Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(16)

Muzzle to ground, like dog Beast did not want to be, followed blood trail through rain. Alongside of house. Past Bitsa, covered with cloth. Past Edmund car, fancy car that Alex loved, with top and seats made of dead cow. Car was cold. Edmund had been on paws—on foot. Edmund did not have paws. Stopped at metal gate at end of alleyway. Stuck nose and muzzle through bars and sniffed. Looked. No people in rain. People were smart. Rain was cold and Beast was hungry. Even with vampire blood in belly.

Gathered self tight, looked to top of fence with metal flower. Leaped, pushed off flower with front paws, then back paws, over metal gate, and landed on smooth not-stone path, what Jane called sidewalk or concrete.

Uptown, Jane thought. Ed came from uptown. Bleeding all the way.

I/we began to trot, avoiding round places of streetlights. Rain fell, slowing. Water gurgled through downspouts. Tinkled off roofs. Plinked onto cars. Splashed as Beast trotted, covering much ground. Jane thought Jane thoughts. Sulking. Good word for juvenile kit. Sulk.

? ? ?

Beast was insulting me so I ignored her. It continued to rain, though the water didn’t penetrate Beast’s double-layered pelt. We had worked in Beast form in the rain before—rain being the normal for New Orleans at any season—but not in such cold weather. Her breath blew twin plumes of vapor into the night. Her paws splashed through puddles and runnels of water. Rain made the city smell fresh, releasing ozone and ions on the air. The scent of blood and vamp faded and I thought we had lost it, but we found it around the next corner, a puddle of blood and rainwater that had no outlet except across the concrete. The scent faded again, to reappear further on. Beast trotted around corners, doubling back, searching, nose to ground, keeping to the shadows. Melting into the dark when a car came past. She was smarter than any mountain lion. Adaptable. Reactive. Going on two hundred years of life would give any animal excellent survival instincts.

Even with dog genes incorporated into her brain and nose, Beast wasn’t the best tracker. I’d have better luck with a bloodhound nose, but I’d had problems lately changing back from canine to human. Without a handler and a leash, I could lose myself and stay dog forever; noses and the scent part of dog brains were that strong. Alex had known all that. He had understood what I was doing and why, possibly even before I raced outside.

The rain stopped. Started again. We passed restaurants almost empty of tourists. Bars full of drunk tourists. We passed churches next to Creole cottages, and we chased off a small pack of junkyard dogs with a single growl. Which made Beast chuff with laughter and victory. We passed cemeteries, the smell of old, old death and limestone and fresh white paint. We trotted beneath the I-10 interstate and were halfway to Highway 90 in what felt like a long way from home, though Beast wasn’t tired, just wet and grouchy. Mountain lions aren’t long-distance cats like jaguars or cheetahs, but in the cold, with the air decreasing the effect of heat buildup, we could travel a long way. A female Puma concolor’s hunting territory might cover a hundred fifty square miles.

Beast stopped. Looked both ways. Shoulders hunched. What? I thought at her, flooding back into her forebrain. I/we slunk close to a parked car and waited for two motorcycles to pass.

Like Bitsa, she thought, but not like Bitsa. Does not have Harley growl like Bitsa.

Okay, I thought. I loved the bike too, though not so much in a downpour. But why are we stopping here?

Beast trotted out from the protection of the car and down a narrow alley between two houses. The ground and walls stank of feral male cats, territory spray, strong musky stinks.

Stupid cats, think they are lions. But smell Edmund. He was here. With cats.

Where? Inside the house? I looked around, through Beast’s eyes, seeing the world in silvers and greens and blacks and grays of Beast’s night vision. I/we sniffed the air. Edmund’s scent was everywhere and nowhere.

Smell of Edmund on top of house. Smell of vampires and blood-servants inside house.

He was spying on the house. They came out and found Edmund. They fought here? What is this place?

Smell of Edmund blood and silver. Smell of vampire blood and strange blood-servant blood. Smell of white-man guns and steel. Edmund fought.

They fought here, I thought. Then Edmund got away. They chased him.

Human died here. Vampires drank female inside.

That made sense. The vamps—what vamps?—had found a victim and charmed and mesmerized her. She had brought them back to her house. She was dead inside, the smell of death coming through the cracks in the walls. Beast pushed me down, out of the forefront of her brain, taking control again.

Beast is alpha. Beast has hunted. Nose to ground. Want cow.

You did what I asked, Jane thought. Thank you.

Jane is po-lite. Po-lite does not feed Beast. Sat down in dark place beneath plant with big leaves. Feed Beast.

I have nothing to feed you.

Smell dog. Big dog on chain. Could eat dog, Beast suggested hopefully. Is on chain. Would not fight long. Could not get away.

I bet dogs taste bad. How about this. We shift back to human, call a cab, grab a bucket of chicken, and go home, where it’s nice and warm and dry. Then we can hunt alligator in the swamp on a full moon night.

Jane has been Beast two times this night. Chased vampire who killed revenant. Tracked Edmund. Am hungry. Want cow. Want to hunt cow in Edmund car on full moon night.

Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.

Want cow. Want to hunt cow in Edmund car.