"Silvermane," Mordecai ground out between tightly clenched teeth. This couldn't be happening at a worse time!
"Might as well get out of the car. It won't do you that much good to stay in there, anyway," the voice that Mordecai had indicated belonging to somebody named Silvermane went on to say. "My pack could drag you out in short order."
"Pack??" Duffy echoed in confusion.
"Pack," Mordecai confirmed hoarsely, staring hard first through the windshield then out his window. "We're currently surrounded by werewolves, Duffy."
"W-werewolves?" Duffy stammered, looking confused.
"That's right, old man," Another male voice, harsher than Silvermane's, snarled as Duffy's door was jerked open without warning. He was then unceremoniously dragged out of the car to be roughly pinned against the side by a young man that couldn't be more than 17, unshaven and wearing long, shaggy hair that tumbled to the shoulders of his battered old army jacket. He wore a hard look on his sallow features.
"Werewolves," the young man growled, baring lupine fangs as his eyes glowed softly in the low light cast by the overhead lamps.
It was a measure of Silvermane's respect for the big man that Mordecai was allowed to climb out of the car by himself. Still, as soon as his second foot was down on the pavement and he was standing, he found himself surrounded by no less than a full dozen young werewolves, all as equally bedraggled and worn looking as the one that had pulled Duffy out. And equally as grim as they stared hard at the big man.
The familiar form of Silvermane, dressed almost identically to what Mordecai and Jeriko found him wearing several months ago, quickly pushed through his untidy group of followers. A cocky grin was on the young werewolf's face as he came to a halt in front of Mordecai, looking up into the big man's face.
"I can tell by the look on your face, psionic, that this is an unwelcome surprise," Silvermane said in a light tone, hands pushed into the pockets of his faded jeans and his knot of followers all laughed softly. A quick glance revealed that there were at least thirty in total, if not more.
"Well, you know me and unwanted guests, Silvermane," Mordecai replied in a low, even voice, pushing his uncertainty to the back of his mind. If these wolf pups wanted a fight, they would get it, in spades.
"Hey, Silver, look what I found!" the young werewolf that had dragged Duffy out of the car said as he held up Duffy's Walther. "The old geezer was packing!"
Silvermane snorted in open derision.
"Shouldn't have bothered, old timer. That thing wouldn't have hurt us anyway. Ain't that right, psionic?" The young pack leader turned his attention back to the big man in black. "Why don't you tell your friend there how our extra bone armor and redundant systems combine with overall system robustness, increased muscular strength and durability to make werewolves virtually unstoppable?"
"Too bad the mutation that made you into lycanthrops didn't do anything to increase your brain size. Or your good looks for that matter, along with your muscle," Mordecai flatly replied. Silvermane's face darkened as his smile evaporated.
"Not a wise thing to do, pal," he hissed tightly. "Since you got bitch slapped by your ass lover, Ravage, you don't have the wattage to light a fuckin' candle!"
Mordecai's answer was a tight smile.
"You okay over there, Duffy?" he asked over his shoulder. Duffy quickly nodded.
"Other than having this ruffian's filthy paws all over my best jacket, I seem to be unhurt," the old detective muttered, his mind whirling wildly. First the men with the incredible powers. And now werewolves? What was next? Vampires?? He swallowed noisily, knowing that if his knees shook any more, they'd be knocking together. He had never been so scared in his entire life! At least, not that he could remember ...
"How touching." Silvermane's cold smile returned. "Concern for a Normal. That's a bit unlike you, psionic. Why care about them? The Brotherhood's about to turn them into fertilizer."
"Along with you and any other fringe populations, werewolf," Mordecai quickly fired back. "Do you think your brief association with Preacher and his bunch is going to get you some sort of immunity?"
"Maybe." Silvermane bared his fangs. "And maybe not. I guess we'll just have to wait until the Brotherhood ass fucks the rest of the world, won't we?"
"Why wait?" Mordecai grinned fiercely. Then, with a surge of powerful muscles, he blurred into motion.
Silvermane was the first recipient of Mordecai's violent attention: a wickedly fast punch combination, thrown with everything the big man had, as he knew he wouldn't get a second chance. The powerful fists hammered into the lean werewolf's face, staggering him back. Then a snapping heel kick finished him off, knocking him flying back into his astonished pack.
But Mordecai was far from done. Landing lightly, he instantly spun himself into a whirling reverse heel kick, bringing his right leg around like a battering ram of meat and bone from left to right. It was timed perfectly to catch the first rank of werewolves rushing in to take him on after they had recovered from their initial astonishment at being caught by surprise. Improved speed and strength not withstanding, they were brushed aside like so much lint, their bodies scattered like leaves before the wind to further hinder their companions from rushing in.
Usually relying on brute psionic force to bull his way through any situation, Mordecai found himself in the unusual position of pondering his next move as he once again landed lightly on the balls of his feet. He no longer possessed the resources to take on more than twenty werewolves enraged with the blood lust. He had to move carefully, or he was going to find himself in some serious trouble!
Unfortunately for the big man, Silvermane's pack wasn't about to let him explore his newfound respect for the need of strategy and tactics. With a snarl from where she stood on the hood of the TR-6, a rangy-looking female werewolf looped her arms around the big man's neck and shoulders and, with a surge of unnatural strength, hoisted off his feet.
"Gurk," Mordecai managed to gurgle as his feet left the ground. Then his breath was being hammered out of his lungs by lightning fast blows to his body as a whipcord thin werewolf stepped in to power battering ram-hard fists into his chest and abdomen.
For a long moment he hung there, powerless to prevent the crushing blows from slamming into him, breath trapped in his throat from the tight grip around his neck. It didn't take long before his vision began to blur and his head spin as his body screamed from the merciless beating it was taking. Mordecai knew he had to act quickly or he was going to get hammered into unconsciousness and then both he and Duffy were finished.
For his part, Duffy watched over his shoulder in horror as a knot of werewolves took turns in working the big man over, his arms pinned over his head by the female werewolf standing triumphantly on the TR-6's hood. Even the young werewolf that had pulled him out of the car to pin him against its side was caught, his attention rapt as he stared with wide eyes, tongue lolling excitedly out of his mouth.
Catching sight of his captor's temporary lapse in concentration to devour the bloody scene on the other side of the car with his eyes, his companions' fists now opening Mordecai up with their viciousness, Duffy swallowed hard again. If he could just get his gun, dangling from loose fingers, he might just ...
Lunging with strength and speed born out of desperation, Duffy felt his fingers close around the Walther's stock. Immediately the werewolf was staring hard at him, fangs bared.
"What the hell? What are you ...? he began to snarl. Then he was staggering back from the force of two slugs hammered into his belly at close range, enhanced musculature and bone not withstanding.
Adrenaline screaming through his veins like silverfire, Duffy spun around and, without hesitation, fired again, the Walther's discharge a harsh snarl in the enclosed space of the parking garage. Remembering Silvermane's mocking description of the werewolves' improvements, he aimed for shoulders, legs and arms, meaning to stun and confuse, if not outright knock down. Anything, to give Mordecai a fighting chance.
And a chance it was: the first bullet took the nearest werewolf in the shoulder, spinning him around to fall against a pair of his colleagues, the three of them going down in an untidy heap. The next took the female werewolf holding Mordecai around the neck, in the back of the leg, staggering her. Together, it was enough.
Feeling the hold around his neck abruptly loosen as she transferred attention and strength to her legs to keep from falling over with Mordecai's heavy weight in her arms, the big man felt himself ease out of the female werewolf's grip towards the ground. Just enough to get his legs moving. Blinking the black spots that were dancing in his vision away, he grit his teeth against the pain and swung hard at the hips, whipping his legs around.
The first blow took out the whipcord thin werewolf that had delivered the first blows to his body with a smashing foot across the jaw as he leaned in to resume the battering. It spun him around and into the arms of the three standing just behind him, caught between watching the werewolf who was first shot, and the newly strengthened struggles of their big captive. Together they went heavily down, falling over the three bodies already down on the ground, thrashing wildly as they attempted to untangle themselves.
And then Mordecai's feet were on the ground. Teeth grinding together in a rictus of pain and desperate intensity, he reached out with his hands to take hold of the tattered jean jacket the female werewolf was wearing. As soon as his fingers were curled into the fabric, he was tightening his grip and, in one smooth motion, slung her over his head into the mass of werewolves shifting uneasily in front of him.
She was a bowling ball, knocking down her unsuspecting colleagues before they could react, nearly a full dozen joining the seven already down on the ground. And they were quickly joined by a handful of others as Duffy emptied his magazine into the seething crowd, the bullets spinning and staggering them with their deadly impacts.
But, as Silvermane had mockingly predicted, the bullets' effect was short-lived. As the Walther's hammer clicked on an empty chamber, with nothing left in the magazine, Duffy felt an incredibly strong grip curl around his wrist and jerk him around. Much to his horror, the old Brit found himself staring into the face of the young werewolf he had shot first, blood liberally covering the young male's clothes. But, other than that, he seemed to be relatively unhurt, a vicious snarl on his face as he glared into Duffy's face.
In a motion almost too smooth and too fast to follow, the young werewolf then uncoiled a brutal backhand with his left. The backhand smashed his clenched fist into Duffy's head with enough force to pick the old detective up and sling him several metres through the air before he came to an abrupt halt against the side of a nearby car. Vision swimming from both the blow and the impact with the car, Duffy dropped to the ground with a groan, his body screaming in pain.
Mordecai too quickly became a victim of the werewolves' counter attack. Leaping over the snarled bodies of his colleague, a relatively muscular looked werewolf ducked under Mordecai's desperate swing and knotted his hands in the big man's tattered shirt. With a heave that could only be described as superhuman, the werewolf picked the big man up and also sent him flying through the air. This time, however, it wasn't a car that abruptly terminated his brief flight, but a massive concrete support column.
Smashing into the column with enough force to break several of his ribs and his arm, Mordecai's body throbbed with unmatched pain as the impact combined with the earlier beating to nearly send him spiraling into unconsciousness. His body nearly wrapped awkwardly around the column from the force of his meeting with it before he flopped limply to the ground, tottering on the edge of awareness.
"You're going to pay for that, you old fuck!" the young werewolf that had dealt Duffy the blow that had flung him into the car, snapped as he leaned in close to knot his fingers in Duffy's shirt collar and tie, meaning to jerk him to his feet to continue the beating.
"Nobody shoots me and ... uhhhhh." The young male's eyes abruptly widened before blinking in astonishment. Then he was lurching to the side as he slapped a hand to his ribcage where a new blossom of deep scarlet had appeared.
"Again?" he murmured in disbelief. "But ..."
With a wet 'splotting' sound like a melon being split open by a hammer, the young man's forehead exploded, spraying blood and brains over a groggy Duffy before he could react. then the young male was falling limply over top of him, his one remaining eye wide in shock as his life seeped out onto the garage's concrete floor.
Duffy wasn't sure if it was his spinning head playing tricks on him but, as he struggled to push the abruptly limp body off of him with shaking hands, he could've sworn the garage was abruptly filled with swarming bees, their low pitched, buzzing hums cutting through the air as they streaked by overhead. Then he was hearing hoarse screams and snarled curses as the dull sound of limp bodies hitting the concrete joined the buzzing bees to fill the garage's shadowy space.
They came out of nowhere: one minute the werewolves were advancing on Mordecai's broken body, teeth bared with the bloodlust as they anticipated ripping the former psionic heavyweight into his sundry parts. And in the next the shadowy wraiths were among them, firing silenced high velocity weapons, spewing deadly leaden killers that easily ripped through the werewolves' enhanced bodies.
The slugs appeared without as much as a muzzle flash, their discharge smothered by long silencers attached to the barrels of the efficiently deadly weapons. And where a bullet wasn't required, long blades flashed briefly in the dancing illumination of the overhead lights before reappearing, their silvery lengths quenched in dark werewolf blood.
The assault was over almost before it began, taking place in absolute silence to leave the floor of the garage littered with unmoving bodies. Including the stunned Silvermane, his face wearing an expression of disbelief as he stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, the color draining from his face to chase the life that had already fled the cooling body.
Duffy blinked wildly as he watched the last body fall, visible beneath the low slung carriage of the Triumph. Then, without warning, a pair of black combat boots stepped into his range of view.
He looked up with a start. He felt a cold chill race through him when he found himself gazing at a tall, powerful-looking form clad completely in light-absorbing black, including its face. Only its eyes, glowing cat-like in the dimness, were uncovered, gazing down at him with an indescribable expression dancing in its depths.
After an instant of silent contemplation, it knelt and reached out with a gloved hand to run a finger down along the side of Duffy's trembling face. It then lifted the blood-coated digit to its face where, without hesitation, it lifted its facemask to carefully lick the blood from the fingertip.
"Hmmm," the black clad figure rumbled in a low, male voice, the words gently accented. "Unless you're a werewolf, old man, that blood doesn't belong to you."
"N-no," Duffy managed to stammer.
"Lucky for you," The masked man with his cat eyes said, letting his mask fall back into place as he reached out to pull the dead werewolf off the shivering detective. Then, much to Duffy's surprise, he held out a gloved hand in an obvious gesture of assistance.
Taking it, Duffy was pulled to his feet by a surprisingly strong grip, the big man easily drawing the old detective upright without apparent effort.
"Now, where's our target?" the man husked softly, his glowing eyes scanning the carnage that lay before him. Carnage that was being surveyed by at least eleven more of the black clad people, moving with a sinuous grace that Duffy found almost disturbing. It was as if the great hunting cats had abruptly learned how to walk on two legs, instead of four, without giving up any of their effortless, yet deadly and purposeful motion.
As if in answer to the man's soft question, a voice called out, speaking in a language that Duffy had never heard before despite his long years at Interpol and working all over the world. It was soft and melodic, almost musical, filled with sibilants and alien sounds that, despite its beauty, filled Duffy's veins with dread. It was the sound of death, brought to disturbing animation by these strange creatures.
Still, he didn't hesitate to follow the big man as he stepped towards where a knot of his colleagues had gathered at the foot of a concrete support column on the far side of the Triumph. And groaned out loud when he caught sight of the crumpled figure lying motionless on the concrete in front of them.
"Bloody hell," He rasped as his eyes scanned over Mordecai's broken body, looking for any signs of life.
One of the black clad individuals knelt beside Mordecai's untidily sprawled body and let a hand pass over his chest and abdomen before looking up towards the man Duffy had followed over. It spoke the same sibilant language that Duffy had heard before, surprisingly in a woman's voice. For some reason, he had never considered women capable of the violence that he now saw stretching out all around him.
The man was quick to reply.
"In English, for the human's benefit," He hissed and, with a nod, the woman repeated herself, this time speaking in lightly-accented English.
"Looks like this is our man, sir," she said softly. "But the werewolves worked him over good. I sense broken ribs, lacerated kidney and liver and severe soft tissue damage in several locations." She passed her hand over his limbs before continuing. "And a broken forearm, three locations."
The big man's breath whistled tightly through clenched teeth.
"And his psionic abilities?"
The woman reached out to pass a gloved hand over Mordecai's bloodied head. And just as quickly she snatched it back, rubbing it with the other as she looked back up to the man.
"Offline, but the psionic cortex is still active. So I'd say that they've been shut down in order for his brain to repair. I sensed several micro-tears in the neural tissue."
"I see. And most of that blood appears to be his."
"Yes, sir. From several impact tears on his body. Most likely from the werewolves."
"Kadasa!" the man abruptly snarled, the word obviously an oath of some kind. "She wanted him unhurt! She'll have my head for this failure."
"We have, at least, sir, retrieved the subject alive," another one of the dark clad people spoke up to say, her voice making her also a female. "And we all know of the psionics' ability to heal quickly."
"You ..." Duffy began, swallowing against a suddenly dry mouth as several pairs of glowing eyes turned towards him, seemingly disembodied by the dark clothing the cat people were wearing, hovering in the darkness like gems of amber and topaz against the velvety blackness.
"You aren't psionics?"
There were several soft chuckles at that as the big man that had helped Duffy originally turned towards him.
"No, my human friend," he replied, peeling off his face mask in one smooth motion to reveal an almost unnaturally handsome face, the skin swarthy and the shock of hair as black as midnight. His cat eyes seemed to burn into Duffy's pale blue ones as he smiled. Duffy couldn't help but notice with a start the man's fangs: ivory daggers that gleamed in the low light. He also noted that they were long and slender versus the short, lupine fangs of the werewolves. The sight of them sent another chill of dread racing through his body.
"We are about as far from being psionic as a living being can be. In fact, your legends don't have us living at all."
"My god!" Duffy whispered hoarsely, struggling to stay erect as his head began to spin, his senses overloaded with what he had learned this night.
"You're vampires."
"Very astute." The man nodded. "Usually when one of your kind sees one of my kind, it's the last thing the human sees." His face abruptly tightened and the smile faded slightly. "However, we are here at the behest of one of the most powerful queens in our history. To save that man." He pointed with a gloved finger at the fallen Mordecai. "As well as any comrades he may be fighting with. And that would be you ..." He paused, obviously waiting for Duffy to name himself.
"Uh, Cal Duffy," the old detective managed to stammer after he realized what the big vampire was waiting for. "Of the Calgary Police Department."
The big man nodded and smiled thinly.
"Mr. Duffy, I am Commander Ingamon Lash, of the Qos Viran." He held out a big hand.
Duffy found himself staring at the hand for a moment before it sunk in that Lash was offering him the hand of introduction. With a thin smile of embarrassment appearing on his wan features, he took the hand and let Lash give his a firm shake before releasing it.
"A pleasure, Commander. Your arrival couldn't have been better timed." He blinked slowly a couple of times as he waited for his brain to start processing what was going on here. It was being overwhelmed ... almost like it had been all those years ago, in that alleyway in Brussels.
With a shake, Duffy brought his mind back to the present and willed his racing heart to slow before it leapt out of his mouth. That particular memory had been repressed for so long that he had simply forgotten it. But the situation unfolding around him now was forcing it once more onto the stage of his mind. He swallowed against the uneasy shifting of his stomach.
"But I'm afraid I've never heard of the Qos Viran. As you said, vampires themselves are pretty much lost in legend and ghost stories among humanity. We have no knowledge of the inner workings of your society which now, to me, obviously exists."
"Nor should you," the big vampire indicated. "Much of what we are, we hide from normal humans like you. It makes hunting your kind much ... easier." His tight smile sent yet another chill down Duffy's spine.
"But tonight you're not food to us. Tonight you are an individual that we've sworn oaths to protect. And, if we vampires have anything of worth that we hold sacred, it's the oaths we swear." Lash reached out to give Duffy's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "This night we are comrades, Cal Duffy of the Calgary Police Force."
"You don't know how comforting that is to me," Duffy rasped, eliciting another round of soft laughter from the other vampires.
"Speaking of comfort," the female vampire that was still kneeling beside Mordecai, said. "We should move Mordecai to a better location, so we can tend to his wounds."
"Excellent suggestion." Lash nodded. "Fatir, you and Jebith take our injured guest. The rest of you, secure the perimeter and make sure Silvermane doesn't have any more of his pack lurking about before we move to our transport."
"You know Silvermane?" Duffy asked as the female vampire, addressed as Fatir, was joined by one of her colleagues to carefully straighten Mordecai's limbs before they gently lifted him up. Again it was without effort, testifying to the superhuman strength of the vampires. At least the legends weren't wrong about that!
Lash nodded.
"We've been tracking him for the last couple of days as he's closed in on Mordecai. We were able to learn much about him and his intentions before he struck tonight."
"What about the werewolves, sir?" Another vampire asked as he knelt beside a slowly writhing body, one of the few that had actually survived the Qos Viran's attack. From where he was standing, Duffy could see it was the young female that had held Mordecai up by her grip on his shoulders and neck while he was getting pummeled.
"Drink what you can from the dead bodies," Lash pragmatically directed, "while it's still warm. And bring along the few that are still alive for a meal later." He turned to smile toothily at a wide-eyed Duffy as the vampire he had addressed nodded and went about carrying out the big vampire's orders. "It's not often that we get such spicy take-out!"
"S-spicy?" Duffy stammered, not sure if he wanted to know what Lash meant by his statement. The big vampire nodded.
"Your legends are true when they say we drink the blood of the living to sustain ourselves. But, unlike the blood of normal humans, werewolf blood is rich with growth factors, hormones, endorphins and other elements that they use to sustain their enhanced physiology. It's like going from eating peanut butter sandwiches one meal to spicy Thai food the next. A werewolf blood meal will last one of my people nearly four times as long as a regular meal from a human."
"Interesting analogy," Duffy noted with a grimace. "Let me guess: werewolves are generally too strong and too fast to be prey for your people."
"As I said before, you are an astute man, Cal Duffy," Lash confirmed. "While my own people possess great strength and speed ourselves, the ability of the werewolves to hunt us during the day, while we are sleeping puts us at a great disadvantage. So we have never actively hunted them. However, that doesn't mean we won't take advantage of a situation like this."
Duffy swallowed uncomfortably.
"I see," he husked and again Lash smiled, reaching out to once more give Duffy a friendly smack on the shoulder.
"As I said, friend Duffy, you have nothing to fear from us. As long as Mordecai lives, so shall you while in our company. Come, we retreat to our safe house before Silvermane's fellows realize what has happened."
With one last look at Dee's Triumph, Duffy nodded slowly and followed Lash as he stepped towards the darkness beyond the parking garage's dimly lit shelter. While it didn't seem like a very good idea to accompany the vampires back to their place of refuge, he didn't want another encounter with enraged werewolves either. He sighed as one of the vampires handed him his Walther before slipping into the night. Lesser, definitely, of the two evils at this point. He just hoped he'd survive to see the morning light!
****