was old red brick, a rectangular block three stories tall and a half-dozen apartments wide. Dark rust stains from the iron balconies ran down the brickwork, looking like dried blood.
Ricky had said Nick was holed up in 312, on the top floor facing the railroad tracks.
The Nissan pickup truck that Nick had rented was parked on the side of the building, with a brand new Dodge Ram 1500 behind it, blocking it in. The Ram had tinted glass, a custom paintjob in gleaming midnight blues, and a bulging air scoop erupting out of the hood. I’d bet my last dollar that belonged to someone in the pack. There was no sign of them, but the building’s front door was open and the lock busted.
One way of breaking things up would be to put a brick through that pretty truck’s side window. They’d be down investigating the alarm quickly enough.
But this had to be kept private. The fewer witnesses the better. And catching them inside might work in my favor; narrow corridors would prevent them from getting behind me.
I wanted Julie with me so bad I could taste it, but Ricky had been clear. No one else.
Pia was unhappy. Bian had told her to stick with me and it took a direct order for her to stay in the car.
I slipped into the building’s lobby and stopped dead.
This was like a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. I could smell Matlal.
No! The Matlal in Denver are dead. This isn’t a trap.
This must have been where they were staying when they were in Denver. Nick had tracked them down. He’d seen the boneheads following him and he’d decided to come here for a reason.
No witnesses?
It made sense. The place felt unused. Floors were bare concrete; the walls had marks and gouges where furniture had been moved carelessly. Along with Matlal, dust and decay, I could smell mold. And fresh scents of the pack.
I could hear them as well, screaming at Nick and Olivia and hammering on the door, swearing they were going to break it down if Olivia didn’t come out.
I sprinted up the stairs, pausing only to check the echoing hallways. I didn’t want a surprise coming up behind me, but the place seemed genuinely empty.
They were making so much noise they didn’t hear me. They didn’t even smell me until I was standing in the hallway.
I growled. I wasn’t trying to change to wolf, but my throat made sounds that I couldn’t normally. I had to swallow before I could speak, and even then, my voice was an octave lower.
“Ricky is going to be so pissed at you boys,” I said.
“Farrell! You jumped-up bitch. We’re going to fix this for good now.” He was a big guy, body sculpted like a boxer, with a strut like a farmyard rooster. I made him as the ringleader, so he got Bone One as his target name. Neither Ricky’s name nor my status seemed to have any effect on his intentions.
“Time for you to leave Denver,” he snarled, and started stalking at me as if he were confident I would turn tail and run.
Bone Two followed. He was tall and gangly, with arms like a wrestler. He moved with a loose assurance in contrast to the tight, controlled actions of Bone One.
“Time for you children to learn manners,” I said, and backed up till I had the stairwell on my right. Nothing like gravity and some hard steps to deliver a pounding to the unwary. They were still restricted by the width of the hallway to come at me one at a time, or lose the mobility of their arms.
Bone Two worried me. Bone One was too worked up to think straight. I couldn’t see enough of Bone Three to make a judgment.
I didn’t have any time, either. Bone One launched himself at me.
He showed he had experience fighting. In a bar, or on the street, especially given his Were strength, he’d be formidable. He relied on that strength, speed and aggression. Most opponents would be overwhelmed and quickly defeated.
Good thing I wasn’t most opponents.
In this close-quarter roughhouse, the odds were against me: I was smaller and lighter than them; I had less reach; I
Ricky had said Nick was holed up in 312, on the top floor facing the railroad tracks.
The Nissan pickup truck that Nick had rented was parked on the side of the building, with a brand new Dodge Ram 1500 behind it, blocking it in. The Ram had tinted glass, a custom paintjob in gleaming midnight blues, and a bulging air scoop erupting out of the hood. I’d bet my last dollar that belonged to someone in the pack. There was no sign of them, but the building’s front door was open and the lock busted.
One way of breaking things up would be to put a brick through that pretty truck’s side window. They’d be down investigating the alarm quickly enough.
But this had to be kept private. The fewer witnesses the better. And catching them inside might work in my favor; narrow corridors would prevent them from getting behind me.
I wanted Julie with me so bad I could taste it, but Ricky had been clear. No one else.
Pia was unhappy. Bian had told her to stick with me and it took a direct order for her to stay in the car.
I slipped into the building’s lobby and stopped dead.
This was like a nightmare that wouldn’t go away. I could smell Matlal.
No! The Matlal in Denver are dead. This isn’t a trap.
This must have been where they were staying when they were in Denver. Nick had tracked them down. He’d seen the boneheads following him and he’d decided to come here for a reason.
No witnesses?
It made sense. The place felt unused. Floors were bare concrete; the walls had marks and gouges where furniture had been moved carelessly. Along with Matlal, dust and decay, I could smell mold. And fresh scents of the pack.
I could hear them as well, screaming at Nick and Olivia and hammering on the door, swearing they were going to break it down if Olivia didn’t come out.
I sprinted up the stairs, pausing only to check the echoing hallways. I didn’t want a surprise coming up behind me, but the place seemed genuinely empty.
They were making so much noise they didn’t hear me. They didn’t even smell me until I was standing in the hallway.
I growled. I wasn’t trying to change to wolf, but my throat made sounds that I couldn’t normally. I had to swallow before I could speak, and even then, my voice was an octave lower.
“Ricky is going to be so pissed at you boys,” I said.
“Farrell! You jumped-up bitch. We’re going to fix this for good now.” He was a big guy, body sculpted like a boxer, with a strut like a farmyard rooster. I made him as the ringleader, so he got Bone One as his target name. Neither Ricky’s name nor my status seemed to have any effect on his intentions.
“Time for you to leave Denver,” he snarled, and started stalking at me as if he were confident I would turn tail and run.
Bone Two followed. He was tall and gangly, with arms like a wrestler. He moved with a loose assurance in contrast to the tight, controlled actions of Bone One.
“Time for you children to learn manners,” I said, and backed up till I had the stairwell on my right. Nothing like gravity and some hard steps to deliver a pounding to the unwary. They were still restricted by the width of the hallway to come at me one at a time, or lose the mobility of their arms.
Bone Two worried me. Bone One was too worked up to think straight. I couldn’t see enough of Bone Three to make a judgment.
I didn’t have any time, either. Bone One launched himself at me.
He showed he had experience fighting. In a bar, or on the street, especially given his Were strength, he’d be formidable. He relied on that strength, speed and aggression. Most opponents would be overwhelmed and quickly defeated.
Good thing I wasn’t most opponents.
In this close-quarter roughhouse, the odds were against me: I was smaller and lighter than them; I had less reach; I
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