Blood Trail

Cloud reached the open door of the barn, Henry ran right at her tail. Another step, maybe two and he could stop her, just barely in time.

    Then Cloud caught the scent of her twin and, snarling, sprang forward.

    As her feet left the packed dirt, Henry saw with horror where she'd land. Saw the false floor.
    Saw the steel jaws beneath. With all he had left, he threw himself at her in a desperate flying tackle.

    He knew as he grabbed her that it wasn't going to be quite enough so he twisted and shielded the struggling wer with his body as they hit the floor and rolled.

    Two traps sprang shut, one closing impotently on a few silver-white hairs, the other cheated entirely of a prize.

    From the floor, Henry took in a kaleidoscope of images - the russet body lying motionless on the table, the mortal standing over it, covered neck to knees with a canvas apron, the slender knife gleaming dully in the lamplight - and by the time he rose to a crouch, one arm still holding the panting Cloud, he knew. Anger, red and hot, surged through him.

    Then Cloud squirmed free and attacked.

    For the second time that night Mark Williams looked death in the face; only this time, he knew it wouldn't pause. He screamed and fell back against the table, felt hot breath against his throat and the kiss of one ivory fang then suddenly, nothing. Self preservation took over and without stopping to think, he grabbed for the shotgun.

    Henry fought with Cloud, fought with his own blood lust. She's a seventeen-year-old girl, barely more than a child. She must not be allowed to kill. The wer no longer lived apart from humans and their values. What point victory now if she spent the rest of her life with that kind of a stain on her soul? Over and over, as she tried to tear herself out of his grip, he said the only words he knew would get through to her.

    "He's still alive, Cloud. Storm is still alive."

    Finally she stilled, whimpered once, then turned toward the table, muzzle raised to catch her brother's scent. A second whimper turned to a howl.

    With her attention now fixed on Storm rather than death, Henry stood. "Stay where you are,"
    he commanded and Cloud dropped to the floor, trembling with the need to get to her twin but unable to disobey. As he lifted his head, he came face-to-face with both barrels of the shotgun.
    "So, he's still alive, is he?" Both the gun and the laugh were shaky. "I couldn't feel a heartbeat.
    You sure?"

    Henry could hear the slow and labored beating of Storm's heart, could feel the blood struggling to keep moving through passages constricted by poison. He allowed his own blood lust to rise. "I know life," he said, stepping forward. "And I know death."

    "Yeah?" Mark wet his lips. "And I know Bo Jackson. Hold it right there."

    Henry smiled. "No." Vampire. Prince of Darkness. Child of the Night. It all showed in Henry's smile.

    The table against his back made retreat impossible; Mark had no choice but to stand fast.
    Sweat beaded on his forehead and dribbled down the side of his nose. This was the demon he'd shot in the forest. Man-shaped but nothing manlike in its expression. "I - I don't know what you are," he stammered, forcing his trembling fingers to maintain their grip on the gun,
    "but I know you can be hurt."

    One more step would move the barrel of the weapon around enough so that Cloud would be out of the line of fire. One more step, Henry told himself fueling the hunger with rage, and this thing is mine. He raised his foot.

    The barn door slammed back, crashing against the wall and breaking the tableau.
    "Drop it!" Celluci commanded from the doorway.

    Stuart snarled a counterpoint beside him, the effort of will it took to hold his attack while Cloud remained in danger sending tremors rippling across the muscles of his back. Her howl had yanked him from the car before it had quite stopped and pulled him unthinking into the barn in human form where the clothes he wore confined his shape.

    The shotgun barrel dipped then rose again. "I don't think so."

    "What the hell is going on out here?" Carl Biehn demanded, rifle covering the two men standing in the open doorway. He'd heard the car race down the driveway; heard it stop, spraying gravel; heard the howl and known that Satan's creatures were involved. It had taken him only a moment to snatch up his rifle and he'd arrived at the barn just behind the men from the car. He still didn't know what was going on, but his nephew needed his help, that much was