Reaper

The World after the End of the World will never be the same again… Sanctuary. Clichéd name, but the sentiment is still the same. Ten years after the end of the world, ex-soldier Mason and a small group of humans defend their fortified town against creatures of myth and legend made real. But with dwindling game to hunt and a lycan pack in the area looking for an easy meal, just surviving is getting harder every day. Andy has a few screws loose, and she knows it. She’s been on the road since the bombs fell and changed humanity forever. Driven by inhuman instincts, she tracks the newly and soon-to-be dead and dispatches their souls to the afterlife. Sometimes they go quietly, most put up a fight. She doesn’t care either way. Her ambition in life is to find her next hit of coffee and one day, maybe, sleep in a real bed again. Then Andy’s instincts bring her to Sanctuary and its enigmatic leader, Mason, and even the world after the end of the world will never be the same again… Warning: Contains a snarky female Reaper with a hair-trigger temper and a caffeine addiction, a hot ex-commando with an attitude and a twisted sense of humour and a happily ever after that defies death itself.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Reaper Copyright © 2011 by Mina Carter ISBN: 978-1-60928-630-9 Edited by Bethany Morgan Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

Reaper Mina Carter

Dedication

To my writing friends, who dragged me out from under my rock and made me put words on the screen. You guys are the best. To Bethany, and all at Samhain for taking a chance on a weird post-apocalyptic reaper thing.

Chapter One

“They say she roams the old roads, looking for her victims. Human, paranormal…she don’t care. She’ll kill anything.” The raspy voice echoed around the half-empty bar. Like a chill wind it reached into the corners of the candle-lit room, found all those who were listening and pulled a shiver from the very depths of their souls. Forget the bogeyman, since the war people had learnt there were far more dangerous things than the pretend monster under the bed. Those in the room listened anyway. Chair legs scuffed on the worn wooden floor, disturbing the sawdust scattered over its battered surface. Shadows crowded against the steel-grilled windows that showed evidence of the bars use as a last line of defense. At the back of the bar, Mason snorted into his whiskey. Good old Fred. He sure did like his ghost stories, even if they did scare the crap out of the customers. Not that they had many. Normally the place was filled with locals. It had been that way since the world went to shit in a storm of fire and brimstone. Mason rolled a mouthful of the amber fluid around his mouth, before letting it burn its way down to his stomach. Stuff would rot your gut, but hell did it have a kick, exactly what a man needed at times. He leaned back against the wall and swirled the rich colored liquid around in his glass as he watched the bar as a whole. After wandering in here six years ago, badly busted up from an altercation with a couple of Lycans, he’d gone from recovering patient to selfappointed town protector.

Reaper

Right now his attention was on a group of youngsters at the other end of the bar who’d waltzed into town earlier. After scoring refills on their water bottles and a pack-load of supplies, they were living it up in the bar, full of bravado, and crazy-ass stories of escaping a nest of Vamps. Mason had been up close and personal with a couple of Vamps, and they were tough bastards. It’d be hard, not impossible to escape a whole nest of the bloodsuckers, but you’d have to be a combination of Bruce Lee, Rambo and the terminator. Two girls, three boys. Way too young to have survived on the roads. He pursed his lips, feeling the scar at the corner pull slightly. He remembered his days as a wanderer. It was a tough life. Practically everything out there wanted to screw you over, and eat you. Or screw you, and eat you. Or screw you whilst eating you…there were some kinky-ass critters out there. He lifted his glass to his lips again. He never sat at one of the middle tables, preferring to keep his back to the wall with his gun free and easy by his side. Even in the supposed safety of the town Mason carried, locked and loaded. The light from the candle on his table caught the rim of his glass, twinkling in the corner of his eye. He looked at the group again and caught his breath. Between the light spots from the candle and the flickering shadows cast by the other candles in the room, the group of visitors looked different. Changed. It was a spilt-second, as though their masks had slipped a little and allowed him a glimpse at the creatures beneath. The one Mason had tagged as the leader turned around, looking around the bar with an assessing eye. Too assessing, and way too hungry. Mason took another drink as though nothing had changed. But this time he didn’t savor the drink as it went down. Before the war Mason had been a soldier.

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A damn good one. In that life he’d seen lots of corpses, but he’d never seen one walk and talk until ten years ago. Like the one scanning the bar as if it was an allyou-can-eat buffet. Ghouls. How the fuck had they gotten past the defenses? They had everything from warding sigils carved into the plaster of the walls under the hangings to a demon-trap painted on the underside of the floorboards by the door. The first drink of water visitors to the town were given contained a dash of holy water, and the cutlery they got was silver-plated. With all their precautions, the town was loaded for everything but bear. His gaze flicked around the room. Just his luck, most of the locals were in tonight. A heavy sigh escaped his chest as he drained his glass. He fucking hated Ghouls. Getting rid of them was always messy. His lips compressed as he placed his glass on the table in front of him. Seeing an empty, Valerie, the bar-owner, headed over. Her hips swayed as she walked, and there was a smile of invitation on her lips as she approached. “All done there, sugar-bun? Want me to get you another?” “No, thank you, I’m good. Listen, V, I need you to start moving people out.” His voice was low and firm—completely at odds with the brilliant smile he flashed her. Anyone looking their way would assume the two were flirting, which was exactly what he wanted. Valerie’s face dropped. “Aww, no… Those kids? You gotta be kidding me, Mason. They’re barely old enough to be out on their own.” “Exactly. They aren’t old enough, or anywhere near tough enough. They’re not human, V. Don’t be fooled by the cute mask they’re wearing. Otherwise next week it might be your Suzie’s.”

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Valerie’s face went stony. The only thing that made her madder than a bunch of wet hens was a threat to her daughter. Mason had no idea what had happened to the kid’s father. He’d never asked. Out here, no one did. Everyone had a past they would rather forget, things they’d had to do to survive. Most of the time those things didn’t make for a good night’s sleep. “Give me five minutes, I’ll get it cleared.” She started to turn, and then paused to look back at him. “Make it quick and clean, would ya? The girls look scared, like they don’t want to be here. Plus, it took me weeks to get the bloodstains out of the floor last time, and I’m all out of sawdust.” Mason nodded, pitching his voice a little louder. “Sure thing, sweets. Leave it to me.” His tone was friendly and flirtatious. For good measure he leaned over and swatted Val on the ass as she passed him. She squealed in delight, wagging her finger at him as she headed back to the bar. Throughout the room the locals carried on drinking, or talking, but he knew they’d caught the signal. The last time he’d flirted with a woman and meant it, mankind had a future, not this squalid mess they were trying to survive in. The evacuation didn’t take long. As soon as Valerie had dropped another glass off at his table with a wink, there was a slow, but determined exodus. The non-combatants left as the rest found reasons to go talk to friends on the edge of the room. Except old Fred, who sat on the table next to the Ghouls. It was his favorite spot. The table never moved. It couldn’t, it was riveted to the floor. Even now Mason knew that Fred’s finger was on the trigger of the shotgun rigged underneath it. “Lady of Death? Ohhhh purlease, old man, that’s just a kid’s tale. Like the bogeyman,” one of the Ghouls scoffed. Mason had already tagged him as the

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leader. Loud and obnoxious he was the sort Mason would want to waste even if he was human. “You wanna be careful, sonny,” Fred warned. He was an odd choice for a front man, but he was one of Mason’s best. A crack-shot with that gun, he looked like everyone’s favorite grandfather. No one suspected Fred, even if his life depended on it. “Oh yeah, Pops. Why’s that?” The Ghoul spun his chair around to face Fred and straddled it. The skin between Mason’s spine itched. He’d seen what Ghouls could do. They could rip a man apart with their bare hands without breaking a sweat. The instant the kid looked like he was even thinking of making a move towards Fred, Mason would put a bullet between his eyes. “They say the lady sees all, and knows all. There’s no way to escape her. Don’t matter if you don’t believe in her, as long as she believes in you.” Mason watched Valerie busying herself at the bar out the corner of his eye. She was wiping glasses, her attention seeming to be half on the conversation going on and half on her work. He knew better. By her left knee, next to the defunct cash register there was a fully loaded rifle. When the shit hit the fan, she would have it in her hands and firing within a heartbeat. He almost felt sorry for the Ghouls. Almost. He looked back. The mask had slipped completely now. Confident that the dumb humans they’d found themselves in the middle of couldn’t tell what they were, they’d let their cover slip. Mason could see through their human disguises, and right down to the foulness beneath. They had the same matted hair and rotten flesh of every other corpse he’d seen. Added to that were blackened, claw-like fingers, and the guy

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on the left had a bad drool problem. Looked like he’d gotten a busted jaw before he’d become what he was now. “Don’t be fucking stupid, old man.” The Ghoul started to stand. Fred didn’t move an inch, still smiling even though Mason knew he had to have the trigger down to first pressure. Interesting that, when they had their balls to the wall, humanity could rock it against creatures of darkness in the bloody violence stakes. “No, Johnny, don’t. They’ve been nice to us.” The girl at his side caught his arm, stopping Johnny’s headlong rush into certain suicide. Do us all a favor, lass, and let Fred blow his head off. Might be something human in you left to save. The kid turned on her like a Rottweiler, a low snarl in his throat. “Shut it, bitch. You’re here to look pretty, not question me.” He had had enough. Even though she was a Ghoul, if the kid hit her, Mason was taking his hand off at the wrist. “What do you believe in, Johnny?” “What’s it got to do with you?” The Ghoul’s head whipped around, isolating the new voice in the conversation with the instinct of a predator. Mason leaned forwards. “If you don’t believe in the Lady of Death, what do you believe in? Vamps? Lycans? The Abominable Snowman? Santa Claus? Ghouls? How about Ghouls?” Johnny’s face went blank, his eyes wary and flat. Mason levered himself from the bench in one lithe movement, his rifle held loosely in his hands. Even though he was armed, in this day and age that wasn’t a threat. Everyone carried, if you didn’t, you were dead. “You believe in Ghouls, Johnny boy?” Johnny shrugged. “Lots of weird shit out there. Could be Ghouls too.” Mason made it to the end of the bar. If Johnny had been anything close to clever, he’d have realized by now all the locals were quiet. More to the point,

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he’d have twigged that all the friendly locals of earlier weren’t looking half so friendly now. “Oh, I know there are Ghouls. Now, because I’m a fair man I’m going to give you and your dream team one chance. Get up, get your stuff and walk out of my town.” Johnny looked around the room. Mason watched as the penny dropped. “Come on, man,” he wheedled, injecting a pathetic note into his voice. That was what disgusted Mason about these creatures. Ghouls were tricksters, playing up the sympathy vote to get into a town, and get a free meal. “It’s after nightfall. You can’t turn us out onto the road at night. God knows what’s out there.” Mason shrugged. “We got a simple rule in this town, kid. You ain’t human, you ain’t staying. Now walk, before we perform a little…vermin control.” “Johnny, they’re onto us. We should go…” “No.” Johnny shook her arm off with a snarl as he glared at Mason. “I’m not being told what to do by a fucking human. We’re the top of the food chain man, and no one can stop us. We’re gonna eat your heart and laugh while we chow down.” Mason didn’t bother with any more dialogue. His dad had always said, when you face down a man with a gun you’d better hope that man is a bad man. A bad man will keep you talking before he shoots you so, if you’re smart, you can find a way to escape. A good man though…he won’t bother chatting you up, he’ll just shoot you without a word. He wasn’t sure his dad had gotten those definitions the right way around, because he sure as hell wasn’t a good man. His rifle was on his shoulder, and the Ghoul in his sights within a heartbeat. The next a blackened rose spread over the kid’s forehead as Mason’s double tap blew out what was left of his rotten brain.

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The bar erupted into gunfire. Bullets and shotgun slugs tore into the small group of Ghouls without mercy, making them dance like marionettes. It wasn’t a shooting. It was an execution. “Cease fire,” Mason yelled over the noise. The Ghouls were done for. The guys had all received double taps to the head courtesy of Mason, and Johnny had pretty much gotten shredded. His footsteps were light as he approached, to check if the Ghouls were dead. Of course, with their kind, dead was a relative term. He needed to make sure they weren’t the snacking-on-your-guts kind of dead. “Fucking hell, just the stink’d put you off.” Fred was right by Mason’s side as he reached what remained of the lead Ghoul, Johnny. Just as he suspected, the thing was old and rotten to the core. Rifle trained on the mass of torn flesh and rags, he kicked the leg nearest to him. “That’s Ghouls for you. Corpses too dumb to die.” There was no resistance. If the thing was playing possum it was good at it. He took one last look at the sightless eyes and moved his attention. The other two males were just as bad. From the sheer amount of damage, Mason figured they’d copped at least half the payload from the townsfolk. The girls, by comparison, looked almost untouched. He scooted around one side of the bodies on the floor as Fred went the other way. They both saw movement at the same time. An arm twitched and then one of the girls, the one who had spoken earlier, groaned. “We got a live one.” Mason barely heard the end of his own sentence over the sound of rifles and pistols being cocked. His world shrank to what he could see through his sights. Gaze firmly fixed on the girl’s face, he watched as her eyes fluttered open and she slowly turned

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her head to look at him. Black blood covered one side of her face, and he didn’t want to think about the thicker fluid oozing out from behind her ear. “Please…” she begged, her pale eyes fixed on him. “I didn’t want this. Make it quick…please.” She held his gaze, the moment stretching out. In that instant she ceased to be a monster, and became just a young girl wanting the nightmare to go away. Throat thick, he didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. He pulled the trigger and sent her into the afterlife.

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Chapter Two

Ten years, three months and four days. That was how long it had been since the worst day of Andy’s life. Of course, since that date coincided with the Apocalypse—Doomsday, Armageddon or whatever you wanted to call it—it had been a pretty shitty day the world over. Things hadn’t got much better. She settled her backpack more securely on her shoulders and studied the road ahead. She’d walked these roads since that day, always on the move, never stopping for more than a night or two. She’d tried to in the beginning, but she was just too different to hide amongst humanity for long. She trudged along the road, the tightening in her calf muscles telling her she was heading up an incline. She wouldn’t have known otherwise, after a while everything looked the same. Dust and fuck-all else leading into foothills and mountains in the distance. Apart from yesterday…yesterday she’d passed a tree. It had provided hours of entertainment. Reaching the top of the incline something new caught her eye. Pausing to rest her booted foot on the bumper of an abandoned car, she shielded her eyes and squinted. Despite her dark glasses the bright sun foiled her vision, making the dark smudge on the horizon dance and waver. She growled under her breath. Why the hell couldn’t she have gotten useful abilities like some other paranormals? The ability to change form and run like a Lycan, or the night vision of a Vampire…either would have been useful. At least,

Mina Carter

far more useful than what she did have, dangled on the end of a chain at the disposal of fate, chasing silver threads only she could see. It sucked, big time. Of course, most people would tell her to look on the upside—she couldn’t die. Would’ve helped if she’d known that before she’d tried to commit suicide. Three times. That had been the year after the war. She’d been way unstable back then. Mind you, when you were forced to kill your family, friends—hell, everyone you knew, then it was bound to knock a few cogs loose upstairs. Since then she’d come to terms with what she was, somewhat, and just did her job. The smudge on the horizon resolved itself into a plume of smoke. Five silver lines, the sort only she could see, flickered and lit up in the corner of her vision. They headed off straight towards the smoke. She sighed. Another job. No rest for the wicked. The small black mark on the horizon grew larger and larger as she walked. Eventually it became a small town. Andy studied it as she trudged closer. Most humans lived in places like these. Towns fortified against any sort of attack—be that attacks from other humans looking for supplies, or attacks from any of the paranormal types. This one had particularly good defenses. The person who’d put them together had really known what they were doing. She passed an outer redoubt of steel and iron barricades, nodding at the stony-faced guard stationed at the lookout post. The silver lines she was following didn’t lead into the town. Instead they branched off to the right. Like a good little puppy she followed them. The skin between her shoulder blades itched as she walked. Within seconds more armed figures appeared on the main wall, silent and watching. She was impressed. These people were on the ball.

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Turning the corner she found what she was looking for. A funeral pyre smoldered away, billowing black smoke high into the air. The wind changed direction for a second. Wrinkling her nose she tried to breathe through her mouth. Humans smelt bad enough when cremated, but Ghouls were even worse. She didn’t need to count the bodies on the pyre. Five silver lines fed straight into what she was looking for. Five souls, the ones belonging to the remains on the pyre, stood waiting for her. Standing in a nice little line, ready and waiting for her to reap them. Used to the drill Andy took a deep breath, and let her spirit slip into the Shade. The layer between life and the afterlife, it was where the souls waited for a Reaper to come along and send them into the afterlife. The world changed hue, painted in shades of black and grey. There was no color here, no life to speak of, and the truly alive couldn’t enter this place. She looked over her shoulder at the figures on the wall watching her. To them she would appear to be looking at the pyre. She could step bodily into the Shade if she had to, but figured that would freak them out too much if she just disappeared. As it was, they wouldn’t see her reach around and under her pack, drawing the twin sickles sheathed there with practiced movements. A good thing, because she didn’t fancy being hit with enough lead to drop a rhino. She’d only had this jacket a couple of weeks, and the last thing it needed was ventilation. The weapons filled her hands, their well-used handles as smooth as silk under her callused palms as she walked towards all that remained of the Ghouls. Twirling the twin blades around, she sliced her way through the souls with ease. With the souls already separated from their bodies, it was easy. They only put up a fight when she had to both kill them and reap their souls at the same time. She could understand that, most people were kind of attached to breathing.

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Sometimes she caught a break—death by old age or something like that—but most went down fighting, all the way. As soon as her blades touched them the souls shattered, disintegrating like smoke blown away by a stiff breeze. As the last soul broke up, a tendril separated itself and wrapped around Andy’s wrist for a moment. A surge of relief and gratitude filled her, welling in her chest and bringing dampness to her eyes. She smiled, knowing it was the soul’s way of saying thank you. “You’re welcome.” She flicked her blades back along her forearms and sheathed them with a small snick under the pack again. “I hope you find the peace you’re looking for.” Job done, Andy returned to the spot she’d entered the Shade. It was easy to spot. Behind her, stretching back into the world of the living was her own lifeline. It wasn’t the silver of the Ghouls, or the gold of humanity, or any other color that marked a creature that was truly alive…instead her lifeline was black as pitch. She snorted in amusement as she stepped back between the worlds. Twin sickles, which when you looked at them were just very small scythes, black on black clothing and a black lifeline… All she needed was to become anorexic, wear a black cloak and she could really rock the Grim Reaper image. She ignored the watchers on top of the walls as she headed back towards the main gates. Like every other town she’d visited there was another guard on the gate. “Morning, ma’am, what’s your business in Sanctuary?” The greeting from the guard was polite enough—even if the smile didn’t extend to his eyes and there was absolutely no way he could hide the threat in the casually held shotgun. To his credit he didn’t even try.

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“Just a quick stop off to trade for supplies and water. Perhaps a night’s sleep without having to keep one eye open.” The guard nodded. It was a familiar story, probably one he’d heard countless times. Still his eyes swept her in a quick but thorough assessment. Without asking, she knew he’d be able to describe her from the weaponry she was carrying but wouldn’t be able to remember her hair color. Black. Fitting for a Reaper. “Okay, step under the arch please, ma’am, just there on the red cross. Thanks.” With a frown she did as she was told, standing right in the middle of the crude cross sprayed in red on the rough concrete. A shiver ran down her spine as magic surrounded her. The guard’s gaze flicked up, so Andy followed suit. There was nothing on the underside of the arched gateway. Frowning, she flicked her vision back into the Shade, and was almost blinded by the devil’s trap painted up there. Clever. Someone here knew how to mix holy water with PVA glue to make paint invisible to the living eye but capable of use in a spell. She kept her expression level and slightly puzzled, as though she wasn’t sure what the kid was looking at. No need to alert anyone to the fact she wasn’t homo sapiens. “That it?” She injected a bored note into her voice. “Or would you like me to dance a jig as well?” He chuckled, and a rueful smile spread over his face. Andy grinned back. Under the wariness and the worry on his face, the kid was rather good looking. “No, you’re okay, ma’am. You’re good to go.” He nodded through the gates into the town. “Best place to go is Val’s. Just head up the road and it’s on your left, can’t miss it.”

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“Thank you.” She inclined her head, shrugged her pack to a more comfortable position and walked into Sanctuary. Inside the walls with their impressive defenses it was pretty much the same as every other town she’d visited. Dilapidated buildings lined the streets, and as she walked further she passed inhabited houses like small fortresses. It didn’t take her long to reach Val’s bar. Like the rest of the town it was a little worse for wear. Right at the moment though, it looked like heaven. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stopped. Sitting in an actual chair rather than on the ground would be a novelty, and if they had running water and a bath, she might just think she’d died and gone to heaven. The hackles on the back of her neck rose a second before the door in front of her burst open. A young lad stumbled out, glaring over his shoulder to snarl. “You’ll regret saying no. Jed doesn’t like people who don’t play ball.” Andy stopped. The kid righted himself, his yellowish gaze sweeping over her, and all her instincts went into high alert. He wasn’t human, not with eyes like that. Her palms itched, but she fought the compulsion to draw her sickles. “What you lookin’ at?” he snarled, recoiling a little from her presence. Without realizing what he was doing he kept her in front of him as he skirted around her. He couldn’t know what she was, but most paranormal creatures recognized the ultimate predator when they saw one. Shrugging, she carried on into the bar. Perhaps they had coffee. Her brain all but shut down at the thought. She could smell it already, taste the stuff on her tongue. It was her only vice, if you discounted bloody murder and reaping souls. She’d run out weeks ago and cold turkey was no fun. It made her cranky. She caught the swinging door on the way out, halting it with a flat hand on the wood and pushing back inwards. Her fingertips came away tingling. A

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devil’s trap at the gate, and active ash-wood inlaid in the door? This place got any more interesting, and she’d have to raid an old cinema for popcorn. After the bright sunlight outside, entering the room was like being plunged into cool water. Andy stood in the doorway and let her eyesight adjust. Her sense of smell kicked in first. The stench of blood under pine floor cleaner was unmistakable—as was the fact someone had tried to scrub more than one kind of blood off the wooden floor. Under the Ghoul she could make out Vampire, Were and…Brownie? Holy hell, if they’d managed to see off a Brownie infestation then these people were serious players. The room resolved itself into a large, almost cavernous space with a long bar at one end. At one time four pool tables had stood near the door, rings on the floor marking their positions like invisible sentinels. Sauntering down the center of the room, she headed towards the bar. Every set of eyes in the room was on her, which didn’t surprise her after the Werewolf. She reached the bar. Elbows on the wooden surface, she planted a booted foot on the rail and smiled at the woman wiping glasses behind the bar. Andy knew the smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it didn’t matter. The dark glasses did more than shield her eyes from the sun. “Howdy. What’ll it be?” The barmaid put a glass away next to an army of its cohorts lining the shelves. Andy wasn’t fooled by the easy manner. If the woman didn’t have at least three weapons within easy reach she was a monkey’s uncle. Or aunt. Whatever. “A refill of water, and if you’ve got some coffee I’ll love you forever.” Andy pitched her voice to polite and friendly as she put her water bottle on the bar. Invulnerable she might be, but being shot hurt. Since she had no active

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job in this town, all she wanted was to resupply, and perhaps get a good night’s sleep. “Room for a night, if there’s one available. If not, I’ll kip down in here…with your permission, of course.” The woman, Val presumably, inclined her head. “One water and a meal on the house, coffee you gotta pay for.” “You trade?” It was what Andy had expected. Her hands were already in her pockets as she withdrew a few trinkets she’d collected on her travels. Lip-salve, a box of old plasters with smurfs on them and a couple of disposable lighters. All suitable payment for the supplies she needed. Val’s keen eyes assessed the offerings, and she nodded towards a table nearby. “Can do, have a seat and I’ll bring them over. No rooms, you sleep in here. There’s someone on the bar all night.” Andy’s lips quirked as she turned and headed towards the table indicated. In other words, there will be someone with a gun on you all night, so don’t try anything funny. Good policy. Reaching the table, she slid her pack off her shoulders and shoved it under the table, out of the way. The intake of breath behind her warned Andy that her sickles had been spotted. She ignored it and sat. Since the whole thing was spelled to be inconspicuous, then that meant there were spells here that countered illusion. She really was going to have to pick up some popcorn. She lounged back in the chair and took her time looking around the room. She didn’t bother with the people, instead she scanned the walls and the ceiling. She couldn’t see them, but she knew the enchantments were there. Her water and food arrived. Andy gave up her search. With tricks like holy water and PVA glue to draw devil traps she was sure they’d gotten inventive here too. If she wasn’t very much mistaken then her cutlery was silver plate, and

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she’d bet her bottom dollar that the water had a drop of the holy stuff in it as well. Boiling Vamps from the inside was a new approach. Nice. She studied the food in front of her for a while. One of the figures the other side of the room peeled himself from the wall and headed her way. Andy watched him from the corner of her eye. He didn’t walk, he stalked…a predator like her. The rifle in his hand seemed an extension of his being, like her sickles were, and a pistol played peek-a-boo from his shoulder holster. Most men didn’t bother with holsters, just shoved their pistols into the waistband of their pants. Andy had always wondered how many had done the gene pool a favor and castrated themselves. Stupidity like that didn’t deserve to breed. “Good work with the Ghouls. I’m impressed,” she commented as he reached the table and spun a chair around to straddle it. He looked back, his blue-grey eyes as blank as his expression. Cute and hot. Very hot. She might not be human, but she was female. Everything about this guy— from the blond velvet-like stubble on his scalp to the solid, ripped body the tight T-shirt hinted at—called to every feminine instinct she had. Worse, in the middle of a cruelly handsome face sat a perfectly straight nose and a sinful pair of lips that made even a reaper think wanton thoughts. “The Brownies impressed me more though.” Andy leaned back in her chair and studied him more closely. To his credit he didn’t flinch. “How’d you manage to waste the little freaks? They’re worse than a bad dose of the clap.” Mr. Tall, blond, and less-than-chatty shrugged but didn’t answer her question. Instead he nodded at the plate in front of her. “Not hungry?” The voice didn’t match the rest of the package. Andy had traveled the length and breadth of the land. She’d tracked and reaped virtually every creature

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within living legend and a fair few that weren’t. The guy in front of her was human, but the voice. Ohmygod, the voice was something else. If Andy didn’t know better, couldn’t see better, she’d swear he was a Vamp, or even a fae…some being with the ability to hypnotize with sound alone. Smooth as silk, it went down like a good whiskey, making her think of languorous nights in front of a roaring fire. Then the bite kicked in, like the burn of a good shot as it slid down her throat. Satin over a core of pure steel. Of all the creatures Andy had come across on the roads, her instincts warned her that this one, this mere human, was the most dangerous. “Not particularly.” She met him look for look. Foolish perhaps but she found she rather enjoyed baiting him. She knew that, even at this moment, he was making the decision on her. One signal, and she’d be treated to the same fate as the Ghoul’s whose blood had decorated the floor beneath her feet. “Neat.” She nodded to the items on the table. “Silver for Weres. Splash of holy water in the glass by any chance?” He started, and Andy’s lips quirked again. She’d surprised him. Lifting the glass she took a long swallow then put it back on the table pointedly. “Just proves you ain’t a Vamp. Take off the glasses.” Her eyebrow winged up. There was no way to take that as anything other than an order. As a rule she didn’t take well to orders… “Tell me your name.” She hooked a finger around the arm of her glasses and slid them down her nose to look at him over the top. Dark eyes met light, and her breath caught for a moment. Andy kicked herself. Oh for heaven’s sake, get over it girl. What do you think this is…some kind of great romance novel? “Mason.”

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Oh my, the sparkling conversation was going to be the death of her. She just hoped his talents lay in…other directions. Her mind hit the gutter level as she wondered what all those tight muscles under his T-shirt felt like. She sighed, and tried to get her raging libido under control. “Pleased to meet you, Mason. I’m Andy. You’re not part-siren by any chance, are you?” He recoiled, disgust written over his features. “I’m not part anything. I’m human through and through.” Andy kept her skepticism to herself. There was something about him—she just couldn’t put her finger on it. “So…Andy. How about you? You going to drop the charade, or pick up the silver so we can see what you really are? I warn you though, Old Fred behind you is a crack shot with that sawn-off.” Amusement rolled through her as she took her glasses off, and placed them precisely on the table in front of her. If Fred was going to shoot her in the back, then she’d rather not be wearing them. Good sunglasses were damn hard to find these days. “A little unsporting, wouldn’t you say? What happens if I pick the silver up, and nothing happens? Do I pass all your tests?” His gaze hardened. “What makes you think you passed them all?” A chuckle of amusement escaped her lips. She hadn’t had this much fun in years. “Let me see… Ash-wood in the door to bar witches…wouldn’t stop a warlock or a sorcerer though. The door-step has an iron strip, and you’d be hard pressed to find a real living horse this far out so those…” she nodded to the horseshoes behind the bar. “…are definitely imports. “I’m guessing you have another devil’s trap by the door, but I can’t see it.” She scanned about the room, picking up each layer of protection she could see.

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“Wall hangings to cover warding sigils and the ones you have carved in the windowsills are some serious mojo. I’d recommend adding a couple to stop Banshee’s though…passed a band of them a couple of days ago heading this way.” Picking up the silver fork she speared a lump of beef from the stew and popped it into her mouth, busting the theory she was a Were or a Ghoul. Silver burned the first, and the other couldn’t stomach cooked meat. She looked at him in expectation for a second and grinned at his shell-shocked expression. “Did I miss anything?” His surprise disappeared under a glower. “What the fuck are you?” “Let’s just say I’m not a threat to you and your town. In fact, I’m intrigued. Where did you learn all this stuff?” She waved her hand, indicating the silver, the wards and the other protections in the place. “I’ve never come across a place so well prepared.” “Playin’ dangerous games, sweetheart,” Mason bit out, holding his hand up in warning as someone in the shadows behind her cocked a weapon. “People around here get jumpy when it comes to non-humans. I’ll give you the same warning I did those Ghouls on the barbeque outside. Get your kit, and walk. You ain’t human, you ain’t stayin’.” Andy rose to her feet. Below average in height, she’d long ago given up trying to attain the grace her mother had possessed. Finding out at the end of the world she was not only adopted but a different species altogether sure explained a lot. “Can’t say fairer than that I guess.” Swiping a razor-sharp nail over the pad of a finger Andy watched blood well up from the small cut. Leaning forwards she drew a symbol onto the table in blood.

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“What the fuck are you doing?” Mason demanded, his gaze sharp as it flicked from her to the symbol and back again. Andy shrugged her pack on and picked up her glasses. “Copy the ward, wash the table and do the same with the water as you did with the symbol on the gate. It’ll keep those banshees out.” With that, she slid her glasses on and walked out the door.

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Chapter Three

The day had been a long one. Mason walked into his room, and shut the door behind him with a quiet click. Still fully clothed he rolled onto the bed, and closed his eyes with a grateful sigh. He was exhausted. As normal, he’d been up before sunrise to join the workparties that kept the town running. He should have been exhausted, but sleep was elusive. Ordinarily it was an insistent bed partner, often claiming him before he managed to shrug out of his clothes. Tonight it danced just out of reach. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Andy, the woman from earlier. He ground his teeth, and squeezed his eyes together until fireworks lit up the back of his eyelids. Correction, she wasn’t a woman. She was a paranormal. Not human, not a woman, no one he should be bothered about. A thing he shouldn’t worry himself about. With those wicked-looking blades strapped crosswise on her back then no doubt she could take care of herself. For someone to carry blades instead of a gun was a statement all in itself. It said that the carrier was either a) stupid and about to buy the farm or b) they were good enough to get those blades into anything they came up against. To do that they’d have to be faster than a Werewolf, able to hear even a Vampire creeping up, and be able to outwit a shade. She’d looked too human, and way too cute, to be capable of half that. Mason groaned as images of her lying in the darkness, her skin pale as she bled out, filled his head. His male protective instincts, rusty from inactivity, rushed to the fore. He shouldn’t have let her leave. Unlike other non-humans,

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she hadn’t offered them any harm. She’d even drawn them a ward…and as soon as he’d looked at it, he’d known she was telling the truth. The thing had hummed with power. How he knew stuff like that, he had no idea. He just did. Since the war he’d been able to spot all manner of paranormals, and magic users, under their disguises. Not just non-humans either. Souls black with sin…that was the saying. He’d always expected a soul ready for hell to be as black as pitch, rotten through and through. They weren't though. If they were human, they were bright silver. Paranormals, as always, were different. Their souls were a whole rainbow of different colors. Amber for wolves, red for Vampires, black for the undead. His eyes snapped open as he ran through his memories again. He’d done the usual cursory check to see if he could detect anything hidden behind the pretty face and had come up with nothing. Looked human on the outside, no monster lurking inside to leap out like a freaky jack-in-the-box. Still, Mason’s instincts had warned him there was something not right about her, and now it hit him. Her soul had been black. At three forty-five he gave up on sleep, and rolled out of bed, sat on the edge of the narrow cot and rubbed his eyes. They were like piss-holes in the snow— gritty and hot. He cast a baleful glance back at the lumpy mattress. He needed a bottle of whiskey, fourteen hours sleep and a new mattress. Preferably in that order. The stink of sweat assaulted his nostrils. Mason grimaced and risked a quick sniff at his armpits. Shower time for sure. He walked out of his clothes on his way to the bathroom. Even here, in the safety of his own room, his rifle was the last thing to leave his hand. Propping it up against the wall beside the door Mason switched the water on. “Jesus fucking Christ…that’s cold.”

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Teeth chattering, he forced himself under the spray of frigid water. This time of morning, he had no chance of it warming up. The town attracted a lot of waifs and strays so they had most occupations, from a former hairdresser to a Hollywood gynecologist, but could they find a damn plumber? Until they did, the ailing boiler was only run for short periods, and carefully baby-sat in case it decided to go critical. Pity it couldn’t do that with Jed and his pathetic pack of dogs in the room. He shook his head as he scrubbed down quickly with the hard soap produced in town. He still could not believe that animal had had the audacity to send one of his mutts into town, and demand a tithe. “Five women, old enough to fuck and not too old to have kids. So we don’t want any dried up old-grandma’s. If the tithe is suitable, your town will be spared our wrath.” “Spared our wrath.” Mason snorted, washing his sack and crack with quick economical movements. Who did the guy think he was? He didn’t give a flying fuck about Jed’s wrath. He tried anything in Mason’s town, and he’d end up like every other para that tried it…with Val scraping his brains off the bar’s floor. Finally he stepped out of the shower and grabbed the thin towel draped over the rail. Like everything else here it showed signs of hard use. He dried off quickly and dropped the towel and his dirty clothes in the washing basket. The clean ones he put on were nearly identical. He pulled an old T-shirt over his head, covering the multitude of scars that marred his torso, and grabbed his combat pants. Once they’d been black but now they were a faded grey. Clean socks went on next, after he gave his feet a quick check. They said an army marched on its stomach, which was true. What was also true was that a soldier never neglected his feet or his boots. He laced up quickly and tucked the ends back into the top of the boots. Pulling his pant leg up, he strapped his knife to his calf. A legacy from his army days, it was Mason’s last

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line of defense. If he ever had to draw it, then the shit had hit the fan in a big way. Shrugging his shoulder holster on, he grabbed his rifle and headed for the door. If he hurried, he might be able to catch the morning hunting party. An hour later, Mason was walking point. The small group of hunters fanned out behind him. Their faces were grim and professional. A sense of pride filled him. In this, at least, his former life had been of some help. Whenever they left the town to hunt, they took their lives into their hands. Out here, things fell into one of two categories—things that ran away from them, and things to run away from. He pulled his rifle tighter into his shoulder, steps soundless as the group walked. Concentration wrapped around them so tightly it was like a cloak. Every gaze was alert to the smallest movement. The only major cover for half mile or so, this was where they were likely to find either game or become it. Tension wound through his frame as he paused, raising his arm with a clenched fist. At the signal the group stopped, and assumed kneeling positions facing outwards from the group. Mason crouched to study the tree line. All was quiet. There weren’t many birds around these days, anything bigger than a sparrow was an immediate candidate for the stew pot. But this was too quiet, as though nature herself was holding her breath, and watching the scene around the copse unfold. Way too quiet. Decision made, he stood and signaled to the group to skirt around. The likelihood of bagging some sort of game within the trees was good, but the risk was too high. They had a few hours left to find something elsewhere. He wouldn’t risk good hunters.

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He sighed softly as they moved out. When the scientists had unleashed hell on earth, and changed the fabric of reality, why couldn’t they have created cows the size of trucks? He’d happily trade in Ghouls and wolves for a guaranteed good meal. And steak...he had re-occurring fantasies about a good steak. “Keep it tight.” His order was low as James, one of the newest hunters, edged into his line of sight. Not a place he wanted to be when Mason was on patrol. Anything that moved was getting shot on the basis that it was either food, or it was hostile. The patrol continued in silence as they walked their pre-arranged route. Frustration began to mount in his chest as they walked further and there was still no sign of prey. Pickings were getting increasingly slim. Each hunting team came back in with smaller and smaller catches until recently, when most times they came back with nothing at all. If they didn't bring something back in today Val was going to have to dip into the canned goods secured in bar’s kitchen. That was something he tried to avoid. Canned goods would last for years. They were his fail-safe in case the whole situation went tits-up and they had to move out of town. On the road, they would be too busy defending themselves to risk hunting for food. Unease itched in the space between his shoulder blades. It started off a small itch, then grew and grew until his shoulders were tight with tension. Someone...no, something, was watching them. Mason’d bet his last bullet there wasn’t just one of them either. Before he could alert the team, they were attacked. Hard and fast, everything happened at once. “Contact. Full right, six o’clock,” he yelled, rifle on his shoulder and already squeezing rounds off as the first Werewolf burst out of cover to his left. “Weres!”

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“No shit, Sherlock,” he muttered as his double tap took the first wolf between the eyes and splattered its brains over the one right behind it. The second jumped over the carcass, red eyes fixed on Mason as it snarled. Saliva dripped from its yellowed teeth as it crouched low, stalking him. He aimed and fired. His bullet ripped through its right front leg, shattering the joint. Squealing in pain it crashed to the ground, and tried to shift to heal the massive damage to its leg. Mason had seen Weres change before, and it turned his stomach. All that bone snapping and changing, not to mention skin that melted and reformed to the new shape. Bile rose in his throat as he approached the creature where it writhed on the ground. “Down boy.” He lifted the rifle and put a bullet through its reforming brain. “Keep in. Controlled bursts, conserve your ammo,” he yelled over the sound of firing as the small group of humans clustered back to back for protection. The wolves circled them, flitting in and out of cover. They’d already lost Julian. The wolves had gotten to him within seconds of the initial attack. He snorted. The stupid cunt had tried to play the hero, ignoring all orders in favor of doing his own thing like some kind of post-apocalyptic Rambo. These days you didn’t want to be the hero. Playing the hero just got you dead. Fast. The kid had deserved to suffer for the stunt he’d pulled, but Mason had done the decent thing and put a bullet between his eyes when the wolves had ripped into his stomach. No one deserved to be breathing through something like that. Julian’s body, or what was left of it, lay off to the left. His abdomen was torn open, his intestines strewn around him like the stuffing out of a battered teddy bear. Steam rose off the slimy red tubes in the cold morning air.

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Sausages, Mason thought absently as he rattled off a couple more rounds at a Werewolf that dared to poke its head over the top of an old concrete pipe. He hadn’t had sausages in years. He could still remember how they tasted. Little bites of pure, fatty pleasure that burst on the tongue. Next to him, Julia kept a sharp eye out as he reloaded. The drill was smoothly executed, and instinctive. It was his last magazine. He didn’t need to ask to know they were all running low on ammunition. What the fuck where they going to do when the bullets ran out? “Single shot,” he ordered. “Make them count. If you can’t get a head shot, blow a leg out. I don’t care how, but I want these fuckers on the ground. If we’re going down, we’re taking them with us.” The bushes around them rustled as the wolves closed in. Mason knew they were closing the net. Within minutes, they’d launch their final attack and the humans were screwed six ways to Sunday. Ahead of him, an ear poked up over one of the concrete tubes the bastards were hiding behind. Mason grinned. It was less an ear, and more a furry suggestion of an ear. Disregarding his own order Mason aimed and squeezed the trigger, and grinned at the squeal of pain and fury that emanated from behind the pipe. “What was that?” He cupped his ear as though listening hard for something. “Sorry you flea-bitten mutt, you’ll have to come a little closer. I can’t hear you!” The group behind him chuckled softly. Within seconds, a low rumble overwhelmed the sounds of mirth, a rumble that coalesced into vicious snarling. He centered himself. This was it. They were about to die. He knew that, the men and women with him knew that. Miracles didn’t happen. Not anymore, not for anyone. Mason rolled his shoulders, checked his safety catch was off and waited for furry vengeance.

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Today was a good day to die. “Incoming,” he yelled as the wolves swarmed out of cover. Gunshots sounded around him as battle was joined. He emptied the last of his rounds into the face of a wolf stalking towards him and dropped into a crouch to yank the big blade from the sheath on his calf. “Come on, you bastard. Come get me.” Mason’s voice was thick with fury as he faced off against a lean, pissed-off-looking wolf with a tattered ear and murder in his amber eyes. Mason grinned, showing all his teeth. “Let’s see if I can’t make that other ear match…” The wolf curled its lip back, and snarled a low warning of pain and terror to come. As it bunched powerful legs underneath its body, Mason prepared for his last battle. Adrenalin sang in his veins. There was nothing like the imminent threat of death to make a man feel alive. He felt no fear. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all. Except a small measure of regret about kicking Andy out of town last night without even trying for so much as a kiss. The wolf lunged at him. Mason was quicker. He sidestepped as the creature rushed him, letting its momentum and weight carry it past him. As it did, he stepped back into its side, easily avoiding the slash of vicious teeth and landed a solid back-fist on the side of its skull. The wolf howled as Mason grimaced in pain. It was like punching bloody granite. The creature turned, and Mason knew he was done for. The group was scattered, wolves closing in on each of them. Julie, his fire team partner screamed as a wolf tumbled her to the ground, standing over her and slowly licking her face. “Come on then. Come and get me.” Mason’s lip curled back as he snarled. “I hope I give you the shits.”

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The wolf grinned, eyeing him up as though deciding which tasty portion of Mason’s anatomy he was snacking on first. Mason’s grip tightened on the blade in his hand. No matter where the creature struck, his knife was going through its heart. “Want a hand there, handsome?” The seductive voice took him by surprise. Andy. He slid a glance sideways, trying to look at her and keep an eye on the wolf too. “What the hell are you doing here, woman?” She was already injured. Blood coated one of her arms, soaking through the light material of her T-shirt. The bullet hole at the shoulder and the tattered skin beneath told him the blood was hers. “You’ll get hurt.” Mason wasn’t quite sure how the events of the next thirty seconds unfolded. As the snarling Werewolf launched itself towards them he tried to shove her out of the way, and protect her with his own body. Only she wasn’t there anymore.

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Chapter Four

Grim determination flowed through Andy’s veins as she stepped towards the Were. Her non-human instincts were in full force. Its lifeline was bright red, ready to be reaped. Trouble was, the soul was still firmly embedded in the body, and she knew from the look in its eye that it wasn’t giving it up without a fight. She grinned. Just the way she liked them. Time slowed to a crawl as the creature barreled towards her. She dropped to one knee, the other leg stretched out for balance, as it sailed over her. Spinning the sickle in her right hand she sliced across its belly. The contents of its abdomen evacuated the premises in a torrent of blood and heavier things. Andy ignored it as it thudded to the ground to twitch its last. The soul and the body were separate, and that was all she cared about. Most corpses tended to twitch a little before they realized they were dead. She turned her attention on the other wolves. Some of the humans were already dead—there was nothing she could do about that. All she could do was protect those that still lived. Muscles filled with the power of her calling, Andy swept through them like a hurricane. Her blades sliced and diced, ripped and danced, as she caught fur and bone alike, slicing through the body to catch the soul inside. Within seconds she stood in a pile of lupine bodies. Her eyes were flat and unemotional as she watched the remaining wolves beat a hasty retreat. She didn’t blame them. Vamps and Weres—both thought they were the top of the

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food

chain.

Did

them

good

to

come

across

something

more

powerful…something they couldn’t beat, couldn’t kill. Slowly she became aware of her ragged breathing, and the pain streaking like wildfire down her arm. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at her shoulder. “Dammit...” The bullet had ripped through the fabric, and from the feel of it, was still lodged in her flesh. Great, surgery before lunch. She sighed. She needed a vacation. Somewhere hot. She’d heard Hawaii was nice this time of year. “Here, you’re bleeding. Let me.” A voice at her side made Andy jump a little. She turned and looked up into warm eyes. A smear of blood marked his cheek, but Andy was caught instead by the small laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. He must have smiled a lot at some point. The desire to get him to smile at her was nearly overwhelming. “This? It’s just a scratch.” She flinched as he slapped a field dressing over her arm and applied pressure. To her, it was little more than a hole in her skin. She wouldn’t call it a wound. Such a name gave it an importance that was unwarranted. Whatever she did—dressed it or allowed it to bleed—nothing untoward would happen. No matter how much blood she lost, she wouldn’t bleed out. “Just a scratch, huh?” His lips quirked into a half smile. The expression transformed his harshly handsome face into something that took Andy’s breath away. Oh, for God’s sake girl, get a grip. He’s a good-looking guy and you’re an intelligent woman. No need to start thinking with your damn ovaries. “I suppose if you lost your leg, you’d claim it was a mere flesh wound, eh?” “Something like that.”

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Her smile turned into a hiss of pain as he pressed hard onto her arm. It hurt like a bitch, but her reaper physiology only needed a little help. Already the bleeding had stopped, and she could feel the skin starting to close. She could feel something in there, which meant she was going to have to open it up later to get the damn thing out. Trust her to get hit by the only shotgun in the group, just her luck. “How’s it feel?” His pale eyes studied her with a perception Andy found disturbing and thrilling at the same time. It was like he could see right through to her soul. If she even had one…the jury was still out on that. Still she had a feeling that, of all the people she’d come across in the last ten years, Mason was the one who would see past her human disguise to the real woman beneath. She wiped her blades off on the nearest furry carcass with swift swipes and sheathed them with efficient movements. They slid back into place with a satisfying click. Waving his hand away, she gingerly peeled back the field dressing to look. As she’d suspected the ragged tear in her skin was closed and fresh, pink skin had taken its place. She flashed him a smile as she dropped the dressing back into place. “Good as new, thanks.” Mason arched an eyebrow. “What, no pain? Feeling dizzy, anything like that?” She gave him a long look. “Not human, remember?” “Hmm...you still bleed like the rest of us.” His voice was low as he looked around the small group. They were scattered around the scene of their showdown with the wolves. A couple just lay on their backs, staring up at the sky as they dragged harsh breaths of air into their lungs. “Yeah. So do wolves.”

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Mason frowned, looking at the small pile of lupine bodies in front of them. “That’s odd. They normally turn human again when you kill them.” Surprise filled Andy, but she hid it as she looked sideways at him. She’d under-estimated him. Again. After seeing the way he had the town set up, she should know better. “They do. Well spotted. I take it you’ve killed a few in your time?” He nodded. “Yeah. Spent a couple of years on the road before settling down. Traveled with a witch for six months…seen just about everything that’s out there.” A witch. It made sense now. The defenses at the town weren’t random—they were planned with experience of protecting such a location. “I saw. Nice touch with the devil’s trap on the main gate. Almost didn’t spot that. Good setup, I’m guessing you’re ex-military?” Surprise filled his eyes. “You saw that? It’s invisible.” “To a human maybe. As we’ve already established, I’m not human.” “Good point. What are you?” Blunt and to the point. She liked that in a guy. The smile that had been trying to break free for the last couple of minutes spread across her lips. She tapped the side of her nose. “That’s for me to know, and you to find out.” Mason looked at her for a long moment, the corners of his lips twitching suspiciously. Then, as though he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he burst into laughter. “Oh, I intend to, sweetheart, I intend to.” Andy’s heart, an organ she’d long thought dead, skipped at the warm smile and flirtatious look on his face. Oh hell, this man could charm the birds from the trees if he wanted. A second later though, it was gone as he flicked a glance down at her arm. His jaw tightened, and she could sense the inner battle raging from the tenseness of his body.

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“You should come back with us. You know…in case that gets infected.” “Breaking your own rules, Mason? Tsk, tsk. Shame on you.” She softened her refusal with a smile. “I’ll be okay. You get your guys back to safety before the rest of this lot come looking for their friends.” “Of all the stubborn, mule-headed, bloody stupid…” Bloody women. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them and most of the time they drove normal, sensibly minded guys completely insane. “You aright, hun?” Cleaning tables on the other side of the room, Valerie paused and looked up at his outburst. He grimaced as he leaned back in his chair. Maps of the local area spread over the table in front of him, highlighted by a shaft of sunlight from a nearby window. He watched, his thoughts in turmoil, as dust-motes danced in the sun. He couldn’t concentrate. All he could see was the blood running down Andy’s arm. She was paranormal. What type Mason didn’t know—his usual acuity in spotting what a person really was seemed absent in this particular case. Whatever she was, so far she hadn’t harmed any of them. In fact, she not only had not harmed anyone in town but she’d come riding to the rescue when they were in trouble like some kind of white knight. Mason sighed and ran his hands across the short stubble on his scalp. The way she moved… Pure lethality and grace in motion. Like a combination of a ninja and the hottest super model he’d ever seen all rolled into one uber-sexy package. His perfect woman…and he’d let her go injured into the wilds alone. What kind of fucking idiot was he? “Nothing. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

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Valerie looked less than convinced. Giving the table in front of her a last swipe with her cloth she picked up the bottle of cleaner and headed towards him. “Mister-I-don’t-need-sleep-invincible-Mason-Callahan is tired?” She plonked the bottle and cloth down on the table and flopped onto the seat in front of him. “Yeah, right. Try something believable...like…you moonlight as Santa Claus. That I might believe.” He gave her a blank look, but the expression on her face said she wasn’t having any of it. He swore. The vicious curse did nothing but elicit laughter from the blond bar-keeper. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? The one that was in here last night. What was her name...Andrea or something?” “Andy,” he replied begrudgingly. No point in trying to hide anything. If V was confronting him about it, then she already had the answers. Just like a woman to work that way, and V was as manipulative as they came. He sighed and rearranged his maps for the tenth time since opening them up. He was trying to plot a route to the nearest town. Something that wouldn’t leave them in the open too long, was on the least blocked highways and avoided both the local Werewolf packs and Vampire nests. That just left the other stuff to worry about—wandering Were-packs, nomadic creatures like banshees and plain weird shit he didn’t have a name for. “Andy. I knew it was A something. Julie says she was out there today.” V ran her finger along a deep grove in the tabletop. “Said you lot would have bought the farm if she hadn’t turned up.” Mason just nodded.

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“Had us surrounded. Must have been stalking us for a while. I just didn’t see it. Julian broke formation, so they got to him first. They were about to take us all out when she showed up. Took on three herself, like there was no stopping her.” He shook his head, still amazed at what he’d seen. “The rest ran. Like they were scared shitless of her. Don’t blame them, I would’ve been too.” Valerie looked up, her expression serious. “So, what do we think? Vampire?” He shook his head. “Not the right vibe for a Vamp.” “Something worse?” “Worse than a Vamp?” Mason chuckled, but Valerie’s words struck a chord deep within him. There was something dangerous about Andy. Something Werewolves ran from, something he was sure would scare the un-dead crap out of Vampires too. It was the same thing that called out like a siren to him. He stood in a lithe movement and gathered his maps. “She helped us, and she got hurt. Wouldn’t come into town because of our rules. That doesn’t sit right with me. Human or not, the last thing anyone needs out there is to be bleeding from a fresh wound. I’m gonna go look for her…she’s on foot. Can’t have gotten far.” “Fucking…hell!” The sound of Andy’s curses reverberated back at her, echoed nicely by the concrete of the old bridge she’d made camp under. There was a small tent in the backpack next to her sleeping bag but she rarely bothered to unpack it unless the weather was crappy. More curses spilled from her lips as she glared at the bloody mess that was her shoulder. Small knife in her hand, not one of her sickles, she squinted and tried to spot the pellet she knew was in there.

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“Stupid cow. You should have dug it out there and then, not let it heal over.” Gritting her teeth, she probed with the knife again. Just because she couldn’t die didn’t mean she couldn’t feel pain. Right now, she was feeling shed-loads of it. Her blade scraped against bone, sending razor sharp needles of pain through her, and twisted her gut into a cat’s cradle of bile and nausea. Not throwing up, not throwing up, she chanted the mantra in her head as she tried to force the feeling back down. She hated being sick. Hated it with a passion. Always had, and always would. Leaning back against the rough concrete wall, she tried to use the cold surface to leech some of the heat from her body as she waited for the feeling to subside. By slow degrees it did, until she could think straight again. Grimly she gathered the courage to try again. Finally she lifted her head to study the edges of the wound again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Andy jumped, and lost her grip on the knife. “Oh bollocks! Look at what you made me do,” she snapped, searching in the folds of her sleeping bag for the bloodied knife. It came away from the fabric with a wet smear that made her wince. “Great, that’s gonna need sponging off or the flies will have a field day. What the hell are you doing out here anyway? Thought you’d be tucked up all nice and safe in your little town?” Mason stalked into the circle of light cast by the small fire. “Looking for you, that’s what. Wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid…like trying to carve up your arm with a god-damned butcher’s knife!” She frowned at the blade in her hand. Sure, it was a little on the long side but it was the only straight blade she had. Her sickles were sharper, but knowing her luck, she’d probably amputate her own arm. “Huh? This thing? It’s nowhere near heavy enough for a butcher’s knife.”

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Ignoring him as he squatted in front of her, she dug the knife into her arm again. The pellet was still in there…she could feel it. After her second bout of swearing Mason reached out and plucked the knife from her hand. “Here. Let me. I’ll make less of a mess than you are. You trying to end up with a scar?” Andy shrugged. “Wouldn’t make a difference. I don’t scar.” “Yeah, right. Everyone scars…only things that don’t are Vamps. And you aren’t a Vamp. I might be human, but I’m not stupid.” His voice was amused as he studied her arm. Light from the fire behind him caught the tips of his cropped hair, casting the hard plains of his face into shadow and giving him a fiery-red halo. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Felt nice to let someone look after her for a change. “I could be a day-walker Vampire.” He chuckled. “Sorry sweetheart. This is reality, not a Hollywood blockbuster. Only Vamps we got are the ones who don’t tan well.” Fingers moving gently, he probed the ragged edges of the wound in her arm. Then he paused. “This looks different. What have you been doing to it?” “Doing to it? You mean, other than digging around in it with a sharp implement?” It was sarcastic and she knew it. But Andy couldn’t help it. She’d always had a sharp tongue and spending years traveling with only herself for company…that was bound to warp even the healthiest of minds. She didn’t want to think too closely on her mental state. If a psychiatrist assessed her, she was sure the words homicidal and possibly fruit-loop would feature heavily in their report. He shot her a look.

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Andy grinned, unrepentant. “What? Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer. Owww! Lay off with the squeezing, would you? That bloody hurts.” “Cry-baby. It’s just a scratch. Remember?” He ignored her glare with an innocent expression and carried on manipulating around the wound. Blood oozed thickly down her arm. “It was just a scratch. Earlier. That was before I opened it up to dig a hole the size of freaking China to find the pellet one of your friends shot me with.” “It’s the wrong shape.” “What do you mean it’s the wrong shape?” Andy winced and tried to wriggle away as he put more pressure on her upper arm and dug in with the knife. Bloody hell, with friends like this, who needed enemies? Pain lanced down her arm as he went after the pellet. Fire and ice shot through her body and brought a slick of sweat to her skin. She clamped her jaw shut to keep from crying out until she was sure the pressure was going to crack her teeth. “Ahh, there it is.” Mason sat back on his heels, the small pellet between his bloodied thumb and forefinger. With satisfaction, he threw it into the fire. “It’s the wrong shape for China. So, what do you mean by you opened it up? Had it already scabbed over?” She recognized a leading question when she heard one. Humans healed slowly but still, most paranormal races would show some sign of such a recent injury—a healing wound, or a scar—something. “Not scabbed over, no.” She paused. Was she ready to tell him what she was? He already knew she wasn’t a Vampire so she couldn’t give that excuse. Was being the physical embodiment of death worse than being a blood-sucking fiend from beyond the grave? What the hell…he already knew she wasn’t human. “It had healed over.”

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The silence between them stretched out. His gaze locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away. Even if the bombs had fallen all over again, she wouldn’t have been able to move a muscle. His expression was level and emotionless, apart from his eyes. His eyes blazed with suspicion and a deep, dark something Andy wasn’t sure she was reading right. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was…interest? That couldn’t be right, even when she’d been human men had never found her interesting, much less attractive. Too short, too skinny, pale skin, dark hair. An all-round plain Jane. Great. The first guy she was interested in and who just might be interested in her, and she was about to tell him she was the female version of the Grim Reaper. The battle continued to wage in his eyes, the knuckles of the hand that held the knife white with pressure. His voice was tight and contained. “I’ll ask again, for the last time. What are you?” Mason’s heart did a tango in his chest as he waited for her answer. He’d come out to look for her because he’d been worried. Concerned about her safety out here all alone and injured. Concerned about a woman who’d taken down three fully shifted Lycan’s without so much as breaking a sweat. Well done, Mason. That’s what thinking with your prick does for you. Her dark eyes flicked to the blade in his hand. One by one he forced his fingers to relax. She might be about to tear his face from his skull but he felt a strange need not to scare her. She was small, female…and that delicate curl in the curve of her neck was driving him nuts. Of all the women he’d met—why did the only one that sparked an interest in him have to be a paranormal? “You sure you want to know?”

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Her arched eyebrow was a challenge he couldn’t ignore. Throwing caution to the wind he flicked his wrist and half threw-half thrust the knife into the dirt by his knee. With the speed she’d displayed earlier, no knife was going to help if she wanted to hurt him. “The truth,” he said firmly. He’d had enough of being given the run around by this one. However pretty she was, with her masses of dark hair and soft lips that made a man think wicked things, he had a limited supply of patience. Again that maddening half smile flirted with the corner of her lips. “The truth? You can’t handle the truth.” Amusement rolled through him at her quick-fire reply. For a moment all of it fell away—the war, the hard fight for survival since, the fact the town was running out of food. For a few blessed seconds he could forget and just enjoy being in her company. “You ever going to give me a straight answer, or just more movie quotes?” “Depends.” She grinned, a quick flash of teeth against her pale skin. He knew she wasn’t a Vampire, but still Mason did a quick dental check. No elongated canines or anything that could be remotely described as a fang. “Depends on what?” At his words the atmosphere between them changed. Her eyes darkened and he was stuck, caught in a web of fascination. Heat and smoke coiled in puppydog brown, changing her eyes from pretty to breathtaking. Need and desire hit him low down in the gut, sending shivers along every inch of his skin. “On whether you kiss me or not.”

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Chapter Five

The bold statement threw a shudder along Mason’s spine. His gaze dropped to her lips. Plump and perfect with a slight sheen across the lower one. A cupid’s bow of temptation. He shouldn’t, he knew that...there were a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t. “Is that so?” He leaned forwards by slow degrees, teasing them both with anticipation. Her breath caught as she went still, her gaze locked on his mouth. His lips brushed hers. An introductory touch that whispered over the surface of her skin. She moaned. A soft sound in the back of her throat, but it fuelled his male pride. With a groan he claimed her mouth fully. Crushing her lips under his, he dominated the kiss, demanding a response from her. His hand delved into the thick hair at the nape of her neck and held her head still as he explored every inch of her lips. This is heaven. Her lips were soft and seductive, clinging to his as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d heard flowery descriptions from old books about this moment...about women tasting like champagne and strawberries and other such nonsense. Andy didn’t taste like that. What she did taste like was indescribable. Like a taste that extended through his whole body and affected each part of him from the top of his head right down to his toes, and certain portions of his anatomy in between. Bollocks to champagne and strawberries—she tasted of heaven and coming home. A taste he wanted more of.

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Wrapping his arms more securely around her he pulled her forwards onto his lap. She whimpered again, that little half-moan in the back of her throat that called out to everything male within him. Sweeping his tongue over her lower lip he demanded entry. Like a flower opening to the sun she let him in, and then it was Mason’s turn to bite back a moan. He slid his tongue against hers, teasing and tempting, and then, when she responded to him, he took control again. His free hand roamed down her back, and the part of his brain that was functioning noted how well she fit against him. Her slender curves were a perfect match for the harder plains of his body. Within seconds the kiss wasn’t enough, was never going to be enough. The need to roll her under him and slide deep into her welcoming softness almost overwhelmed him, and banished all other thoughts. The crotch of his jeans tented, the savage ache there reminding him just how long it had been since he’d been with a woman. How long it had been since he’d even wanted to be. Gentling his movements with an iron control he didn’t know he had, Mason lowered her to her back and stretched over her. One large hand looped about her wrists and he pulled them slowly over her head, alert for any sign of discomfort. Her breathing caught, a delightful little hitch as her eyes darkened another notch. Her back arched as he held her hands captive. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and caused a cascade of fire to roll down his spine. She was smaller than he’d thought. Now, with that sassy tongue quiet and her eyes watching him with an unreadable expression, he realized just how delicate she really was. A warm breeze gusted over them, catching a stray curl and blowing it over her face. Slowly, gently, he reached out and brushed it back. The look of wary trust in her eyes nearly unmanned him.

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“If you don’t want this, say something now.” His demand was raspy and rough-edged, but he didn’t care. Swooping in, he claimed her lips again, letting go of her hands. He didn’t know, didn’t want to think, what he was going to do if she said no. Okay, so that was a lie. Somehow he would find the strength to release her from his arms. He’d never forced a woman before, and there was no way he intended to start. Her lips pursed in disappointment when he pulled away to look at her. “As I recall I asked you to kiss me.” She stroked a soft hand up his arm, finding the edge of the worn T-shirt and sliding under it. He sucked in a ragged breath. He was harder than he could ever recall. What was it about her that drew such a reaction from him? “Yeah, but a kiss isn’t the same as…um…” Just like that Mason found himself speechless. What the hell did he say next? Having sex…fucking…doing the dirty? Making love? Startled, he damped down on that last thought, not sure where it had come from. He’d known her all of forty-eight hours. Love didn’t come into it in any way, shape, or form. “Mason?” “Yeah?” “Shut up, and get your kit off.” “Yes, ma’am.” The speed Mason scrambled to obey her softly spoken order massaged Andy’s feminine ego. Within a heartbeat he hauled his shirt over his head to reveal a muscled and scarred torso that made her mouth water. His T-shirt had barely hit the ground before he started on his belt buckle. She chuckled softly. “Slow down, tiger. We have all night.”

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His second boot thudded into the dirt next to the first. Andy paid it no mind as Mason crawled towards her. The inferno in her veins threatened to engulf her, burning everything else away apart from the arousal that clenched her stomach and made her ache. Her skin was too hot and tight. Pulling at her top she fought down the urge to tear it away from her. She needed to feel the cool night air against her skin, needed to cool the fires that raged through her at the look in his eyes. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it.” His voice was a silken whisper as he reached her. Then he was in her space, something she guarded jealously, not allowing anyone within it. He didn’t seem to care, crowding her with a dominance, which took her breath away. “I’m planning on using that time to explore you. Taste you…and make you scream my name.” A soft moan of need and arousal escaped her before she could stop it. His hands bracketed the sides of her head, capturing her between the hard ground under her and his hard male body above. His nostrils flared as a tiny muscle in his jaw pulsed tightly. He wanted her but still he held back. The air around them swirled with sexual tension, yet he was taking things slow rather than falling on her like an animal. “If you want me to stop, say something,” he begged hoarsely. “Because if you don’t say something in the next two seconds, then it’s gonna be too late.” She smiled—the mysterious little smile of a woman who knows she has her man. Arching her back she let her breasts brush against the hardness of his chest. He was lean and solid, with the kind of muscle that said he didn’t spend his days sitting comfortable at a guard post. No, he had muscles that could only have been built by hard work and hunting.

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The scent of warm, clean man filled her senses. Andy lifted her hand and trailed her fingers down his chest and then beyond to explore the ridge at the front of his jeans. He shuddered and closed his eyes. She smiled, enjoying her sensual hold over this powerful man. Again that disturbing feeling, that he was more than human, came back to haunt her. She squashed it in favor of dipping the tips of her fingers under his waistband. “How about you quit talking and make good on your promises?” His lips crashed down on hers. Without thinking she opened up, allowing him access. His tongue thrust past her lips, and he kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Their hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing, touching and teasing. Clothing fell away as though it were no more substantial than mist. His skin slid against hers and she was lost. They moved in concert, part of a dance as old as time yet made new all over again because this was their dance. Heat and need welled up from her core as his hair-roughened knee slid between her thighs. They parted automatically, his weight cradled by her hips. Her teeth worried at her lower lip as he moved. The broad head of his arousal brushed against the entrance to her body, slick and ready for him. With a moan that was echoed a second later by hers, he sank into her welcoming warmth. Sleep receded in comfortable waves and, for the first time in years, Andy woke feeling refreshed. Grunting in complaint as the chill dampness of the morning air whispered across her exposed cheeks, she snuggled back against the warm, male chest behind her. Waking up next to someone was a novel feeling, something new, but she liked it.

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She hadn’t woken up next to anyone for a long time. Sure, she’d had lovers…she wasn’t an innocent, no matter how people decided to interpret her looks… There was no way she’d have trusted any of them enough to sleep next to them though. She knew better than to put herself in such a vulnerable position. Some people said having sex was the most vulnerable position a woman could be in. That allowing such intimate access to her body left her open to all kinds of emotional and physical violence. Andy disagreed. If someone was going to hurt you then they were going to do it anyway. Or at the least, try. Awake, you could fight back. You could see the situation developing and manage it to the best of your ability. Anyone that couldn’t see a violent situation brewing these days quite honestly didn’t deserve to live. It was survival of the fittest. Asleep a person, male or female, was truly defenseless. A solitary bird chirped the dawn chorus with entirely too much enthusiasm. Andy yawned and opened her eyes. The campsite was a mess. Clothes and boots lay in a tangled mess, thrown willy-nilly in their passion last night. The only things laid out neatly within easy reach of the sleeping bag were their weapons. She wriggled again, trying to get more comfortable. It was a roomy single but with Masons large frame crammed into it as well, it was a little snug. The smell of warm bodies, sleep and sex wafted up as she wriggled. She felt deliciously sore in places she had begun to think didn’t exist anymore. Hell, a nun would have seen more action than she had the last couple of years. He’d woken her a couple of times in the night and their coupling had gone from tender and touching to fast and frenzied, as though they couldn’t get enough of each other.

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Ordinarily that sort of link would have scared the crap out of her, but with Mason it felt right. Amused, she snorted a little. Who would have thought it…the big, bad Reaper feeling safe and protected in the arms of a human? Behind her Mason stirred, and his strong arm looped crosswise over her body to pull her closer into him. He sighed and buried his face against the nape of her neck, as if she were a human-sized teddy bear. She nuzzled her cheek against his hand on her shoulder. What was it about him? As soon as she’d seen him in the bar the other day something had pricked her interest. Both her feminine and her non-human instincts had stood up and taken notice. At first she’d thought the latter was because he was due to make a decision that might bring him under her blades but no, a look at his lifeline had revealed a dull, flat line. She turned her head to study him. He was older than she was. Physically at least. Inside Andy felt ancient. If she didn’t know better, she’d believe the claim her grandmother had always made. “You’re an old soul, Andrea, my love. You’ve been here before.” The first part might have been true but not the latter. She didn’t have a soul, ancient or otherwise, just a dead lifeline. She snorted in wry amusement. Dead lifeline for a Reaper. Fitting. Mid-thirties, she decided, still studying Mason. His muscled frame bore no puppy fat and the lines on his face were telling. Even before the war he’d had a hard life. His skin bore the scars of violence…both new and old…one gunshot wound looked like it had been treated surgically, which put it pre-war. Yes, his lifeline was different. Now she had the chance and the leisure to study it properly she realized it was the grey of humanity but flatter than normal. Most lifelines pulsated with life, the potential of a thousand decisions taking them closer or further away from the touch of the Reaper. His didn’t

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move, no pulse of life even though her other senses, and her experiences last night, told her he was very much alive. How odd, she thought to herself. Just what are you, Mason? Mason woke as a cold draft chased down his spine. Pulling the sleeping bag tighter around his bare torso he tried to recapture sleep. Then it occurred to him that he didn’t sleep naked and didn’t own a sleeping bag. Movement nearby had his eyes snapping open. For a second he was treated to an extremely nice view of Andy’s backside before she pulled her jeans up over her hips. Everything slammed back in a second…going after her, her wounded arm, and everything else. No wonder he was tired, the woman was insatiable. “Nice view to wake to.” His voice was rough and raspy with sleep. Propping himself on one elbow Mason cleared his throat and waited for her answer. She was gorgeous, all slender curves and satin skin. His cock stirred as he thought of what they’d done. By rights he should be exhausted, but he wanted her again already. A frown settled onto his brow at her quick movements. This was no leisurely dressing, she was moving with economy and purpose, as though she needed to be somewhere quick. That or she wanted to be away from somewhere quickly. Or someone… “Going someplace?” His voice was light-hearted, but concealed the doubt that seethed in his gut. She regretted last night…that was it, and she was trying to get away from him as fast as she could. “Your soul is dark Mason, black and steeped in blood. I can’t be around you. Not anymore. ” Julietta’s words, never far away, escaped from the locked box he kept

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them in and swam up to haunt him. Once the first part of the memory was free, the rest wriggled loose and filled his mind. “Babe, you know I’ve only been protecting us. That girl wasn’t human…she was going to kill us,” he argued, shock filled his chest. He needed Julie. She was the only thing that made sense in a world gone mad. She shook her head, her palm soft against his cheek as she looked into his eyes. Looked down into his very soul. “It’s not that Mason. It’s not even recent. Your soul…it’s dark, black. I’ve never seen anything like it. You have blood and lives on your hands. I’m sorry, I can’t be around someone like that. It’s not good for my karma. ” Mason’s heart stilled as lead lined his gut. Perhaps his soul was too corrupt for any woman to want him for more than a night and a quick fuck. His heart ached. He didn’t want that, didn’t want to be a throwaway lover. He knew he wasn’t a good prospect for any woman, but for Andy, he wanted to be. “Huh? What?” The exasperated look she shot him as she shrugged on her jacket and reached for her curved blades reassured him. It wasn’t the hunted look of a woman trying to get away but the look of someone with a task on their mind. “Yeah, time to get up. Early bird catches the worm and all that.” She slammed home the buckles of the sheath and tested how easily the wicked-looking blades pulled free. Nodding in satisfaction she looked at him and smiled. His breath caught in his throat. The expression transformed her from pretty to breathtaking. Their gazes locked. She knew what he was going to ask, and he knew she knew it. Before he could open his mouth though, she spoke. “I…help people. It’s part of what I am,” she explained, as though the words were dragged from her. “Like I helped you yesterday.” “You save people from Werewolves?”

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Her dark hair danced on her shoulders as she shook her head. “Not just wolves. Any predator, paranormal or human. Far too many of them out there.” “How can you tell someone needs help?” Mason was relentless in his questioning but he had to know. They were his people in the town and damned if he was going to put them…or her in danger. “I just can.” She leaned forwards and brushed a lingering kiss against his lips. Carnal thoughts ambushed Mason as the urge to drag her back down onto the sleeping bag almost over-whelmed him. Possessiveness filled him. Somehow, in the last two days, she’d wormed her way past his guard and under his skin. This was his woman, damn it, and no one was stealing her away, not as long as he had breath in his body. It took them less than five minutes to pack the campsite up. Whilst she packed the sleeping back, Mason dealt with everything else. A few minutes later he did the top of the pack and looked around. All that remained of their cozy little camp was the remains of the fire. Slinging the backpack over one shoulder he kicked the ashes over to make sure it was out. He stamped again, trying to shake the ash, which clung in a black tidemark on the battered leather. There was no sense in making tracking them any easier. Leaning down he grabbed his rifle, and smiled at Andy. “Ready?” “Yeah. Let’s go.”

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Chapter Six

Thoughts swirled around his head as they walked in silence. Whilst they were alone, them being together seemed right, normal. Now, faced with their return to the town, he could reflect on the strangeness of it all and on the strange puzzle she presented. Trouble was, even after the long walk that got him back in sight of the town walls, he was no closer to solving it than he had been when they started. “Wait. There’s something wrong.” Instantly Mason slowed his pace and slid her a sideways glance. Everything looked fine. The walls were quiet. Automatically he glanced at the town walls as he approached, looking for damage or smoke that would indicate the town had been over-run whilst he was gone. Nothing was out of place. “You sure?” Everything looked fine but, after yesterday, he wasn’t going to argue. She had a serious set of non-human skills on her, and he’d be nuts to ignore that. She stood motionless, her eyes not on the walls ahead, but out of focus, as though she could see something he couldn’t. “Something bad has happened. I’m going to scout around. Be careful.” Before he could say another word she stepped backwards, and pulled a Houdini on him. Mason looked at the space she’d been just a moment before for a long moment. “Great. Chicks that disappear. What next?”

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With nothing better to do and not wanting to stand around like a lemon with a thumb up his ass, Mason turned towards the town and resettled Andy’s backpack over his shoulder. Disappearing act or not, he knew she was coming back. If only to collect her belongings. “Morning, Joe,” he nodded to the guard on the outer redoubt as he passed. A man of few words, Joe nodded back and let him pass. Mason didn’t think anything of the long, sweeping glance as he walked by. All his people knew that anyone coming in was suspect. For all they knew he could have run into a Vampire or worse whilst out there and been changed into something else. There wasn’t a guard on the main gate. Damn it! How many times had he told them to get cover when they had to take a leak? Irritation flashed white hot in Mason’s chest as he stormed down the main street. All he wanted was to make sure they were safe, and they disregarded the most basic safety principles. It was enough to make a guy lose it… His footsteps slowed as he clocked the crowd outside Val’s bar. His gaze moved from one grim face to the next, noting reddened eyes and tear tracks down dust-covered cheeks. Then he realized the children were gone. “What happened?” Stony silence met his question. Dread curled its icy fingers around Mason’s gut as he looked from one stony face to the other. Instead of the warmth he was used to, their eyes were hard and unforgiving. He’d seen that look before. Right before they drew down on something non-human. “Well come on. I’m no mindreader. Someone tell me what bloody well happened!” Wariness thrilled through his veins like a fine concerto played by an orchestra. They were armed. Thanks to him they were always armed but this was

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different. The subtle change in their body language said he needed to be careful, very careful. “Where’ve you been, Mason?” He half turned at the voice behind him to find Joe, his rifle held loosely. Surprise joined the wariness and worry fighting for dominance in his veins. He needed Andy here, something was very wrong. “What are you playing at? Please don’t tell me the gate’s unguarded…” Joe shrugged. “Seems to me we got more worries in here than we have from out there. Where were you last night?” “I went after Andy, the girl who saved our asses against the wolves yesterday, remember? She was wounded…” He trailed off as the silent tension in the group mounted. “Andy…the paranormal chick we threw out a couple of days ago?” Mason’s brow furrowed at the hostility in Joe’s voice. He turned a little more, trying to keep an eye on the weapons in the group. His instincts screamed at him to un-sling his rifle and take cover, but he stayed where he was. That the crowd had itchy trigger fingers was easy enough to see. Just one move would be enough to set them off. “Well, it wasn’t really a case of letting her anything. If she hadn’t shown up then we’d all be dead, you know that Joe.” He looked around, searching the group for another face. “So do you Julia.” Julia’s expression wasn’t as understanding as he’d expected. Instead fear and hatred filled her eyes. “Aye, but better us dead than those creatures take our kids.” “Aye, she’s right.” “Should have let be, like Fred…God rest his soul…said.” “His fault… We should never have listened to him.”

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The chorus of agreement from the parents in the group staggered Mason. They saw him as the enemy? Nausea rolled in his gut and clawed its way up his throat. In his travels he’d seen what happened when a community turned on one of its own, for whatever reason. The result was never pretty. “What…the wolves took the kids?” he demanded, desperate to get to the bottom of this. Instinctively he looked for Valerie. Please don’t let them have taken Suzie. His heart dropped when he located her at the back. Her reddened eyes and tear-marked cheeks were answer enough. “Aye. They took the kids. Stole in here in the middle of the night whilst we were sleeping and took them.” “What about the guards?” “Took out Katie on the outer wall with a crossbow. We don’t know what happened to Victor on the gate, no sign of him. It was only old Fred, God rest his soul, that tried to stop them.” Mason was stunned. They’d protected the town for years against creatures, how could their methods fail so dramatically in one night? He’d only left to go after Andy because he was sure that the town was adequately defended. “This is your fault.” The shrill accusation came from behind him. Mason turned again, feeling like he was watching a tennis match. “How?” “If you hadn’t told that wolf no then they wouldn’t have taken our kids. God knows what they’re doing to them. Jamie’s only three—” Tears streamed down Julia’s face as her voice cracked. Guilt hit him like a truck at Mach-one. This was his fault. If he hadn’t gone, then he’d have been here to stop them. He opened his mouth to argue. What

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would they have preferred? To lose five women, including some of the mothers of the children who’d been taken… He shut his jaw with a click. He knew the answer. Of course they would have. Any parent would lay their life down if it meant his or her child lived. That was what being a parent was about. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” He trailed off into silence, not sure what else to say. What else could he say? Then something prickled at the back of his mind. God rest his soul. That wasn’t a phrase people used for someone who was alive. It was used for someone who was six foot under or shortly to head that way. Anguish clawed at his soul, both for the loss of a friend and the communities’ loss. “Where’s Fred?” “You’d better come through,” Valerie said quietly from the back of the group. Her voice was hoarse from crying. “He doesn’t have long left, so we’ve made him comfortable. It’s all we can do…” The crowd parted, the hostile stares and the fingers curled around triggers making Mason jumpy as he walked through them. They hadn’t tried to relieve him of his weaponry yet, but he knew it was coming. Unless they planned on just turning him out of town, then someone was going to make a play for his weapons pretty soon. With the way things were going, that wasn’t going to turn out pretty. He didn’t think they were going to let him walk. Tension was running too high, and mob mentality had already set in. With their children stolen right from under their noses, they needed someone to blame. Mason was no idiot. He was going to be the scapegoat. It was already cut and dried.

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The trouble was, he couldn’t blame them. He was in charge of making sure the town was safe. He’d told them they could trust him, rely on him. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have left them alone last night. “V,” he started as he drew level, and tried to catch her eye. Of all the people in town, he was closest to Valerie. Something deep inside needed her to understand how sorry he was for letting them down. How bad he felt that their kids, that Suzie, had been taken. “We’ll get them back. I’ll get them back... I’ll get Suzie back. I promise.” “He’s in there. You might want to hurry. State he’s in, he won't last long.” She gave the door a sharp nod, and turned to walk away quickly. Mason watched her for a long moment. Pain lanced through him. Valerie didn’t cry in front of people. Not ever. Blanking his expression, Mason took a deep breath, steeled himself, and walked into the bar. Darkness enveloped him in its welcoming embrace. Mason paused to let his vision adjust, and regretted it. Out of the dark the smell of death hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. Bile rose and hammered on the back of his throat. He swallowed it down, and tried to breathe through his mouth, his ears...tried to breathe through anything if it meant he didn’t have to suffer through the smell that was packed into the dark room like a crowd hundreds deep. He’d smelt death before, so the coppery tang of blood mixed with a fouler stench was nothing new. The smell of a gut wound was unmistakable. He’d know it anywhere. The contents of his stomach rose sharply again, bile burning up his throat. He’d smelt it before, but it was a hundred times worse with the realization that the person whose guts were leaking out over the floor was a friend.

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His footsteps rang out against the floorboards in measured treads as he walked towards the bar. His eyes adjusted, and the room was transformed from blackness to shades of gray. Within seconds, Mason wished it hadn’t. Fred sat slumped in front of the bar, head dropped forwards onto his chest, with his back to the wooden surface. Sat was a relative term. Most of Fred sat in front of the bar, in more or less a humanoid shape, but there were other bits Mason didn’t need, or want, to identify scattered around the room. His sight had adjusted completely to the dim light in the room as he rounded the last table—the one riveted to the floor—and looked down at the slumped figure. Blood decorated the bar, the floor, and other surfaces around him in thick, black arcs that spoke of violence and pain. Mason couldn’t help the wince as he looked at what remained of his friend. He was in a worse condition than Mason had thought. A red towel covered his midsection, from chest to mid-thigh, covering the worst of the damage. It was sticky with blood and other fluids, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Fred had always been a well-built man, retaining an impressive beer gut despite the recent heavy rationing. However, now Fred’s abdomen looked as lean as his own. Mason gritted his teeth. He would not be sick. He wouldn’t dishonour the older man in that way. How Fred was still alive was beyond him, if he was still alive. “Wondered how long it would take you.” The voice was little more than a wheeze, but Mason caught it. He dropped to his knees next to Fred, not caring that his jeans were instantly soaked, and grabbed for the hand the older man lifted. “Sorry, mate, traffic’s a bitch.” Fred’s hand was cold, the skin icy to the touch. Mason didn’t need to press on the nail beds to know Fred’s circulation was severely compromised. The

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wounded man chuckled. The sound degenerated into a cough, which was more a death rattle. For long moments he struggled to breathe. A tiny muscle in the corner of Mason’s jaw jumped. His throat was thick with emotion as he fought back the hot prickles at the backs of his eyes. In all his time on the road, all the times he’d nearly died, and all the times he’d watched others die, he’d never felt as helpless as he did now. “What happened, Fred?” Fred rolled his head back to lean it against the bar. Mason winced. The skin was shredded to the bone. A gaping hole in one cheek revealed the whiteness of teeth, and the eye socket furthest from Mason was empty. “Jesus…” “Yeah. I’m not gonna win any beauty contests, am I?” The self-deprecating comment startled a laugh out of Mason. “No, now that you mention it, I doubt it’s on the cards. What happened, man?” Fred started to speak but another coughing fit hit him. Mason looked away as blood and spittle flew. Good thing he seemed to be immune to the Lycan infection, or Fred’s tainted blood would have done him for sure. “Sorry ’bout that. Anyways…Jed happened. Or them bastard wolves of his did. They come out of nowhere, Mason. Not like they normally do…this was sneaky. They were in human form, got the kids real quiet like. One of them had on Victor’s coat…you know, that long jacket he always wore.” Mason bowed his head, shaking with anger. “Go on.” His voice was tight and controlled. The sheer force of feeling surging through him was like a tidal wave. One tiny slip, one little crack in the iron wall of his control, and it would spill over. Then whoever was in the way would be in for a world of hurt.

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“I was in here, heard something out the back.” Fred shrugged. “Went to investigate, didn’t see the one sneaking up on me and, well, the rest you can see... Bastards thought they’d done me for, and didn’t bother to finish me off. I need to warn you—” Mason shook his head. That didn’t make sense, he already knew about the attack. “Warn me about what? We already know the kids are gone.” “No, not that.” Fred flicked a glance to the door at the front of the bar. “You gotta get out of here, Mason. The wolves left a message. Jed’ll give the kids back—” “Good. He’d better if he knows what’s good for him. I’m gonna take great pleasure in ripping his guts out,” Mason growled, his anger almost overwhelming him. That alpha was a dead wolf. Even if they did give the kids back, which he highly doubted, there was no way he was leaving Jed alive. Not after this. “No, you don’t get it. Jed’ll give the kids back…if your head is on a stake by sunrise.” Mason didn’t get time to flee. He didn’t even get time to process Fred’s words before the door to the bar burst open, and the townsfolk spilled in. Hard faces, and harder eyes watched him down the barrels of several rifles, and he knew. They were here for him. They weren’t waiting for sundown, never mind sunrise. Instead of going for his own rifle he remained where he was, looking down at the friend who’d tried to warn him. The look in Fred’s remaining blue eye was compassionate. “Don’t blame them. They’re only protecting their kids.” He nodded and shook Fred’s hand. “Thank you, my friend. Go easy.” Fred smiled and clasped his other hand over Mason’s in a final farewell. “Was just waiting for you. Sorry it was too late.”

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“No worries. Catch you on the flipside.” He watched Fred’s hand slide from his. After a second he reached out and closed the single, sightless eye with gentle fingers then he stood to face his execution party. “This is it then?” Mason couldn’t believe his voice was so level, or calm. These people were going to kill him, and with so many rifles trained on him, there was nothing he could do about it. “So you’re just going to kill me in cold blood?” “Here, this way. Let’s get him to the walls.” Mason groaned. His right side was on fire, blood soaking through what remained of his T-shirt, the rags of the fabric a match for the torn skin underneath. They’d shot him, several times. So much for not shooting an unarmed man. None of his arguments had saved him. As soon as the first trigger had been pulled, more had followed. He had no idea how much lead he’d taken but it had to be enough to drop a damn rhino. It fucking hurt. Clamping his eyes shut, he tried to breathe through the pain as they dragged him through the streets. He knew what fate awaited him on the walls of the town. Locking his legs and planting his feet, he pit his weight against his captors. His heavy boots dug into the dirt as he put up a fight. He was bigger built than either of the men trying to drag him, something they seemed to have overlooked. There was no way he was going anywhere near that wall. Not if he could help it. They’d have to drag him kicking and screaming, and he’d make them pay for every step. “Christ, he’s like a bull...some help here.”

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He slammed a hard elbow into the side of the guy on his right, freeing that hand. Fist clenched, he twisted and drove it upwards into the jaw of the guy on his left. The vicious uppercut dropped the smaller man without a word. Mason moved back, his guard snapping up. It should have been a light dance on his feet, as he’d been trained in the ring, except that his side felt as if it had been caved in by a sledgehammer. He started to turn to face his next opponent when there was the distinctive click of a hammer being drawn back, and something hard was pressed against the back of his head. He froze. “Now I’ve seen just about everything out there on the road.” Valerie’s voice was cool and calm, with an edge of suppressed hysteria no man in his right mind would mess with. “I’ve seen men get up after being filled with lead like you. But I ain’t ever seen any of them get up after a couple of rounds to the brain. What’s the betting you don’t either?” Crap. Mason held his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. “Only one problem with that darlin’. Jed wants my head on a stake. You put a bullet through my brain with that, and there ain’t gonna be much of my head left. What do you think your chances of getting the kids back are then?” Mason counted silently as he waited for Valerie to make a decision. Finally the pressure let up, and he heard the hammer click back into place. Relief and cold sweat slithered down his spine as he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “He has a point. Get him up on that wall. And make sure you have a good hold on him this time, for pity’s sake.” He held in his curses as he was grabbed again, and Donny, the victim of the uppercut, took the opportunity to dig an elbow into the wounds that peppered his side.

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Bastard, you’ll pay for that. Mason glared at his tormentor as they shoved him roughly forwards. “I suggest you let him go. Now.” Mason’s head snapped up as the townsfolk went for their guns. There was Andy, as large as life, standing in the middle of the town gates. In their hurry to lure him in like a lamb to the slaughter the residents of Sanctuary had forgotten Town Defense 101. Shut the fucking gate. If he weren’t so messed up, he’d kiss each and every one of them. “I suggest you take your paranormal ass, and hightail it out of here, missy. Unless you want your head to join his on a stake,” Donny snapped, high on a cocktail of anger, pain, and adrenalin. “Is that so?” A chill wind blew through the town, whipping the dust of the road and her long, black coat up into a frenzy around her. Andy slid the dark glasses down her nose to look at Donny, and then at the rest of the townsfolk, her gaze as hard and unblinking as a rattlesnake. That was when Mason realized what was different about her. When she’d arrived in Sanctuary she’d walked and talked human. Even with his talents he’d had to see some serious evidence she wasn’t human before he believed her claim to be something paranormal. The speed and sheer lethality she’d displayed with her blades during the rescue yesterday had nearly done it, but Mason himself was proof that a human could outwit and outfight the majority of paranormals. It wasn’t until he’d dug a bullet out of her arm, and seen for himself how quickly she healed that he’d truly believed her claims. And even now he wasn’t sure what she was, just that there was no way she could be plain old homo sapiens.

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Now though, with the sky churning and angry behind her where it had been calm a moment ago, and the wind driving up a storm, there was no mistaking the fact she was something on the darker side of paranormal. Lightening cracked, and thunder rolled, leaving her highlighted in silhouette. The crowd around him drew a collective breath as just for a second she was cast into shadow, her silhouette stretching into a familiar cloaked and hooded figure carrying a scythe. “The Lady of Death.” The whisper ran through the crowd, from one pair of lips to another. She couldn’t be…could she? The Lady wasn’t a paranormal. They said she was Death itself made flesh and set upon the Earth to hunt down the unworthy. Which, when you thought about it, amounted to ninety percent of the current population. “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s just a story, made up to scare the kids.” Donny had his rifle in his shoulder, but if he could aim and fire accurately Mason was a monkey’s uncle. “You sure about that, Donald? Just because you don’t believe in the bogeyman, doesn’t mean the bogeyman doesn’t believe in you.” Andy took her sunglasses off and slid them into her inside pocket. “H-how did you know my name?” She shrugged, her voice calm and pleasant when she spoke. “Same way I know Valerie’s, and John’s, and Eric’s. Believe me, I’m not like anything you’ve ever met before. And you might as well put that away…” She motioned to Donny’s rifle. “Shooting me’ll only piss me off.” “Para’s have threatened to kill us before. It’s all been hot air and illusion. None have managed it,” Valerie broke in, clapping Donny on the shoulder as she walked forwards to face Andy. Mason had to admit, she had guts.

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Andy smiled. It wasn’t a nice expression. The wind rose again, more ferocious this time, moaning as it whirled through the gate and around them. A chill wind, which whispered bad things directly into the souls of all who heard it. “You know what other names I know? How about Katie, Victor and Frederick?” Lightening spilt the sky behind her. Mason shook his head and blinked as three figures materialized around her. Something was wrong with his eyes. He could swear the three dead townspeople stood there, as pale and opaque as ghosts. Hell…they were dead. If this wasn’t a trick, some illusion, and Andy really was who they said she was, then they could be ghosts. As his brain tried to find some logical and scientific rationale for the appearance of the three figures, he knew. He’d felt the tug inside as she’d raised her hands and knew that she’d called the souls of the dead to her. Jaws dropped, and rifles clattered to the dirt. Her voice, cold and terrible, cut through the mournful moan of the wind. “You called me, and you named me. I am Death, and that man—” she lifted her hand to point at him, “—is the only thing standing between you and me. Kill him and you won’t have to worry about the Werewolves. I’ll drag you to hell myself.”

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Chapter Seven

“They’re freaking out six ways to Sunday.” Still unable to believe what had happened and his luck, Mason leaned back against the cool stone wall of the town, and watched as the townsfolk went about their business. Mostly they were keeping their distance from Mason, and the object of their fear, Andy, who knelt in front of him. She snorted as she lifted his shirt to assess his wounds. “So they should be. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d drag them to hell.” He watched her. She was beautiful. Scary, but beautiful. She looked up, a frown on her face. “Okay, handsome. Want to tell me why you’re not dead yet? You should be.” “Sorry, sweetheart. Not a clue.” Mason shrugged as she dropped the shirt back into place. Soaked in blood, it clung wetly to his torso. She sighed. “You’re not dead, Mason. I don’t know how or why. You look human. You walk, talk and act human. But you’re not. You can’t be.” “Don’t talk rubbish,” he scoffed. “Of course I’m human. What else would I be?” “That’s what worries me.” Andy stood and held her hand out to help him up. “I don’t feel the call to reap your soul, and your body is already healing the damage. You’re not human.” Mason grabbed her wrist and hauled himself to his feet in one lithe movement. An hour ago he’d felt like he was at death’s door but now he felt

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energized, and raring to go. Hand still wrapped around Andy’s he looked down into her eyes. “I’m as human as they come,” he told her firmly. “Nasty, devious…yes, but plain old human. And those wolves are about to find out why we were the top of the food chain for thousands of years.” “Listen up. Are we putting together a rescue plan for the kids, or am I doing this on my own?” Andy watched as Mason walked away from her, his shoulders squared as he challenged the very people who, less than an hour ago, had been ready to kill him. Admiration filled her. That had to hurt. She knew how much the town, and the safety of the people within it, meant to him. To insist on helping them after what they’d done to him? It said good things about his soul. Silence met his challenge as people looked away. Andy didn’t blame them. She’d forced them to actually look at what they were doing. Forced them to admit to themselves they were about to kill one of their own. They called the other races monsters. But those monsters, herself included, had no choice in what they were, how they acted. Vampires craved blood to the exclusion of all else, Lycans were born for the hunt and the kill. They couldn’t help their instincts. Humans though, they were different. They could choose to kill, or not. Most of the time, when pushed, they chose to kill rather than walk away. In her book, that made them worse than any of the monsters out there. Unable to bear the silence she sighed, brushed the dirt off her denim-covered jeans and stood. “I’m in,” she said simply, moving to stand next to Mason. He smiled quickly, shooting her a sideways glance filled with thanks. She didn’t need the thanks. Whilst she understood the needs and instincts, which

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drove them, kidnapping and extortion were not natural Lycan drives. She and that pack Alpha would be having words, and they weren’t going to be pleasant ones. She looked around the assembled crowd, most of whom looked embarrassed. “Now I’m sure you’re not going to let us go in alone to rescue your children, are you?” she prompted, and took half a step into the Shade. The world lost its color. She reached out and called the lifelines of every living creature within a hundred meters to her. The sparkling silver ropes leapt into her palms like puppies eager to do her bidding. Only two didn’t. Her own, which stretched out flat and black behind her, and Mason’s. She paused to look at it. The grey of humanity had started to fade. Already it was a lot darker than the silver strands she held in her hands. Puzzlement filled her, as a frown creased her brow. Just what the hell was he? No way was he human, but he wasn’t a Reaper either, despite the darkness of his lifeline. Chiding herself for getting distracted, she pulled on the lifelines, and stepped back through into the mortal world. As expected she had the attention of everyone in the crowd. Including Mason. She wasn’t surprised. She’d just reminded them she held their lives in her hands. Sure, she couldn’t actually kill them, or reap their souls until they were ready to go, but they didn’t need to know that. “Just as I thought. Let’s plan this thing then, shall we?” “Ugh. That was like pulling teeth,” Andy announced as, three hours later, the pair made it back to Mason’s room. “Are they always so obstructive?” He closed the door behind them, and, for good measure, threw the bolt. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he didn’t trust the townsfolk any more than

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she did. She didn’t blame him. Without their stabilizing influence, or her there to scare the crap out of them, there was no saying that they wouldn’t revert to plan A, and try to stick Mason’s head on a stake again. That happened and she wasn’t bothering with the softly-softly approach anymore. She might not be able to drag their souls to hell until they were dead, but all it took was one little decision and their lifelines were ready to reap. One little decision and those threads would light up like a Fourth of July display. One little decision, like deciding to kill Mason, and she’d go to work with her sickles and carve a bloody swathe through the town. She rolled her shoulders as she wandered around the small room. Small was the only word to describe it, and bare. A small window opposite the door allowed bright sunlight to stream in and provided a stage for the ever-present dust motes to dance in. A small bed took up one wall, a battered chest of drawers next to it. A clock sat on it. Even without the tick-tock in the room she knew it was broken. Batteries were a precious commodity these days, so valuable no one would waste one on a clock. She turned to find Mason with his back to the door, watching her. His eyes were intense, and his expression patient. There was something different about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The hungry look on his face sent a shiver down her spine. He looked like a starving man faced with a sumptuous banquet, and she had a feeling she knew what was on the menu. “Come over here.” His voice was low, with a rough, husky timbre to it that sent a shiver down her spine. Hands clasped behind her back she looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

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His eyes darkened dangerously, the heat of hell itself contained there. It was an inferno that licked at Andy’s skin, heated the blood in her veins and made her panties damp. “Because I said so. Don’t make me come over there.” She chuckled, enjoying the light-hearted banter. They had an hour or so before sundown and the planned start of the mission. There was time. More than time for what he obviously had in mind. “Not dressed like that you won’t, Mister.” She motioned towards his torn and bloodied shirt. “You need a shower and a change, then we’ll think about it. Let me look at how those wounds are doing.” He dropped his chin and looked up at her through his eyelashes. It should have been a feminine gesture but on the very masculine Mason it became something totally different. She sucked a shaky breath in, feeling like she’d been punched in the gut. Only no punch she’d ever taken before had left her with a tingly feeling through her entire body and an ache that made her want to clench her thighs together. “All healed. See? How, I have no fucking clue. But they are.” He looped a hand under his ragged T-shirt and smoothed it upwards over his toned and muscled torso. Despite a very feminine interest in those muscles, Andy still had enough about her to check for damage. Where there had been wounds, bloody tears in his skin where bullets had torn through it on their way into his body, there was nothing. No marks, no healing scars, no old scars. Nothing. Just like her. A rush of feeling hit her. After all these years believing herself alone, she wasn’t. Mason should be dead. He had been dead, he had to have been, no one could survive being shot that many times and not pass over. Except a Reaper.

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Perhaps that was it. Perhaps because he had died…maybe that was the trigger? The bombs of the war had done their work and twisted humanity’s DNA a decade ago. Some had changed immediately and become whatever their twisted DNA dictated. For the first time in history Vampires, Werewolves and their brethren, the creatures of legend and myth, had walked the earth. And the world had gone to hell in a hand-basket since. Others didn’t change. Somehow they carried the potential for that change deep within them. Waiting for something like a bite, or death itself, to trigger what was locked inside. Her world tilted on its axis as she crossed the small room. Her hand smoothed over the undamaged skin, but her gaze was locked with his. From the moment she’d seen him in the bar, she’d known something was different about him. Now she knew what. Like called to like. “Reckon we’ll both fit in that shower,” she whispered against his lips, and then claimed them with her own. Darkness blanketed the world, the moon playing peek-a-boo through the thick clouds above. Andy knelt in the shadows next to Mason and watched as he organized his team with silent gestures. That he’d been military was obvious, as was the fact that he’d trained these people to work together. A fan of the marchin-and-kick-ass school of thought, she tried to stay still and not jitter impatiently. Then it was game on. The attack started, not with a bang, but a whisper as the human forces approached the Lycan camp on silent feet. Mason had made them all shower to try and erase the smell of human sweat. Like soldiers from before the war, their faces were smeared with dirt, and they carried their rifles as if they meant business.

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This was Mason’s gig, and she was happy to let him lead. She was used to working alone and had no idea how to get a group of people working together without half scaring them out of their minds. He didn’t need to terrify them to get them to work well. Even though they’d tried to kill him earlier they were following his orders now. Wraiths in the night, they flitted from cover to cover, moving towards their objective. She thought back to the briefing. Over a scale model of the terrain made from dirt and anything lying to hand Mason had given each team directions and orders about how the attack was to go down. As plans went, it was a good one. She just knew from experience no plan survived first contact with the enemy. Double that when you were dealing with paranormals. The camp appeared before them like an island rising from a foggy sea. The light from the campfire cast sky above and around in a warm orange glow. It should have been a welcoming scene; the makeshift camp with sleeping bags lay haphazardly around the fire warding off the chill of the night. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to imagine marshmallows being toasted or steaks sizzling on a grill plate…only this was ten years after the end of the world. Marshmallows had gone the way of the dodo, and Lycans preferred their meat uncooked. The wolves lounged around the fire in human form. She’d noticed that about them, unless they needed to hunt or fight Lycans preferred their two-legged forms. She’d never understood that. If she had the freedom to shift forms and run with the wind like they could, she’d never switch back to being human. Her breath plumed on the night air as she dropped into cover behind a group of old barrels next to Mason. He flicked her a glance and smiled, a quick flash of white teeth in the darkness, before he reached out to squeeze her arm quickly. A brief touch but one that spoke volumes as his fingers lingered a second on her skin.

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She could hear his breathing and her own heart as they waited for the signal from the other teams. Every second stretched out to infinity as she studied the layout of the camp. To the side of the fire was the makeshift cage they had the kids in. Sneaky bastards. They’d put it between the fire and an outcrop of rock, which meant the human teams were going to have to go through the Lycan pack. Next to her, Mason muttered under his breath as he did a headcount. Andy didn’t bother. Her reaper senses told her that all the kids were alive. Whether they made it through the night that way though, that one was anyone’s guess. Life or death hung in such a precarious balance that perhaps only a Reaper could appreciate it. Every day a multitude of decisions took each soul nearer or further away from death. Right now, the decisions the humans made, and those of the Lycans, would affect whether those kids lived or died tonight. The moon flitted in and out of view, allowing her a brief glimpse of the terrain on the other side of the camp. Mason’s teams were good. She could see neither hide nor hair of them with her normal vision. Feeling Mason’s attention on her, she switched her vision to look into the Shade. The mingled gray and silver lifelines decorated the landscape like tinsel on a Christmas tree. Her eyes narrowed. The first two teams were in position, but the third had yet to reach its mark. She waited until they jockeyed into position behind the tree stump Mason had indicated earlier, and nodded. Cooking with gas now. She watched as Mason checked his weaponry, every movement calm as he watched the camp below for movement. Nothing happened. Most of the Lycans appeared to be asleep, their lifelines sparkling red to Andy. Her palms itched to draw the blades sheathed across her back, but she held off. The breeze picked up, bringing the scents of the campsite to them. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of stale beer and unwashed bodies.

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Mason leaned down and selected one of the pebbles by his knee. A thoughtful look on his face, he hefted it in his hand a couple of times, as though considering its potential. Reeling his arm back he launched it into the middle of the camp. She caught her breath, wondering what the hell he was playing at as it landed in the center of a group of empty beer cans. With a loud clatter the projectile scattered the cans. The noise woke the snoozing Weres, bringing them to their feet with shouts of alarm. Andy glared at Mason. The idiot had just given away the element of surprise, which was pretty much all they’d had going for them. He winked at her as he pulled something from the side of his vest. A grenade. Pulling the pin with a vicious twist of his wrist he launched it into the middle of the Lycan camp. “Fire in the hole.”

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Chapter Eight

The pair twisted away as the small canister sailed through the air and landed with a hop, skip and a jump by the campfire. Andy clapped her hands over her ears as it went off with a balance-destroying bang, and lit the night sky up like a sunny day. There was no rest for the wicked though. Immediately she and Mason were on their feet and moving. Adrenalin surged through her body as they covered the distance between their hiding place and the camp. The wolves caught in the grenade’s radius staggered around as though drunk, blinking as they tried to regain their vision. In wolf form Lycans could see a mouse taking a shit at six hundred meters, but shine a big enough torch in anything’s face and it was blind as a bat for a couple of seconds. They were still as dangerous as hell, probably more so when blinded and panicking. Leaving the worst affected to the humans, she went for the Lycans who’d been on the edge of the blast radius. Stun grenades were non-lethal; a percussive explosion and a bright light enough to render most incapable long enough for the attacking force to control whatever was going on. For humans it was sufficient but Lycans recovered fast. A feral howl of fury erupted from the center of the camp, the sound peppered with the sound of gunshots as Mason’s teams picked their targets. The human forms of the Lycans were swallowed up as their wolf forms exploded from them faster than the eye could see. Instead of a group of teenagers out on a camping trip, they were faced with a pack of snarling and angry predators.

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She grinned to herself, an expression without either humor or mercy as her blades cleared leather and lined up her first target, a scraggy-looking wolf already turning towards her. Its lips curled into a snarl as it gathered itself to leap. “Com’on then, fugly,” Andy taunted, waggling her blades in warning. She fought with them in opposing grips, one blade up and one with the blade curved along her forearm. Matched with a healthy dose of martial arts training, it was a lethal combination. “Let me give you a good belly scratch.” Massive paws skittered in the dust as it launched at her. The thrill of the fight singing through her, Andy waited until the creature was almost upon her then leapt into action. Time slowed to a crawl as a hop put her in the air, and her back foot lashed out. Her steel-toe cap caught the wolf under the chin, and slammed its mouth shut over the vicious canines within. Satisfaction surged through her as she felt bone crunch. Even if she had busted the creature’s jaw, it wouldn’t make much difference. Already its freaky physiology would be repairing the damage. “Awww, does that hurt? Lemme give you something for that.” It staggered away, trying to put some distance between them so it could heal the damage. She didn’t let it and followed. Her blade flashed in the light of the campfire as she slashed it through the air towards the furry throat. The razorsharp edge cut through fur, skin and muscle like a hot knife through butter. Gritting her teeth, she rammed the blade deeper until it scraped against bone. Triumph surged as she felt her blade hook the edge of the soul. With a vicious yank she pulled it back, and severed the soul from the body. Blood spurted as the beast shuddered, and slumped dead at her feet. Other howls filled the air as the human teams picked their targets, and overwhelmed the Lycan pack. Mixed amongst the furry death-calls were human

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screams as the creatures defended themselves. So many lifelines lit up that Andy was almost blinded. Knowing she was going to have her work cut out for her later, she flicked her vision firmly to human and looked about for her next victim. To her left a group was baiting a big wolf. It was bleeding from numerous bullet wounds, but was still on its feet and lashing out with razor-sharp teeth. A body lay under the massive paws, throat a bloody mess and sightless eyes staring up at the night sky. Donny. Try as she might, Andy couldn’t bring herself to feel sorrow that the mouthy human had met his end in such a violent way, just annoyance that his lifeline had been cut short unnecessarily. “Oscar…left knee. Now!” Valerie yelled the order as she lifted her rifle. In concert, shots rang out. The wolf ate dirt as its front knees disintegrated in a shower of blood and bone. Without a word Andy slid between the humans, and slashed her blades across its neck to free the soul. “Nice move.” She nodded at the other woman as she danced back, impressed by the teamwork. Pity this lot had tried to kill Mason, she might have actually grown to like them at some point. Valerie just smiled in reply, a small tight nod as she looked around at the cage the children were being kept in. Three wolves surrounded it, guarding their captives. The team who was supposed to be freeing the children was dead, scattered in pieces around the wolve’s paws. The two women locked eyes as understanding flowed between them. The children were paramount. Without a word, both women, human and reaper, turned on a dime and stalked towards the cage and its furry guards. Andy was impressed all over again. Unlike her, Valerie was just plain old human. Easily caught, and just as easy to kill. Despite that, she had a look of

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grim determination and hard vengeance on her face. Left to herself, Andy had no doubt that if anything happened to her kid, the woman would spend the rest of her life tracking those responsible and taking them apart piece by piece. Slowly. She could admire vengeance like that. “Yo, heads up.” Andy grinned as she approached the cage, calling out to attract the wolves’ attention to herself. However you cut the cards, she was the one who could hold out longest against the creatures, and when it came to it, survive a wolf attack. She might wish like hell they’d kill her, but at some point the pain would end and she’d heal. Then hunt herself some wolves and make a nice winter coat from their hides. The three wolves turned their attention on her, eyes picking up the light from the fire as she walked past it and shining brightly. Lips curled back from their teeth as they snarled, drool dripping on the dirt beneath them. Unlike the kid in town the other day, these were fully shifted Lycans which meant any human survival instincts they had were buried under layers and layers of predatory desires. Desires and needs that marked the two-legged, soft-skinned creature walking towards them firmly as prey. “How many wolves does it take to change a light bulb?” From the corner of her eye she saw Valerie step back into the darkness and work her way towards the cage. Good girl, she’d gotten the message. The three wolves looked at each other and back at her. Puzzlement crossed their furry faces as they tried to figure out why she wasn’t scared or running away. She deliberately didn’t look behind them to where Valerie was freeing the kids. The cage door was secured with a length of rope, the knots too tight for young fingers but no match for the knife Valerie carried. “Com’on…it’s a killer.”

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She hid her grin and walked closer, waggling her blades to make them catch what little light there was. Reading them was like reading a book. They weren’t used to someone who looked human, and more importantly smelt human, not running the other way in terror. The trouble was, at some point in the next minute, that puzzlement was going to turn into irritation, which was then going to turn into violence. By the time that happened she needed to be within range. Calmness filled her, radiating out from her core to fill the rest of her being. Input from all of her senses was heightened, and sharper. She could hear the rasp of breathing as the massive chests rose and fell, the stink of their fetid breath as they bared their teeth and the smell of unkempt fur, like they hadn’t groomed properly for weeks. She’d seen Lycan packs before and this wasn’t a pack. This was a bunch of filthy scavengers who were a disgrace to their species. Without warning she slipped into the Shade fully, leaving them staring at empty space. “Actually, who gives a shit?” Her voice was conversational as she re-appeared less than a heartbeat later between the largest of the wolves. Both turned and lunged at her in the same instant, their teeth slicing the air where she had been. Instead of the soft target they had been expecting though, she was gone back into the Shade, and two sets of teeth encountered only the furred hides of their pack mates. Ignoring the howls of pain and fury, Andy stepped from the Shade again by the third Lycan. Slightly smaller than the other two, she’d guess it was female, but that was only a guess. She’d never been sufficiently interested in the different forms Lycans took to learn to identify their genders. As long as they bled, that was all she cared about.

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It sensed her by its shoulder at the same time she raised the wickedly curved sickle, and froze. The eye nearest to her rolled back in the socket to try and get a bead on her, but it was too late. A soft whimper escaped the creature’s lips as Andy slammed the blade down hard. The point parted the fur and popped through the skin with a small snick. Using her weight and momentum the sickle powered through the Lycan’s throat, and exited the other side in less time than it took to think about it. Blood pulsed from the ruin of its throat to splatter the dry dirt below. With something almost akin to grace, the creature’s knees folded and it collapsed to the ground. Deftly Andy reversed the blade as she dropped into the Shade and dispatched the soul on the way back in. She turned her attention to the other two wolves, nipping in and out of the Shade to harass and harry them. They whirled and danced, trying to catch her as she appeared and disappeared. Their extra abilities were no use against a creature who could simply chose not to be in their plane of existence. She kept an eye on how Valerie was doing rescuing the children, and as the seconds ticked by, the gray lifelines active to her reaper senses started to wink out one by one. A signal that some of those kids would survive. For tonight at least. The shit had well and truly hit the fan. As Mason pounded across hard dirt, his teams unleashed seven levels of hell on the Lycans. They didn’t have long until the creatures recovered from the flash-bang, so he’d told them to make every second count. Advice he was taking to heart himself. They hit the outer perimeter of the camp, and he paused for a second as Andy peeled away. Pulling his rifle tight into his shoulder, he selected his targets rapidly and fired in short, economical bursts. Each time his muzzle spat bullets

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he hit his target. A knee here, through a throat there, even taking the teeth right out of the mouth of one wolf as it lunged at one of the humans. Suppressive fire, designed to put as many wolves down as possible so the others could get close. His aim was lethal, punching holes through furry hides and making the turned Lycans bellow with pain. Without silver shot though, any damage he inflicted would be temporary. Where was a fifty cal when you needed one? He could really level the playing field with something like that. His rifle clicked, the bolt holding open in a warning that his magazine was empty. No time to reload. Casting it aside, Mason pulled the Glock from his shoulder holster and moved further into the camp. He skirted between the groups already fighting, his eyes peeled for one figure. Screams from his left distracted him for a moment, as the group attacking the cage went down. Grimly he ignored them. They’d all known the risks before they’d come on the mission. He’d made sure of it. And he was damned if, after trying to kill him, he was going out of his way to cover their asses anymore. Nope, he was back into mission mode. He’d complete the objective, and then he was out of here. “Jed. Get your furry ass out here and face me like a fucking man, rather than a whipped puppy,” he yelled, trying to taunt the alpha into the open. Truth be told, he had no fucking clue what the guy looked like, as a man or a wolf. None of them did, a fact Mason hadn’t been too happy about. Going into a hot situation without intel was usually a good way to get people killed. However, so was taking on a pack of Lycans on their own turf. But then, Mason had never claimed to be sane, Andy wasn’t even mortal and the people of Sanctuary were just plain desperate. He didn’t have to wait long. A rumbling snarl sounded behind him, the sound full of menace. Of course, any Lycan snarl was full of menace but this was

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a very personalized sort of malevolence. Mason whipped around, the Glock already leveled and aiming right between the eyes of the large wolf behind him. “Jed, I presume?” he asked, as though this was a society dinner, and they’d just been introduced. Regardless of his nonchalant attitude, the muzzle of the gun didn’t waver. If Jed looked like he was going to leap, Mason would doubletap him right between the eyes before taking his next breath. Unfortunately, now he’d actually seen Jed, Mason didn’t think that would put the bastard down for long. He was huge. Possibly the biggest wolf-type Lycan Mason had ever seen, and he’d hunted more than enough of the creatures. Gray and black fur covered a frame straight out of a pre-war horror film, and his teeth wouldn’t look out of place on a sabertooth. Amber and black eyes fixed on Mason, hatred and anger burning in their depths. A silver bar cut through the creature’s eyebrow. Mason’s brow winged up in surprise. One of the only things the old films had gotten right about Werewolves was silver. It burned them, ate at their skin like acid. Most avoided it like plague, or like the average Vampire did sunlight. It took a twisted SOB-Were to actually pierce himself with the stuff. Jed dropped his head lower to the ground and curled his lips from his teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes then. Christ, you are one ugly fucker, aren’t you?” The lips curled back further, the massive paws shifting in the dust. It was all the warning Mason got before the massive Werewolf leapt. He pulled the trigger before his eyes and brain got their action together, his instincts kicking in. The Glock spat fire, but Jed was faster. He twisted to the side as the 9mm rounds tore through his shoulder instead of going through his brain. Mason’s heart pounded, driving adrenalin around his veins in a survivaldriven chaotic race. It galvanized every cell in his body as the age-old fight or flight instinct took over. Time slowed to a crawl as the Lycan launched towards

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him. Its jaws opened wide, giving him a good view of toothy death as it came for him. He bellowed an incoherent war cry, falling backwards and still firing at the oncoming behemoth. His shoulder hit the dirt, barrel tracking the creature’s head as it sailed over him. His finger carried on, pulling the trigger independent of thought until the magazine was empty. The bullets slammed into Jed’s body, punching holes through his skin on the way. He snarled in fury and pain, landing on paws bigger than dinner plates and stumbled, face planted in the dirt by the still blazing campfire. Mason was on his feet in the blink of an eye. He tossed the useless Glock aside. He wouldn’t get a chance to reload it anyway and went for the fighting knife on his leg. Most people, if they knew Mason had been a soldier at all, assumed he was American. An infiltration expert, he only had an accent when he wanted, and he could choose which accent that was. Only those who had seen the winged dagger tattoo on one arse-cheek, done by his squad-mates whilst he was insensible, and clocked the Fairbairn-Sykes knife he carried, realized he wasn’t only not American, but also something a cut above normal for the British army. Man and the beast who’d once been a man eyed each other up. Mason had always wondered, would he have become something like this? If his DNA had been slightly different? It was a thought that had plagued him for years. At first, in the first bloody years after the war, when those who had turned preyed on those who hadn’t, he’d gone to sleep each night expecting it to be his last. Expecting to wake the next morning as something else, something not human. It had never happened. Whatever evils he’d done in his former life, they hadn’t been visited on him in this version of hell on earth. Something Mason

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wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for or pissed off about. Was it reward or punishment to live in a world gone mad? “Come on then, you fucker. Let’s be having you,” he roared, his native accent out in full force. The hilt felt good in his hand as he faced down Jed. The familiar grip fit his palm like a glove, the weapon an extension of his being as he circled Jed. Everything else…the sounds of the other groups fighting, the pitiful whimpering behind him as a team finished off one of the Lycans…all fell away as he concentrated on one thing, and one thing alone. Killing something considered unkillable. There was nothing Mason liked more than a challenge. He grinned slowly, the expression making Jed blink and falter a little in surprise. Jed feinted to the left, paws kicking up dust, and then to the right. Mason kept to his low crouch, knife held along his forearm and glinting dully in the light cast by the fire. He was only going to get one shot at this, so he had to make sure it was a good one. His gaze focused in on a small spot on Jed’s broad, lupine chest. Any second now, confident that Mason didn’t have another gun on him, the wolf was going to go for the kill, then Mason had him. His FS was dipped in silver nitrate, something guaranteed to give any Were a bad day for all of ten seconds. Unfortunately for said Were it would be the last ten seconds of its life. Unfortunately for Mason, getting close enough was also close enough to get his throat torn out. Something he hadn’t planned on doing this morning but, hey, shit happened. His gaze still locked with Jed’s, he saw the moment the Lycan made the decision. Then the air was full of pouncing wolf, fur and sharp teeth. He didn’t even try to avoid the creature as it bowled him over. His breath was knocked from his body in a savage whoosh as he hit the deck hard. A grin of fury and

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triumph crossed his face as his head slammed against a large stone near the campfire and stars filled his vision. Teeth clamped around his throat, the sharp points popping through the skin like fingernails though a balloon. Warm blood streamed as they drove in, but Mason was already there. Even as he felt his jugular and more tear, he rammed the knife between two ribs and right into Jed’s heart.

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Chapter Nine

Lycan blood coated her blades and ran down her arms, but Andy didn’t bother to wipe it away. She’d only get bloody again. Using both hands she dispatched the wolf in front of her with a vicious, cross-handed swipe and watched without emotion as it dropped lifeless to the ground. Blood surged from the ruin of its throat onto the thirsty dirt below. Idly she wondered what would grow there, with the soil being watered with wolf’s blood. Plants with a tendency to bite and snarl at other plants? Then it happened. She looked up at the howl behind her, and started to turn. They’d heard plenty of howls during the attack, but this was different. The fury and defiance, the general bad-assed, I’m-a-wolf tone was gone, replaced by a sound of unimaginable torment so complete it made even Andy shudder. She whipped around. A huge wolf was on its side, writhing in pain. Its shape-shifting ability seemed to be completely out of control. Its body was in a continuous state of flux, each part shifting from human to wolf independently of any other. Bones popped and cracked, breaking only to reform themselves, then start the cycle all over again. She winced as its ribcage inflated to the size of a barrel but its shoulders turned human. Even from here she could hear muscles tearing and bones creaking as they tried to settle into a form even the current, twisted version of nature had never intended. The skin was worse. Sickeningly worse. It bubbled and slid, flowing over the monstrous forms beneath, but like everything else, it couldn’t seem to make up its mind what to be. One second it was hide and fur, and the next it was soft

Mina Carter

human skin regardless of what lay underneath. A massive paw formed from the end of a human arm, then covered itself in skin before the bones within, too large for the casing, ripped through it. She turned her head away for a second, covering her mouth as bile rose, and fought the urge to lose her lunch. She hated to be sick but just looking at that was enough to make her forget the habit of a lifetime. The sound of torment rose into a plaintive plea for mercy. A death howl which called to every non-human instinct she had. All emotion leeching from her, Andy stepped forwards and into the Shade, her blades already raised for the killing blow. Warmth and color disappeared as she left the land of the living behind. Here things were calmer, so much simpler. Spectral souls, human and Lycan, waited by their bodies, nice and orderly, for her to go along and reap them. She ignored them. They were dispatched. First she needed to deal with the tortured wolf. Without asking, she knew it was the alpha, Jed. The power rolling off him was unmistakable. Just as she knew what had killed him. The silver-treated knife lodged into his heart glowed white hot in her enhanced vision. Even if she’d been of a mind to kill him, he was done for. After the blade had entered his heart to deliver its fatal payload, the continuous form changes had locked it within his flesh, putting protective layer after layer over it. The only way they were getting it out would be with a gifted surgeon, or a chainsaw. She sure hoped that wasn’t Mason’s favorite knife. Jed’s soul stood to one side, watching his body contort with an expression of fascinated horror on his face. Registering movement he looked up and at her. His face blanched, which considering where they were was an achievement. “No! Not me, not yet. I’m not done,” he protested, and tried to run. Andy didn’t hurry her measured pace, nor crack a smile. She’d seen this before. It was

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rare, admitted, but sometimes when a person was caught between life and death, they could see her in the Shade. She watched as Jed ran two steps then fell, yanked back to his body by the unbreakable thread of his own lifeline. There was only one creature on the planet that could cut a lifeline. Her. He looked up over his shoulder, whimpering as he tried to scramble away. Her lips compressed into a thin straight line as she looked deep into his heart. Normally she didn’t bother. Whether they went up or down was no business of hers. This time though, she was interested. If Jed wasn’t headed down, so help her God, she was going to drag him to the fiery pit herself. She needn’t have worried. His heart was black, rotten to the core with evil deeds and disgusting impulses. She blinked as every act of violence he’d committed, every rape, every murder, every evil deed right back to his childhood flashed before her eyes. Here, in her world, she didn’t feel sick. She just felt angry. She stalked him, murder in her eyes. Apart from the fact he was already dead… Kind of hard to murder someone who was already dead. He leapt over his own body, trying to escape again. She sighed and changed direction. If there had been railings nearby, she’d have clicked her blades along them as she approached, just to scare him more. “I can do this all day, you know? Now stand still like a good little doggie.” “Fuck you, bitch,” he sneered. “Not without a week long bath, a change of species, and a personality transplant,” she snarled back as he flipped to his back and bared his teeth at her. “Might as well put them away, sunshine. This is my world and here we play by my rules.” “Bitch. I’m gonna rip your fucking heart out.”

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Sliding one of her sickles home into its sheath, she reached down to the lifeline from the shadowy mound that represented his body in the mortal world. Like everything else, here it was indistinct and lacking in features, but she knew what it was. The pulsing scarlet thread attached to it was a dead giveaway. “Oh, you can try.” She started to wrap the thread around her fist, pulling him closer by slow increments. He struggled and fought, to no avail. She dragged him closer and closer until he was within range. Finally close enough, he took a swipe at her. Vicious claws erupted from the ends of his fingers as they flashed towards Andy’s face in an unstoppable arc. She stood and waited, an impassive look on her face, as they passed right through her and exited the other side, turning the enraged soul into something akin to a spinning top. As soon as he turned she slammed her booted foot into the small of his back at the same time as she looped his own lifeline around his throat, then pulled him hard against her. “How’s it feel to be helpless, Jedediah?” she whispered into his ear, picking his hated full name from the memories she’d gleaned. “To be able to do nothing whilst it all goes to shit around you? Impotent, useless…at the whim of someone else. Terrified, like so many of the people you killed.” Her breath whispered over his neck as she tightened the red cord around his throat. Of course, his soul couldn’t be killed by strangulation, but Jed didn’t know that and he reacted as though Andy was throttling the very life out of him. His fingers scrabbled at her hands, as he kicked and bucked in her hold, but Andy was unshakeable. Her lips twisted as she pulled the line tighter. “Rot in hell, Jed,” she whispered, lover-like, before she snapped the cord.

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She stepped out of the Shade to a much quieter scene than she’d left. The fire popped and crackled merrily to itself. Soft sobbing and the odd whimper broke the silence periodically. Half the attacking humans were dead. She nodded slightly to herself, the numbers were better than she’d expected. If she was honest, she hadn’t expected any of them to survive. Period. There was one way to describe humans attacking a Lycan camp. Suicidal. She stood for a moment in the center of the camp, just by the hideously twisted corpse of the former alpha and scanned the survivors. They sat in shellshocked silence, most of them covered in blood. She couldn’t see Mason but she wasn’t overly worried. Something told her that, if anyone could survive attacking a Lycan camp, the hard-nosed, ex-soldier turned town-guardian could. She turned and looked behind her. The cage the children had been kept in was empty. Valerie had done her job well. Andy flicked her vision to the Shade for a moment, noting that all the lifelines that led away from the cage into the darkness were flat and healthy, including Valerie’s. Good. Some of the parents hadn’t survived the attack, and those kids would need someone strong to look after them. Scanning around her in the Shade she looked for Mason’s peculiar lifeline. She’d never seen another one like it, so it would be hard to miss. However hard she looked though, she couldn’t spot it. Which was impossible. Wherever a person went, their line followed behind them, like a scent trail. It was what Andy followed when she tracked a soul ready to be reaped. Unlike scent though, it was something that was impossible to mask, and Andy was no bloodhound to be put off the scent easily.

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Where the hell was he? A familiar sense of irritation rising, Andy stomped around the fire to the nearest survivor, one of the young men from the town. He sat in a trance next to another of the furry corpses, his face splattered with blood. “Have you seen Mason?” she demanded, waving her hand in front of his face. “Hey! Wakey-wakey!” At the sound, the guy snapped out of it somewhat. Still wearing a stunned expression he transferred his attention to her face. “Huh?” “Mason? Tall, shaved head. Kick-ass attitude,” she said shortly. “Seen him?” He lifted his hand slowly to point behind her. A sickening feeling wormed its way into Andy’s heart as she turned to look at what he was pointing at. There, hidden behind the bulk of Jed’s twisted body, caught somewhere between human and Lycan, was another, smaller one. Andy’s heart shuddered to a halt as ice filled her veins. “No…it can’t be.” Her voice was a low whisper, a plea to any God who might be listening. Unable to tear her eyes away from the fallen figure, she took a couple of steps forwards and stopped, her feet refusing to carry her like they were stuck in quicksand. It couldn’t be Mason, it just couldn’t. The broad shoulders were too familiar though, as was the tattered T-shirt stretched over them. He lay on his side, unmoving. Too still. Her breath caught in her throat as she raced around the fire and slid to her knees in the dirt next to him. “Oh God, no. Please. No,” she moaned as she tugged on a shoulder to roll him onto his back. There was no resistance. Mason flopped onto his back, his eyes wide and unfocused as they stared sightlessly up at the night sky. His throat was a bloody mass of mangled flesh, the bones of his spine glinting white in the gaping wound.

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Andy screamed, a mingled sound of agony and fury as her heart broke in her chest with a sharp crack. She fussed, gathering him to her, not caring that his blood soaked through her top. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cradled him. She’d only just found him, the other half of her soul, and now he was gone. Snatched from her by a cruel twist of fate and the snapping of a Lycan’s jaws. Dead. Her head lifted slowly. Dead. Mason was dead. “No.” It was a simple word but one spoken with utter conviction. She looked at the man in her arms. He couldn’t be dead because she wouldn’t allow it. Death did not scare her, nor did it hold any sway over her. She was a Reaper…perhaps the only Reaper. The Grim Reaper herself. Death would bow to her, be bound by her rules and her will. Fighting back panic she reached deep inside herself. Deep within, in a place she avoided thinking about or calling on too much, was a dark place devoid of anything. The center of her reaper powers, the core whatever that made her what she was. For years she’d avoided it, tried to forget it was there, as she carried on pretending to be human. But she wasn’t human, and she never would be. This time she didn’t just brush the void, or embrace it, she did a run up and went for a full-on base jump right into it. The void enveloped her, consumed her. She threw her head back and screamed again, as the memories of a billion or more deaths slammed into her. Time lost meaning as she tumbled, bounced from death to death throughout the ages. Her voice expanded, power added to the feminine scream as she accepted her destiny and took on the full power of a Grim Reaper.

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Her mouth snapped shut—the sound cut off as she lowered her chin and opened her eyes to look at the world around her anew. Jed still lay in front of her, his body locked in everlasting torment, the fire still blazed merrily, and the man she loved still lay dead in her arms. Only, like her, the man she loved wasn’t human, and never had been. “Can’t be having that, now can we?” she said to no one in particular, and leaned down to kiss him. At the first touch of her lips, power flowed between them. A spark of life that she gently blew against his lips. Nothing happened for a long moment, then he coughed. She lifted her head. As she watched, the hideous mess that was his throat started to heal. Flesh filled out as structures started to form. Veins slithered across the open space and started to pulse with blood as skin crept over the wound to cover it. Within a minute it was gone, his skin as unmarked as it was this morning. He opened his eyes to look up at her. She smiled as a pitch-black lifeline flared into life in the corner of her vision. “Welcome back, my love.” He’d been dead six months, and it had been the best six months of his life. Sighing with contentment Mason leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his drink as his gaze followed the small woman behind the bar. Six months pregnant, Andy was starting to waddle but she still insisted on pulling her weight. Like pulling the late shift in the bar whilst Valerie was settling the kids. With so many orphaned the night of the Lycan attack, looking after them all was a full-time job.

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She wiped glasses with efficient and swift movements, placing them neatly on the shelves behind the bar. Every so often she would cut a glance his way, heat in her dark eyes which set an answering heat to smoldering within him. “Just you wait until later, woman,” he promised silently, knowing she could hear him. Quite how the link between them worked, or exactly what he was now Mason hadn’t figured out. All he knew was that he had been dead, and now he wasn’t. And that now he could see things…lines he couldn’t see before. Like the three amber lines which blinked into existence in the corner of his vision. Andy calmly wiped the last glass, and placed it on the shelf. “Incoming,” she announced as the door opened and three Vampires swaggered in. Mason smiled and caressed the trigger of the shotgun rigged under his table. Vampires before nine in the evening? Looked like it was going to be a busy night.

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About the Author

Mina Carter was born and raised in Middle Earth (otherwise known as the Midlands, England). After a slew of careers ranging from logistics to landsurveying she can now be found in the wilds of Leicestershire with her husband and young daughter…the true boss of the family. Suffering the curse of eternal curiosity Mina never tires of learning new skills which has led to Aromatherapy, Corsetry, Chain-maille making, Welding, Canoeing, Shooting, and pole-dancing to name but a few. She juggles being a mum, working full time and writing, tossing another ball in the air with her cover artwork. For Mina, writing time is the wee hours of the morning before anyone wakes up and starts making demands, or any spare minute that can be begged, bought or conned. Her first stories were penned at age 11, when she used a stationery set meant for Christmas thank you letters to write stories instead. More recently, she wrote for her own amusement and to save on outrageous monthly book bills. Now she’s totally addicted and needs her daily writing fix or heads roll! You can find Mina at: Website: www.mina-carter.com Twitter: @minacarter Facebook: www.facebook.com/mina.carter

A one night stand turns into a partnership for survival…

Neon Chaos

© 2011 Karen Erickson Party girl Samantha Sanders is celebrating her thirtieth birthday in style—a road trip to Las Vegas for a long weekend with her girlfriends. Staying in the swankiest hotel on the strip, she’s naked and in bed with the sexiest guy she’s ever laid eyes on when the clock strikes twelve. Who knew the world would really end December 21, 2012? Those Mayans, they weren’t lyin’… Russ Weaver is above all else a soldier. Looking for a little fun before spending Christmas with his crazy family, a weekend on leave in Vegas unexpectedly turns into his newest mission——protecting the sweet, scared woman he happens to be in bed with when the world as they know it is over. Wandering throughout the virtually abandoned streets of Vegas, they fine city has turned into a war zone. Their only hope to get out alive is to stick together—and fight those who wish to cease their endeavors. Permanently. Enjoy the following excerpt for Neon Chaos: “Where the hell could they be?” he roared, throwing the flashlight with all his might. It crashed against the wall before it dropped to the floor, denting the drywall, and she watched in horror as her personal hero crumpled to the ground and beat his fist upon it. Samantha ran to him, kneeling by his side and slipping her arm around his trembling shoulders. He was upset, he had every right to be and it scared the ever-living crap out of her. He’d been the strong one from the beginning. If he lost it now how would they ever make it? On her skills and gumption alone?

Yeah, right. “They must be dead.” His voice was shredded, and he sniffed. “My parents must be dead. I don’t know where else they could be.” She wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her, his head resting against her chest. Smoothing a hand over his thick, dark hair, she offered soothing words, her eyes closing when she felt him shudder. It broke her heart to see him like this. His arms banded around her waist, and he held her tight, his face buried against her neck. She swore she felt the hot dampness of tears, but she would never ask him. Had a feeling he was a bit of a macho man who would never admit to such a thing. “What should we do, Russ?” She hated asking, but they needed some sort of plan. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers. The discarded flashlight was still on, throwing a shaft of light across his face, and she saw all the despair there, all the weariness. “I don’t know,” he croaked, sounding good and truly lost. “What do you think?” She pushed his hair back with her fingers. “You’re tired. Maybe we should try and rest for a bit.” “They’ll find us.” “We’ll stay only for a little while. You need to sleep.” His eyes slid closed for the briefest moment, and he grabbed hold of her hand, bringing it to his mouth so he could press a gentle kiss to the back of it. A full body shiver moved through her at the contact and when his eyes opened, she leaned in, kissing him soundly on the lips. He looked like he really needed it. “I fucking hate this,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either, but we can’t go on like this. We’re both running ragged. That’s why we should rest. Even for just an hour.” He sighed. “You’re right. Let’s stock up and hide in the detached garage in the back. Sleep for a while and then get the hell out of here.” “Stock up? I have food.” She shook her purse, which she’d brought in with her. “I’m not just talking food, sweetheart, though we should grab more, good idea. I’m talking about useful stuff.” He kissed her again, as if he needed the bit of physical contact to keep going. “I’m talking weapons. My father has a stockpile of them.” The sadness had slowly left him, replaced by a simmering, potent rage that bubbled just beneath the surface. His parents were fucking gone—hell the entire family had probably disappeared, and he could do nothing about it. Nothing. He’d cried, not like a blubbering baby but tears had slipped out and he’d struggled not to ball. Samantha had offered comfort, holding him close, not saying a bunch of stupid words to try and make him feel better because nothing would’ve made him feel better at that particular moment. Not even now. Nope, she hadn’t said anything at all, just offered him a shoulder to sniffle on. He appreciated her more than she could imagine. After gaining control over his emotions he forced himself to get over the sadness. He was pissed. He wanted to kick some ass. He wanted revenge. First though, he needed to remain calm and rational and gather supplies. Samantha filled a few grocery bags with food from the pantry while he went to his father’s den. The gun case was locked. Samantha had the flashlight so he

kicked his booted foot through the glass door, smashing it to bits. The broken glass fell to the floor in a tinkling pile. His mother would’ve had a fit if she could see him. Reaching through the broken glass pane, he unlocked the door and it swung open. He grabbed two shotguns and two handguns, a set each for himself and for Samantha. They needed to be prepared for whatever might come at them. He had a sneaking suspicion it would be pretty damn bad. Russ hoped like hell she wasn’t scared of guns.