Snuggling closer to Nic's hot body, Sam knew that she should let sleeping werewolves lie; she was sore this morning from their all-night marathon. But as memories of their passion curled around her, she began to feel like she needed the hair of the dog that bit her. She wriggled herself against his crotch, smiling happily when she heard him growl.
Before the growl finished he'd grabbed her and turned her over for a passionate good morning kiss. Unfortunately it was interrupted by a knocking on the door. They drew apart and cursed.
"I'll get it," he snarled, yanking on his jeans and flipping on the bedroom light. "And I'll break the neck of whoever it is for interrupting us."
Sliding on her robe, Sam smiled ruefully as Nic opened the door.
Alex rushed in, fairly bursting at the seams. Seeing Nic and Sam half-dressed, a grin split his face from ear to ear.
"Nic wasn't in his room, so I took a guess and tried here," he said. He gleefully rubbed his hands together. "So, you two mule-headed people have finally gotten together." Taking in the destruction, the sheets and pillows on the floor, he added, "Looks like a hurricane hit here—Hurricane Strakhov."
"Alex!" Nic warned. There was an unspoken threat. He didn't want his practical-joking brother to embarrass Sam after the special night they had just shared, and he wasn't taking any chances. "This had better be good."
"Oh, it is," his baby brother confided, his eyes glittering with excitement. "We got a shapeshifter—a panther—who says he knows Nero from the clubs. He's been out of town hunting, and just got back in. He heard about the deaths in the supernatural community from Ripley. Four nights ago he was walking a girl he met in Club Dread to the subway station, and he saw Nero sneaking off into the tunnels. He thought it was odd that Nero was doing that, since it's more than obvious Nero's no homeless guy."
"I don't get it. Why would Nero be hiding out in the tunnels under the city? He has money, and New York is huge, a no-man's-land with plenty of places to hide." Nic chewed his lip thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Tapping her fingers on the headboard of the bed, Sam exclaimed, "I can't believe I forgot! Vanderbilt—of the railroad Vanderbilts—was said to have built a Greek pavilion to park his own personal railroad car. It's only rumor, and I've never found it on any map, but I do know that the Vanderbilts used to live near the St. James Church over on Hudson Street."
"So you think Nero is so homesick that he lives underground in an aging Greek pavilion?" Nic asked cautiously. He thought hard about the possibility. It seemed idiotic, but then so had the Statue of Liberty idea.
"I was right about the Statue," Sam pointed out. "I bet I'm dead-on about this. It makes sense. Nero has been hibernating for centuries in Italy, probably somewhere underground. He probably feels comfortable in a pavilion below the earth."
"I guess I can see that," Nic remarked, still a little skeptical.
"Yes," Sam said excitedly.
"All right, we buy the story. Now, which subway station did this panther see him at?" Nic asked, his heartbeat accelerating at the possibly of a good hunt.
"He couldn't remember exactly, since he doesn't live in this part of town and he'd drunk some Warlock's Blood at the club," Alex replied, knowing himself how potent the drink was, a beverage made from the blood of pigs and spiced and bespelled by a prince warlock. "He said they walked by Jeremy B.'s Cellar. You remember, the bar that used to be the old Falk biker vampire hangout. Now's it's run by biker wolfmen. It's the place on the corner of Eastwood and Hutton street."
Nic nodded.
"The panther guy said he turned right by St. James Church—the church where that Lansberry artist designed that eight-foot angel guarding the shepherd."
Sam put in her two cents: "The subway station is two to three blocks after the church, but before you get to Hell's Kitchen. Good thing, too. Hell's Kitchen is now a big devil hangout, and we've got enough troubles without adding one or two of them to the mix. Does Prince V. know?"
"Yeah, I alerted the whole gang. Our cousin is using his connections to get maps of the underground tunnels, since those shafts can stretch for miles. He's also getting us some equipment we'll need: miner's helmets with lights, flashlights and stuff. Petroff said he'd meet us downstairs in twenty minutes."
"So, what are we waiting for? Let's get going!" Sam's eyes were bright with anticipation. She wished that her baby brother could be along, knowing Bogie would be ready at the drop of a hat to rock and roll all over this gargon. She supposed it was safer if he wasn't here.
"How about getting dressed?" Alex teased, staring pointedly at her blue terry cloth robe.
Blushing, Sam admitted, "I forgot." Grabbing her jeans and a lumberjack shirt, she headed for the bathroom. Nic intercepted her.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.
"Where do you think?" What was wrong with him now? They had a strong lead, and she was chomping the bit to get at it.
"You stay here and coordinate the effort. Direct reinforcements if any are needed."
"Have you gone loco?"
"Look, Sam, there's no need for you to put your neck on the line when Alex and I are here."
She rolled her eyes. "Nic, get a grip. Get on board the train to the twenty-first century. Women everywhere are right now screaming 'chauvinist' at you."
Grabbing her shoulders, he pressed his fingers into the soft skin. "You could get stoned."
"I'm a big girl. I don't faint at the first sign of danger. This is my job. I'm a Paranormalbuster, for Pete's sake." Glancing down, she added, "Well, I don't mean that pete. And I'm going. It's a done deal—either I go with you guys, or I go it alone."
Seeing the grim resolution in Sam's eyes, Nic knew to give up the ghost. He might not like it; he might hate the possibility of losing Sam, but Sam she was. He knew good and well that this woman would carry out her threat. Why he was crazy about such a difficult female, he didn't understand. But he was. He had no choice.
Glancing at the bathroom door, which Sam had just shut, he shook his head. "I don't want her to go, so what do I do?" he asked himself.
"Roll over and play dead," Alex suggested cheerfully. "With a woman like Sam, you'll always either be in the doghouse or howling in delight."
Nic growled in agreement.
The Resident Evil in the Tunnels of New York
An excited Alex, a taut Nic, a vibrating Ripley and a curious Sam all rode in one cab over to St. James Church; Boris, Natasha and Petroff rode in another. From the church they walked on, finding the subway station they sought only a few blocks farther. It was on the intersection of Pierce and Mirren Streets.
All were aware the clock was ticking on their search and destroy mission. Prince Varinksi could withstand several hours of daylight, but Natasha and Boris would fall into a deep sleep by midmorning. Nero must be vanquished long before high noon.
Once they were downstairs and in the subway tracks, the group split into three, each covering one of the tunnels that snaked off into the darkness of the underground perpetual night. Boris and Alex took the tunnel on the right, while Natasha and Prince Varinski took the one in the middle. This left Nic, Sam and Ripley the tunnel on the left. They had decided earlier that one of these tunnels was probably the one that held the Greek pavilion Vanderbilt built, and they were prepared to find the city below the earth where the disenfranchised and hopeless now lived.
Everyone donned their helmets, checked the battery lights and their water canteens, and began to walk into the eternal darkness. All of the others in the group were nocturnal except for Sam, which gave them a distinct advantage, but the pitch-blackness was so deep and dark that even preternatural predators needed help in seeing what lay ahead. Wishing each other well, the groups each headed off toward their date with destiny.