I sniffed with disdain. No sense to humans or vampires. Truck puttered along Jean Lafitte Boulevard, across Fisherman Boulevard bridge, down Privateer Boulevard, in Barataria. When truck turned on side street, I leaped onto low tree limb, into shadows. Dark. Good place to hide, hunt. Liver-eater’s changed scent was fading. When headlights gone, I dropped to ground. Stretched, mouth wide, yawning. Shaking pelt into place after fast-truck wind. Jogged down street, following scent. She looked at signs, to remember. PRIVATEER BOULEVARD.
Liver-eater-vampire scent grew strong at small man-den, buried in overhanging trees, hidden behind shrubs, flowers blooming all around. Brick walls, hard, smooth walks between bushes. Lights on inside, spilling out windows. Car was dead in yard, parked on loose shells, car and shells both white in night. Mercedes, she thought. I trotted up to it, its roaring heart silent, but still pinging with life. Liver-eater had just arrived, his new scent on door handle. Scent was mingled, faint-faint liver-eater-rot. Mostly . . . vampire.
She thought, A vampire turned a skinwalker and the transformation didn’t take properly.
Yesssss. And no. I dropped to ground.
She thought more. He didn’t take the drifter’s form; he called up another one from memory. He has to eat a lot of protein to retrieve a form he wants. And his original form, is it old? Decaying? He has to steal another human or vamp and become him?
Yes and no. Skinwalker and vampire. Together they are liver-eater.
Sorrow filled her heart. She grieved, as I grieve when a kit dies. Foolish to grieve, I thought at her. Not your kit. Not kit at all.
But my kind. And the only one I’ve ever seen, Jane thought.
Not your kind. Liver-eater. I spat in disgust, padding around house. Bayou water flowed close, silent, blacker than sky when moon is dead and gone. Loud crickets and frogs.
A car roared along road, headlights piercing. Privateer Boulevard, she said, trying to remember. Car slowed, turned down small street, slowed more, pulled into yard. I slunk through foliage, to front of house. Crouched in darkest shadow. New car parked beside liver-eater’s Mercedes. Its roaring heart stopped. Anna-human got out, talking to phone. She wore white dress, her feet on tall spikes. Easy prey.
“I’ll get his help,” she said to phone. Mayor’s voice growled, low, scratchy, words not clear. “Once we get Clan Pellissier’s backing on it,” Anna-human said, “we’ll have enough vamp clout to push the project through the council. And enough money to disappear.” More mayor growling. “Love you too.” She ran to house, rang bell. Her perfume was strong on air, overpowering blooming flowers. Inner wooden door opened, then screened door. “You have no idea how hard it was to get away from the hubby,” Anna-human said, lying.
“Come here,” man said. Voice strange, not familiar. He smelled of liver-eater’s vampire scent. Rot smell almost gone, even to my nose. Screened door banged closed. Wooden door was pushed to. But not closed. Light streamed out. I gathered feet in close to leap. Hunt!
No! she commanded. She tried to wrest away control.
Yessss. I am big. Big Cat tonight. Big to kill liver-eater.
Another car turned into small street. Into short drive. I hacked with displeasure. Car died. Rick got out. He had followed Anna-human. Trailed her. Hunted her. I crouched, tight.
Rick raced to front door. Looked in window. His body went still, like predator in shock at size of large prey. Pulled gun from beneath arm. “Anna!” Rick shouted. He tore screen open. It banged against brick with sharp retort. Like gunshot. I flinched. Rick dove inside.
Big-cat roar echoed into night. Not mine. Not Beast.
Rick shouted. Words lost beneath roar. Anna-human screamed. Loud thumps. Liver-eater and Rick shouting, wordless anger. Fighting. Anna opened door, scuttled into darkness. Stench of liver-eater rot erupted out door with her. And hot smell of much Rick-blood. Crack, crack, crack of gunshots. Window broke. Rick screamed, choked off. Go! Jane commanded.
I leaped through door in one massive lunge. Landed, silent, behind couch, wood floor beneath paws. Lips pulled back to expose killing teeth. Rank, rotten-meat stench filled air. Slurping sounds were loud, coarse. Rose up on couch, claws half exposed. Seeing room.
Overturned furniture, candles flickering. Rick on floor, lying in spreading pool of blood. Face up, eyes open, arms out to sides, legs splayed, shirt ripped open. Chest poured blood from deep gashes. Liver-eater stooped over him, hunched, face at Rick’s chest. Drinking.
Mostly human-shaped, wearing human clothing—slacks and belt, white shirt, all stained bright with blood. Long, tangled black hair tucked behind human ear, fell forward, hiding face. Flesh showed at liver-eater’s forehead and ear, at forearm and bare feet. But liver-eater’s hands were paws, claws flexed. Huge claws. Body shimmered with silvery gray light, danced with black motes. Energies of skinwalker shifting, half changed, yet held in check. Half human. Half cat. Liver-eater’s face from nose down was tawny pelt and big-cat mouth. Huge fangs rose from upper jaw, smaller from lower jaw. Fangs bit, buried in Rick’s flesh. Rick wasn’t fighting. Unmoving, yet still alive. He’s in thrall, mesmerized , she thought. Break it.
I leaped over couch, reaching. Screamed.