The Victorious Redemption Complete Series Boxed Set, page 40
What is that? It was a smell she couldn’t associate with anything she had smelled before, but deep in her primitive brain it meant something important.
She stopped and looked at the high brick walls around her. The place grew quiet except for the running footsteps echoing as the remaining four rounded yet another corner.
Jasmine narrowed her eyes and walked slowly in their direction. Her senses were afire.
A second later, screaming began.
She paused and pressed her back against the wall. She heard another scream, followed by the sound of a gunshot. A gruff voice cackled, one she didn’t recognize as anyone from the basement. Someone muttered helplessly, and another cackle filled the night air.
Jasmine crept to the corner to peek around the brick, and what she saw made her gasp. Two men stood in the cross-section between alleys. She had never seen them before and wished she hadn’t now. Flames flickered from a barrel burning nearby. It lit up the men in harsh silhouettes, and the shadows stretched the leers on their faces. They were a bad sort—she could tell this instantly. And, if she could believe her senses, there was something wolfish inside them.
But those two weren’t what made Jasmine gasp. Standing with its back to Jasmine was a wolf in hell-hide tearing hungrily into the chest cavity of one of the fallen. Its fur was black as night, and it was easily ten feet tall. Its shoulders were broad and its claws were like machetes as it gripped and ripped the flesh of its victim. Jasmine had only met one hell-hide in her life, and that had been enough. She was suddenly aware that she was alone in enemy territory.
A groan erupted from one of Jasmine’s targets. He was being beaten by one of the new men on the scene, a man with dark skin, a thick neck, and muscular arms. He stood almost as tall as Delilah in her man-skin. Jasmine swallowed dryly.
Scuffling sounds drew her attention to a third member of their pack chasing another of Jasmine’s quarry. He grabbed his collar and threw him onto the ground. The smack echoed loudly, and the man grinned as he stared down at his victim. He punched his face, and a moment later the hell-hide turned his attention to this new meal. The beast slashed a gouge across his throat in one bloody spray.
Only one of the men Jasmine was chasing remained. He had reached the end of the alley and was trying to make his final escape when the report of the pistol clapped around them. The man gave a muted shout and fell facedown, lifeless.
"Wonder what got them so spooked?" the large man-skin asked his comrades. The second, smaller man had long blond hair and wore a filthy white vest. His jeans were full of holes, the blue almost black with dirt.
Jasmine thought of the other three she had left on the road behind her. Would they be stupid enough to follow? Get moving, Jasmine, before they follow. There was nothing for her there. She should go back to the city and away from these three frightening figures. Before she could, the creature in hell-hide stood straight. Its mouth dripped with blood as he turned to his two comrades. “What’s that smell?”
Holy crap. The hell-hide had spoken. It was not driven in its fury like Delilah. She had been a twisting, contorted mess of uncontrollable anger. Jasmine’s brow creased as she tried to digest what she was seeing. Hadn’t her grandmother explained that hell-hides were a force that couldn’t be controlled? And yet here was a hell-hide not tearing its brothers apart. It conversed with them as though it had all the sensibilities of a civilized creature.
Jasmine inched backward. She needed to leave. If this creature had both brains and brawn, imagine what it could do to her that Delilah couldn’t.
She was so focused on the creature that Jasmine didn’t see the can by her foot. Her heel tapped it and sent it clattering a few inches across the hard ground. The sound reverberated loudly around them as the three turned in her direction.
"There's another. Get ’em!" the hell-hide commanded.
Hoping to defuse the situation before it could escalate, Jasmine stepped out of her cover and raised her hands. The three were poised to run but stood still when they saw Jasmine. All three noses sniffed the air, frowning as they took in the strange scent of Jasmine.
"Well, well, what have we got here?" the tallest man-skin demanded.
The hell-hide gagged. “She stinks.”
"Something foul about her, no question,” the smaller man-skin agreed. "But also something…Were-like."
Jasmine lowered her hands. "You three are werewolves." It wasn't a question.
The three grinned at each other. "And you are half-breed."
The hell-hide cocked his head. He was terrifying in his gigantism. "The question is, what is your other half?"
"That's not the question," the smaller man-skin corrected. "The question is: what's another Were-bitch doing treading on our territory?"
Jasmine looked down at the bloodied mess on the ground. "You took my kill."
The taller man-skin stared at her levelly. "Our boundaries, our kill. Who the hell do you think you are?"
As she held their gaze, she was starkly reminded of how little she understood of Were culture. She did know that any sign of weakness would be magnified among these creatures.
"I am Jasmine," Jasmine answered.
"Is that meant to mean something to us?" the taller man-skin asked.
"Could you at least tell me your names?" Jasmine requested. "It's not often I meet Weres in these parts of town."
The hell-hide snarled and his maw wrinkled with disgust. "This is bullshit. You've got the scent of others all over you. To whom do you align?"
The three came closer, bristling. Jasmine felt a sensation at the end of her fingers and had to focus on stopping her claws from drawing. "My situation is my own."
"Not if you want to escape here alive," the smaller man-skin argued. "Answer the fucking question."
She wasn't sure how to answer. She was working her way into her grandmother's pack, but had she officially been declared one of them? She was neither Ghost Throat nor running solo.
"Answer!" the hell-hide commanded with a flash of his dagger-like teeth.
Jasmine flinched with the severity of his words. "My allegiance is with the Ghost Throats," she told him. "We reside over in the National Park.”
"And what is a measly little Ghost Throat doing on our turf?"
Jasmine waved a hand toward the bloodied mess. "Those men on the ground were mobsters dealing in crime rings, prostitution, and underage solicitation. I was issuing them a warning, giving them the chance to change their ways before… Well, before you did what you did."
"Destroy them?" the hell-hide replied with a grin. "Beat you to it, bitch."
Before Jasmine thought about what she was saying, she jeered, "Easy, scum."
The hell-hide clenched his fists. Power exuded from his form, his shape darkening the night around her. "You come inside our boundaries, and you talk shit about our pack. Do you know nothing of our people?"
"Steady, Arthur." The man held out an arm to hold him back. "This bitch has a human stink all over her. She's not properly scented. My guess is she was a lone pup. Is that about the size of it?"
Jasmine nodded. Her ears cocked as a gentle gust of wind blew through the alley. She pulled her gaze from the wolves as words tickled her eardrums, gentle and indistinct. At first she wondered if only she could hear them, but then the three Weres bristled and looked at each other. Mixes of irritation and notes of fear washed over their features.
"You've got one chance to get out of here," the taller man-skin announced. "Our territory bounds are defined. We do not stray into yours, and you do not stray into ours. That is the law of our people. Do you understand?"
Jasmine held his gaze. The gust faded once more and fell silent.
"Do you understand?" he demanded. The hell-hide beside him bristled, ready to spring at an incorrect answer.
"I understand," Jasmine confirmed.
"Then get the fuck out of here!" the hell-hide roared.
Jasmine looked at them for another long moment, then turned and strolled confidently out of the alley and back into the city.
CHAPTER TWO
Rumors
The following night Jasmine sat on an old wooden bench in a small garden called Tollen Park. With one leg crossed over the other and her arms spread out on the back of the bench, she stared up at the night sky and smiled.
It was a bright night, and the full moon beamed down upon her. She closed her eyes, soaking in the moon's rays and feeling its giving power as it soaked into every cell of her body. This was quite different than her first experience with the full moon after her awakening. The magic the moon gave her had surprised her—it had dizzied her and made her clumsy. She’d stumbled around, not used to the immense power bequeathed by the great white orb.
Now though, she allowed herself time to understand its process and what it did to her body. The city was alive to her. The minimal light was like broad daylight, and the smells in the air brought tastes and sensations to her tongue. It was as though all her life, she had seen the world in blacks and whites, and now it came to her in Technicolor.
On the bench beside her was a screwdriver in a glass jar she had snuck out of the Nest while Ivan was busy. For the first time since her awakening, she was able to appreciate its flavor, the sweetness of the orange, and the acidity of the citrus combined with the vodka. No flakes of pepper or chili swam inside—Jasmine realized what that would do to her under these conditions. She swirled the cool liquid around her mouth before feeling its chill trail down her throat. The alcohol swam around her body and made her lightheaded, but in a way that she appreciated. It was as though things were once again normal, and she had nothing to worry about.
Beside her was a pile of empty candy packets, as well as various fruits, burgers, and hot dog wrappers from her latest indulgence. She licked her lips and tasted the salt and grease from the foods she had demolished. Some of the crumbs in her teeth were sweet and sugary, and they contrasted against the savory taste of the hot dog.
Her stomach felt full, and a note of nausea filled her at the prospect of eating more. Even so, it was all she could do to hold herself back from finishing off the candy packet on her lap.
A car drove past as Jasmine idly picked at her teeth with one claw. To her enhanced senses, the roar of its engine sounded more like a jet plane. Somewhere up in the high-rise apartments around her, she heard the mutterings of families in conversation, men and women in arguments, and TVs blaring.
She allowed herself to soak it all in and tried not to get too overwhelmed, though it was difficult. She imagined what it would be like if this were her norm. Would her life be like this on a day-to-day basis rather than once a turn of the moon? Not for the first time, she thought back to her encounter with Qadir and Dinah, as well as the conversation with her grandmother about restoring her to her former life.
Was it possible? Could someone undo the awakening, or whatever you called it, that had taken place within her? How was any of this possible? What limits were there to this magic?
On top of that, she still hadn't got over the fact that the pack was now responsible for protecting Deshawne Pierce—her attacker. It didn't make sense to her. She had replayed that night at the Shack countless times and imagined herself slicing the man to pieces. It would have been so easy. It could all have been over then.
None of it was my choice. An old man walked past, his dog leading the way on a leash. She could smell every scent in the dog’s fur, and could taste the sweat from the man’s palm on the coiled rope of the lead. "I never picked any of this,” she whispered.
Once again, she had to wait and trust that the Ghost Throats were working away in the background. Nothing was making its way to Jasmine though, and she was growing impatient for answers. The more time she sat on her perch at the Nest, the more she resented not being active in the campaign. She used to take control and drive her investigations forward. Now she was a spectator, a pawn in a much larger game that she didn’t understand.
Ivan would disapprove of her leaving the Nest again tonight. He would never understand the need to feel the moonlight and not let it control her. Too many forces were trying to control her already.
She sipped again from the screwdriver and found she couldn't hold herself back from draining the whole glass. She smacked her lips together appreciatively and looked up into the huge white moon.
"Mother moon," Jasmine muttered. "What mystery lies on your surface? What magic lies in your beams? Is there really magic in this world to fix what is broken inside me?"
She’d grown tired of waiting, so she picked up her trash and deposited the wrappers into the nearby trash can. She stuffed one more candy bar into her mouth and let the sticky, sugary chocolate mess whirl around her mouth before swallowing it and returning to the Nest.
Inside the warm bar, patrons engaged in animated chatter as Jasmine settled into her seat by the door.
A drink was waiting for her, though Ivan was nowhere to be seen. Jasmine glanced over her shoulder to check that the moon could still reach her through the glass so she could feel its giving effects.
She drew her cell phone from her pocket and tapped in her grandmother's number.
"Hello, dear," her grandmother answered. "Is everything okay?"
"Hi," Jasmine replied. She wasn't sure what she wanted to ask. She just knew she wanted answers.
"Jasmine?" her grandmother asked with a note of concern in her voice. "Are you safe?"
"Yeah, I'm safe," Jasmine assured her. "I'm in the Nest."
"Where else would you be?" her grandmother teased with a slight chuckle.
"Is there any news?" Jasmine queried. "I feel like I'm going stir-crazy sitting here waiting for the next domino to fall. What's happening? What can you tell me?"
"I'm afraid there's little I can say," her grandmother informed her. "It's all kept top level, and although you're my granddaughter, I still have to be careful of what is said to who."
"You can trust me," Jasmine promised.
Her grandmother laughed at that. “You’ve got a hotter head than someone doing a handstand in a volcano. Honestly, sweetie, given what I know about you and given the complexity of what we're dealing with here, you're going to have to just trust me and leave things with me for now, okay? The minute I have news that you can get involved in, the minute you will know."
Jasmine stayed quiet.
"What's on your mind?" her grandmother wondered.
"It's just…" Jasmine started, not sure where to go.
"It's that Qadir fellow, isn't it?" her grandmother guessed.
Jasmine nodded. She stared at Ivan, who was expertly serving a table a tray of over a dozen drinks. "I just thought that he'd be on our side. We fought together, and I helped him. It's tough to think that in such a short time, we've swapped sides. He's a nice guy. He deserves better."
"Because the path that we’re on could have you two facing each other? He could die at your hands?" her grandmother theorized.
Jasmine considered this. In a hand-to-hand melee combat, she was certain that she could best him, yet Qadir and his associate had demonstrated powerful dark magic that had pinned Jasmine and Delilah, as well as an entire horde of zombies. "I suppose so."
Her grandmother sighed. "Look, what you have to remember is that all of this situation, everything we're involved in, things are going to change. It's not your job to deal with necromantic regime changes. It's not the necromancers who own your loyalty, it's your pack. And maybe after the circle have discovered the way to fix you, they can consider whether any further punitive action needs to be taken."
"You really think it will come to that?" Jasmine asked. "You really think I'll be able to be restored to my former self?"
There was quiet on the other end of the line.
Finally, her grandmother answered, "I don't know. All you can do at this point is hope. Hope will take us far. We're doing all the right things, you have to trust us on that."
Jasmine nodded. "There is something else."
"What's that, dear?" her grandma encouraged.
"I found myself…" She hesitated, not knowing if it was wise to open this door. "Never mind."
"Come on, dear. You can tell me anything." Her grandmother's voice and concern soothed Jasmine.
She gave in and divulged, "Last night, I came across another Were pack."
Even on the other end of the line, she felt her grandmother bristle. "Go on…"
Jasmine explained. "I was chasing down some mobsters, more scumbags in the city who were dealing in children and prostitution—honestly, I don't know what it is about this city that generates that kind of scummery—anyway, I was chasing them through the city, trying to teach them a lesson and deter them from their crimes when I found myself in the southern quarters of the city."
"The slums near Chinatown?" her grandmother clarified.
"Sounds about right," Jasmine confirmed. "The group of assholes I was chasing ran into the Weres in an alley. There were three of them, two man-skin and…”
Jasmine’s mind flashed with the terrifying image of their hell-hide.
“And…” her grandmother encouraged, endlessly patient.
“And another male…” Jasmine paused.
“A male?” Her grandmother waited, sensing Jasmine’s hesitancy.
Jasmine thought of explaining the nuance of this hell-hide to her grandmother, then thought better of it. How much more trouble could she put herself in? She continued, “They tore my targets to ribbons without hesitation, then they spoke to me, asked me who I was, who I was associated with, and I tried to get information from them.”
"And what did you say?" her grandmother questioned.
"The bare minimum," Jasmine assured her.
Without saying it, she knew her grandmother understood what was said.
"Shit," her grandmother muttered, exasperated.
"What? What's the problem?" Jasmine asked.
"You." Her grandmother chided. "You stumbled into another pack's territory."
"And?" Jasmine pressed. She hoped it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was.
