Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

Champ made it clear to us that the pack swearing to Leo meant that Leo’s share of the profits in the broadcasts had gone way up, that his problems dealing with the gaming board had just disappeared, and most importantly, that the pack would stand by us should war with the emperor, Titus Flavius Vespasianus, result from the outcome of the duel—no matter who won or lost.

Leo was expanding his power base in the vamp way, getting others to do his dirty work—like tracking down dangerous wolves in his city—while also using the same people to accomplish negotiations with the powers that be in pay-per-view and the gaming board. The MOC had been playing five-card stud with life and undeath again.

And . . . because there were no European vamps onshore to cause trouble, until we had a venue for me to secure, people for me to vet, or werewolves to kill, I was twiddling my thumbs. I needed something to hunt. I wondered if Scout and Bear wanted company tracking the errant werewolves. I texted Alex a recap of what had happened and sat there, thinking about where I’d go if I was a werewolf pack on the loose in NOLA, waiting to parley with the EVs and join the war against Leo. It was unlikely that the Zips would take in a pack who had already cost them two gang members. But the rogue wolves had made the acquaintance of Dominique and therefore with the vamps who were turning against Leo. They might be given a lair to sleep in. Except that Alex had all the known lairs wired for video and audio. He’d have caught something by now, even if it was just a misspoken phrase.

However . . .

There was a huge homeless population in NOLA, hundreds, maybe thousands, living under the overpasses, sleeping in alleys, in private gardens. If I was looking to hide out, I’d join the men and women there. Yeah. If I was an evil werewolf, I’d go hunting and bite a few humans. While an overworked grindy was busy with the Bighorn Pack, I’d make a bigger pack. This sucked.





CHAPTER 7


    I Failed You





The meeting was cordial and useful, especially when we brought Alex on electronically, face-to-face, to discuss the possible necessity of setting up satellite transmission of the fights and to settle on the best ways to financially secure the online gambling transactions.

The wolves were extra affable and congenial, probably because of Ziggy’s antics, pack dynamics, and the stronger wolf—Champ—showing Leo his belly. Whatever the reason, the groups merged well; Leo had planned it all out, giving us a path to meld us into a single pack under my leadership. And—despite Ziggy’s claims—because I was the only woman in a group of men, that made me the queen bitch. Werewolves followed the queen everywhere.

The appointment ended when Bruiser got a call and headed back to vamp HQ.

I saw the rest of us out, which meant time I had to chat—not my forte, especially in the face of Ziggy’s friendliness. I turned down an offer of a drink at Café Lafitte In Exile with the Bighorn werewolves, dancing at Oz, and hunting rogue werewolves. The café was low-key and unpretentious, a place where local gays socialized, according to Ziggy. Oz was another matter entirely, with bar-top go-go boys, high-energy music, and a laser show that was reputed to leave the dancers in a frenzy. “You love to dance. I can tell,” he said, dragging a fingertip across his lower lip. “And then we can hunt Prism down and eat his liver.”

“Ummm. Yeah. No. But thank you.” I was certain that I couldn’t keep up with wolves in a gay dance bar, and I had work to do that limited my time to hunt. He insisted. I desisted. When I finally convinced Ziggy that I really wasn’t going off with the pack, he kissed me on the cheek and hopped into one of the topless cars, fingers fluttering in a wave as they drove off.

As the rest of the guys closed up, I ordered a car and texted my plans to my partners. Have a few free hours. Need some alone time. Back after dusk. When the driver arrived, I told Shemmy to take me to HQ.

It was daylight and I went through the usual security measures, accepted a comms unit, and headed to sub-five to have a chat with a white werewolf. The elevator doors swooshed open and I stepped out onto the clay floor. The lights were focused on the SOD on the far wall, leaving the rest of the huge room dim, but my eyes adjusted quickly. I moved across to the SOD and the white wolf at his feet.

The subbasement reeked of old blood, the odor of damp werewolf, and the peculiar stink of the Son of Darkness. The sour, bloodless, heartless creature hanging on the wall would have garnered my pity if I hadn’t seen video of him drinking down and killing a barroom full of dancers and partygoers. The thing I hadn’t been allowed to kill was watching me, his dark eyes dull yet full of malice. That was new. I’d hoped me cutting out his heart and giving it to a cop would have kept him totally down and out. He was healing. That sucked.

At his feet, Brute was watching me, head on paws, looking sleepy, crystalline eyes content. There were two stainless steel bowls on the floor a few feet away. One held water. The other smelled of raw roast beef and blood.

I dropped to one knee beside him. “Hey.”

He yawned, showing me his killing teeth.

Beast perked up. Fight Brute?

No. He’s on our side. I think.

Beast padded away, her tail twitching, catty and irritated.

“Werewolves came here because they thought you were being held against your will.”

Brute chuffed and his big mouth grinned, tongue lolling.

“I know, right? You can timewalk, so there’s no keeping you anywhere you don’t want to be.” I could change time back to before something awful happened if I wanted. If I was willing to risk the time-paradox possibilities. I’d done that a few times by accident already and it was scary. Brute could do that too. I studied the wolf, who was watching me back. We hadn’t fought on the same side very often, and one of those times he was being eaten by a demon, so I doubted he remembered my part in that. “The angel who saved you, Hayyel? He left you in wolf form so he could give you the ability to timewalk, didn’t he?”

Brute blinked and yawned again. Bored.

“Hayyel wanted you here, to guard the Son of Darkness, didn’t he?”

Brute slanted his eyes to me, suddenly interested in what I had to say.

“He wants this psycho thing alive for some reason that’s more important to the timeline than human lives are.”

A low vibration trembled up through the clay floor into my knee, and I realized Brute was growling so low it wasn’t audible, even to me. Brute shook his head no, a foreign human gesture on the huge wolf head.

“Ooookay. So you’re here to bite the SOD? That’s it?”

Brute’s eyes narrowed, but the growling stopped, so I went on.

“The werecats might try to come back and steal the SOD.”

The werewolf’s eyes narrowed further in an expression that said the cats could die trying.

“Right. Okay. FYI: There are two different wolf packs in town and one of them may be the crazy kind.”

Brute raised his head, chuffed, and licked his lips.

“The other pack seems to think you’re something like royalty and would be honored to have you hunt the crazy pack with them.”

Brute dropped his head, as if bored by the suggestion.

“Yeah. Well. Thanks for the chat.” I looked up at the thing on the wall over me, speaking to it. “Someday Leo won’t be around and I’ll take your head. Just so you know.”

Joses Santana, the SOD, stuck out his tongue and curled it up at me, as if licking the air. And then he laughed. It was silent but mocking, his desiccated lips curling up and the flesh around his eyes crinkling. Brute chuffed up at me as if the idea of my killing the SOD was long overdue and I might save us all a lot of trouble if I just killed him now. Or maybe that was my fond imagining and the wolf just had indigestion. What did I know?

I took the elevator up, checked out, and took an SUV from the motor pool.