The damned fox thing wailed again. A second later, a ball of ruddy fur rocketed over my head and slammed into the werewolf leader, using those needlelike teeth on his face. I looked over my shoulder—Grace stood by the now-open cage, a penknife in hand. She’d opened one side of it, cutting the twine that held the bamboo poles together. Lips pursed, she looked scared but determined.
The nine-tailed fox thrashed and yipped, biting at the werewolf leader’s face. Blood spattered as the man screamed and batted at it, slashing with the knife, trying to shove it away. The fox wasn’t interested in us or our fight. As soon as it had cleared the blockade of people in the corridor, it raced ahead and away, around the corner and out of sight.
Pain and anger pushed the leader over the edge—jagged flaps of skin hung loose from a bloody cheek where the fox had ripped into him. His eyes had turned golden, and he bared his teeth in a snarl. I could jump him while he was shifting—maybe distract him long enough for the rest of us to get away, or at least draw the other wolf away from Ben. But he still held that silver knife.
Anastasia stepped between us. Growling, the werewolf slashed at her—and she moved. I assumed she moved; it happened too quickly for me to see clearly. She was in front of me, took a step, and then she stood next to the werewolf, holding the knife while she twisted his wrist and wrenched his arm behind him hard enough to make the joints pop. Crying out, he fell against her, bending back to relieve the pressure. Calmly, she placed the knife across his throat.
At his leader’s cry, the other wolf fell back, leaving Ben alone. In the pause that followed as we assessed, all of our breathing was audible as panicked, nervous gasps. All except Anastasia.
“Nobody move,” she said softly, which seemed redundant.
I glanced at Ben, who had slumped against the wall, catching his breath, keeping us all in view. He was cut and bruised, but gave me a quick nod—he’d survive. The still-functioning wolf faced us, stiff-legged, as if not knowing whether to attack or run. He was watching his leader, who twitched like he wanted to move, but every time he did, Anastasia squeezed his arm or pressed the knife to his skin. I could feel Cormac behind me, looking over my shoulder. Grace was still far back in the room.
On the floor in the middle of our gathering, the wolf Cormac had injured had started to shift back to human. Bones melted and resolidified in their original forms; gray and tawny fur faded, thinned, and once again became skin, now marred with black streaks along the veins, radiating from the wound in his shoulder. The silver poisoning had killed him.
Anastasia leaned close to the ear of her captive. “I very much suggest you answer my questions now.”
He managed to snarl without moving.
“Where is Roman?”
“I don’t know,” he said around growls huffing with every breath. His hands flexed, his body braced, tense. He was on the edge, ready to shift in panic despite the vampire’s threats.
Behind me, Cormac watched. He had a seco
nd knife in hand, a slender, aerodynamic piece designed for throwing. Where did he get these things? His felony conviction kept him from carrying guns. Were knives okay then?
Grace peered out from around the doorway. The knife she’d used on the cage was a mini Leatherman-type tool on a keychain. It wouldn’t do any good against werewolves, but at least it was something. Her other hand held the candle lantern, the light of which wavered as her hand shook.
I went to her, taking her hand. “You have to get out of here.”
Anastasia watched as I led Grace to the wall and edged around the group. Nobody said anything, but they didn’t look happy, either. Like I was disturbing the delicate, temporary peace by moving, introducing variables. I just wanted one less vulnerable party trapped in the room. I kept her behind me, until we were past the vampire and werewolves, until she had a way to escape.
Once we’d reached open corridor, I pushed her. “Get out of here, go!”
“But you can’t—”
“I don’t want you to get bitten. We can find you later.”
Frowning, she studied me a moment. Then she turned and ran, the light of her candle bobbing along with her. The remaining wolf twitched, as if to chase her, but I planted myself in front of him and showed teeth. Just try it, my Wolf said to his. He drew back his lips but didn’t move. The sound of Grace’s footsteps retreated, then disappeared, and I felt better. Not a lot better, but better.
Now, the only light we had came from the lantern in the room. That, and a dim, phosphorescent glow seeping from the walls around us, as if it was growing there. My vision adjusted—the figures before me were still shadows, monsters writhing in the darkness. Behind me, Cormac snapped on a penlight, which flickered before burning out in a flash. He shook the device, but it stayed off.
The impasse with the werewolves still remained.
Anastasia purred at her victim, “Moving on, then. Can you tell me, does Roman know that I’m here?”
“Obviously he does, he sent these clowns,” Ben said. The vampire glared at him, and he glared right back, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand and wincing.
I wanted to rush over, snuggle against him, and lick his face—an action that was perfectly natural to my Wolf, but felt odd in human skin. One of those things that made my divided self seem even more divided than usual. If we’d been alone I might have given into the impulse. But I had to stay here and keep the hallway blocked to make sure the wolf didn’t decide to chase after Grace. I wished Ben knew what I was thinking.
Anastasia returned to her interrogation. “How much does Roman know?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
“Keep them busy. Get the thing from them if they have it. That’s all.” He rolled his eyes at me.