2 Blood Trail (25 page)

“It’s the only solution that fits all the facts.”

She sputtered. She just couldn’t help it. She just couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Celluci leaned toward her, trying to read her expression. When she got over the initial shock, she’d want to hear what he’d found.

Vicki managed to repeat
organized crime
one more time before she lost it.

He watched her laugh and wondered if he should smack her. He could always use hysteria as an excuse.

Finally, she managed to get hold of herself.

“Are you ready to listen?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Vicki shook her head, reached up and brushed the long curl of hair back off his forehead—she didn’t have to see it to know it was there. “Leaving aside your reasons for the moment, you couldn’t be more wrong. Trust me, Mike. Henry Fitzroy is not involved in organized crime. At any level, of any kind.”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

So much for his reasons.
You are mine
resonated over, under, and through that question. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deal with his archaic perceptions right now; this was too potentially dangerous for Henry. “What does that have to do with this?”

“You wouldn’t be willing to believe. . . .”

“Bullshit! I’m perfectly willing to believe that you’re a chauvinistic, possessive bastard and I sleep with you.” So much for good intentions.

He hadn’t intended to be so loud, but his voice practically echoed in the confines of the car. “Vicki, I’m telling you, beyond a certain point, Henry Fitzroy has no. . . . What the hell was that?”

“Was what?” Vicki peered out the windows but couldn’t see past the night. She shoved her glasses up her nose. It didn’t help.

“Something ran past out there. It might have been one of those big dogs. It looked like it might be hurt.”

“Shit!” She was out of the car and racing toward the house before the final explosive “t” had passed her lips. The darkness was absolute save for the faint square of light that was the kitchen window.
It’s a big building. How can I miss it
? Then she remembered Henry warning her the first night about the curve in the path. Too late. She stumbled and fell, burying her hands in the loose dirt of the garden.

“Come on.” Celluci heaved her to her feet and kept a tight hold on her arm. “If it’s that important, I’ll be your eyes.”

They pounded through the kitchen door together, just in time to see a massive russet shape crash to the floor, the fur on its chest a darker, more deadly shade of red.

“Too big to be Storm,” Vicki panted, fighting free of Celluci’s grip. “Has to be. . . .”

And then there wasn’t any question as outlines blurred and blood began pumping from an ugly gash across the right side of Donald’s ribs.

Vicki and Nadine hit the floor beside the wounded wer at roughly the same time. Nadine, who had grabbed a first aid kit from over the kitchen sink, was expertly pinching the torn edges of flesh together and wrapping them in place.

“We do most of our own doctoring,” she said, in response to Vicki’s silent question.

All things considered, it made sense. The presence of Dr. Dixon didn’t carry much weight against an entire history with no physicians. “Doesn’t look like a gunshot wound.” Together they got the gauze around Donald’s neck. “Looks like he got hit with a chunk of flying rock.”

Nadine snorted. “Comforting.”

“I thought,” Vicki grunted, holding Donald’s weight while Nadine continued to wind the gauze, “that you’d all agreed to stay out of those fields.”

“It isn’t that easy to overcome a territorial imperative.”

“It isn’t that easy to overcome a .30 caliber slug either.”

“What the hell are you two
talking
about?” Celluci took a step forward. “What the
hell
is going on around here?”

“Later, Mike. I think he’s going to need a hospital.”

“I think you’re right. Cloud!”

To Celluci’s astonishment, the big white dog galloped out of the room. “What’s it going to do? Call 911?”

“Yes,” Vicki snapped, pushing at her glasses with the back of a bloody hand.

Henry started across the kitchen. Someone was going to have to take care of Michael Celluci and, as much as he might wish otherwise, it looked like it was going to have to be him.
No need for concern, Detective
,
it’s just werewolves.
Coercion would be safer than explanation; get him outside and twist his mind until he no longer knew exactly what he’d seen.

Unfortunately, by the time Henry had covered the four meters to Celluci, the situation had changed again.

Stuart, who had seen a stranger’s car parked at the end of the lane, had grabbed a pair of shorts from the barn and changed before coming to the house. A voice and a pair of hands could often make a difference in an unplanned confrontation, but now he wished he’d stayed with tooth and claw. A member of his pack was down and the blood scent drew his lips back from his teeth.

“What’s going on?” he growled.

“Donald got hit. Vicki thinks it was a ricochet. There’s an ambulance coming.” Nadine shot the words out without looking up.

“He changed?”

“As he went out.”

Stuart turned to face the stranger, hackles rising, ears tight against his head. “And this one saw?”

“Yeah,
this one
saw.” Celluci’s jaw jutted out at a dangerous angle. “And I want some explanations of
what
I saw and I want them now.”

“Don’t push, Detective.” Henry could see that Stuart was close to the edge and was facing Celluci’s aggression the way he’d face a challenge from a dominant male of his own kind.

“Stay out of this, Fitzroy!” His fingers curled into fists, Celluci locked eyes with the man in the doorway. He’d taken as much abuse as he was going to. Dogs
did not
change into men. “I want answers
now.
”

The growl was a warning and something deep in Celluci’s hindbrain recognized it as such. He didn’t listen. “Well? I’m waiting!” He didn’t have to wait long. His tottering world view fell and shattered as thumbs were shoved behind shorts, shorts hit the floor, and a great black beast that seemed mostly teeth leapt suddenly for his throat. Then something pushed him back and Henry and the beast were on the floor.

Henry had thrown his good shoulder under the charge and managed to force Stuart’s fur-form down. With only one arm, however, he couldn’t keep him there without injuring him.
At least his anger’s been redirected. . . .

Celluci knew a man couldn’t possibly move as fast as Henry Fitzroy was moving. The beast lunged and Fitzroy was somewhere else. Instantly. Or as near as made no difference. Again. And again. And again. With barely a heartbeat between. And through it all came the deep-throated growl of an enraged animal, building to a savage crescendo with each attack.

A deadly little dance
, Henry realized as teeth snapped closed on the air beside his hip. Even with one bad arm he knew he could force the wer to submit—he was stronger and faster, but then what? Defeat the dominant male and rule the pack.
No thank you,
he thought as they scrabbled through another movement. But he could feel himself responding to the scents and the sounds and the anger and wondered how much longer he’d be able to maintain control.
There has to be a way to break through. . . .

Suddenly, it was no longer his problem.

With Donald still on the floor, the red wer attacking had to be Storm. Henry backed quickly out of the way while the two rolled snarling and snapping then sprang apart, circled, and charged together again.

Enough!
Celluci dropped to one knee and pulled his gun from his ankle holster. He wasn’t thinking exactly clearly, he had no real idea of what he was going to shoot—
This is someone’s kitchen for Chrissakes!
—but he felt more in control with the weight of the weapon in his hand.

Then Storm yelped and threw himself down on his back, all four feet in the air and the edge of one ear split. Long white teeth closed around his throat.

Celluci raised the gun.

A high-pitched, piercing howl cut through the chaos and everyone froze, looking like they’d been playing a demented game of statues. Then, in near unison, they turned. Shadow sat just inside the hall door, muzzle raised and throat working as his howl undulated mournfully up and down the scale. It lasted just over a minute, bouncing off the walls, reverberating through bone and blood, impossible to ignore, and then trailing off into a series of hiccuping yelps.

Nadine responded first, leaving Donald with Vicki and racing across the room to gather Shadow up into her arms. He pushed closer and tried to bury his head under her breasts. She lifted his head and gazed anxiously down into his eyes. “What is it, baby? What’s wrong?”

Given encouragement to speak, and therefore to change, Daniel peered over his mother’s shoulder and wailed. “That man’s going to shoot my papa!”

All heads now turned to follow Daniel’s pointing finger—all except Storm who had been pinned by one of his uncle’s huge paws and was now having his bitten ear vigorously licked.

Vicki sat back on her knees, one hand resting lightly on the thick pad of gauze wrapped around Donald’s chest, monitoring the rise and fall of his labored breathing with her fingertips. She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh for Chrissake, Celluci, put the penis substitute away.”

A shout of laughter from outside the screen door was the immediate and unexpected response. Everyone turned yet again as Colin and Barry came into the kitchen, Colin saying, “I told you we’d miss all the good stuff if we stopped for gas.”

“I’m sure I saw this once in an old Marx Brothers’ movie,” Vicki muttered to no one in particular. She raised her voice. “People, what are the odds we could pull ourselves together before the ambulance arrives?”

Colin glanced around the kitchen, nostrils flaring as they caught the varied scents, smile vanishing as he saw the body on the floor. “Dad!” He threw himself to his knees, pushing Vicki away. “What happened to my father?”

“Ricochet. Our marksman missed.”

“Is he .. ?”

“At least one busted rib and some torn up muscle. I don’t know about internal injuries.”

“Why is he just lying here? We’ve got to get him to a hospital!” He put his hands under his father’s shoulders.

Vicki lifted them away. “Calm down, there’s an ambulance coming.”

“If you’re being shot at in human form now, we’ll
have
to report it,” Barry put in, touching Colin lightly on the back.

“He wasn’t,” Vicki told him, getting to her feet. “He changed when he hit the house. You must be Barry Wu.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Later. Uh, if he changed in the house, then. . . .” His gaze flickered to Celluci and back.

Vicki sighed. “Yes, he saw.” She turned to Celluci, wiping her bloody fingers on her shorts. “Please put the gun away, Mike.”

Breathing heavily, he looked down at the gun as if he’d never seen it before.

“Put it away, Mike.”

He looked up at her and his brows drew down into a deep vee. “This is crazy,” he said.

“There’s a perfectly simple explanation,” she told him, moving closer. She’d jump him if she had to. With luck, he’d hesitate before shooting her and she’d be able to disarm him.

“Okay.” He tossed the curl of hair back off his forehead. “Let’s hear it.”

Vicki glanced back at Nadine who shrugged.

“Go ahead,” she said. “If you think he can handle it.”

Vicki thought they didn’t have much choice, at least not until they got that gun back where it belonged.

“Your simple explanation?” Celluci prodded.

Squaring her shoulders, she met his eyes and said, as matter-of-factly as she was able, “Werewolves.”

“Werewolves,” he repeated blankly, then he bent and slipped the .38 into its holster, twitching the leg of his jeans back into place before he straightened. He looked down at Shadow, rubbing himself up against his father’s fur, at Storm and Cloud who were doing much the same, and then over at Henry.

“You, too?” he asked.

Henry shook his head. “No.”

Celluci nodded. “Good.” He drew in a deep breath and then he started to swear. In Italian. He kept it up for almost three minutes and managed to dredge up words and phrases he hadn’t used since childhood. Most of them, he screamed at Vicki who waited patiently for him to run down.

Henry, who spoke fluent if slightly archaic Italian, noted, moderately impressed, that he only repeated himself in order to add adjectives to the profanity.

His vocabulary ran out just as the lights of the ambulance turned in at the top of the lane.

The moment they showed, Nadine took charge. “Cloud! Get Shadow back upstairs and make sure he and the twins stay there. Storm stay in fur-form; your ear is still bleeding. Tag, get some clothes on.”

Tag?
Vicki repeated silently as Stuart scooped up a pair of sweatpants.
Stuart’s fur-form name is Tag?

“Colin,” Nadine continued, closing the hall door behind Cloud and Shadow, “you follow them into town in case he needs blood. Vicki, could you go in the ambulance? If he wakes up. . . .”

“No problem.”

She’d told the others and asked Vicki—Henry noted the distinction with some amusement.

As the paramedics carried Donald out on the stretcher, Celluci grabbed Vicki’s arm and pulled her to one side.

“I’m going to follow you in. We have to talk.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Good.” He drew his lips back off his teeth in a parody of a smile. No one in the room, vampire or wer, could have done it better.

“Because the hospital has to report gunshot wounds, you should know that.”