entrance. Maybe I can stop a
couple of Vamps as they flee.” I reached over and snagged a stake
from
Patrick. “Tell your Witch I want this to be clean. No trace of anything in this house after we leave. Got it?"
"Understood,” Patrick replied.
"You have your orders,” I snapped. “Let's go." As Patrick stepped into the street between the two houses, the five men of his squad materialized out of the darkness behind me. They charged quickly and quietly across the street and grouped at the front door. Patrick silently signaled his men. Two of the five broke off and charged around to the back door. Counting down with his fingers, one of his men kicked in the front door and charged inside. Patrick and the rest of his team quickly followed. The sound of gunfire shattered the night's calm. I slipped off my leather jacket and tossed it behind several dying bushes. Don't believe everything you see in movies and television. Those long, black, leather jackets may look cool, but they tend to get in the way during a fight. That's when I spotted another pile of clothes. I recognized the shirt and jacket. The small golden cross lying on the shirt. They were Toby's. "Shit,” I groaned under my breath. “Bad doggie." He wolfed and went in without me. Drawing my Beretta, I charged across the street and was up the front stairs in a single step. The overpowering scent of blood hit me like a blast of air as I crossed the threshold. Gasping, I felt my eyes beginning to change. I had to fight it. Snapping off the safety on the .45, I tried to make sense of the smells, sounds, and sights assaulting me. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. I saw a burst of light to my left as a P90 was discharged. The accompanying scream assured me the Vampire had died quickly.
"Captain.” Tenderly pressing my fingertips to the headset, I gripped my weapon a little tighter. Walking slowly, I moved further into the nest. A dead tourist lay sprawled in his khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirt in front of an abused fireplace. I keyed the radio again, “Captain, we have another Seeker in the building. He is a gray Werewolf approximately—"
The smells of the nest overpowered me. I didn't even detect the Vampire who circled around the large living room and leapt on me from behind. We crumbled to the floor, the stake skittering from my hand. Then it let go.
Jumping to my feet, I then swung my pistol around and caught the glint of the Vampire's eyes in the darkness. I could make out his shape in the nearly pitch-black conditions with my preternatural sight. He was maybe in his early twenties and extremely skinny. A shock of brown hair hung down and terminated just below his eyes. I hesitated.
"Brimstone.” The Vampire hissed the word as if it were a curse. He started digging into the pocket of his jeans.
"Hands where I can see them,” I threatened. I should've shot. It would have been over, but something compelled me to hold. I could hear the Cleaners working their way back through the house toward my position. Patrick's voice was barking in my ear over the headset. Pulling it off, I dangled the wire over my shoulder.
Patrick. “Tell your Witch I want this to be clean. No trace of anything in this house after we leave. Got it?"
"Understood,” Patrick replied.
"You have your orders,” I snapped. “Let's go." As Patrick stepped into the street between the two houses, the five men of his squad materialized out of the darkness behind me. They charged quickly and quietly across the street and grouped at the front door. Patrick silently signaled his men. Two of the five broke off and charged around to the back door. Counting down with his fingers, one of his men kicked in the front door and charged inside. Patrick and the rest of his team quickly followed. The sound of gunfire shattered the night's calm. I slipped off my leather jacket and tossed it behind several dying bushes. Don't believe everything you see in movies and television. Those long, black, leather jackets may look cool, but they tend to get in the way during a fight. That's when I spotted another pile of clothes. I recognized the shirt and jacket. The small golden cross lying on the shirt. They were Toby's. "Shit,” I groaned under my breath. “Bad doggie." He wolfed and went in without me. Drawing my Beretta, I charged across the street and was up the front stairs in a single step. The overpowering scent of blood hit me like a blast of air as I crossed the threshold. Gasping, I felt my eyes beginning to change. I had to fight it. Snapping off the safety on the .45, I tried to make sense of the smells, sounds, and sights assaulting me. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. I saw a burst of light to my left as a P90 was discharged. The accompanying scream assured me the Vampire had died quickly.
"Captain.” Tenderly pressing my fingertips to the headset, I gripped my weapon a little tighter. Walking slowly, I moved further into the nest. A dead tourist lay sprawled in his khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirt in front of an abused fireplace. I keyed the radio again, “Captain, we have another Seeker in the building. He is a gray Werewolf approximately—"
The smells of the nest overpowered me. I didn't even detect the Vampire who circled around the large living room and leapt on me from behind. We crumbled to the floor, the stake skittering from my hand. Then it let go.
Jumping to my feet, I then swung my pistol around and caught the glint of the Vampire's eyes in the darkness. I could make out his shape in the nearly pitch-black conditions with my preternatural sight. He was maybe in his early twenties and extremely skinny. A shock of brown hair hung down and terminated just below his eyes. I hesitated.
"Brimstone.” The Vampire hissed the word as if it were a curse. He started digging into the pocket of his jeans.
"Hands where I can see them,” I threatened. I should've shot. It would have been over, but something compelled me to hold. I could hear the Cleaners working their way back through the house toward my position. Patrick's voice was barking in my ear over the headset. Pulling it off, I dangled the wire over my shoulder.