Angel Stakes by Mark Henwick

Author:Mark Henwick
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Horror, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, Genre Fiction, Literature & Fiction
Publisher: Marque
Published: 2016-04-14T07:00:00+00:00

As Zane had said, Maisey’s was easy to spot from the highway. The name was painted in tall block capitals of faded red paint, and partly obscured by the ‘For Sale’ sign.

We pulled off into an empty truck-stop lot and parked beside a familiar midnight-blue Dodge. It had belonged to Evans, the Denver werewolf that Felix had thrown out of the pack. Tullah had killed him, the night of the ritual on that cold hillside in the Carson Park. Seems that the Albuquerque pack had inherited his truck.

Zane and Rita were leaning against the Dodge. There was no one else in sight.

Rita was all still and watchful. Zane was tense too, despite the casual lean against the truck’s hood. His eyes, mismatched green and brown, took me in, lingered on Yelena.

He was dressed in sharp tan cargo pants, with a buttoned turquoise shirt under a three-quarter-length flecked coat. A black scarf was looped around his neck.

His dominance was reeled in tightly.

Trying to be nice to me?

I didn’t have time for it.

“You don’t call, you don’t write—” he started.

“Cut the bullshit,” I said. “Where’s Cameron?”

“Inside.” He nodded at Maisey’s. “Alone. This is a private meeting with you.” He looked at Yelena.

Yelena frowned.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“No. Is not.” Like a magician, her left hand twisted to reveal a compact grenade. Where the hell? She calmly pulled the pin, keeping her grip on the safety lever. “The rest of us, we sit inside car. This grenade’s delay has been reset to zero. Anything happens, I let go, boom. Very messy.”

Rita’s eyes shaded to cougar. Other than that, she didn’t visibly react.

Zane licked his lips. I couldn’t read that. Nerves or lust? Maybe he couldn’t help his reaction to dominant, aggressive women. I almost smiled.

I could see there wasn’t going to be any chance of changing Yelena’s mind, and it would focus their minds.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Zane,” I said as I turned to go inside. “Wouldn’t want any accidents.”

Rita snorted as I walked to the bar, pausing in front.

I recognized Cameron’s dominance leaking from the building.

Prickly, but not as angry as last time we’d met. Tense, maybe.

His scent marque tickled my nose. It’d been half hidden when we’d met in the church—an aromatic candle had been burning at the time. Without that masking it, his marque made me think of rain on creosote bushes: clean and sharp.

A wind came snaking in off the wide prairie, cold and dry, with that electric feel like a storm was building. It carried fine sand that scoured the double doors in front of me. They had been painted red to match the Maisey’s sign. And like the sign, the red had faded; the hard edges were eroded. I pushed and the doors screeched open on dry hinges.

It wasn’t completely dark inside but I stood for a second anyway, to let my eyes adjust.

What light there was came in through slits in the boarded windows, etching bright lines across the abandoned bar. The wind outside pushed sand in through the same gaps and it whispered down the walls.

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