I had to hunt again tonight. If I wanted to win the ten-day kill bonus, I had to locate and kill the rogue within forty-eight hours. I repacked the contents of my travel bag, hanging the sour-smelling, pool-water-wet clothes up to dry, rolling a pair of gauzy pants, T-shirt, undies, and thin-soled shoes around the crosses and stakes and rezipping it.
I ate, set raw meat on the lawn, stripped, and climbed the rocks. I had never shifted so many nights in a row. I hadn’t expected it to tire me this much. Hadn’t expected it to give Beast so much control and/or make her so stubborn. Hadn’t expected tonight’s pain. It ripped into me, slashing, like claws at prey. Beast raced into the gray void, pushing the change, forcing. Rocks cracked and split, sounding like thunder.
I rolled from rocks. Broken rock rained down around paws. Big paws. Flexed them. Recurved claws slid from sheaths. Bigger. I was big. I like big. Big Cat. Big as liver-eater .
Jane was afraid of big. What have you done? she asked.
I snarled, angry; pressed paw onto her, pushing down, claws at her throat, her belly to sky, Jane beta, me alpha. Her necklace and travel pack were too tight. Not good. But better to be big. Big Cat. Jumped fence, raced from yard, into night. I found truck, rode across river, muzzle high in air, taking in scents. Truck swayed, motion soothing. Hunt, I sang. We hunt.
Moon was growing fat. Not yet pregnant hunting moon. Gave enough light to see water far below, moon reflection broken on river surface, like droplets of blood, scattered by wind.
Truck turned. Jane saw sign—BAYOU SEGNETTE STATE PARK. I launched off truck, to ground, moving fast. Hit. Rolled-rolled-rolled. Into ditch. Brackish water. Stink of dog filth. I sprang out, dog filth all over. Blood splatters showed tale. Dog hit on road, flung down. Dead dog—blood and entrails—spread up incline. Shook pelt, hissing, irritated. I raced into shadows. She was amused. I was not. I do not smell like dog. Will not. She comforted. I slunk along ground looking for water. Pools, fresh, free of dead dog, were ahead. Look at sign, she asked, properly beta to my alpha. I looked up. DRAKE AVE. Moved on; found water and splashed in.
Rolled to clean off dead dog. Something moved in water. Get out! she screamed. I pushed off bottom, leaped from water, forepaws spread, claws grasping. Landed. Spun. Drops scattered. From water, wide jaws reached. Wicked teeth rising from pool. I hissed. Hacked.
Alligator, she said.
Alligator bad.
I don’t like them either, she agreed, fear in her tone. Hunt the liver-eater? Please?
Liver-eater bad. Long time since tasted liver-eater. Watched Jane in mind at words. She went still—fear-prey still. I jogged into shadows, watching her in mind. Cat and mouse.
Long minute later, she asked, tone fearful, When did you taste a liver-eater?
I hacked. Remembered. Image eased up from dark of mind, hidden from Jane for many seasons. Old woman. Long gray hair, chin and nose and yellow eyes like Jane, piercing.
Not old. A woman in her sixties, maybe, she thought, her mind uneasy. She smells rotten, like the liver-eater we chase. Fear swelled fast in back of Jane’s mind, like belly of dead prey in summer sun. She thought, I don’t remember this. . . . I hacked with amusement; shared past.
Crone held knife. Fire crackled near, smoke rising high, herbed and bitter. Night was cold with winter, trees bare like bones. A girl lay before old woman, bound, gagged, arms over head, tied to stakes at hands and feet, stinking with terror. Eyes blue in firelight. Blond hair. Girl wasn’t human. Smelled of new thing. Learned later, scent of vampire girl, I thought.
Crone leaned in. Movement made liver-eater scent rise rank on air, rotten meat. She nicked girl with blade, a stabbing cut, pointed, deep. Girl screamed behind gag, face bleeding. Crone gathered blood on finger, carried it to mouth. Sucked it. Made another cut, another. Tasting each. Crone cut girl’s clothes with knife, exposing belly and breasts. Girl squirmed, but stakes and ropes held her. Girl vomited. Unable to release it, she breathed it down. Her breath sounded wet. Her bowels released old blood stench, rising with herbs in fire.
I eased closer to ledge, claws extended, gripping rock as if gripping flesh to shred. Crone raised knife. Brought it down into girl’s belly. Cutting. Bound girl screamed, keening sound, like kit in mortal danger, held in paws of male big cat, or under claws of rival female invading territory. Crone cut deep. Girl’s squeals bounced off rock walls below. I exposed killing teeth. Eyes on knife. Crone lifted out chunk of vampire girl’s liver. Steam rose from human-meat. Crone tasted raw flesh. Bit, tearing with teeth. Blood ran down chin, over clothes.