High Moor 2: Moonstruck (20 page)

By some miracle, the heavy wooden doors of the boardroom still stood, although the scratches on the walls around the hinges showed that someone had tried to remove them at some point. Without pausing, Michael pushed open the right hand door and entered the room beyond.

The once−grand room had been stripped bare. The wooden panelling on the walls had been torn off, leaving only cracked plaster behind. The carpet was thin and threadbare, not even worth stealing apart from the long dark rectangle that showed where the boardroom table had once been. Five men stood in the far corner in conversation. They attempted to look surprised at Michael’s entrance and stepped forward to meet him. It was as bad as Michael had feared. The Council members here today were all moonborn.

Krysztof Balazs, a hulking Armenian with grey flecks in his once jet−black hair extended his hand. “Alpha, it is good to see you. What news of the operation in England.”

Michael took Krysztof’s hand and suppressed a wince as the huge man tightened his grip. He looked into Krysztof’s eyes and smiled. “The news is mixed. We are not in as precarious a position as last night. The moonstruck is no longer in police custody, but he escaped from Oskar’s team, and Troy and Gabriela were killed. He’s on the move, but Gregorz is tracking him. Once he gets to wherever he’s going , we’ll set up surveillance on him and then strike when the time is right. He won’t get away again.”

Lukas Kassik, one of the oldest members of the pack, and one of the most influential, stepped forward. The old man tilted his head and fixed Michael with his piercing green eyes. “And what of your sister’s involvement in Simpson’s escape?”

Michael’s heart sank. Of course they would know about Marie. Oskar would have made sure of it. “I’m hoping that my sister can be taken alive, so that she can explain her actions before judgement is decided.”

Lukas shook his head. “Alpha, you know the law as well as us. From the reports I have received, not only is your sister guilty of harbouring a moonstruck and attacking her pack mates, but it would appear that she’s also become human. We have considered the matter, and have decided that the death penalty is the only way to proceed.”

“Lukas, I understand what you are saying, but think about this for a moment. If Marie has lost her wolf side, then we need to understand how this happened. It could be something that could be used against us in the future.”

The old man huffed. “It is irrelevant. Your sister has broken pack law and must be held accountable. The Council’s judgement stands.”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “And is this the view of the entire Council, or just its moonborn members?”

Krysztof bristled at this. “And what exactly are you implying, Alpha? We speak for the entire Council. That some of them were unable to attend this meeting is beside the point. Now, how do you intend to resolve the current situation?”

Michael held Krysztof’s gaze. “As I said, Gregorz is tracking Simpson and my sister. When they finally go to ground, I will fly over with another team and we will make sure that the job is finished.”

Lukas gave Michael a sly smile. “I sincerely hope so, Alpha. For your sake, and ours.”

***

13th December 2008
.
Naver Cottage, Kinbrace. 21.45.

The snow had started to fall an hour ago. Large white flakes danced in the headlight’s beams, obscuring the road ahead, although calling the track a road was, in John’s mind, stretching the definition. They’d driven in an uneasy silence after Marie had completed her tale. John felt like he should have said something, but the events of the past twenty−four hours rushed through his mind and he struggled to think of what to say to the woman beside him. He understood the risks she’d taken to save him, but still didn’t understand why. Truth be told, based on what Marie had told him, he realised that he didn’t know this woman at all, and he found it difficult to relax in her company.

As if sensing his train of thought, Marie turned her head to him. “You’ve been quiet for a while. Are you okay?”

John nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been a hell of a couple of days, you know? I’m just trying to sort it all out in my head.”

Marie’s eyes searched his face for a moment, as if trying to discern the truth of his statement, then, apparently satisfied, she relaxed and gave a weak smile. “You aren’t fucking joking. Well, we’re almost there now. Then you can wrap your head around it after a hot shower, some hot food and more than a few bottles of cheap wine. Sound like a plan?”

John returned her smile, this time with genuine feeling. “At this moment in time, that sounds like my idea of heaven. It feels like we’ve been in this car forever, although it’s a lot better riding up front, instead of in the boot.”

“You aren’t going to let that go, are you?”

“What? I didn’t say a word.”

Marie arched an eyebrow, then leaned forward in her seat, as if to get a better view of the road ahead. “Oh, hang on, I think this is it.”

John had no idea how she’d even noticed the side track. A small sign stood by the side of the road, its white surface almost invisible against the falling snow. The surface of the road, the lane and the surrounding moorland was covered in an even flat, icy blanket. Marie seemed to know what she was doing, though, and turned onto the track. They followed the road through a small copse of fir trees and across the open moors until John noticed the dark shadow of a building through the blizzard.

Marie parked the car at the front of the building − an old stone crofter’s cottage with glimpses of blue slate tiles just visible beneath the covering of snow on its roof − got out of the vehicle and lifted the doormat to retrieve a set of keys. Her face lit up and for a moment, John saw a glimpse of the little girl he used to know, instead of the killer that she’d become. She waved at him, and he followed her out of the car and into the dark cottage, wincing at the stiffness in his sore muscles

The rush of warmth that greeted him as he crossed the threshold was both unexpected and welcome. He’d been convinced that he’d have to spend at least an hour messing about with an antique boiler before they had any heat, but the owner had obviously been round to make sure the cottage was warm for his guests. The oil boiler rumbled away in the kitchen, and the log burner in the living room popped and crackled. The cottage was clean and had been well, if cheaply, renovated. The kitchen looked to be fairly recent, but most of the furniture was made of cheap, varnished pine, which matched the cladding on all of the downstairs walls, and the garish floral pattern on the sofas hurt John’s eyes. On the positive side, in what must have been a workshop adjoined to the house before the owner had extended into it, John found a pool table, a table football game and an Xbox 360, complete with a pile of games.

John stepped back outside to retrieve their bags from the car. He turned to Marie, who’d followed him to the doorstep. “Do you want this metal box bringing in?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. I’ll do that.”

“It’s no trouble, honestly.”

“No, I think I should take care of that one. I don’t want you dropping it and setting off one of the grenades.”

John felt the colour drain from his face. “Grenades? Where the fuck… oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. You’re right. You handle the explosives. I’ll take care of the clothes.”

John hefted the two canvas bags containing their supplies and carried them into the house. He strode upstairs to find two bedrooms, one with a double bed and the other with a pair of singles. He deposited the bag containing Marie’s things in the double room and put his own bag on one of the single beds. Marie struggled past him with the metal box, and put it at the foot of the double bed. She gave him a sideways glance when she saw that he’d taken the other bedroom, but didn’t say anything. They both filed downstairs and retrieved the remaining bags containing the food from the car.

Marie rubbed her arms as the door closed, and she applied the deadbolts. “Why don’t you go freshen up while I sort us out something to eat.”

John nodded and went upstairs once more, grateful that she didn’t seem to have picked up on his discomfort. The bathroom, like the rest of the cottage, was clean and adequately equipped. An electric shower was bolted onto the wall above a white porcelain bath, and John smiled as a stream of scalding hot water burst from the showerhead when he turned it on.

John stayed in the shower for longer than he should have. The act of washing was a painstaking process, as he washed around the edges of his wounds. Nevertheless, the water that collected in the bath was stained a light pink by the time he finished, and watery rivulets of blood trickled from in between his stitches. He padded himself dry, reapplied dressings to the worst of his injuries, then got dressed into a loose fitting t−shirt and pair of jogging bottoms.

He smelled the food as soon as he started down the stairs. The aroma filled the cottage, setting his stomach growling in anticipation. He’d hardly eaten anything that day, just a limp tuna sandwich and a chocolate bar Marie had picked up in a service station, and the smell made him realise just how hungry he was.

Marie beamed at him as he entered the kitchen. “I was starting to think that you’d drowned up there. Dinner’s not much, I’m afraid. Just some soup and crusty bread. I figured you’d want something quick, instead of fancy.”

He pulled a chair out from under the dining room table, and flopped into it. “Soup sounds great. Thank you.”

Marie ladled the liquid into two bowls and took a pair of baguettes out of the oven, finally joining John at the table. “Feeling a bit better after your shower?”

John tasted a mouthful of the soup, and despite it being from a tin, couldn’t remember anything tasting better. “Yeah, lots. I made a bit of a mess of the bathroom, though. I’ll clean the blood up after I finish dinner, so that you can use it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You just need to unwind a bit. Chill out in front of the TV or something while I sort myself out. Here, this might help.” She reached into the bag and produced a bottle of red wine.

John shook his head. “No, not for me, thanks. To tell you the truth, I’m shattered. Once I finish eating, I think I’m just going to have an early night.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. After the last few days, I’m going to need a bit of sedation before I can relax enough to sleep. Are you sure you won’t stay up for a glass? I’d quite like some company tonight.”

John finished the last of his soup, and mopped up the traces with the bread, then got up and rinsed his bowl under the tap. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’d be very good company. My head’s still spinning from everything that’s happened in the last twenty four hours. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Marie.”

Marie’s face fell, and John felt a pang of guilt, but steeled his resolve. He glanced backwards as he left the kitchen, to see Marie pouring wine into a mug. She didn’t look up.

“Marie. We’ll talk in the morning, OK?”

Marie looked up then, but wouldn’t meet his gaze. She took a long swig from the porcelain mug, lowered her eyes once more. “Yeah, sure, whatever. See you tomorrow, John.”

Chapter 12

14th December 2008
.
Castle Hill, Folkestone. 00.50.

Connie got out of the car and stared across the busy motorway at her destination. The tunnel’s entrance was obscured behind rows of chain−link fences, each topped with rolls of razor wire and adorned with warning signs. Floodlights blazed down on the entire area, casting stark shadows across the concrete buildings, while CCTV cameras seemed to cover every square inch of the approach to the tunnel. Getting past that security without being seen was not going to be a simple task. If one of the people monitoring the cameras saw her enter in her wolf form, then there would be an animal control team dispatched to try and catch what they would believe to be a stray dog. Despite her mood, Connie grinned at the thought. The poor bastards would have no idea what hit them.

Another car pulled in beside Connie, and a young couple got out. They paid her no attention, simply heading off to the health club at the far end of the car park, laughing and joking together. It made her sick to her stomach; she considered transforming there and then, if only to remove the smug, self−satisfied expressions from their faces. The couple’s happiness only served to remind her that she would never experience anything like that again.

Her capacity for happiness had died with her daughter and, rather than wallow in self−pity, she’d taken that gaping chasm within and filled it with hate. She hated Marie, who should have been watching Megan that night. She hated her alpha, for ordering her back to Russia, when her vengeance was so close. And more than anything else, she hated Steven Wilkinson. The bastard who’d looked into the eyes of a crying, eight−year−old girl, and then shot her in the face.

The same thought that had been gnawing on her nerves all day resurfaced. Why was she going back at all? This close to the tunnel, everything became much more real and immediate. Connie realised that she’d never really stopped to consider the consequences of following Michael’s order. If she survived the journey through the tunnel, the other team would escort her back to Moscow. That sounded a hell of a lot like being under arrest. That prick, Michael, would have her put on trial for following orders that he fucking gave her, and then lock her away in some cage, or even have her put to death. Given his insistence that she run through twenty five miles of railway tunnel, avoiding fucking trains and high voltage lines, it seemed pretty obvious that Michael didn’t feel that her life was a priority. And if she were dead, then she’d never have her revenge on Wilkinson. Michael obviously wasn’t interested or he’d have sent another team over to deal with him. Hell, he was a werewolf now. Michael might even invite the bastard to join the pack.