High Moor 2: Moonstruck (30 page)

Phil picked up his MP5 from the floor, chambered a round and got to his feet. “So, what do we do now?”

“What do you think? We take the fucker out, and then see if it brought any friends with it. Come on, get your kit and form up.”

The police officers gathered their equipment and fell in behind Steven. The stink of fear billowed from the men like a cloud, and the frantic hammering of their heartbeats filled his ears, momentarily masking any sounds from the rest of the house.

My God, how did I ever manage to hunt something with senses this sharp? If I’d had any idea of what I was really facing…

He pushed open the bedroom door and they filed out onto the landing, weapons pointing at the hallway beneath them. Rick opened his mouth to speak but Steven shook his head and put a finger to his lips. The silence would do nothing to conceal them from the monster below, but at least it would be one less distraction for him as he struggled with the influx of sensory data. He cocked his head, trying to find one sound among hundreds and failing. He couldn’t hear the other werewolf. Not its breathing, not its heartbeat. It would have been nice to believe that the creature had retreated, but Steven knew better. The monster was somewhere downstairs, waiting for an opportunity to strike. There was no chance of them digging in and waiting for the dawn because the day wouldn’t turn the beast back into a man. This was a cunning, intelligent thing that wouldn’t leave until every one of them was dead. Despite years of experience, Steven had never felt so vulnerable, or as unsure about how to proceed. The staircase was a choke point. It would make sense to try to defend the landing because there was only one way that it could come at them. Unfortunately, the beast didn’t seem to be inclined to charge in. Which meant it had something else on its mind. Another plan. One that Steven couldn’t fathom. There was only one option. They had to draw the werewolf out and pray that they could take it down before too many of them were killed. As plans went, it was shit. Unfortunately he didn’t see too many other options.

He motioned for the others to follow and began the descent with heavy legs. The stairs came down into the centre of the hallway. Five doors led off from there, into the living room, kitchen, dining area, study and outside. Of the five, only the exterior door remained closed. Not good. Steven reached the bottom of the stairs, ears straining for the slightest sound that could indicate an impending attack, but the radio, now playing “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, drowned out everything. Steven felt a surge of fear as he realised that the volume had been turned up several notches. The werewolf was using Mariah Carey to hide itself. That could only mean that attack was imminent. He moved along the wall, sword held out before him, while the others followed. Phil was directly behind him, followed by Paul and Rick covering the rear.

The predictable thing to do would be to head straight for the radio, turn the fucking thing off and take away the monster’s advantage. The werewolf, of course, would expect him to do that. Which meant that it was probably lurking somewhere in the living room, ready to kill the first thing stupid enough to walk through the door.

But all the rooms of the ground floor were interconnected, so there were two ways to get into the living room. If they split into two pairs, and went through the doors at the same time, then maybe they’d stand a chance. Maybe. He motioned to Rick and Paul, outlining his plan with a series of hand gestures. Fortunately, both men were firearms officers and soon got the gist of what he had in mind. Rick led the way and moved through the open dining room door with his Glock raised, with Paul following. Steven looked at Phil. It was plain from the beads of sweat on Phil’s brow and the sickly shade of white his skin had turned, that the police officer was much more used to paperwork than combat. He’d probably not got his hands dirty in the best part of a decade. Still, the older man held the MP5 like a professional, and in spite the fear that billowed from him like bad aftershave he didn’t hesitate to follow Steven’s lead. They moved to the open living room door, raised their weapons and got ready to attack whatever was inside.

A scream rang out. The noise was raw, equal parts agony, terror, and despair. Gunshots rang out from the dining room, three thunder−cracks in rapid succession. Steven sprinted into the living room, not bothering to check for ambush, thence through the adjoining door into the dining room. The fucking thing had played him, had used the layout of his own home against him. He’d have been impressed if the implications were not so terrible. The werewolf was smarter than he was.

The ornate wooden chairs lay scattered and broken on one side of the large oak table. Rick Grey’s twitching legs protruded from underneath, and his flailing arms were just visible. He screamed again, higher pitched this time, until the sound was cut off with a wet crunch. The fucking thing must have been hiding under the dining room table when Rick and Paul entered the room. Phil appeared beside him, while Paul stood trembling in the corner of the room, pistol raised. No−one moved for a moment, until Phil raised the MP5 and screamed, “Fucking shoot it!”

He opened fire with the sub−machine gun, while Paul began shooting round after round into the top of the table. Steven grabbed Phil’s arm. “Stop firing you fucking idiot. Wait until you have a target.”

Steven strode over to the table, grasped its corner with one hand and flipped it over. He hadn’t expected that. He’d only intended to push it out of the way. Apparently, the werewolf hadn’t been expecting that either.

The monster was huge. Thick red fur obscured the musculature of the werewolf, but there was no denying its power. The pulped remains of Rick Grey’s head oozed from between its jaws, while the bullet−ridden body twitched. The beast released its hold on Rick’s body and glared directly at him. Paul and Phil opened fire, the silver bullets slamming into it. The creature hardly seemed to notice. The physical impact of the rounds made it jerk and twitch, but the wounds healed up almost instantaneously, and its gaze never left Steven’s.

After a few moments, Phil’s MP5 clicked empty, while Paul’s weapon fell silent as well. The werewolf’s eyes lit up with a mixture of triumph and absolute hatred. Its black lips curled back to reveal huge, blood−soaked fangs and its growl made Steven’s blood run cold. He backed away, into the doorway to the living room, then froze as he heard the unmistakable growl of another werewolf behind him.

***

15th December 2008
.
Naver Cottage, Kinbrace. 04.19.

John wiped the sweat from his brow and shuffled to get comfortable. It had been almost twenty minutes since the grenade had gone off, but the expected attack had not materialised. Michael prowled the living room, periodically sniffing the air or cocking his head to listen. The presence of the werewolf terrified John. He’d been in proximity to other werewolves in the past, but he’d always been in a fight for his life at the time. Having one just a few feet away, even if Michael was supposedly on their side, was an unnerving experience. The creature was huge, closer in size to a male lion than a wolf. Thick brown hair covered its body, but despite that, the wolf’s muscles could be seen moving beneath the fur. Fangs like daggers protruded from the monster’s mouth, while vicious claws tore strips from the carpet as it paced. The sheer power of the thing was incredible. John could not imagine a more lethal killing machine. And there were three more of them, waiting outside to kill them. The tranquilizer gun in his hands felt like a meagre defence against such things.

Marie sat beside him, her face a mask of tension. Every once in a while her face would fall for the briefest fraction of a second, her fear, grief, and anger framed in the set of her mouth and the light in her eyes. Then the mask would snap back into place and she’d become focused once more, the flicker of emotion gone. John suspected that, in those brief moments, Marie had instinctively tried to reach out with her senses, only to find them muted. He was beginning to understand what she’d lost.

Without realising it, over the last ten minutes or so, John’s own senses had come alive. The wolf had slunk from its cave in the deepest recesses of his psyche, waiting just below the surface of his mind. He felt energised, as if he’d taken some sort of powerful drug. His senses gathered information from the surrounding area, processing it until he had an awareness of everything around him for twenty metres. Each fragment of scent or sound added to the constantly updated picture. He felt connected to the world in a way he’d never have thought possible.

There was no fury in the wolf this time, no attempt to break through and initiate the transformation. The beast seemed to be waiting, like a dog lying by its master’s feet, tail thumping and ears pricked, eager to go outside, but knowing that it had to wait a little longer. John wasn’t sure that he liked this change. The wolf and he had been at odds with each other for decades, and the monster had tried to break free on more than one occasion. The change in its behaviour was suspicious.

He turned to Marie and said a little too loudly, “Why aren’t they attacking?”

Michael issued a warning growl from downstairs and Marie put her finger to her lips. When she replied it was barely above a whisper. “The booby traps have made them rethink their strategy. Unfortunately, Oskar excels at things like that. The best we can hope for is that it was Leonid who found the grenade. He’s younger than Anya and Oskar and doesn’t have the same level of silver immunity. If it was him, then there’s a decent chance that it fucked him right up. If it was either of the other two, they’ll probably have recovered by now.”

“So they’re just going to let us sit here and stew in our own juices for a while, until they work out a better way to get us?”

Marie gave him a grim smile. “I know. Part of me just wants to get it over with. The rest of me wants to hold off the inevitable for as long as I can.”

John reached across and took Marie’s hand. He was about to say something reassuring when Michael let out a thick, menacing growl from downstairs. John reached out with his senses, searching for the threat. It wasn’t long before he found it. A surge of fear washed over him and he turned to Marie, “I can smell smoke. The bastards have set fire to the cottage.”

Chapter 18

15th December 2008
.
Steven’s House, High Moor. 04.25.

Phil stepped from the doorway, letting the empty MP5 clatter to the floor. The air stank of gun−smoke and blood, but the combined animal reek of the werewolves overpowered everything else. He found himself beside Paul, in the corner of the room. Paul’s eyes were wild, and he held his empty Glock in a double−handed grip so tight that his knuckles had turned white. Steven stood directly opposite the first werewolf, but now two more of the monsters had entered the room, one from the living room and another from the hallway. The massive creatures blocked the exits. There was no hope of escape. Phil realised that he was going to die and felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. He almost laughed. Having a heart attack right now would be the best thing that he could hope for. Better that than to be torn apart by those cruel jaws and vicious talons.

The two newcomers snarled and their muscles tensed while the hair rose on the backs of their necks. The first werewolf snapped at the air and crouched as if to pounce. Then, to Phil’s astonishment, it began to transform. The creature’s bones snapped and twisted, stretching flesh as they shattered then reformed. Thick orange fur retreated into skin, while the bloody fangs sank back into the creature’s gums. Within a matter of seconds, the werewolf had been replaced by the naked form of Connie Hamilton.

She picked herself up from the ground, settling into a crouched position that made Phil think of a cat, ready to pounce on its prey. She turned her head to the werewolf that blocked the door to the living room. “Nice ta see ye too, Gregorz. If ah’m honest, ah’m a little surprised. Ah thought ye’d have bigger things to worry about than me right now.”

The werewolf that she’d called Gregorz snarled and took a step forward, its teeth bared. Connie put up her hands. “Let me have Wilkinson. After that, ah don’t give a shit. Ah’ll bare ma throat to ye, if that’s what ye want. Just let me have ma revenge.”

Phil looked at Steven. The colour had drained from the old man’s face and, while he still held the sword out before him, his legs sagged, as if unable to bear his weight. Steven’s eyes never left Connie Hamilton, even when Gregorz began to transform beside him. Phil wanted to look away, but couldn’t. The change from wolf to man was not as easy for this werewolf as it had been for Connie. It growled in pain at each dislocated joint and shattered bone. The whole thing went on for more than a minute, and when the man got to his feet, his body was covered with a slick sheen of sweat and blood. With some effort Phil swallowed the vomit that surged up into his mouth and realised that his legs were shaking. That was not something he ever wanted to witness again.

Gregorz looked at Steven, a sneer of contempt on his lips. He turned back to Connie. “We can’t let you live, Connie. You went against a direct order from the Alpha, so we have no choice. However, I know what that piece of shit did to you. We won’t stand in your way. He’s all yours.”