

I smile up at Pat. “You used the tazer, you haul the wet one.”

He shrugs, unperturbed by the thought, still smiling from taking the man down.

“But it’ll have to wait,” I say. “You heard the guy. He’s already informed the third man we’re out here. The advantage is we know where he is and he doesn’t know it. Let’s get there—and be on the lookout for him heading this way.”

The high from successfully stopping the first two hunters feels tight with tension. My slip on the stones almost earned me a slug. While I’d easily heal from a regular bullet that didn’t hit my heart or head, I have no desire to test the werewolf ability against silver rounds.

As Jerry illustrated last fall when shooting Ivan, the silver bullets aren’t accurate over long distance. If one of the Army’s best snipers lands a shoulder wound at a hundred yards, instead of the headshot he was aiming for, you know the accuracy is lacking.

The young Weres run beside me across the tundra. Last night’s freezing temperatures still hold, making the cold air burn our lungs with each breath. In a blur of brown and green, Pat breaks to the right and Eric to the left. I take the lead as we close in, under a mile from the last hunter’s location.

The uneven terrain shifts day to day, often surprising those of us familiar with its quirks. I slow my pace when I spot the recent frost upheavals, unwilling to fall into one holding a steel trap like Naomi did. The dead grasses reach chest high in some patches, making it hard to discern the swift moving Weres flanking me.

A grunt off to the left pulls my attention, the soft noise dying away almost as quick as it sounded. This close to the third hunter, I don’t want to risk calling out Eric’s name, so I angle in the direction I last saw him, jogging silently over the terrain.

After about fifty yards, I find him. He lies on the ground, cradling his ankle in both hands. He looks up and motions to a deep hole near his feet. “Broke my ankle. Snapped like a dry twig.”

“Stay down and stay quiet,” I say, eyeing the bone sticking through his sock. Compound fractures hurt like a bitch, but the young man holds the pain in without complaint.

Eric nods, assuring me to go, and starts to collect twigs and grasses. “I’ll brace it the best I can until the doc can get to it.”

“We’ll loop back and get you after we take down the last one.” I get twenty feet when the familiar sound of a round being chambered in a rifle whips my head up.

The last lone hunter stands less than fifty feet away. Dressed like the other two in camouflage and cold weather hunting gear, he’s holding a long-range rifle to his shoulder. His sites are set square on my chest. At this distance he could make a big hole in me.

I raise my hands to show I’m unarmed. “Hey man,” I call out. “Do you know you’re hunting on private property?” I casually walk to my left, away from Eric, drawing the man’s aim with me.

“I know what you are,” the hunter says.

I shrug, trying to stall as long as I can, hoping Pat hears our voices and flanks behind him. “I’m just a man out here walking.”

“No, you’re not. You’re an abomination.” He lowers his cheek to the stock preparing to squeeze the trigger.

I lunge to the side as the crack of the large caliber ricochets across the tundra. Fire blooms in my shoulder, the force of the bullet spinning me around. The burning pain associated with silver courses through my veins, ripping an involuntary scream from my lungs. As I fall to the ground, I hear scuffles from the direction the hunter stood. Blackness creeps in, obscuring my vision as the sucking agony steals my consciousness.

 

 

 

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