Blood Trail

of the animal lying motionless in the pool of darker night under a fir.

    Wolves? In the Netherlands? he wondered as he froze. No, not a wolf, for the russet coloring was wrong, but it definitely had wolf in its bloodline and not so very far back. It crouched carefully downwind, ears back flat against its skull, plumed tail tucked in tight against its flanks. It was reacting to the scent of another hunter, preparing to attack to defend its territory.

    White teeth gleamed in the darkness and a low growl rumbled deep in the massive throat.
    Henry's own lips drew back and he answered the growl.

    The animal looked surprised.

    And even more surprised a second later when it found its spine pressed against the forest floor and both Henry's hands clamped deep in its ruff. It struggled and snapped, digging at its captor with all four feet. Although the growls continued, it made no louder noises. When it found it couldn't get free, it squirmed around until it managed to lick Henry's wrist with the tip of its tongue.

    Cautiously, Henry let it up.

    It shook itself vigorously, had a good scratch, and sat, head to one side, studying this strange creature, nose wrinkled and brows drawn down in an expression so like a puzzled frown that Henry had to hide a smile - showing his teeth at this moment would only start the whole thing off again.

    With dominance determined, Henry brushed the worst of the dirt from his heavy workman's clothes and slipped a hand beneath the shirt to check the canvas pouch taped around his waist.
    He knew the documents were safe, but the faint crackle of the papers reassured him anyway.
    He'd need most of the night to reach the village where he'd meet his contact in the Dutch Resistance and as he needed to feed before he arrived - it made working with mortals bearable
    - he'd better be on his way. Checking his course with the small compass SOE had provided, he started off toward the northeast. The dog rose and followed. He heard it moving through the brush behind him for a time, its movements barely distinguishable from the myriad sounds of a forest at night. As he began to pick up speed, even that trace faded away. He wasn't surprised. A full blood wolf would have trouble keeping up. A dog, regardless of its heritage would have no chance at all.

    The German patrol crossed his path about three hours before dawn, not far from the village.
    As they passed him, standing motionless beside the trail with barely inches to spare, Henry smiled grimly at the skull and crossbones that fronted each cap. Totenkopf. An SS unit used for internal security in occupied territory, especially where the Resistance was active.

    The straggler was a barrel-chested young man who somehow managed to strut in spite of the hour and the ground condition, and whose more-master-race-than-thou attitude radiated off of him. It seemed safe to assume that his comrades had deliberately let him fall a little behind; there were limits, apparently, even in the SS.

    Henry had a certain amount of sympathy for the common soldier in the German army but none whatsoever for the Nazis among them. He took the young man from behind with a savage efficiency that had him off the trail and silenced between one breath and the next. As long as the heart continued to beat, damage to the body was irrelevant. Quickly, for he was vulnerable while he fed, Henry tore open the left wrist and bent his head to drink. When he finished, he reached up, wrapped one long-fingered hand about the soldier's skull, twisted, and effortlessly broke his neck. Then he froze, suddenly aware of being watched.

    The forest froze with him. Even the breeze stilled until the only sound became the soft phut, phut of blood dripping slowly onto leaf mold. Still crouched over the body, muscles tensed and ready, Henry turned to face downwind.

    The big dog regarded him steadily for another few seconds, then faded back until not even the vampire's eyes could separate it from the shifting shadows.

    The dog shouldn't have been able to track him. Foreboding ran cold fingers along Henry's spine. Swiftly he stood and moved toward the place where the huge animal had disappeared.
    A heartbeat later he stopped. He could feel the lives of the patrol returning, no doubt searching for the missing soldier.

    He would have to deal with the dog another time. Grabbing a handful of tunic and another of trouser, he lifted the corpse up into the crotch of a tree and wedged it there, well above eye