Taming the Darkness: Love & Monsters, Book 2 (3 page)

“
What
progress?” He and Claire had done little else than argue and annoy each other, often at the same time.

“You’ve made more progress than any of the other pairs, and the brass is getting impatient,” Alston said. “They want results. If you impress us tonight, you can go on patrol tomorrow.”

Victor almost drooled at the idea. The night sky, fresh air, no walls. And as many nasties as he could kill. But to get there, he had to keep Claire alive in the pit. He glared at her. “Stay in the corner and stay out of my way.”

Her smile looked more like a challenge. “I’m not just going to stand there and watch you fight, not in here and not out there. Someone please give me a gun.”

Victor growled deeper. “I can’t control myself when I’m fighting.”

“You keep saying that, and you keep proving yourself wrong.” One of the guards handed her a sidearm and she checked it.

“This is different. You don’t want to be standing next to me when the monster has free rein.” All it knew when it was down in the pit was fighting and killing.

She chambered a round. “If you come at me, I’ll take out your kneecap. That should slow you down.” The smell of fear rose off her, which actually comforted him. She wasn’t going to be reckless.

He stepped aside, which made the guards jumpy. They hated any sudden move he made. “Ladies first.” She brushed past him and opened the door to the pit. The smell of fear increased, which was going to make her a nice target for the nasty. He’d have to make sure he drew its attention, maybe by biting off a piece of it.

The smell of bleach and other disinfectants tingled in his nose as he followed Claire down the stairs. “You’re crazy.”

“Makes us even,” she snapped back.

It surprised a laugh out of him. She stopped in the center of the room and took a wide stance with her gun up and ready.

“I told you to go in the corner,” he said.

“I told you I wasn’t going to.” She gave him another challenging look.

Any second, the far door was going to slide up and something would come out to attack them. He should have asked what it was this time. Too late now. “Don’t shoot me by accident.”

“If I shoot you, it won’t be an accident. Kneecap, remember?”

Victor snorted.

The panel slid up, metal on metal. Victor’s gaze fixed on it, the thing inside him calling out for blood and violence. Would Claire really shoot him in the kneecap? Would that do anything but piss him off if he went for her?
Wait, I’m thinking.
His mind usually wasn’t this sharp at night, especially not when he was down in the pit.

For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Then it stalked out, barely fitting through the door. The hellhound looked something like a hyena blown out of proportion and with extra parts. It had four horns, two on each side of its head, and a long set of jaws with a double row of teeth. It had a few names, but the most common was hellhound. It looked at Victor first, the biggest threat in the room. Then it sniffed the air and turned to Claire. Her fear wafted through the air. The hellhound growled deep, saliva dripping from its jaws. The one upside was that hellhounds weren’t infectious, but that would be a small comfort if it got those jaws around Claire and snapped her in two.

Growling, Victor lunged forward and to the side, putting himself between the hellhound and Claire. The hellhound rushed forward and Victor met the attack, going for the creature’s throat. No playing around today. The huge jaws proved to be quite a problem and he barely missed getting a chunk torn out of him. They broke apart and faced off, snarling, each looking for a weakness. A gunshot roared through the room and the hellhound yelped. It swung its huge head around and fixed its yellow eyes on Claire.
Oh fuck.

“Claire!”

The hellhound tensed to pounce, but Victor was faster. He slammed into the creature, knocking it briefly onto its back. It recovered, snapping at him. Victor avoided the teeth and the short but sharp claws, his own claws growing longer. The hellhound twisted around to get his soft belly against the ground and Victor jumped onto its back. He raked a furrow down its side, drawing a horrid keening sound from the nasty that echoed off the walls.

The nasty bucked, throwing him hard into the wall. Victor got to his feet, but the thing was already running. Claire shot it again and it stumbled but didn’t stop. He raced toward the hellhound and whipped out his hand just as the thing leapt. His claws caught it in the leg and he pulled, yanking it back and down. It hit the floor with a thud only three feet from Claire. At least she had the sense to back away, sliding along the wall.

Victor jumped on it again, getting a better grip this time. Trying to get at him, the nasty brought its head up and Victor darted a hand under its chin. Claws sank deep into flesh and the tang of blood filled his nose. The hellhound yelped and gurgled, still trying to get at him. With a snarl of triumph, Victor tore out the hellhound’s throat. It didn’t fall right away, but kept struggling as blood gushed from the wound. It sagged to the floor, growing weaker, but Victor wasn’t going to take chances. He grabbed its head and yanked back sharply, breaking its spine. If the torn throat or the broken back hadn’t killed it, the nasty would be too damaged to be much of a threat.

Victor got off the limp body and watched it for a moment. It made mewling sounds as blood spread in a pool around it. He slowly backed away, fighting the desire to lick the blood from his hand. Or eat the hellhound. Another gunshot deafened him and the hellhound stopped moving. He looked over at Claire. She still had her gun trained on the nasty.

“Gonna come after me next?” she asked.

“No.” Even the monster inside him wasn’t considering attacking her.

Claire lowered her gun. “Looks like we can call this a success then.”

“You drew its attention. Don’t do that,” he growled.

“I’m not going to stand there and just watch you.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He took a few steps toward her.

She lifted her gun a little. “I’ve been fighting nasties for
years
. I fucking know how to stay alive.”

She had a point, but he wasn’t going to
say
that. Victor brought his hand up and licked blood off his fingers. Claire’s face twitched as she tried not to show her disgust. “Let’s go see if they liked our performance.”

Chapter Three

This wasn’t her part of town, and that made her jumpy. What made her more jumpy was how close Monroe was. “Stop breathing on me.”

“You smell good.”

She scanned the street. “What, like food?” Would he turn on her now that they were out here with no one watching them?

“Like something I want to fuck. I want to roll around in your scent and wake up with it still on my skin.”

Her mouth dropped open and she stared at him. Victor had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t have much of a filter left.”

“Filter?”

“Between my brain and my mouth.”

Although she didn’t want to take her eyes off him, she swallowed and turned back to the street. “You mean between your dick and your mouth.” There were enough problems to deal with without
this
.

“That too. I bet I could do that. Put my dick in my mouth. I’m way more flexible than I used to be.”

Claire kept walking. “You’re disgusting.”

“You just figure that out?”

“No. Just pointing it out.” It was awfully quiet out here tonight. Maybe it was just the location.

He put a hand on her arm and she turned, ready to snap at him. Then she saw the alert expression on his face. He put a finger to his lips and then pointed ahead to their right. She squinted but couldn’t see anything.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

“No.”

“I’ll flush it toward you and you can shoot it as much as you want.”

She gave him a skeptical look. Well, if he ran off on her, she would just have to follow him. She nodded. Monroe, carrying no weapons and wearing a baggy sweat suit, stalked toward whatever he heard. A dozen yards away, he stopped and changed his body. She couldn’t see much from the back, but she still watched in sick fascination. Did it hurt when he did that? Fingers stretched into claws, his already broad shoulders spread wider and she could only guess at what his legs were doing under his pants. He walked forward again, completely silent, his attention focused on a house near the middle of the block. The building was completely covered in ivy except for the tilted, crumbling roof.

Claire kept thinking about last night, how he’d killed the hellhound. The way he’d called her name when the nasty turned toward her. Monroe had been protecting her, like a partner should, but with him it was so strange.

He was now in the deep grass of the yard and leaned down low. He kept moving forward and it looked weird until she realized he was walking on all fours.
Like an animal. Or one of them.
She swallowed. He went around the side of the house and she fought an urge to follow him. Was it a trick? Was he running as far and fast as he could, escaping into the night?

A moment passed where all she could hear was her own breathing and the light wind in the trees. Then a low growl and a rustling made her bring her gun up. Something rushed at her out of the darkness. She hesitated for a second, wondering if it was Monroe, but it was too small. A furbug. Six legs, a long thick neck, claws, a wide mouth, body covered in fur. Furbug, what a stupid name. Sometimes the dumbest names stuck, and you just couldn’t call it anything else.

As the nasty closed the distance, Monroe appeared around the side of the house, chasing it. Flushing it toward her, just like he’d said.
Just like a hunting dog.
Claire fired and bright muzzle flashes left imprints on her vision. The nasty stumbled with the first hit, stopped with the second and fell over with the third. She kept firing, making sure it was dead.

Monroe got up to the furbug and she stopped shooting. “Took me literally,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I said you could shoot it as much as you wanted. It’s dead.” He looked disappointed.

“Plenty more where that came from.” She put in a fresh clip and stored the half-full one in her vest.

He looked up at her. Even in the green night vision of her goggles, his eyes looked different. The left one was brighter. The corner of his mouth turned up. “Next one is mine.”

She didn’t even see the next one. A few minutes after she killed the furbug, Monroe ran off into an overgrown yard. A bit of growling and rustling, then he came back looking satisfied with a dark fluid dripping from his claws. “Easy.”

Claire actually felt a pang of jealousy. She’d gotten used to coming out here night after night, but Monroe looked comfortable. Like he belonged out here.
He does. He’s one of them.
He reinforced her thought by walking along beside her on all fours. She kept imagining him turning and biting her leg, dragging her down and eating her. Monroe brushed up against her and she jumped. “Stop it.” She turned and trained her gun on him.

“What?” He sat back like a dog, and she didn’t want to know what he’d done to his legs to make them move that way.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You started it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He tilted his head. “You touched me first. In the cell.”

“That was
days
ago.”

“You started it.”

She sighed and lowered her gun. “I don’t care. Stop touching me. You’re freaking me out.”

He lowered his head and she heard the snapping and popping that meant he was shifting his body. He pulled his legs under him so he was now on his knees. The noises continued for a few more seconds, and then he stood, looking as human as he had when they’d left the city. “Can I touch you now?”

“No.” She tightened her hand on her gun. “I don’t care what you look like. It doesn’t change what you are.” She didn’t want him too close, and yet she trusted him to keep her safe. She could focus her attention on him because if there were any nasties around, he would alert her.

“But you touched me in the cell.” He shifted his feet but didn’t move any closer.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I had to prove I could.”

“Prove that you weren’t afraid.” He clenched and unclenched his hand.

“Something like that.”

He took a few steps toward her and she lifted her gun.

“Let me touch you. Please.” Victor lifted his hand. “I won’t hurt you.”

She backed away. “Why?”

He narrowed his eyes. “I could rush you, take the gun away, have you pinned on the ground in a second.”

“Are you threatening me?” Why did she think coming out here with him was a good idea? Now he was going to do what hundreds of nights facing nasties hadn’t done—leave her dead on the street.

“No. I could, but I won’t because I can control myself. Just a little. Just enough.” He stepped toward her. “Need to touch you.”

Claire took two more steps back and bumped into the rusted remains of a car. Monroe kept coming, full of coiled energy, but his steps were measured. Her heart beat faster and louder and her arms trembled a little. She didn’t want to shoot him, but she couldn’t bring herself to lower the gun. He got close enough to wrap a hand around the muzzle, and he pushed it aside as he stopped just inches from her. Keeping one hand on the gun, he used the other to push her goggles up on her head. Claire blinked at the darkness. She could barely make out his face in the moonlight, but his left eye glowed faintly blue. Wondering what he was going to do, she tried to plan ways to buy herself a few seconds. Twisting out of the way and running. Kneeing him in the balls and running. Anything she did would probably cost her the gun since he still had a grip on the muzzle, but she had two handguns. How many bullets would it take to keep him down?