Chapter Twenty-seven

Cassandra promised she’d get back to me as soon as she heard something from her mysterious contacts in regard to capturing and hopefully curing Sullivan. I agreed to call her immediately should the detective show up in any way, shape, or form.

The streets were already crowded as I made my way down Royal and headed toward Frenchmen.

According to King, the best Mardi Gras started early and ended late. There would be dancing in the streets, food and music everywhere, public drunkenness, exhibitionism, and a general sense that the city had been taken over by the “degenerate of the day” club.

The tourists and the locals were adorned with rope after rope of plastic Mardi Gras beads in the traditional colors of green, purple, and gold. Many wore costumes. I passed a nun, a schoolgirl with very hairy legs, several Cleopatras, and two Charlie Chaplins. Quite a few wore masks—some funny, some demonic, most decorated with an array of sequins, glitter, and feathers in every imaginable color.

King had opened the doors early. A local band already played, and the sun hadn’t even set.

He shot me a glare and I hurried upstairs, trying to figure out how I would conceal the letter opener so that I could get to the weapon quickly if necessary but not hamper my working like a wild thing all night.

I could either tape the opener to my calf beneath a pair of loose cotton pants, or tuck it into a fanny pack at my waist. I chose the latter, figuring I would be able to unzip the compartment and yank out the sharp implement more efficiently than I could pull up my pants leg and free the thing from a wad of tape.

Concealed weapons were a real pain in the ass.

There was no sign of John, but that was nothing new. He’d either show up or he wouldn’t. Tonight we’d be busy regardless.

I could barely move between the bodies, had to pick and choose whom I listened to as drink orders were shouted whenever I went by.

I managed to introduce myself to the other waitresses and new bartender, who turned out to be imports from Biloxi. They came down for Mardi Gras every year, worked one night and went home several hundred dollars richer.

In order to stay as fresh as we could for the all-nighter we’d be pulling, those of us working the floor decided to rotate fifteen-minute breaks every hour, which would allow us a brief respite every three hours. Better than nothing.

When it came time for my break, I stepped out back.

Tonight even the alley was full of people moving from one bar to another, congregating in small groups, cocktails in hand, enj oying the cacophony of music spilling from the open doors and windows of all the clubs on the street.

People danced everywhere; they sang, they laughed. I couldn’t help but smile as I allowed my gaze to wander over the teeming throng.

My smile froze at the sight of one woman standing apart from all the others. The mask covered most of her face, but even at the distance of several feet, I could see her eyes. They were both familiar and completely different.

“Katie?” I whispered.

My heart pounded too fast; I found it difficult to breathe. I didn’t want to blink for fear she’d disappear in the space of an instant.

I didn’t realize I’d descended the steps, begun to approach her, until she started to back away. I stopped; so did she.

Was it Katie? I couldn’t be sure. My sister would never have worn a skirt so short, heels so high, or a blouse so low-cut. The dark circles of her nipples were plainly visible through the gauzy white material.

Her lips had been painted “do me” red, the shade a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin and the luscious violet of the mask.

If this was Katie, why didn’t she speak to me? Why didn’t she throw her arms around me? Why didn’t she behave as a long-lost sister should?

The woman ran her tongue over her lips and smirked. That smile did not remind me of my little sister at all; it reminded me of some of the women who danced atop the bars on Bourbon Street.

I lunged forward, reaching out and snatching her wrist just as she whirled to run. Instead of j erking free, which was what I expected, she stilled, staring down at my fingers encircling her arm.

A wide scar ringed her wrist, as if she’d been shackled and tried for hours, days, weeks to pull free.

Before I could question what had happened, where, how, why, or even to whom, she did j erk away, then darted into the crowd. Though breaktime was over, I followed.

She squirted through the melee with ease; whenever I tried it, any openings I’d seen closed, any agreeable people became suddenly disagreeable. My murmured “excuse me”s were pretty much ignored.

I wasn’t going to give up. I couldn’t—even when the crowd thinned as we left the arena of music and laughter and traveled to one much sadder, darker, and infinitely more dangerous.

At first I thought I’d entered an area where Katrina had done her worst. The washed-out buildings reeked of mold; despite the warm breeze, a damp chill permeated everything. The moon glistened off puddles scattered here and there. I trod carefully, afraid I’d trip over a piece of wood, a tin can, a body.

But as I moved along I decided that the place was just empty and had been for much longer than Katrina could be blamed for. I wasn’t sure why, although the haunted yet somehow desperate air of the place might have something to do with it. I wouldn’t want to live here, even if they did bulldoze everything and start over again. Some places are just like that.

I realized I was watching my feet and not watching the girl; I looked up. By then it was too late. She was gone.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

With a shriek, I spun. Catching my toe in a crevice, I twisted my ankle and stumbled. Sullivan scooped me up in his arms and carried me away.

I struggled but I might as well have been a fly in a web for all the good it did me. He just tightened his grip and went on.

The moon glinted off his eyes, making them shine an unearthly silver-blue. His hair had grown in the few days since I’d seen him. No longer neatly military, it was now a shaggy mess. He didn’t smell like sunshine anymore, but something darker, something that lurked in the shadows and only came out at night.

This was not the tidy man I’d once been attracted to, but then, he wasn’t a man anymore at all, was he?

Sullivan ducked into an abandoned building, and I suddenly realized we were alone. How could the masked woman have disappeared so quickly and so completely?

“Did you see anyone?” I asked.

Sullivan grunted. I waited for words to follow, but they didn’t, so I tried again.

“I thought I saw Katie. My sister? The one who’s missing?”

“No,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if he meant no, he hadn’t seen her, or no, he didn’t remember who she was or even no, she wasn’t missing. From the expression on his face—both dazed and slightly rabid—I wasn’t sure if Sullivan knew what he meant either.

I had to get out of here. Preferably before he raped me, definitely before he killed me or made me like him.

Unfortunately Sullivan had been a very strong man; he’d be an even stronger non-man. I had a weapon, however, I wasn’t ready, yet, to kill him.

He strode into one of the apartments at the back of the building. Moonlight streamed through a broken window; the glass on the concrete sparkled like diamonds. He moved into the silver stream, breathing in as if gaining strength from the light.

“Why don’t we go over there?” I pointed to a section of the room not strewn with glass, nearer the great big stick I planned to use on his head.

His eyes shifted to mine. There wasn’t a speck of Sullivan left in them. I bit my lip to keep from crying out or maybe just crying. His gaze lowered.

“I’ll bite you till you bleed,” he whispered, “then I’ll lick you everywhere.”

My resolve to keep him alive wavered. Sullivan wasn’t in there anymore.

He kicked aside the glass, then lowered us both to our knees in the moonlight. His eyes continued to glitter with an unearthly sheen. Chill air feathered over me and I shivered.

Before I could inch my fingers to the zipper on my fanny pack and make a grab for the letter opener, he released the clasp at my tailbone and flung the thing against the wall. I was still gaping when he put his big hand into the neck of my T-shirt.

Screech.

He ripped it right down the middle, then yanked off my bra too. Between him and Rodolfo, I’d be out of clothes in a few days.

“I wanted you from the first time I saw you, but all you saw was him,” he muttered, his gaze fastened on my breasts.

“That’s not true.”

He backhanded me. “Liar,” he whispered, and yanked me against him, pressing his mouth to mine and sucking the blood from my bottom lip.

I gagged, and he lifted his head and smiled. “I like it when they cry.”

Reaching out, he cupped my breast and squeezed hard. I tried not to react, but from the deepening of his smile, I didn’t succeed.

“Girls never liked me. I was too big, fat until I grew. They were always after the tall, dark, and broody types.”

Well, that explained Sullivan’s utter dislike of Rodolfo. Why did everything always go back to our childhood?

“But I’ll have all the pussy I want now. That’s what my friend said. Anyone, any way, all the time. Tonight I want you.”

He shoved me onto my back. The glass crunched under my ass. I spent a wasted second being glad none of my bare skin had landed on the sharp shards, then he was yanking at my pants.

“I have to shift while I do you.”

“Wh-why?”

“It’ll be an orgasm like I’ve never had.” He frowned. “I hope I don’t kill you. At least not yet.”

He glanced at the moonlight and his skin rippled, as if there were something beneath just waiting to erupt.

I began to struggle, disgusted and terrified.

He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his erection, which seemed larger than any human’s should be. I cried out, and it leaped against my palm, growing bigger if that were possible.

Sure, I was frightened by the prospect of being raped; the idea of the act being performed by a man- beast didn’t help any. But what really lent strength to my resistance was what I saw when I looked into Sullivan’s face. He wasn’t just insane; he was evil.

I’d never been very religious. I believed in God, but Satan? Not so much. Until he’d shown up in a gentle man’s eyes.

Sullivan fell on me, his weight heavy, his penis hard, bruising against my pelvis. He hadn’t managed to get my pants off or he probably would have rammed right into me. As it was, he kept trying, not seeming to understand the mechanics wouldn’t work through two layers of clothes.

A low growl rumbled through the room. I gasped, afraid Sullivan had already begun to change. I didn’t think he’d listen to reason then; I doubted he was capable of listening to reason even now.

Sullivan lifted his head from my neck where he’d been snuffling my skin like a kitten that had just discovered catnip. His eyes flared; so did his nostrils.

He rolled off me, and I didn’t wait another instant before scrambling the other way. I came to my feet just in time to see a flash of black fur as the wolf in the doorway charged.

Sullivan was still a man; he hadn’t had time to shapeshift, although I could swear his teeth were protruding and his nose was too. As the beast flew through the air, Sullivan swept out his arm and sent it crashing into the wall.

I bit back a sound of dismay. The animal had helped me once before; I had no doubt it was here to help me again. Unless Sullivan killed him before he got the chance.

But it wasn’t easy to keep a good werewolf down. The black wolf sprang to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it, then he began to stalk Sullivan, herding him toward the door and away from me.

Unfortunately, that was also the only exit. My plan to run away while the two wolves duked it out fell apart.

“Come on!” Sullivan shouted.

The wolf feinted to the right, then, when Sullivan’s weight was tipped in that direction to block the attack, he suddenly shot forward and clamped his j aws into Sullivan’s thigh.

Sullivan howled and pounded on the wolf’s head with his fists. The blows didn’t seem to bother the animal at all. He held on tight.

Blood splattered the cement floor, black beneath the light of the moon. Sullivan fell to his knees, and the wolf released him, backing away stiff legged, then inching in for the kill.

Last time I’d kept him from finishing things. This time I wasn’t so sure.

The dark wolf’s head tilted as if he’d heard something. He turned his back on Sullivan, who couldn’t seem to do more than curse and hold his leg, then approached me.

I retreated until my shoulders hit the wall. My eyes met those of the wolf—bright blue surrounded by white—human intelligence in a canine face. But what confused me the most was their expression. This wolf’s eyes weren’t evil, and how could that be?

Before I could wonder more than an instant, he’d spun away, racing toward Sullivan with a long, loping gait. The man cringed, trying to make himself as small as possible, which wasn’t easy for someone of his size. The wolf leaped over him in a single bound, hit the ground once, and then crashed through what remained of the window.

Glass rained down, showering Sullivan with sparkling shards. He cursed and got to his feet, shook his head and sent the sharp crystals flying every which way.

Then he saw me, and the cloak of submission he’d worn in front of the black wolf disappeared. Sullivan seemed to grow taller, wider, stronger before my eyes.

“Where were we?” He reached for his zipper.

A muffled thunk split the night. Sullivan j erked. His roar of fury made me shrink back as if a gust of wind had rushed through the room, sweeping me along with its force.

His eyes rolled up, and he went down, with what appeared to be a tranquilizer dart buried between his shoulder blades.

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