Chapter Twenty-eight

I stared at Sullivan lying so still on the ground, surrounded by glass and speckles of drying blood, then lifted my gaze to the shadow hovering in the hall.

I wasn’t certain if things had just gotten better or worse, until the shadow moved, and the moonlight glinted off a pirate earring.

“You okay?” Devon Murphy knelt next to Sullivan and checked his pulse.

Strangely enough, the first thing I noticed was that he’d removed the beads from his hair, though the feathers remained.

“Anne?” Murphy snapped his fingers under my nose. “You hurt?”

“Your beads,” was all I could say.

“Shock,” he muttered. “Happens every time.”

“I liked those beads. Why’d you take them out?”

“Too hard to sneak up on werewolves when they’re clacking away.”

“Oh. Makes sense. You sneak up on a lot of them, do you?”

“More than I’d like.” He set the dart gun against the wall and pulled his dark T-shirt over his head.

“Here.”

He tossed the garment and it hit me in the face, then fell to the floor. He sighed. “Anne, put on the shirt.

I’ll attract less attention without one than you will.”

I finally realized I stood topless in the moonlight. I flushed and dived for the shirt as Murphy turned to Sullivan.

“Is he—”

“Out for the count?” He yanked the dart from Sullivan’s back. “Yes. And he should stay that way for several hours. Long enough for me to get him in a cage.”

Sense was slowly seeping into my brain. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

“I’ve been following you since you left our place. Cassandra wouldn’t let you just wander around unprotected.” He flicked a thumb at the man on the floor. “You were wolf bait.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” he said. “We aren’t the nicest people in the world when it comes to taking care of business.”

“Who’s we and what business?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

I frowned. “Who can? Considering I was wolf bait, I deserve some kind of answer.”

“I agree, but I’m not in charge.” Leaning down, he grabbed Sullivan’s ankles and pulled him across the floor. “My truck’s outside. Wanna give me a hand?”

I didn’t plan to go near Sullivan ever again. He scared the living hell out of me. Which was so strange, since up until a few days ago I’d felt safe whenever I was near him.

Luckily Murphy didn’t appear to actually need my help; he dragged Sullivan into the hall. I followed, stopping at the door, then hurrying over to dig through the garbage in the corner until I recovered my fanny pack. I didn’t plan to let the sharp silver instrument it contained out of range again.

By the time I j oined Murphy, he was lugging Sullivan’s dead weight up a metal riser that reached from the ground to the back of his vehicle. Not a truck really, but a big white cargo van—the preferred mode of transportation for serial killers everywhere.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you going to do with him?”

“Does it matter?” His voice was strained as he muscled Sullivan into the van, pulled up the riser, then closed the door.

The windows were tinted. He put a padlock through the handles and snapped it shut. I glanced in through the driver’s side and discovered the back of the van was separated from the front by heavy fencing that appeared to be silver. Murphy didn’t fool around.

I hesitated before answering his question. Did it matter? If we were talking about the thing I’d just encountered in the abandoned building, he couldn’t die quickly enough for me. But the man? He was worth saving.

“He can be cured?” I asked.

“That’s what Cassandra tells me.”

“With voodoo?”

“He wasn’t cursed; he was bitten. Voodoo won’t help him.”

“What will?”

“There’s a woman who has the power to put them back the way they were before.”

“What kind of power?”

“I don’t know. Something spooky.”

Once I would have classified Murphy with the crazies: now I wasn’t so sure. I’d seen a werewolf. Hell, I’d seen two. Who was I to say some unknown woman didn’t have the power to make things right?

“Where is she?” I asked.

“On her way. We’ll keep Sullivan at the Ruelle place until she gets here. She had an emergency to deal with first.”

“Is she a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Tell her he’s got a pretty bad thigh wound.”

“I doubt it.”

“He was bleeding all over—”

“Werewolves heal, freakishly fast. By the time she sees him, he’ll be fine.” Devon tilted his head, and his earring gleamed. “How’d you get a lick in anyway?”

I grimaced, thinking of Sullivan’s threat to lick me all over. “A lick?”

“How’d you wound him?” he clarified.

“I didn’t. The other wolf—”

He tensed. “What other wolf?”

“Black, blue eyes. You didn’t see—”

I stopped. The thing had taken off before Murphy arrived, probably because he’d heard Murphy coming.

Murphy’s gaze swept the area. From the tension in his arms and chest, which I could see easily since I now wore his shirt, he was not only hyper-alert but nervous.

I followed his lead. The abandoned buildings were gray shadows against the indigo night. Nothing moved but us and the wind. If the black wolf was here, I couldn’t see him. If the woman I’d followed was around, I couldn’t see her either.

“I’ll have to call someone to take a look,” Murphy muttered. “I need to drop you at Rising Moon and get Sullivan to his cage.”

“I can make it back on my own.”

“You’ll get there quicker and safer with me.” He lifted a brow. “But try not to let any more masked women lead you toward a horrific and bloody death, would you?”

Well, at least he’d seen her too. I wasn’t completely delusional.

“What do you mean, lead me?”

“She was playing you, Anne; I figured she had good reason.”

“Sullivan.”

“A lot of werewolves stick together. They follow the pack nature of real wolves—even have an alpha, who’s usually the one who made them.”

“You think Sullivan’s the leader?”

“He’s too new. There’s a big dog.” He grimaced at the terrible pun. “I mean head werewolf, around here somewhere. We just have to figure out where and who.”

He opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

From the set of Murphy’s face and the firmness of his voice, I figured if I didn’t obey, he’d toss me in and tie me down. It was easier to get in. Besides, I didn’t want to walk back to Rising Moon any more than I wanted Sullivan to wake up before he was locked in a cage.

I glanced warily at his still form behind the grate. “Are you sure he’s out for a good long while?” I asked as Murphy climbed behind the wheel.

“The dosage on the dart was created especially for him. He’ll be unconscious for hours.”

“You’re sure he isn’t dead?”

“Nothing will kill him but silver.” He started the engine. “And another werewolf.”

“What?”

“A werewolf can kill a werewolf, but it rarely happens. Some fail-safe in the virus.”

“The black wolf tried to kill Sullivan.”

Murphy frowned. “This black wolf is starting to make me nervous.”

“You and me both.”

Moments later Murphy rolled to a stop in the alley behind Rising Moon. The crowd had thinned markedly.

“Rodolfo must not be playing,” I murmured.

“What did you say?”

“My boss. The owner. He’s a j azz musician. A very good one from what I can tell. When he plays, the place is a lot busier.”

“What did you call him?” Murphy snapped.

I j erked at his tone. “Rodolfo.”

“Famous wolf,” he said. “Rodolfo means ‘famous wolf’ in Spanish.”

“That’s his name. John Rodolfo. Someone else mentioned that it meant ‘wolf,’ but isn’t that common with older names?”

“More common than I care for.” Murphy stared at Rising Moon suspiciously. “What does your boss look like?”

“Why?”

His eyes met mine. “Humor me.”

The seriousness of his tone, his face, made me do exactly that. “About six feet, hundred seventy-five pounds. Dark hair.”

“Long?”

“Very short.” I rubbed my chin. “Goatee.”

“Eyes?”

“Blind.”

He blinked. “What?”

“He’s blind. Wears dark glasses. I’ve never seen his eyes.”

“Huh,” he muttered.

“You going to tell me what this is about?”

“You ever touched him with silver, just to see if he smokes?”

“Even though his name means ‘wolf in another language, that doesn’t prove he’s a werewolf.

According to you and your wife, people get that way by being bitten. His name was Rodolfo from the day he was born, nothing werewolfy about it.”

“You’re sure that’s his name?”

“Well, yeah. Sullivan checked him out. John’s the last of a local family.”

“They always are,” Murphy said. “You know that not all werewolves are bitten.”

I nodded. “The crescent moon curse.”

“Among others.”

“There are others?” My voice came out too loud and too high.

“I’m sure there are,” Devon said calmly. “You need to be careful, Anne. This guy could be dangerous. He could be deadly.”

“He could have killed me a hundred times, and he didn’t.”

I’d suspected John of being a werewolf too, which was why I’d bought the horseshoe.

“I didn’t touch him with silver, but I passed iron over his head.” At Murphy’s confused expression, I elaborated. “That’s supposed to reveal a werewolf.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t one.”

“Maybe not. But Sullivan was…” I shuddered at the memory. “Possessed. Even in human form, he wasn’t right. John isn’t like that.”

“What’s he like?”

“Sad. Sweet. Haunted.”

Something shifted in the rear of the van, and we both spun toward the sound. I expected Sullivan to be awake and slavering at the fence, but he wasn’t.

Nevertheless, I jumped out of the van lickety-split. “Thanks for the ride and the help.”

“Any time.” Devon reached under the seat and pulled out a gun. “Here.”

I took the weapon without argument. I wasn’t foolish.

“You know how to use that?” he asked.

I just gave him a look.

“Right. It’s filled with silver. Should work on anything that breathes, and even some things that don’t.”

“Great.”

“Anne?” I lifted my gaze. “Promise me you’ll use it if you feel threatened. There are beasts that roam the night…” A shadow passed over his face. “They frighten me.”

After my encounter with Sullivan, I didn’t have to be told twice.

“I promise.” I shut the door, then tucked the gun into my shorts, pulled Murphy’s extra-large T-shirt over the top, and went inside.