I imposed calm on my system, and forced my thoughts to the info the priestess had given me as part of her threat. A Son of Darkness—one of the first vamps—had possibly been killed by a big-cat. By Leo’s own son, maybe, a skinwalker who had access to big-cat fetishes. Or maybe by another were-cat, here without the MOC’s permission. Was that what she was hinting? As usual, Leo hadn’t found it pertinent to share that information with me. I checked my mike and stepped to the doorway of the ballroom, scanning for trouble.
Everything was okay. Hunky-dory. Music was playing on the loudspeakers, a big band swing number, lots of horns and a funky sounding bass. I had a mental image of a vamp DJ spinning tunes somewhere out of sight. Or a Wolfman Jack. Definitely appropriate for tonight. Titters rose in my throat and I swallowed them back down, concentrating on the ballroom. Four couples were dancing, including Bruiser, who was spinning a master vamp through a series of complicated moves. He looked good with Dominique, her blond elegance against his dark sophistication. Humans were gathered around the food and drink tables. I glanced up at the nearest security camera and flashed an OK sign, knowing that Vodka Angel’s Tit would see it.
A half minute later, I heard breaking glass. From above. It fell like stained sleet, tinkling toward the floor, the colors of blood and sapphire, narrowly missing two vamps who leaped away with vision-stealing speed. I looked up. Caught a whiff. Pulled my H&K and a vamp-killer even before I identified the scent. Wolves ... The glass landed, nearly silent on the rugs.
Werewolves dropped into the room, plummeting from the ceiling ... like my dream. It was like my dream. But the three were in human form, falling from the broken stained-glass windows in the high arches, spinning down on zip lines, two males and one female. Clothed. Not naked. Not my dream.
“Werewolves in the ballroom,” I said into the mike, taking in the room. Leo was vamped out, fanged and clawed, Kemnebi stood beside him, scenting, his human lips wrinkled back, his hands black-furred and clawed. He turned to Leo, as his snout began to reform in a shower of blue-black sparks. “Backup. Now!”
The female wolf wore Middle Eastern dress much like the were-cat assistant, and her skirts belled out as she slowly descended, showing tanned leg and lace undies. The males landed first, on pointed toes like dancers and unhooking their harnesses as they landed; one guy turned and caught the wolf-bitch. It was graceful and balletic and dangerous on every level I could imagine. Wolves had gotten in. My security measures had failed. I had failed.
I took aim at Roul Molyneux. Before I could fire, three weres raced into the hallway behind me in wolf form, claws clicking on the marble floor.
CHAPTER 10
You Want Me to Shoot Him, Boss?
Holding aim on Roul, I turned so the werewolves faced my vamp-killer, which protected my side. An additional three weres showed in the open doorway across from me, the door the vamps had come through at the start of the party. And behind them was the little green guy. Had he let them in? It was the only thing that made any sense. I gave a fast update into the mike, location of the bogies and their numbers. I ended with, “The head were-cat grew front paws and claws.” Like Roul had done when I met him. But I didn’t say that part. The wolves to my side had stopped. Muzzles down, snarling, snouts wrinkled, ears pinned, they closed on me, steps careful and slow. They had fought me once before or they would have attacked without a second thought. With a sliding snick of sound, I chambered a round and took careful aim on the closest wolf. A human woman stood behind him, a hand to her mouth. My guns were loaded with silver, but if I missed, a human or a vamp would die just as easily. There were too many of both in the ballroom and collateral damage was unacceptable.
Hard breathing, running footsteps, and Derek issuing commands filled my earpiece. He and a Vodka boy appeared on either side of the weres behind me, boxing them in. At the sight of them, the wolves stopped. They sat in the hallway, tongues lolling, looking proud and happy; they’d gotten into vamp HQ. “The dog learned a new trick,” I muttered. One growled at me, ears going flat, looking less doggy and more wolfish. Before I could decide how to respond, Derek’s other soldiers raced up, covering the doorways and the ballroom. And Tyler stalked into the room, a compact selective-firing shoulder weapon—a submachine gun—held in both hands, supported high on his chest. With it, he took aim at the were-cat envoy, Kemnebi. “You want me to shoot him, boss?” In less than eight seconds. Everything had gone FUBAR.
Behind me, Derek and Vodka Hi-Fi had weapons on the weres. Knowing my flank was covered, I stepped into the room, moving my gun hand from target to target, catching a quick look at Bruiser. He was standing much like me, but holding two sidearms, his body poised to cover two segments of the room, presenting a smaller target to two different adversaries. His feet were spread and knees slightly bent, ready for either shot. His jacket was shoved back, one pant cuff was hitched up, showing sock and a bit of leather. His face was white, mouth a thin line.
Dominique stood to his left, her cheeks bright red in a paper-white face. Fangs out and holding a wicked-looking knife. Leo had been shoved behind her, the sclera of his eyes bloodred, pupils fully dilated. Ten razor-sharp claws and more than two inches of bone-hard canines ready to fight. Vamped-out and pissed. Crap. This was gonna get messy.
“We were not told that wolves were to attend,” Kemmy said, disdain in every syllable. “We do not treat with wolves.”