27
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Some of the fight had spilled out of the ballroom and into the hallway. A pair of wolves the size of small horses circled each other, snarling, their lips drawn back to reveal fangs as long as my fingers. One, a huge, brindled male, bore the exact markings of the wolf in my vision. But he wasn’t alone. All of the vampires’ wolves were marked identically. There was a knife in my right hand. I didn’t remember drawing it. But as I came through the door I was glad to have it, because almost instantly one of the vampires moved to attack.
I ducked, and her strike missed. She turned, and would have come at me again, but Tom was there. He leaped onto her, teeth and claws tearing at her flesh with deadly efficiency.
I turned, thinking I’d help him, but he didn’t need it. My eyes moved past him, to the scene in the ballroom. For a single instant I froze, taking it all in.
Our werewolves were losing. Individually, they could take down the vampires. They could even take down individuals among the vampires’ wolves. But while the werewolves were terrific fighters, there was no unity. No organization. The vampiric wolves were a unit, working together seamlessly as if driven by a single mind. Because they were.
One mind. Dylan’s mind. If I could find him, take him down, every one of those identical brindled wolves would have no leader, no coordination and will of their own.
I turned, searching with eyes and mind. He was here. I knew he was here. Where was he?
Dusty grabbed my arm. Screaming my name, she yanked me backward hard enough to make me stumble. But it worked. The brindled wolf missed in his strike. He crouched low, growling, and I saw four others move into a coordinated position behind him. They were going to flank us if they could, and they were fast enough to do it. Tom crouched low, guarding our backs, his growl a low rumble that sent tremors along my spine. I might not have heard it over the battle noise, but I felt it, knew that he was there with me.
We need to find Dylan. He’s the key to this. If we can take him down, the vampires will fall. Uncle Dylan? Her voice in my mind was surprised. It occurred to me that she hadn’t been present for any of the conversations. She honestly didn’t know. But now wasn’t the time to discuss it.
He’s alive and he’s gone nuts from the Thrall infestation. He’s the one in charge. It was enough for her. She’d known Dylan her whole life. I had no doubt she knew what he was capable of. The wolves were moving forward, cautiously. Their huge copper-and-black bodies moved with a fluid efficiency that was disturbingly beautiful, almost dancelike in its coordination. I braced myself, waiting for the attack, and heard the crack of a gun. The lead wolf fell in mid-leap, a tranq dart sticking from his neck. I looked for the source, and saw three of Brooks’s men on the dais: Adams and one other were standing guard behind a barricade of overturned tables. The third, acting as sniper, was methodically taking down as many vampires and attacking wolves as he could. The three remaining wolves leaped. Tom collided with the largest in midair, teeth and claws tearing as each tore into the other, looking for an advantage.
Dusty screamed, a cry of both rage and pain. I wanted to look, but I couldn’t. The third wolf was on me. His paws hit me solidly in the chest, and I fell to the ground with him riding me, the wind knocked from my lungs in a rush. He could have had me then, would have, but the brace saved me. His fangs and claws scraped uselessly against the fiberglass carapace. He threw his head back, howling in frustration. I didn’t think, I acted. Using my cast as a guard, I thrust upward with the knife in my right hand, the razor sharp blade slicing through the thick ruff of fur and skin protecting his neck, ripping through the major arteries, sending scalding hot blood in a pulsing spray that soaked me. The wolf tried to scream, tried to fight. But it was too late. I clubbed him with my cast, bringing up my knees so that I could thrust him off of my body. He fell, dying. In my heart, I knew I’d just killed a person. But it was also an abomination. In its place, I would want to have died. Rationalization, true, but it was honest. I rose, wiping the blood from my eyes with the back of my sleeve. Dusty was still fighting her foe a few feet from me. Tom was alive, I could see him circling his enemy. But beyond him, in a corner, surrounded by a ring of wolves standing guard, was Dylan.
I could see him clearly. He, alone, was not under attack. He stood wearing jeans and a navy blue dress shirt, completely unmarked, handsome as ever. Looking at him chilled me because I could see that he felt nothing. All this pain, all this death, none of it mattered to him so long as he got what he wanted. All he wanted was to see me in pain. I turned back to Dusty. I couldn’t leave her under attack. I needed to take the fight to Dylan, but I’d see her safe first. The wolf attacking her didn’t see me. Didn’t know. Nor had Dylan noticed me. Not yet. I started forward, intending to use my knife, but a shot rang out. The wolf fell victim to the marksman. I heard Dylan’s shout of rage over the chaos. Turning, I saw him gesture. Half a dozen of the wolves of his personal guard flowed forward as a unit toward the sniper and his two guards.
Shoot the man in charge. Shoot Dylan. I tried to force my thoughts into the mind of the sniper, but it was useless. I should have known it would be. Brooks had chosen these men for the simple reason that they were completely headblind. He wouldn’t hear me. He couldn’t. There were still a dozen of the brindled wolves surrounding Dylan. I needed something to draw them off. A distraction.
And then it occurred to me.
He could control his wolves, lead them as a unit. Could I lead ours? Was I strong enough psychically? Would the werewolves accept my lead? Is that what Carlton had meant… why the queens had feared me?
I grabbed Dusty’s hand as I grabbed her power. Using our combined gifts I called to the Accas who had been part of my healing, whose power had been linked to me and mine. I used no words, they were wolves now in full blood lust. Words meant nothing. But I offered them a target, offered them coordinated attack, leadership, pack. I knew it was working when the first howl belled through the room, a furious challenge. Furred shapes began converging around me, their voices raised in a defiant chorus that joined to become a single song … of unity … of strength.
The brindled wolves hesitated, because Dylan hesitated. He sensed what I was doing, sensed me. I watched as he turned, slowly, his eyes blazing with hatred as he sought me, now standing in a circle of wolves that matched his.
I will kill you. His words were a hiss in my mind. I saw him draw a blade, probably six inches long, from a sheath at his waistband. He took a step forward, and the vampiric wolves surged forward in a wave. You can try.
With a thought, all of Dylan’s wolves returned to him, abandoning their various fights to join the charge against me and mine.
But the werewolves joined me; along with the cops, and the human surrogates, even the few waiters and staff members who’d survived the first onslaught. Brooks came, fighting beside a pair of wolves I recognized as Rob and a half-healed Annie from Las Vegas, Bryan, my brother, his shirt in tatters that revealed the green fiberglass of his neck guard, a broken chair leg in one hand, knife in the other. The vampires and their wolves charged, and we met that charge head on, and this time we weren’t the ones losing.
The battle surged, and it was chaos. There were enemies everywhere. So many enemies, but there was only one Dylan. He could only look one place at a time, while I gave my wolves the freedom to think for themselves—connected them just enough to know, but not to control. I fought with every ounce of strength and skill I’d earned through years of training, practice, and experience, forcing myself to ignore the cries of pain, the sight of friends and allies falling to our foes. I fought, ignoring the pain and exhaustion of my body, carving my way toward Dylan inch by bloody inch, determined that it would be me who finally took him down.
And then I was there. He turned, pulling his bloody knife from the corpse of one of the surrogates, his eyes blazing with a burning hatred.
I grabbed his arm with both hands.
He expected an attack, expected me to shove as much psychic power as I could gather into him, as I had when I’d killed Samantha Greeley. But he was expecting that. He was ready for that. Instead I pulled. Pulled energy from him as hard and fast as I could, shoving it into my allies to give them strength. It shocked him. He stumbled, staggered for just a moment: gave me an opening. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Yes, he’d taken over the collective, brutalized them, made it a dictatorship. But if he died, they’d die and they wanted to live.
I felt their will to survive and for a split second I hesitated. How many of them were like Toby, forced to do something they hated because they weren’t strong enough to fight him off? I hesitated. Tom didn’t.
He leaped, snarling, the full weight of his body slamming into Dylan’s chest. I heard a masculine scream, Dylan’s scream, cut off abruptly in the wake of a wet tearing sound and the crunch of crushed bone. The vampires fell first, felled in their tracks, hands grabbing their heads as they collapsed to the floor screaming and frothing at the mouth.
The vampiric wolves followed, each muzzle raised to give an almost unearthly keening that ended with their collapse and death.
I swayed on my feet in the middle of a charnel house. The carpet beneath my feet was so soaked with blood you couldn’t even see the black-and-gray pattern any more; so soaked it squished when you stepped on it. There were mangled bodies everywhere, ripped apart to show parts of the body not meant to be seen by human eyes. There were so many bodies, not all of them our enemies.
I swayed on my feet, and would’ve fallen. But Tom’s strong arms caught me before I could hit the floor. I felt the room spinning and darkness was eating at my vision. But I heard his voice, clear and strong…even though it was just a whisper. “Before you pass out, I need to say something. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll try not to freak out if you ever have to do your superhero thing again, just like you try to support my firefighting. And we’ll both go to counseling or find a support group or whatever. Because I’m not going to risk losing you. Not ever. Not to any vampires we didn’t get, not to my crazy ex-girlfriends or your crazy ex-boyfriends, and not to my fear.”
“It’s a deal.” I fought to smile, but all I could manage was a soft sigh before the lights went out. It was over.
28
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The first two days I slept the sleep of the completely exhausted. The doctors hadn’t been wrong. I’d pushed myself too hard, and I paid the price for it. But it was worth it. The Thrall were gone. All of them. I try not to think about it, but it’s impossible not to. I hesitated to kill Dylan, not because of some lingering affection for him. Any feelings I had for him were long dead. But not every Thrall host had been evil. Carlton was spared because of his surgery. Otherwise he’d have died with them. Just like Toby. Taking down Dylan killed thousands of hosts around the world. It feels—odd not to have to shield out the hum of the hive. The silence in my head is almost frightening. I suppose I’ll get used to it. But right now I’m a little unsteady. Tom understands. He’s been incredibly gentle with me, putting up with my mood swings and the nightmares, where I relive being shut in the car trunk. From what Carlton tells me, Elaine wasn’t working with the vampires. She underestimated them. She considered Mary a threat to her power base and decided to get Mary and me out of the way so that she would be the one who saved the day—permanently cementing her position at the top of the wolf hierarchy. Her mistake cost her her life. The doctors got to Mary in time to counteract the worst of the drug overdose. She actually is recovering better than I am. Still, we’re both expected to be just fine by my wedding day.
Yes, wedding day. The wolves have officially given their blessing to the marriage of one Mary Kathleen Reilly to Thomas Bishop and the adoption of Jacqueline Ruby Bishop. I am considered a surrogate with all of the powers and privileges thereof, including participation in pack decisions. Mary was the one to deliver the news. She seemed a little uneasy about it. It was almost as if she’s afraid I might cause trouble. Me? Trouble? Not if I can help it. I’ve had more than enough trouble for one lifetime already.
29
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I stood in my slip, balancing Jacqueline on my hip as I watched Peg zip Mary into her dress. It was really happening. No more delays. No more crises.
I was getting married.
Holy crap.
Outside that door, friends and family were filing into the church. I could hear them through the paper-thin walls. Carlton arrived, along with his daughter. There was no mistaking his voice as he introduced her to Fido. For the first time, I heard Tom laugh when the word was spoken.
I heard a knock on the door and knew it was Ruby and Mrs. Connolly.
“Come on in,” I called as I stepped out of the line of sight of the door. They came, bringing with them the baby carrier. It was their job to look after Jacqueline during the ceremony. That they were here meant that it was almost time.
I gave the baby one last kiss before passing her off to her birth mother and then, on impulse, gave the girl a hug. Ruby looked good. Wistful, but happy. My mind brushed hers. I wanted to know if she was doing okay. It was a relief to find out that she really was. Moving home had been the right choice for her. She believed that. Yes, she missed Jacqueline, but she knew that Tom and I would love her, give her a good home. And knowing that, and that she could visit whenever she wanted, made it okay.
She hugged me back fiercely. “Congratulations, Katie. I’m so happy for you. For all three of you.”
“Thanks.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Connolly announced. “Everybody out. The bride has only got a few more minutes to get ready and you’re all in the way. SHOO!” She scooted everyone out the door, then closed it firmly behind them.
“Let me help you into the dress,” she offered. I didn’t argue. I was terrified I’d rip it. It looked so fragile, the beaded ivory silk seeming as delicate as a spiderweb to a woman more used to leather and denim. I slipped it on, letting her pull the long zipper up my back. It fit like a glove. No surprise. She’d tailored it perfectly to my body. This dress was her wedding gift to me. It wasn’t my mother’s dress. That was long gone, and wouldn’t have fit anyway. But she’d used a copy of my parents’ wedding picture to re-create it, just for me. Taking the hairbrush, she pulled the two front sections of my hair back, pushing the combs of the veil back to hold it in place. Only then did she step away, letting me turn in front of the mirror and look. Um … I was beautiful. Really and truly, for the first time ever. The dress, the veil, everything looked like a magazine ad. It might not be my mother’s wedding dress, but it was the image of what she’d worn the day she’d walked down the aisle as Da’s bride.