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“I believe Rafe’s spreading a disease around Hades. A pestilence in his skin. He could have found a way out by now, but he’s going around infecting others. My son’s not the only one infected. He’s just the only one we know of. I’ve been working on a potion just in case, but it may be too late. I’ve seen it in a vision.”
Heads up on that vision before this sickness broke out would have been more useful, but he didn’t say that aloud. He knew her gift of foreshadowing didn’t work like that. She couldn’t force which visions she received or when she got them.
They stared at each other, both trapped behind the pain of having brought this mess to Hades.
“He has the relic, doesn’t he?” Saybree’s bottom lip trembled slightly. She was worried, and that did not occur every day.
Punch had to reassure her that he would do everything he could to make things right for her son, for everyone in Punch’s charge. “Franco seems to believe so. Must have been Rafe’s reason for tricking me into bringing him back here. I won’t let him get away with the artifact though. It belongs to me and my bloodline.” When Franco’s Persian army defeated the Babylonians and Israelites, Franco had acquired the object. He had gifted it to the Philistines as reparations for all they had been through as people void of God’s favor. The blessings attached to it, though not intended for Punch’s people, had been won fair and square. From then on, it had belonged to the Philistines. Since Punch was the last Philistine survivor, it had passed to him as an inheritance once Franco acquired him. Franco, Saybree, and Punch had been the only ones to know of its location. At least, they were supposed to be the only ones who knew. Someone had been looking into a crystal ball, casting locator spells or something.
Saybree nodded. “Returning it may save Dario and any other living being who has contracted this disease. Otherwise, this safe haven won’t be so safe anymore.”
“During these days of Tribulation, it’s more important than ever for us to have it. Our lives depend on it.” The lives of wereanimals and other living beings, that is. Hmmm. Could it be that vampires and demons are immune to the illness? Vampires were the animated dead, and demons had never been living souls, though some of them possessed human bodies. Punch thought about his dose of Willow’s blood, and how great he felt. None of his other bonded wolves seemed to have been infected either. “I think those of us who are bonded to vampires are inoculated.” Shit. Dario should have bonded to a vamp. Punch should have forced the issue. Punch turned to Dr. Dougie. “Is it too late for him to have vampire blood? Will that counteract the effects of the disease?”
The doctor looked up from a chart he’d been studying. “I’ve given him some already. There have been no changes in his condition.”
Ah, that’s because the feeding had gone one way.
Willow, get your ass down here to the infirmary. Punch didn’t hesitate to send her a psychic message.
Can’t. We have Rafe surrounded.
Good! And bad… I need a vamp now. Dario needs blood.
The doctor has vials in storage.
Not vials. I need Dario to bond with someone from your clan. He needs a blood exchange.
Not against his will. You know that.
He sighed, not willing to lose Dario to some misplaced sense of duty felt towards a family that had long been gone. Who would he most likely bond to, if he wasn’t so stubborn? He could die without it.
Try Vance. They get along well. What should I do with Rafe once we have him?
Bring him to me. First, I’m going to get back my stolen property. Then Franco and I are going to take Rafe’s body through the portal to another dimension, so that no one will find and restore his life. Fuck interrogating him. Punch should have followed Willow’s advice and killed the bastard earlier.
Damn, that seems complicated. What property did he take?
The Ark of the Covenant.
The…what?
The Ark of the Covenant.
Silence on her end. He thought she may have been stunned by his revelation, understandably so, but he felt anguish coming from her instead. Something wasn’t right.
She came through in a rush that nearly gave him a headache. Shit, shit, shit!
What’s wrong?
He slipped past the guards. That robe just— Willow dropped out of his head.
Shit. He’d seen what that robe could do.
“Get Vance to come down here to bond with Dario. Make sure he knows this may be the only way. I gotta go,” Punch said to Saybree and Dr. Dougie before darting out of the infirmary and racing down the hall. He’d get back what belonged to him, and he’d fuck Rafe up. Punch had to make this right on account of it being his fault and all.
Chapter 8
Rushing out the door into the night, Punch crushed an empty beer can with his bare foot as he followed Willow’s energy into the open parking lot. The moon still shined high and full, but it wouldn’t for much longer. The sun already threatened to rise on the horizon. Willow and other sun-vulnerable vampires were studying the woods closely, looking for their prey to reappear from the dark robe’s magical camouflage. Their eyes glowed, Willow’s green, the others’ red. Their fangs were out, glistening and ready. Their nostrils twitched as they picked up Rafe’s scent, but that didn’t help. They couldn’t hone in on Rafe’s location, because the whole atmosphere smelled like him. The wind was not their friend.
Punch tapped Willow’s shoulder. “Go inside! The sun will be up soon.” Willow had done her part by alerting Punch to Rafe’s whereabouts. She needed to seek cover now. They all did. His wolves would take it from here.
“We need all hands on deck. Together, we can do away with him once and for all.”
Punch understood why she would second guess all his decisions now, and why she wanted to be an active participant in bringing Rafe down. The idea was: if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself. Still, he needed her inside, away from harm. And he needed her to stop with the pirate lingo.
Before Punch could respond, he spotted Rafe’s robe blowing like a flag in the wind towards the highway. The garment appeared to be empty, but Punch knew better this time. Fool me once, shame on me, but it’ll never happen again, punk. Punch dropped to all fours and prepared to let his wolf free.
Hoooooowwwwwl.
Damn it felt good to break out of his confining human skin. As his fur flowed over his body, and the rest of him popped and expanded, he threw his head back to surrender to the beast again. After one last shake of his powerful wolf body that rid him of the cotton on his hips, he sought after Rafe full throttle. The stench of Rafe’s skin greeted and led Punch in predatory pursuit. He was so focused on his target; he barely registered the three wolves that had joined him in giving chase. His conscious mind hardly recognized them, but his internal being strengthened with power and determination. He surged forward, grateful for the combined energy. No way could the fucker get away now, magic robe or not.
Hot on Rafe’s tail with tunnel vision, oblivious to his surroundings, Punch slammed right into a group of partiers, more likely coming from a much better costume party than the ball he had attended earlier. He had pummeled them to the ground like they were bowling pins his wrecking ball needed to strike out. One of the human’s plastic pitchforks had lodged into Punch’s side. No biggie. The one that stabbed him in his right eye though, had momentarily stunned him off his feet. Punch thought for a second about how scared they were to see a giant furry, demonic-looking coal black wolf glaring at them with searing hatred. The totality of his emotions, meant to be focused on one rotting human, aimed at them for a moment too long. The fact that they could stare at him at all meant this stumbling block of humans were at least still alive. He needed to move on.
He rose quickly, unable to suppress a snarl. Anger arose in him over them costing him precious time, and boy did that object stuck in his eye make blinking difficult. He couldn’t waste any more time inspecting their injuries or addressing his. They should have been indoors by now anyway. Halloween was over.
Punch shook his body to rid it of any costume props that had made it through his fur. Then he redirected a perturbed left eye ahead to see his wolves leap in unison to tackle Rafe’s robe. Tomac, Iron, and Lorenz may have been newbies, but they were in sync like ol’ pros. Like they had been pack mates for centuries. They were using their aggressive, deadly natures in the manner Punch had taught them: acting as one. Punch’s sense of pride and relief that they had caught up to Rafe, and were in the process of bringing that little shit to his knees, was short-lived. He watched in horror as a yellow Corvette with an excruciatingly loud muffler zoomed up, screeched on brakes and fired off rounds of bullets at the animals.
Noooooo! Punch broke into a frenzied run towards them. No, no, no!
All three wolves dropped to the ground in a mass of blood, fur, and Punch’s despair. They lay twitching and whimpering as the car roared down the street with Rafe in the passenger seat, grinning with the few teeth he had left. The look on his face wasn’t nearly as taunting as watching him stroke a gray hand over the rectangular box he held.
Punch’s ark.
He watched it speed off, torn between running after it and tending to his wolves.
Punch went to their sides and pawed at their furry bodies. Get up! Get up, dammit! He sniffed their wounds, knowing that silver wouldn’t kill them, but still fearing the worst given how calculated Rafe’s actions had been. It got worse, all right, since it was that kind of night. Punch’s nose didn’t reveal anything out of the way. Certain harmful things, like in this case, were odorless. The way Punch’s body recoiled instantly whenever he got close to one of their wounds, told him they weren’t shot with silver; they’d been shot with what humans didn’t typically know of as a werewolf’s real kryptonite. It happened to be, nonetheless, THE metal that would kill them—mercury. It looked like silver, and that’s how humans had gotten confused, or at least allowed the wolf myth to take hold without questioning its validity. His wolves had been shot with fucking mercury. They wouldn’t be able to heal from their wounds.
He watched in shock as their twitching lessened and their whimpers grew softer. He felt a piece of himself lessening and growing softer as well. His fatherly side felt broken. Damaged. Bereft. The pain of knowing he was losing them, however, hurt intensely.
Fuck the ark. Fuck Rafe. Punch had to do something for his wolves. He looked around for a vehicle to claim and spotted a banged up, discolored hoopty nearby. The keys were probably still in the ignition from when the driver had disappeared suddenly on that mysterious evening. If Punch moved fast enough, he could load them, and have Dr. Fuckingugly extract the poison. Or maybe Saybree could do a healing spell or miracle potion. They would be all right. They would make it. They had to.
As their wolf bodies slowly transitioned to human, he felt three sharp pains in his chest as their spirits left. One, two, three, they were gone. Though Punch felt crushed inside and out, his wolves were delivered from pain. He should have been grateful for that. Instead, Punch’s insides were bruised and aching and wrung tightly and sad…because it was too late. He had promised them long lives filled with power, and he had let them down. After everything they had gone through to be turned, this was the thanks they had gotten—being gun downed on a street corner. Punch suddenly felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders.
A mere few seconds had separated him from sharing his mates’ fates. He could have been shot as well, if not for the run-in with the humans. Maybe that would have been for the better. He wouldn’t have to go back to Hades, face everyone, and explain how he not only had allowed the bad apple in their midst. He had lost some of his wolves in the process of trying to retrieve it. How could he explain that with the ark gone, so went Punch’s personal and extended protection? Without being able to carry out his sole purpose in life, he would be no good to anyone. Worthless. Useless. Insignificant. LAME. All adjectives he hated with a passion. But the people most affected would be the ones he should have been protecting. This was worse than being a slave. Back then, he’d always felt hope, and he’d only been responsible for himself.
He grew still, no longer hearing the loud yellow getaway vehicle. It was gone.
Punch’s frustration mounted with the realization that it had all been planned. Nothing had occurred tonight by mere coincidence. Knowing they would be at the ball. Calling Punch a Philistine, and knowing how he would react. The capture. The escape. The disease. The mercury bullets. The theft of Punch’s gifted blessing. Everything. So perfectly calculated and executed without a hitch.
Rafe had gotten help in planning this grandiose scheme. In fact, Rafe was likely a pawn, promised a coveted position in the afterlife, not the mastermind behind it all. The mastermind had to be Botis, the Great President/Earl of Hell and nemesis to Franco. Punch should have made the connection to the demon leader who had used Rafe before to do his bidding. Punch was right about Rafe not being anything special by himself. But when endowed with power by association from a demon as cunning as Botis, Rafe was a force to be reckoned with. Rafe had been given powerful tools to achieve his mission. Only the mission hadn’t been to seduce Willow, at least not entirely. It had been to undercut the power that flowed through Hades. Weakening Punch, the backbone of Hades’s security, weakened them all.
Punch’s leap of logic left him with more frustrating realizations. Punch and Willow’s actions tonight had been predictable, but not that predictable, unless someone or something had actually known—and not as in they’d had a hunch—as in they had foreseen Punch and Willow’s actions tonight. Did this involve wizardry? Crystal balls? A trick of retro time travel? Punch wasn’t sure. He was certain that Rafe had supernatural assistance that went beyond a new life and fancy robe. He had Botis behind him, along with whoever else Botis had enlisted on his team. Just as Franco and Saybree often knew of events before they happened, Rafe had been instructed, not based on guesses and whims, but on sureties that would occur tonight.
Dammit to hell. Punch had allowed himself to be played. He’d underestimated his opponent, believing the human to be an inferior species. He’d overlooked that in this era, the stakes were high. The fight over souls, ruthless. Supernatural beings were using whatever resources they had available to them even, no especially humans they could send back from the dead, armed with glimpses into the future, magical clothing, and contagious diseases. Just like Punch’s demon leader, Franco, went about recruiting for his army, other demon leaders were doing the same. Franco, under his demon name Räum, had Willow and Punch serving towards his agenda. Botis likely had a functioning team as well, since he had much to gain from a breakdown in Franco’s progress, and even more to gain by having the ark in his possession.
But only an ancient bloodline could claim the ark. That’s what Franco had told him when he’d gifted the ark to Punch ages ago. Demons weren’t able to claim the ark even though they could take up residence in human bodies. The Ark of the Covenant’s mysterious contents could only attach to flesh and blood. Demons did not qualify, though they could manipulate situations to reap the benefits of the ark’s blessing.
Perhaps Rafe’s bloodline was ancient, with roots deep into the Underworld, as deep as Punch’s or deeper. Punch hadn’t factored in if his own bloodline played such a significant part in these final days, other bloodlines would as well. This had been a tremendous and costly oversight…and even more difficult and humiliating lesson.
Punch threw his head back to howl in fury and sadness…and more than a little hopelessness. He just wanted to dig his claws into his skin, rip off his fur, roll around in salt and—
Just then, he watched as a hawk flew above. Only it wasn’t a hawk. It was a vampire. Willow.
He jumped up from his pity party, standing on two legs in wolf form. Get the fuck back to Hades. I won’t have your death on my head tonight along with theirs.
We can’t let him get away. She kept flying over and past him. I may be immune to sunlight. I’ll never know unless I try it.
Or you could die trying. Fuck no! He wouldn’t lose her too. And he couldn’t let his wolves’ deaths have been in vain.
He took off on the ground in the direction she flew, cutting across backyards, leaping over fences. He got an occasional scream from anyone up early preparing for work or out late preparing for bed. He kept running at top speed. The sun continued to rise, luckily still hidden by clouds. He didn’t know how long he’d been running, letting Willow guide him, before he saw it—the vehicle Rafe had ridden off in. It cruised through the streets as if the driver didn’t think anyone could catch up to them. He’d almost been right.
Punch picked up the pace. Mercury-firing guns or not, he wouldn’t let them get away. Or at least, he would die honorably in an attempt to make sure they didn’t get away.
Punch had been spotted, or maybe Willow had. The Corvette ripped and screeched through the streets at top speed. V-v-v-vrooooooom. Punch wasn’t worried. Unless the vette transformed into a turbojet and zipped down an open highway, they wouldn’t shake Punch from their tail.
Suddenly, he discovered he wasn’t alone in ground pursuit. His companions weren’t wolves though. Willow must have psychically called for help. To his left and right were motorcycles. He recognized the drivers who were too cool to wear helmets, or rather, they were too immortal to care about protecting their heads. Conda, one of Willow’s grooms, rode up on his Ninja. He had never been on a Seek and Destroy mission. According to every porn connoisseur on the planet, Conda’s greatest asset lay within his legs, not in his ability to fight. Punch was glad to see him, nonetheless, as the bike was efficient at maneuvering through the messy streets and residential yards. On his other side rode Zeek, always an asset in destruction. She wouldn’t hesitate to decapitate Rafe when it came down to that.
