Night Breed: Storm Moon: A Dead Hearts Novel, #11

By Susanne L. Lambdin

'As it is Above, so it is Below.'

 

In the modern world, Lord Balan reappeared as the Kaiser in Colorado Springs, unleashing a zombie apocalypse on Earth. However, the betrayal of Captain Pallaton of the Shadowguard, his faithful servant, resulted in Balan's death and earned the vampire a reputation in Hell as a dangerous enemy.

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Now the leader of the Dark Angels, Pallaton is in charge of defending the Rockies along with his nephew, High Chief Chaska of the Cheyenne Mountain Wolf Tribe. Their safe haven is threatened with the arrival of Prince Stolas, Balan's third son among the Vescali, who twists these ancient laws to raise an army of werewolves, Wendigos, skinwalkers, evil gods, and 'Bob,' a monstrous forest zombie with a voracious appetite.

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When Serval demons crawl through mirrors to replace humans and infiltrate Pallaton's home to steal the Grand Grimoire, an evil spell book, each of the heroes set upon by a demon of equal power. Chaska is destined to fight King Lycaon, the first werewolf, but uncertainty plagues the young wolf. The last Moirai possesses Whisper while Raven and Picasso remain captives of Stolas. When Phoenix loses her superpowers and Ginger falls under the spell of one of the Fallen, it appears the Dark Angels are undone, and the vindictive Lords of Atlantis and the Fallen will triumph over good.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Lambdin
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393637974

Book preview

BILL

Prologue

Under the last vestige of moonlight, a flurry of wings roused the old red bull, and with a loud, angry snort, he trotted forward and shook his horns to warn the herd something was amiss. Eerie screeches pierced the night as a single winged form dropped out of the sky. Somewhere in the field, a frantic cow mooed piteously, carried off into the night by the predator. As panic spread through the herd, cows bolted in every direction while the big bull pawed at the ground in the act of defiance.

Large scaled forms flew down in attack formation, and as they sailed over the herd, razor-sharp talons ripped open the cows’ thick hide. Animals dropped onto their sides or buckled to their knees, and blood spread across the grass. Enraged, the angry bull focused its beady eyes on several hunched figures that fed on a slain cow. With lowered horns, the animal charged at the demons and toppled the nearest form. Its horns pierced a second in the chest, flipped the body over its broad shoulders, and turned on the third, which barred its fangs and hissed. Unseen from above, a fourth hellish creature arrived and sunk its talons deep into the bull’s back, and with a vicious tug, severed its spine. With a loud bellow, the bull collapsed onto its chest, its eyes rolling in its skull, and grew still. Now leaderless, the herd stampeded toward a nearby ranch house separated from the pasture by a barbed-wire fence, but the cows did not deviate from their course in their earnest quest to flee from their attackers.

Porch lights flickered on as Bill Hudson slammed open the screen door.

What the devil is going on? he shouted as he emerged onto the porch.

Dressed in a pair of boxers, cowboy boots, and armed with a shotgun, he stepped aside as his two Border Collies darted into the yard, barking wildly, while he turned to shout at his wife. Wilma! Fetch the AK-47 and get out here! We’ve got trouble!

Running after his dogs, Bill fired both barrels at something that flew over the house. The thunder of hooves drew his gaze to the pasture. Nothing would stop the stampede, and he jumped into the back of his pickup and scanned the night sky. A towering figure landed on the ground, wings spread wide, and turned to face the dogs. Both animals attacked with vicious snarls and snapped their jaws. Two swats from the creature left Bill’s dogs ripped in half, and then the thing snarled at the rancher.

You’re next, the demon snarled in a guttural voice.

Quick to reload, Bill shouted, I don’t know what you are, but you sure as hell need to die, and blasted the scaled thing as it flew into the air.

Though wounded with a massive hole in its chest, the creature somehow remained aloft, and Bill’s eyes widened in surprise. Another blast from his gun took off the creature’s foot, and he watched it fly higher and veer off to join a flock of monsters that descended on the nearby barn.

Wilma! They’re going for the spring calves!

Bill jumped out of the truck bed, landed on his feet, and ran across the yard. Able to hear the screams of the calves trapped in their pens, he lifted the stock of the shotgun to his shoulder, curled his index finger around the trigger, and came to a sudden halt. A winged creature flew out of the top of the barn holding a squirming calf in its arms. Horrified by what he saw, he fired again. As buckshot pierced the demon in the side, with a loud screech, it dropped the dead calf to his feet. Dark eyes skewered the rancher as the beast pointed at Bill and roared.

Dear Lord, what is it?

Caught in a light that hung on a tall post, he saw blue veins in a pale face with tiny scales, a mouth full of sharp teeth, and small bat-like wings. The creature was not naked but wore the shredded remains of what appeared to be an Air Force uniform, and on closer inspection, he noticed it had an almost-human appearance. He fired again, his aim true, and laughter burst from his lips. Buckshot pierced the creature’s shoulder and wing, and with a shriek, it careened toward the trough and landed with a tremendous splash. As he advanced on the beast, he heard his wife shouting.

Bill! I’m here!

’Bout damn time, he muttered.

His wife, Wilma, charged out onto the porch. With a blotchy red face, in a pink robe and fuzzy slippers, she lifted an automatic rifle to her shoulder and continued into the yard, ready for battle. A fierce scream burst from the woman’s lips as she unleashed a payload of bullets at the creature floundering in the water and punctured it and the trough. Water and blood spouted through the holes, and Bill staggered back to stand at her side, reloading as a thunderous noise approached the fence.

Still firing, Wilma stepped over a dead dog and lifted the gun to fire at the winged devils that flew out of the barn in a dense stream. Bill grabbed her around her thick middle and forced her to run back with him toward the house. They clambered up the stairs and from the porch watched two uniformed forms pull the dead thing out of the water then spring into the air right as the herd reached the barbed-wire fence.

On impact, the lead cows took down the wire, heedless of the sharp barbs embedded in their flesh, and several fell beneath pounding hooves. The animals dragged the wooden poles out of the ground and altered their course to charge down a long strip of road while the rancher and his wife watched from safety, helpless, as the hellish predators gave pursuit until they faded into the night.

DEMONS

Chapter One

The cocktail party was in full swing at midnight. Guests dressed in formal attire arrived at the penthouse where Lady Q’Vell hosted a dinner party for her brother, William Novac, to celebrate the grand opening of his pharmaceutical company in Colorado Springs. The macabre setting reminded Poe Kincaid of Halloween, for the guests were demons with horns, scales, wings, and tails, while he was the only human present. Feeling small and insignificant, Poe huddled on a couch wearing a wrinkled white tuxedo, martini in hand, and examined the layout of the enormous penthouse. The entire upper floor lacked walls. Dark purple drapes hung from the steel rafters to separate Novac’s office from the dining room, bedroom, and living room. Leather couches arranged in twelve separate oases provided ample seating for the guests with a spectacular view of the city. The lights were dim to allow lit candles placed on oval-shaped coffee tables to cast a golden sheen throughout the room.

Novac had spent a fortune to salvage ancient marble statues, lost for centuries beneath the Atlantis Sea that reflected a greenish tinge, and in Poe’s mind seemed to watch the assembly. A twelve-foot-long marble bar drew the crowd. Three female demons in scanty red dresses with slender black horns served cocktails while the guests listened to a green-scaled demon play jazz on a baby grand piano.

Come in and welcome, Lady Q’Vell said in a silky voice each time another demon arrived. Her skin was a bright shade of blue, not an attractive shade in Poe’s opinion, which she attempted to blend with the colors of her elegant floor-length gown.

Lady Q’Vell was the wife of Lord Vassago, ranked third among the Fallen, who were former angels that served Lucifer Morningstar. Poe had never met Lucifer and hoped he never would have the opportunity. He had betrayed his friends, including the Dark Angels, to join Novac who dazzled him with the promise of a falsified doctorate in genetic engineering. Poe knew it was a mistake to make a deal with a devil, but it was too late to change his mind. The demons terrified him, and after he finished his martini, he looked around for a waiter; he needed more liquid courage.

Poe, you have to get me out of here, a nearby voice whimpered.

Don’t talk to me. Someone might overhear us, Poe said and cast his gaze at a gilded cage that hung from the rafter.

Within the cage sat Raven, a member of the Dark Angels, and a former friend. Her gown was second-hand, tattered, and her black hair in disarray. She appeared half-starved, and a vampire deprived of blood eventually turned into a mindless, wild thing that attacked friend and foe without prejudice. Though Poe felt sorry for her, he didn’t dare help Raven and hoped she would leave him alone, but he knew this wasn’t going to happen; not with her temperament.

You’re going to regret this, Poe Kincaid, Raven snarled. When you were the leader of the Green Hornets, you were always first to rush into danger. What happened to you? Why are you working for these demons? What did they give you in return?

Respect, he muttered.

Are you serious? Raven pressed her dirty face through the bars. If anyone deserves the respect of these demons, it’s me. After all, I am the widow of Prince Balan, yet here I sit in a damn cage.

William Novac is the son of Prince Balan. You may have married his father, but you also helped kill him. Be glad you’re sitting in a cage and not dead served for dinner, Poe grumbled as he pulled at his bow tie. No one can save you, least of all me. I have my own problems, so stop talking to me.

If I’m to die tonight then get me a drink.

All right, but then leave me alone.

Poe pulled on the edge of his tuxedo jacket as he stood. His suit was a size too small, bought on sale, and he attempted to suck in his stomach to look trim. He spotted a waiter with orange scales carrying a tray of martinis. Poe approached the demon, reached for a martini glass, and noticed eyeballs on toothpicks inside the green concoction. A snarl escaped the waiter’s thin lips. He indicated with a long talon that Poe was to take a tall glass with a pink umbrella; the contents were as blue as Lady Q’Vell's skin. Poe had no idea what the liquid was but took two glasses and returned to the couch. When he thought no one watched, he handed the drink to Raven and saw her toss out the little umbrella before she took a sip. Her nose wrinkled in disgust.

What the hell is this crap? Raven asked.

No idea, but it’s not that bad, Poe said.

A second later, she threw the blue liquid into his face.

Annoyed, Poe moved in front of the cage, able to hear Raven hiss behind him. He ignored her, curious to see an enormous mirror the size of a movie screen appearing out of thin air. The show is about to start, the piano player announced and closed the lid to the baby grand. A crowd followed the musician and stood in front of the mirror.

Through magical means that amazed Poe, highlights from a fierce battle in Estes Park appeared that involved an army of demons that fought the Earth Corps, an elite team of immortals who Poe had once called friends. Freeborn, the strong woman, swung a tree at the enemy while Phoenix, the archer, hovered in the air, repeatedly firing magical arrows. On a highway, Caretaker, a monstrous thing part zombie and part plant, held three guns in his three hands, firing at Tarqali demons in black armor that quickly retreated. The crowd booed and hissed as Commander Cadence, accompanied by Lachlan, an Irish warrior with a long sword, caught the Tarqali entering the forest. Dragon, the samurai, fought with two swords against skinwalkers at a lake, while Dodger, armed with a glowing blue sword, and Thor, with his Norse hammer, flew through the air causing havoc. Despite the massive number of demons, the Earth Corps routed the enemy, sparing none that retreated or surrendered.

Raven alone applauded when the battle ended in defeat for the demons, and a commercial came on. A sleek female demon with blue scales in a swimsuit held a bottle of suntan lotion. She stood on a wide stretch of beach, and at her feet on a towel was a dark-scaled demon who sighed when she knelt to apply lotion to his back.

‘If you don’t want your scales to dry and flake off, use Vanquish 666,’ she purred. ‘This moisturizer is guaranteed to keep even the scales of a Tarqali soft and smooth.’ The male demon lifted his head to smile and reveal fangs.

Tarqali loser, Raven shouted.

Be quiet, Poe said with a glance over his shoulder. Heckling the demons is not going to help, you know.

I know most of the Vescali here tonight from the Citadel, Raven said. I’m not afraid of Balan’s sons—they’re idiots. And you’re an idiot for joining them.

Poe approached the cage, aware that several guests stared. I prefer to pick the winning side. You might try to at least apologize for your actions, he said, wanting her to shut up. Novac and the Vescalis are here to avenge the death of their father.

You have to warn the Dark Angels, Poe. You just have to.

I can’t do it. They’ll…they’ll kill me if I do.

Stubborn as she was, Raven refused to accept her situation was hopeless. Self-preservation was Poe’s only concern. He did not care if Raven died as long as he made it through the night and lowered his gaze at the approach of Lady Q’Vell and William Novac.

The menu tonight is zesty horse gumbo. As soon as Lobo arrives with King Lycaon, we’ll eat, Q’Vell purred as she stroked Novac’s arm. I know you’re disappointed, brother, but we can’t very well eat humans, she lowered her voice, not when they’re working for us.

You know best, Novac replied in a tolerant manner. Though Dr. Kincaid would most likely be very delicious.

Poe felt a lump slide from the top of his throat into his stomach where it throbbed with a heartbeat. Not once had he considered the possibility that the Vescalis were cannibals since technically they were human until Prince Balan had turned them into demons. Science and magic blurred together when it came to the High Lord of Atlantis. One drop of Balan’s blood into a secret formula had created thousands of demons on the island. Later, the Vescali doctors had used this very formula to create a virus that, when released into the world, created every known supernatural species. The zombie outbreak was an accident, a costly one for the human race, which Balan had used to his advantage. Poe was glad Balan had failed to take control of the world, but his sons meant to rectify this, and he feared he might end up on the menu.

Be nice, little brother, Q’Vell chided. "Dr. Kincaid’s word has been invaluable to our war effort. If I am not mistaken, his zombie-plant, Bob, ate quite a few people who proved to be difficult to control. Even now, Bob is growing quite large in the lab. No doubt that creature will help us defeat Captain Pallaton and his little friends. She stroked his arm and offered a sympathetic smile. Dear, I know you’re upset about General Togol’s defeat in Estes Park. It’s but one battle."

Yes, you’re right, of course. Novac turned toward the cage and rubbed his hands together. One small step for mankind. One giant leap for our team!

Go, Atlantis, Q’Vell added like a plucky cheerleader.

Poe cringed when Raven let out a screech.

The Dark Angels are going to crucify you freaks of nature! Grabbing hold of the bars, Raven flashed her fangs and continued to shout. You’re not going to get away with this! My friends will come for me! No one puts me in a cage!

A heavy sigh came from Novac.

Your little bird is squawking, brother, Q’Vell said. Perhaps she’ll sing another tune when she learns Serval demons replaced her and Colonel Picasso. Her friends believe they returned home, safe and sound. She glared at Raven. No one is coming for you. The demon that replaced you is identical. Captain Pallaton will never notice the difference, I assure you.

Yes, he will, Raven cried. He’ll be the first to notice!

"Doubtful, my dear. Your former fiancé goes through women so fast; I can hardly keep track of them, Novac stated. He brushed a speck of dust off Poe’s jacket. Dr. Kincaid, I ask little enough of you. Try to keep my pet quiet. Tell Raven if she does not remain silent, I will feed her to my sister’s werewolf."

Shut up, Raven, Poe said.

"Stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, Brains."

Both Novac and Q’Vell laughed. Poe had no idea if they knew Raven referred to his nickname on the Peak, and what they did to her was not his concern. However, he did find it interesting lower demons had assumed the identities of two Dark Angels. Perhaps a Serval had also assumed his identity. He considered calling his old boyfriend Pike to ask. They had parted badly, something Poe regretted, and he doubted Pike wanted to hear from him. No one cared about him, not anymore.

My friends will smell your little stinkers! No one can replace me, Raven said in indignation. Poe attempted to shield the stupid girl with his body until he felt the vampire pluck a hair from the back of the head.

Hush, little bird, or I’ll pluck your feathers, Q’Vell purred and turned to her brother, pulling him away from the cage. These vampires are overindulged. Selfish, greedy, and precocious, there is no reason to keep them alive. I admit the Turk’s replacement is hardly satisfactory, and if Danny weren’t so taken with your caged pet, I’d insist you kill her.

Novac’s dark eyes slid over Raven with the same scrutiny Poe had frequently viewed his specimen; she was nothing more than an experiment. Raven shivered when Novac approached the cage, while his sister hovered behind him, eager to move on. Raising his hand, the demon gave the cage a gentle push, only to look amused when it started to swing.

One bite is all it takes for a Serval to assume the identity of its victim, Novac replied. I admit your duplicate has a great deal to learn about life as a human. She’ll get the hang of it, in time. As for you, my dear, my brother has something special in store for you.

It can’t be any worse than being stored in a warehouse in Hell, Raven exclaimed. She put on a brave face, but Poe knew she was terrified.

With a chuckle, Novac again pushed the cage. Oh, it is, he said. You will be the vessel that holds the soul of his beloved Nabessa. Nothing will remain of you other than your duplicate. I was tempted to keep you for myself. My father loved you in his own way. Out of respect for him, I wanted to keep you in this cage, a reminder never to get too close to mortals. A promise is a promise. You belong to Dantalion now. He turned to Poe. As you know, my father tried without success to create an immortal line of vampires. I never knew why he favored the creatures. Apart from the luxuriousness of their hair and ability to heal at an excelled rate, I see little to admire in them.

Your father was insane, Raven hissed.

My father wanted to be loved, which you are incapable of, little bird. As a prince of Atlantis, I learned long ago not to trust humans. When Balan turned me into a Vescali, he gave me immortality. He loved his children, and I loved him. You took from me the one man I admired most in this world. Giving you to one of the Fallen to host Nabessa is more than you deserve. Nabessa is one of the most beautiful among the Moirai, so it’s fitting she will reside in your body, as beauty is the only thing you have to offer.

When Pallaton kills you, I’m going to be so happy, Raven snarled.

Not if I kill him first, which is what I most certainly intend to do.

With a chime, the elevator door opened, and a man shouted.

Let me go, you damn filthy demons!

Recognizing Colonel Picasso’s deep, gravel-hard voice, Poe turned to see the vampire, staked spread eagle on a wooden board, carried out of the elevator by two Tarqali guards. From the smiles on both Novac and Q’Vell’s faces, Poe knew they were delighted the entertainment had arrived. The siblings drifted on and joined a large group who watched the guards place the board against a pillar with Picasso hanging upside down. Several demons in black cloaks commenced throwing daggers at the vampire target. A second prisoner nailed to a board screamed while his captors turned him upside down and leaned him against another pillar. It was the Turk, the leader of the Ottoman vampire gang in Denver. Poe was shocked at the man’s starved condition and doubted the Turk realized what was happening. Lacking hair, as pale as a white lab rat, the Turk had turned into a feral. All he did was shriek while demons lined up to receive daggers from a waiter and traded turns throwing blades at the Dark Angel spy.

They’re going to kill Picasso and the Turk, Raven gasped. This is barbaric, Poe. Even you have to agree these demons are parasites. Instead of serving the Fire Lord, you should be finding a way to kill him and his goons.

A large cage carried in by Tarqali demons contained two more prisoners—Whisper and the anidaemon Asmoday who appeared as a shaggy sheepdog. The young man appeared unconscious and received rapid licks from the dog in an attempt to revive him. The thuggish demon guards placed the cage in the corner of the penthouse, tossed a black sheet over it, and there it sat, undisturbed for the remainder of the night. Poe pulled at his tie, nauseated, and desperately wanted to leave the party before he ended up in a cage. Whisper was with the Earth Corps, and if he was dead, then Poe knew the young immortals would attack the demons with a vengeance―this meant war.

Stop squawking, Raven, Poe said. I’m not in any position to help you or your friends. If I do, they’ll kill me.

They killed Sturgis! Do you remember him, Poe?

Yeah, the old biker that worked as a mechanic at Seven Falls, Poe said, sorry to hear the news. I liked the guy. He was the sheriff’s best friend. When did Sturgis bite the dust?

The same night Picasso and I were captured, you moron. We went looking for Whisper, but the Night Breed found him first. Don’t you get it? Raven shook her head, disgusted. Whisper doesn’t have a soul, and without it, he’ll die. You used to like Whisper, too. Remember?

Not as much as Sturgis.

The vampire reached through the bars to grab at Poe’s arm, though he suspected the boy was already a goner. He brushed off her hand, aware a few demons watched, and he started to perspire.

Look, as long as Nabessa imprinted her own soul on Whisper, he may have a chance, Poe said, wondering if it was true. She can keep his body alive. They were supposed to resurrect her. That’s all I know about it.

"What are you doing for Novac? Are you creating tree zombies in the Goth lab? Tell me, Brains. Please. If you care about any of us, at least what happens to Pike, warn him. You have to do something!"

Haven’t I done enough? Poe asked.

Compelled to drink something else, his nerves a wreck, Poe followed a waiter while the crowd cheered as blades thrown at the prisoners hit their marks. He managed to snag another cocktail as a Vescali in a gray suit staggered off the elevator, holding his bloody arm against his chest, followed by Lobo, the leader of the Night Breed. Raven glared at Lobo, for she was exceptionally beautiful, dark-haired, tall, and dressed in black leather and enviable stiletto-heeled boots. Lobo held the leash of a large gray werewolf that snarled and snapped at everyone it passed until Q’Vell arrived. The blue woman took the leash from Lobo and led off the ferocious beast. Novac approached the lanky woman who slid her arms around his neck and kissed him as a second documentary started.

Poe stood at the back of the crowd, able to see a red-skinned demon in gold armor with enormous black horns against an army of Romans. He had no idea how demons filmed something that happened a thousand years ago, but he was fascinated. David walked over with a succubus on either arm, glanced at Poe, and said, It’s Lord Vassago, and seated the two women on a couch. He returned to stand beside Poe, while excitement spread through the guests as Vassago brandished a flaming sword to decimate an entire legion.

Novac wants us to send a shipment of drugs to Colorado Springs in the morning, David said and gazed at Poe with eyes that reminded him of coals. David Hastings was a weredog, or so the man claimed. ’Rocky Mountain High' is to be handed out to your friends. Novac wants those teenagers to behave like good little zombies.

I have dealers waiting to get it onto the streets, Poe replied, not sure why, but certain David had offered an excuse to leave the party.

David led Poe to where Lady Q’Vell stood with her werewolf. The man smiled at the blue-skinned demon.

Thank you for inviting us, Lady Q’Vell, David said. Your brother keeps us both very busy. If there’s nothing else you need tonight, we’ll show ourselves out.

Oh, there’s one more thing I need, Agent Hastings, she replied. Your friend is not officially one of us. I have a true abhorrence for humans and mean to correct this oversight. She gazed at the beast. Lycaon, please do the honors.

King Lycaon approached Poe, sniffed at his leg, and without warning sank his fangs into the fatty tissue of the man’s calf. Biting on his tongue to keep from screaming, Poe fell against David as the werewolf released him. The wound burned with a thousand tiny darts of pain that left Poe panting.

I’m infected with the virus, Poe gasped, wondering how long he had before he dropped onto all fours and sprout fur.

Precisely, Q’Vell said. You are now a member of the Night Breed. She patted David on the arm. Keep an eye on your friend. At the next full moon, Dr. Kincaid will turn into a werewolf, but I have no doubt you can control him.

Certainly, David replied. He grabbed Poe by the arm and led him to the elevator. The doors opened, and with a push, he sent Poe tumbling inside and followed. He punched the lobby button and gazed upwards as music played over the speakers.

Poe felt the disease spread through his body. His stomach churned, threatening to make him sick, yet he yearned for prime rib served raw. He was thirsty and continued to pant, yet felt his noticeable paunch start to reduce. By the time they reached the lobby, his flab had turned into brawn, and he was stronger than he ever had been in his life. When the door opened, Poe stumbled out and glanced toward the restaurant, and with a snarl, headed to the kitchen.

PALLATON

Chapter Two

A swirl of dust churned in the wake of a police cruiser as it sped down a dirt road bordered by a barbed-wire fence. The grass stood tall at the fence posts. In the fields grew sunflowers and purple thistles. The early spring thaw had melted the snow on the mountains, and water filled the ditches. Seated in the passenger seat, Captain Pallaton gazed out the window, his hat in his lap. The driver, Officer Luna, her long white hair in a braid, gripped the wheel tight as they neared Hudson’s cattle ranch. Buzzards circled in the sky overhead, more than Pallaton had ever seen, and he knew it meant something dead lay in the pasture. The girl slowed the vehicle to turn into the driveway, where a heavy wooden beam hung overhead with the name of the ranch, supported by two stout logs on either side, set in bricks.

Along the road and in the pasture lay dead cattle. Several large birds sat on the body of a cow, feasting on its innards.

Look at all of those dead cows, Luna said, a grimace on her face. The Hudson’s had the largest herd in the county. A few live animals are cowering in the far corner. What do you think did this, Captain Pallaton? Werewolves?

I’ll give you the same answer I did at the last ranch we visited. I don’t know, Luna, he said and removed his hat to wipe a hand across his brow. However, whether or not it was the Night Breed or not doesn’t matter. Every last dead cow must be shot through the head and heart and then burned…in case they turn.

Into what? she asked, grinning. Vampire cows? Werecows?

Laugh all you want, but since the Scourge occurred nearly two years ago, we’ve seen all manner of creatures created by the H1N1z virus, Pallaton said, a glower on his face. Neither of us was spared―I’m a fanger, you’re a werepuma. After what we saw at the Larson’s place, I’m inclined not to think it’s either of those things, but even if it’s something new, those dead cows still must be disposed of properly. It’s a damn shame, too. Humans are going to go hungry.

People don’t like shifters any more than they do vampires, Captain Pallaton. That will not stop them from blaming us, or the Cheyenne Mountain Wolf Tribe. When people are scared, they’ll shoot before asking questions. Putting up posters to tell people not to shoot wild animals won’t prevent it. We both know it’s happened before, and it will happen again. Innocent people die all the time.

Point taken.

The front tire hit a hole hidden by a glimmer of water. Mud laced with blood splashed onto the windshield. Pallaton bit his tongue and tasted blood. The wiper clicked on and did nothing more than smear the glass.

Avoid the potholes and spare the tires.

Yes, sir.

Earlier that morning, Pallaton had arrived for work at the Colorado Springs Golden Hills Police Department to find a frantic dispatcher responding to calls from ranchers who experienced mysterious attacks during the night. At the Larson’s horse ranch, Pallaton and Luna had met county deputies, who failed to calm the owner of a prized Thoroughbred stallion, discovered ripped to shreds in the corral. Luna was right about the prejudiced and hatred among the human population, and unless he figured out what killed the cattle and horses, Pallaton knew the citizens of El Paso County would point their fingers at the shifter community. When that happened, vigilantes armed with silver bullets would paint the county in blood, and this was something Pallaton wanted to avoid.

We have company, Luna said.

Pallaton heard sirens wail and spotted two El Paso County Sheriff Department vehicles behind them in the rearview mirror. A cloud of dust rolled across the field to obscure the dead cattle and carrion birds. The SUVs followed close behind their police cruiser. Pallaton calmly put on his hat as Luna drove up to a large L-frame stone house, where behind a screen door stood Bill and Wilma Hudson. Under a tree was parked the sheriff’s vehicle, partially covered in the shade, but Pallaton did not see the heavyset man and opened the door.

McClain is already here, Pallaton said.

Just be nice because you know he won’t be happy to see us.

The two other vehicles pulled up to the corral and deputies climbed out. Pallaton noticed the couple remained inside and watched Pallaton and Luna approach the house. He doubted the Hudsons expected to see police officers on their property, for they were out of their jurisdiction. His shadow cut a tall figure on the ground. He avoided small pools of blood and felt hot in his navy-blue uniform. Luna hung back to wave at the deputies while he pulled his wide-brimmed hat down. An eyepatch covered his left eye, and the eyelid twitched. His fingers slid with familiarity over a revolver that hung on his right hip when he caught the strong odor of blood and felt his fangs descend.

Shit, Pallaton muttered.

I smell blood too and McClain’s cheap aftershave, Luna said as she caught up with him at the steps to the house. There are enough deputies here to handle this, Captain. Maybe we should head back to town before Sheriff McClain sees us. The ranchers are staring at us. You can smell their fear.

Let them stare. I want to know what happened. If the Fire Lord ordered the attacks, then it makes it my business as Dark Angel. I can’t tell the Hudsons that the Dark Angels has orders from the President to investigate all cases of suspected supernatural activity. It’s our job. Period. Sheriff McClain can be pissed we’re here, but he’s a Dark Angel, too. Just let me handle things. We’re not leaving until we get answers.

Sheriff McClain, a heavyset man in his fifties, stood at the edge of the pasture where the breeding bull lay split in half, its entrails spread across the ground, blackened from flies. When he saw Pallaton and Luna, he jogged toward the house in an attempt to beat them to the front door. With the high sun overhead, Pallaton was able to see McClain’s sweat left dark rings beneath the armpits of his brown shirt. The sheriff entered the porch from the side and reached the door before Pallaton. His large frame blocked the couple behind the screen door. McClain’s deep voice rumbled as spoke to the Hudsons, and they came outside, glanced at the police officers, but ignored them.

What are the police doing here? Bill Hudson asked.

Don’t worry about them, McClain said. Did you get a headcount yet?

Pallaton put his hand on Luna’s arm and turned away from the door. Sheena and Skye are here. You best go talk to them and see if they know anything, he said. If you see Stephen, send him over. I’ll wait here.

Sure thing, boss.

Four male deputies headed toward the field and climbed over the barbed wire. Pallaton did not see Sergeant Stephen Babineaux with them. Skye and Sheena approached the bullpen. Both girls were members of Luna’s werepuma pride and official Dark Angels and were currently living in his home, while Stephen resided in one of the cottages in the back. Luna hurried across the yard to join her friends. Sheena glanced toward him, and he sighed. Not too long ago, she had admitted she loved him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt in return. Petite and slender, she had let her brown hair grow long, and he noted her boots had four-inch heels. In the direct sunlight, Sheena looked beautiful—her nose freckled, and her dark eyes alert. Any thought about a possible romance was a distraction he didn’t need, not now, and maybe never.

Hey, Pallaton!

The deep voice belonged to Stephen Babineaux from McClain’s department, and he cut across the yard to speak to Pallaton. Another Dark Angel, same as the Moon Girls, Pallaton hoped Stephen had answers. The sergeant’s hair was white and long, a common trait among shapeshifters. A jagged scar marked the left side of the man’s face―a souvenir from the infected wolf that had turned him. The man was the omega in the Cheyenne Mountain Wolf Tribe, yet another responsibility on his plate. It struck Pallaton as ironic Stephen that was his right-hand man in the Dark Angels since they did not like one another for a number of reasons.

Well, Babineaux? What do you think did this? Pallaton asked, trying to keep things as professional as possible. He noticed the scar on Stephen’s face turned red, a clear sign the man was irritated.

I wish I could say the Night Breed did it. Werewolves eat what they kill, and there are no paw prints in the field, Stephen said and lit up a cigarette. Blood and guts cover the entire field, and it stinks. This county may be ‘zombie-free,’ but those freaks will eventually show up. Hopefully, McClain can convince Bill to let us burn the bodies, but so far he’s resisting.

How bad is it? Did he lose the entire herd?

Most of it, Stephen said. Whatever it was, hit every ranch between the Hudson’s place and Colorado Springs. What do you think did it?

Vescali demons come to mind.

Yeah, I figured that’s why you showed up. Bill claims winged monsters flew in and slaughtered his herd in less than ten minutes. Stephen paused to spout smoke into the air. Damn fool claims he killed one, but I can’t find the damn thing. Nightshadow is out at the north end of the pasture looking for clues. Maybe he’ll have better luck.

The couple started to shout at the sheriff. They were anxious and angry and wanted an explanation. Stephen growled before he grabbed Pallaton’s arm and led him over to the bodies of two dead dogs. Claw marks were visible along their sides.

I’d say Vescali demons hit the ranches last night, Stephen grumbled. This isn’t the first time Vescalis have mutilated livestock. I told McClain, but he doesn’t want to tell the ranchers that demons are behind this massacre. You know damn well the Fire Lord ordered this, Pallaton. Instead of coming all the way out here, you should go and arrest that son-of-a-bitch.

Pallaton avoided staring at the remains of the dogs.

I’d like nothing better, believe me. Marching into William Novac’s office and accusing him of being a Vescali will only make things worse. I left Lieutenant Boorstin at the Larsons’ place, which is inside city limits. The old man was killed, and his sons are desperate to blame someone.

Blame it on the Night Breed.

If I do that, then folks will blame the wolf tribes. They can’t tell the difference between a werewolf and a shifter.

Well, we have to blame someone, Stephen said, dragging on the cigarette. He glanced over at the porch. If not werewolves, people will say its vampires. Most people still think of you as the Captain of the Shadowguard. I know we have to handle this in a delicate fashion, but Novac is the culprit. He’s in his office right now, laughing at us. We need to bring him down.

If word of a demon attack leaks out, we’ll have a riot on our hands. Do I need to mention Novac has powerful connections in the government? I can’t arrest him until I have proof of what it is.

That’s funny, Stephen said with his usual sarcasm. I thought the Dark Angels worked for the most powerful man in the country. President Bennet must know the Vescalis are here and that William Novac is the Fire Lord. I don’t care if that jerk is the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in America. Nor do I give a shit if he does have powerful friends in politics. Call Bennet and get the Earth Corps to take out this turkey. If Novac simply vanishes overnight, then the better for us.

Damnit, Babineaux. Don’t you think I want to do that very thing? That demon killed my brother, but the President already made it clear we’re to proceed with caution. He doesn’t want a full-scale war. It happened before, and it didn’t turn out well for us.

Stephen blew smoke into Pallaton’s face. By the book, huh? Okay then. Let me point something out to you, chief. Coming out here was a bad idea on your part, he snarled. "Country folk aren’t like city folk. Bill Hudson is telling McClain you came out here because you think he’s committed a Federal crime by killing his own cattle for the insurance money. These ranchers want to blame someone, and you make a fine target."

Cut me a little slack, Pallaton said, holding his temper on a short leash. You’re supposed to be the best tracker in the county. Capture a Vescali, dead or alive, and get me the evidence I need, Babineaux.

Let’s get a little shit on our boots and check out that barn.

Stephen stopped at his vehicle to grab his rifle. Pallaton suspected it was loaded with silver bullets since it was standard issue for both law enforcement agencies these days. He followed the sergeant to where the dead bull lay. Flies buzzed loudly as they feasted on the gore. Pallaton tugged his hat lower and grimaced.

I’d say this happened around 3:00 a.m., Stephen said. It was like this at the last three ranches I visited. The demons did this for sport. Obviously, they were in their demon forms, not human, when they came in here last night. They used their talons, not guns, and as much as I’d like to give you evidence, this is it.

It’s not enough, Pallaton said.

So, Logan and Cadence don’t think Novac is a Vescali? Did you tell them his real name is Stolas, and he’s pissed they killed his dad?

Prove it, that’s what Logan told me, so that’s what I have to do. This has to hold up in the Federal court, Babineaux. It sucks, but that’s how it is.

Luna stood in the corral among the dead cattle and used her cell phone to take photos. Her girlfriend, Deputy Skye O’Malley, stood beside her and watched. Pallaton spotted Deputy Sheena near the water trough, bent over, and heard her retch. He wanted to check on her but hesitated when Luna finished taking photos and approached with Skye on her heels.

Not quite what I wanted to take pictures of on a Monday morning, Luna said, putting up her phone. Skye estimates a hundred head of cattle were torn to shreds last night. Twenty spring calves were in the barn. Sheena is headed that way.

Eager as always to rush into battle, Stephen said with a chuckle.

Pallaton watched Sheena draw her gun before she entered, sliding between the doors that hung on both the top hinges, which slanted them at an odd angle.

I’m going in next, Skye announced and hurried after her friend.

Stephen laughed when Pallaton traipsed through a pile of manure. His boots covered with the muck made him pause to wipe off the bottoms on a board torn off from the side of the barn. With the scent of blood in the air, he doubted any calves remained alive. He crouched to gain access to the interior of the dark barn. A hole in the roof had allowed the Vescalis to enter. Bodies of calves lay strewn across the ground, and several hung from an overhead rafter, tied to ropes, and gently swayed. Sheena used a knife to cut the rope and stepped aside as the bodies hit the floor.

This is horrible, Sheena said, overwhelmed with emotion. She glanced at Pallaton as Skye and Luna passed her to make a sweep of the barn. Tears filled her eyes, but she turned aside, embarrassed, and put away her gun.

Make a thorough sweep of the stalls, Stephen ordered.

Blood covered the ceiling and ground. As he anticipated, not one calf was alive, nor did they find the body of the Vescali the rancher had allegedly shot. Pallaton stopped beside Sheena, able to smell her perfume through the stench, and started to say something to lift her spirits but stiffened when he heard mewling noises in the last stall.

Stay here, Pallaton said, surprised Sheena looked close to fainting. She gave him a grateful look and sat on the edge of a bale of hay.

At the clank of chains and a soft growl, he saw Luna back away from a stall. Skye grabbed a pitchfork and jabbed at whatever was inside. Pallaton quickened his stride and caught up to Stephen, who peered into the stable and pointed at a pathetic figure huddled in the corner.

We’ve got us a pet zombie, Stephen said. Could be one of the Hudson family members, maybe a ranch hand, but in any case, it looks like they’ve kept him well fed.

Skye used the pitchfork to move aside a carcass of a calf. The zombie stirred and tried to grab a back leg, but the chain attached to a steel collar kept it from moving more than a few feet. Flesh no longer covered the boney fingers, worn to the middle joints, and it peeled blackened lips away from its stained teeth to snarl.

The zombie has been knuckle-boning to reach whatever Bill Hudson feeds it. Look at its hands, Skye said and again took a poke at the zombie. I say we give him mercy, she said as she glanced at Stephen. I don’t care who he was—this is inhumane.

It’s Bill Hudson’s brother. I’ve seen him at the Kodiak, Luna said. He liked to drink beer and dance with the ladies.

When was that? Pallaton asked.

About three months ago he stopped coming in. I guess we know the reason why. I wonder if Bill reported it or not.

I doubt it, Stephen said.

The pathetic creature had witnessed the slaughter of the calves, but zombies did not talk, and Pallaton did not care who it had been, only what it was, and it needed to die. The crawler was reduced to a skeleton with frayed skin as dry as leather. The massive deterioration of its body made it impossible to cure.

It’s illegal to own a pet zombie, Skye said. Now I know why the Hudsons weren’t pleased to see city police.

Kill it and let’s go back to the house, Pallaton ordered.

Skye stabbed the pitiful thing in the head with the pitchfork.

No one is arresting these folks, not after what they’ve been through, Stephen said.

I have no intention of arresting them. Pallaton pointed at the hayloft. Be of use, Babineaux. Maybe a wounded Vescali is hiding up there. I guess I can’t put this off any longer. Luna, I’ll meet you back at the car.

On his way out of the barn, Pallaton noticed Sheena’s pale cheeks. He took hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet. Her expression was grateful.

Outside before you faint. A little fresh air is what you need.

Thanks, Sheena said, unable to look at him.

I’m every bit as shaken up as you are, kiddo. Pallaton put his arm around the young woman and felt her tremble. He knew how Sheena felt about him but had not done more than show her the same kindness he would to anyone else. As much as he enjoyed having her close to him, he kept things professional as they walked to one of the brown SUVs.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much, she said.

I’ll ask Babineaux to send you back to Manitou Springs. I know you’re tired of guarding the library, but I’m worried Novac will send Vescalis to my house. Right now, he has us all distracted. We can’t let him get his hands on those magic books and enchanted items.

Do you think that’s what he planned all along?

Yeah, I do, Pallaton said and opened the door to the vehicle to ease Sheena into the passenger seat. He was surprised when she caught hold of his hand. Hey, it’s going to be okay. Chenoa and the wolf tribe are there. I’d just prefer you were on hand to keep those demons at bay.

It’s not that, Sheena said, her voice trembling. There’s something I just have to tell you, Pallaton. It’s important.

Raised voices at the house gave him the excuse he needed to avoid what he feared was another admittance of her love. He wasn’t ready to get involved again. Sheena was a serious girl, the all or nothing type, and if this was on her mind, he was not willing to discuss it near a pasture filled with cow guts.

I’m sorry, kiddo. Whatever it is will have to wait until later. Okay?

Sure, she said.

Pallaton pulled his hand free with a gentle tug. He saw her wipe away a tear and felt guilt as he left her and headed to the house. Sheriff McClain remained with the Hudsons, his hat in his hand, and continued to listen patiently while the man vented.

I’m telling you what I saw, Nomad! There were hundreds of those winged demons in the field. Flew in around dawn, merciless and cruel. God help us if they attack the city next. There’s no stopping them, Bill Hudson said, furious. If it wasn’t for my Wilma and her years in the National Guard, I doubt we’d still be alive to tell the tale. I already heard about what happened at the Larson’s place. One of their hired hands gave me a call.

The rancher glared at Pallaton, misplaced blame, finding the appearance of a police captain upsetting. McClain removed his hat, gave Pallaton a sideways glance, and confirmed