Apparently she didn’t care whether she died at my hand or those of the Moonwalkers.
Though under normal circumstances I would happily have avoided any confrontation with Rohrik Donovan or his people, I wasn’t in any kind of mood to pander to the werewolves or their territorial ways. If I had to drag Kimberly out by the hair, I would. If I had to fight the whole goddamn pack to have my chance at killing her before they could, I would.
Kimberly ran like she knew murder was on my mind. Maybe she did. There was a sense of desperation to it, a touch of panic. Not the smooth, even strides of a predator. Likely she realized there was something more to me since she hadn’t left me behind, despite the fact that we’d run the course of several city blocks, and I wasn’t even winded—though I felt a sudden and rather strange craving for something sweet. The gnawing hunger wasn’t enough to distract me from my target. She moved like prey—and some sick, dark part of me liked it.
‘Move faster. Others are coming, I can feel it.’
The belt didn’t sound as excited as I felt. It didn’t matter. There weren’t as many people wandering around the park—we were now skirting the Pond, lights from distant buildings shimmering on the surface, with the zoo to our right—but there were a few dark bundles huddled on the benches overlooking the water. This wasn’t the time to be visiting Central Park if you had good intentions. Even this close to Fifth Avenue, the park was dangerous, a hotbed of brutality and crime once the sun went down. Police and even the Moonwalker pack that claimed this park as their territory had been doing their best to clean it up, but thanks to decades of bad press, no one was surprised to hear about a rape, a mugging, or a murder on the verdant grounds.
Though from what I’d heard, the Moonwalkers contributed to that violent reputation whenever an uninvited werewolf from a rival pack stepped foot into the park.
Dry autumn leaves scraped along the cement, whipped into a whirling frenzy by our passage. Over-bright eyes watched us pass, but no one interfered. Perhaps the criminals who haunted the park at night knew better than to mess with the supernatural element of the city.
Kimberly twisted to one side, and I skidded, not expecting the move as she scrambled over some benches and deeper into the park, off the trail.
An ominous howl sounded from somewhere nearby. Kimberly froze for a second, then bolted back the way she had come, skirting the benches so she could avoid me and flee the park.
I’d only lost my footing for a brief moment, so her frightened reaction gave me the edge I needed to rush over the bench, using it to leap the distance and tackle her into the flower bed she was trampling in her haste to escape.
We rolled in the dirt and leaves, and I could barely see a thing around the tangle of knotted hair in my face. She used my momentum against me to force herself on top, and I cried out as she gathered enough of my curls in her fist to yank my head back. I retaliated by giving her a resounding slap that sent her sprawling to one side.
Something fell in the dirt, a bit of metal catching the light, but I didn’t pay it any mind.
Crawling on top of her, I reached for her throat, but she flailed at me, forcing my hands off and making me defend my eyes as her nails slashed at my cheek. Christ, this was so high school. If I hadn’t been so mad, I might have laughed.
‘Why not? I’m finding this girl-on-girl action amusing.’
For a brief second, my murderous thoughts were aimed at the belt instead of Kimberly, and it distracted me enough that she got another good handful of hair to yank on again.
I screamed and tore at her wrist, my own nails biting into her skin. “Get your hands off me, you tramp!”
She gasped, shoving at me. “Trailer trash!”
“Town jizz jar!”
“Prude! Tease!”
“Cum-dumpster!”
“Skank-ass bitch!”
“Smegma-guzzling fire-crotch thunder cunt!”
That last was ridiculous enough that she paused to stare at me like I’d grown another head. Big mistake. It gave me the opening I needed to pop her a good one.
“Ow!” Blood spurted. She let go of me to clutch her nose and twisted away. “You broke by dose, you bitch!”
‘Nice work,’ the belt commented, though it didn’t really sound like it meant it. ‘Are you done with the hair-pulling and the girly fighting? Or should I put in a call to Girls Gone Wild to start filming?’
“Oh my fucking God, shut up!” I cried. Then glared at Kimberly, who was crawling away, crying. I tried to get up—only to have to grab my stomach as some painful bruise or stretched muscle protested the movement. My words came out wheezed and breathless, but I was still determined to catch her and see this brawl to the end. “Stop running and fight, you fucking whore! ”
Of course she didn’t stop. Of course nothing could be easy. I reached for one of the stakes, fumbled with the edge of the sweater for far too long, then pulled one out. Maybe the threat of silver burn would get her to talk about Chaz’s whereabouts.
Though I stumbled getting to my feet, I followed after her, giving her a kick in the side when she tried to get up to run. It sent her rolling down the slight incline until she fetched up against the bench.
She didn’t fight when I crouched down and curled a fist in that stupid pink hoodie, stretching the stained material to the point where there was no hope of repairing the damage. Blood still gushed down her face, and she was sobbing, gulping for air. Particularly as I rested the very tip of the stake under her right eye, ensuring I had her attention. If I hadn’t known what kind of person lay under that frightened mask, I might have felt sorry for her.
Might.
“Listen, you bitch,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, mostly because I couldn’t take a proper breath. “I want to know where Chaz is hiding. If you tell me, I’ll let you go. I’ll hurt you—but you’ll walk. If you don’t, I will happily kill you and leave you for the cops to find.”
She inhaled sharply, then choked on some of her own blood. Brown eyes watering, she looked at me with greater fear than before. “You bade Vic disabbear, didb’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. She sobbed and coughed again.
“Please, I dob’t know abyding!”
My fist tightened. “You know where he is. Tell me.”
“What the hell is going on here?”
I didn’t recognize the voice, but cringed anyway, glancing over my shoulder to search the dark for the source.
Not a cop, thank God. He was bare-chested, wearing cargos and combat boots, with a T-shirt hanging out of his pocket. But the glowing eyes and the way the hair on the man’s bare forearms bristled told me as much as the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and the alarm radiating from the belt that I was facing another Were. He didn’t look like much, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he was dangerous. One of the Moonwalkers out patrolling the territory, I was sure.
“She attabbed be!”
The guy was utterly flabbergasted by the blood, the no doubt strange sight of a human pinning a beaten up Were, and the silver in my hand. The flare of recognition in his eyes was even worse.
“Z! Isabelle!” Rustling in the bushes heralded the arrival of two more Moonwalkers, neither of them looking particularly friendly. The first one took a step closer, the glow in his eyes becoming more pronounced. He still kept a healthy distance between us—most likely because I had a silver weapon in my hand and was making no move to sheath it. “You’re Shiarra, aren’t you?” No point in denying it. At my nod, he gestured at Kimberly. “Not that we mind some help now and then keeping trespassers off our territory, but that seems a little extreme. You mind telling Rohrik what’s up before you use that?”