Automatically, I reached for my radio, but it wasn’t there—I’d busted it on a wolf’s head.
The only logical conclusion is that they’ve got to be in that alleyway.
I crept back to my spot and peered down the alleyway again.
This time two mercenaries were studying the emergency exits of the two apartment buildings that flanked the alleyway. One pulled on a door; it was either locked or barred, as it didn’t move. A third mercenary—who was barely more than a blobby shadow since he was farther away—paced back and forth at the mouth of the alleyway, guarding it.
However, it wasn’t until I looked past the third mercenary that my heart leaped into my throat and seemed like it might even pop out of my mouth.
Considine Maledictus—with his spelled hood—was casually standing under a streetlight and appeared to be chatting with Lady Gisila.
Considine? What’s he doing with Gisila?
Gisila was seemingly smiling at him—was she flirting? Were they allies or did she have a death wish?
Allies doesn’t seem likely. He’s too upfront to hide something like that, and he’s helped me too much over the past month to be Gisila’s friend.
As reluctant as I was to admit it—I felt like a nutcase even pondering it as I was a slayer and he was an elder vampire—but Considine was usually formidable, if mercurial backup.
Maybe not now, though, as he hasn’t stepped in to help me.
I felt weirdly betrayed by the idea, so I shifted my attention to the final mercenary—the werewolf on the scent trail—who was circling a dumpster, his eyes glowing.
Later. My team is more important. Is that where they’re hiding—in hopes that the garbage would cover their scent?
If so, they were in a bad spot. What could I do?
Thoughts spilled through my head as I tried to formulate a plan based on what I knew about werewolves, and what kind of advantages I’d need to fight four wolves.
The best advantage I could use now is height. Wolves aren’t big climbers, and they don’t usually look up.
I peered up the apartment wall, and my gaze landed on the fire escape ladder.
It was close enough to the corner that if I leaned over the side, I could still see—and shoot—into the alleyway.
I couldn’t see far enough in to aim at any of the mercenaries, but I only needed to draw them out.
I flicked the safety on my gun, holstered it, then boosted myself onto a stone windowsill so I could jump and grab the lowest rung of the ladder.
Swinging from it made my wrapped cut ache, but I was grateful for all my training as I did a chin up and managed to reach for the next rung up. Another chin up and I was able to brace my upper body on the ladder, making it much easier to wiggle up until I had my feet underneath me.
“Hey, I smell something in here,” one of the werewolves called, his voice echoing oddly.
He must be looking in the dumpster—I have to hurry!
When I was even with the apartment’s second floor, I stopped climbing and pulled my gun out of my holster, my movements as fast and efficient as I could make them.
I hooked my arm around one of the ladder’s rails, braced my feet and legs, then leaned over the side to angle my hand around the brick corner.
I didn’t like that I was hanging over the side—every inner alarm bell I had was going off. But this was my best plan given the situation.
Good thing a handgun doesn’t have too much recoil!
“What’s that?” one of the werewolves said. “A… shirt?”
I squeezed the trigger and shot a garbage can positioned near the mouth of the alleyway.
Four bullets left.
“What was that?” A mercenary growled.
“The slayer, maybe?”
I made sure I took deep even breaths as two of the werewolves hustled out of the alleyway looking up and down the street and sniffing the air.
Aiming, I squeezed the trigger and shot the closest wolf in the thigh—where he wasn’t wearing his soft body armor.
The bullet hit the mercenary and he fell with a cry of pain.
I immediately trained my gun on his cohort—I had to move fast. Werewolves healed slower than vampires, but a bullet would only stop them temporarily.
The second werewolf spun in a circle, never thinking to look up.
I waited, hoping he’d move closer but instead he started to back up into the alleyway. Afraid I’d lose my chance, I shot—hitting him in the bicep.
Down that werewolf went—with a howl of pain to accompany him.
“What’s wrong?” One of the two remaining wolves shouted from within the alleyway.