Old Habits

Conor: the storm arrives

Conor

Aidan spotted the dark van, calling down to the shop so we could all hurry to the house. Ralph and Mel were already headed out the front door.

"Stay here," Mel told us, but I resolutely followed them out anyway.

She gave me a look which I knew pretty well, but I stood my ground.

"I'm here for Ralph," I said. "Just in case. He can't run away, Mel."

I didn't like that Ralph and Mel had come out together; if something happened we would lose both of our alphas. And our pack wasn't ready for that sort of tragedy. At least this way, I could step in before it came to that.

Gayle exited the van, a handgun in a holster under her arm, even knowing how we felt about firearms.

"Where's Sasha?" she demanded.

"The vampires left last night," Ralph replied. "I don't know where. They cut the line out of Sasha and took off shortly thereafter. Hello, Gayle. How are you?"

Gayle eyed us, as if wondering if shooting us was a simpler solution. It wasn't fair, I thought. We had tried so hard to play by the rules. To be good people. We would never be good enough to the hunters.

"I'm trying to plan for two dozen funerals and explain the press how they were killed," Gayle answered. "Don't pretend that any of this is solvable with some politeness. My colleagues were murdered and I have to wonder where they got their information."

Ralph scoffed. "Gayle, the vampires took one look at your computers and came here for Conor. We spend several days dealing with more than your wayward hunters."

He pulled out the plastic bag with Helen's heart in it from a bag on his wheelchair. It was strange looking a heart outside the body. I hoped the hunters understood the gesture as a peace offering.

"There," he said, tossing the bag down at Gayle's feet. "The vampire responsible. She's dead."

"Stefa?" Gayle snarled.

"No, don't be ridiculous. Stefa wouldn't have had to research where we live; she knows. This was Helen."

That stopped Gayle's complaints for a moment. Helen was a powerful vampires; she had to know that. Of course, she would also know that it would be nearly impossible for a werewolf to manage killing her. But if she didn't ask, then hopefully we could leave Jackson and the others out of it. Gayle picked up the bag with disgust and opened the back of the van. Boyd was sitting on a bench, staring at the floor. I wondered what had happened. He looked scared.

"Fine," Gayle said. "Then where's Victor?"

"In the house."

I glanced at Mel and she inclined her head, so I went back inside to fetch him. Victor was standing by the door; all the pack was crowded in the foyer, listening to the conversation. I didn't blame them.

"Ready?" I asked.

Victor shook his head, but stepped out on the porch with me. He was nervous, scared even. He hadn't really understood that being a werewolf was so different until he had lost his temper this morning. He had only really known me and Ralph. We were part of a pack that fostered self-awareness in a way that werewolves did not innately have as far as I could tell.

"Let's go," Gayle barked at Victor as if he was a wayward puppy.

Victor shook his head, gripping the handrail to steady himself.

Gayle rolled her eyes. "Boyd, get Victor."

Boyd hopped out of the van, shuffling towards us on the porch. He took Victor's shoulder.

"I can't, Gayle," Victor said, pulling his arm out of Boyd's grasp. "I was dying. I asked them to turn me. I need time."

Gayle went slack jawed, staring at Victor and me.

"I'm sorry," Boyd whispered, his voice barely audible. I had heard about Boyd's time here, and if Mel had trusted him, then I had no reason not to do the same.

"This isn't your fault," I whispered back.

"What part of the treaty between us was confusing?" she demanded. "Top of the list was no biting people."

"What were we supposed to do, Gayle?" Ralph questioned. "Let him die?"

"Yes," Gayle said without hesitation. "Absolutely. It's what these people are paid to do."

"They're paid to die?" Mel questioned. "Gayle, you know our feelings on this matter. We aren't going to let even hunters die because you think we're..."

"Monsters, yes. Monsters who murdered their way through my company. Monsters who found all our offices across the country and have been torching and murdering their way through most of them. Monsters who send hunter data to other monsters. STF has been torn apart by these monsters. I should have never signed anything with you in the first place. Victor is turned? Fine. You can have him. But like last time, a life for a life."

During her rant, I got off the porch, walking slowly to stand beside Mel. Gayle had her hand on her gun and I knew what about was about to happen next. She pulled out her gun and aimed it at Mel who didn't move. Ralph tried to swallow a growl. I widened my stance, ready to take off.

"I didn't turn Victor, Gayle," Mel told her calmly.

"Then give up who did," Gayle demanded. "Do that, and I'll let you and your husband live."

An absurd choice. I didn't know for sure who had specifically turned Victor, but Mel wouldn't name anyone. The look on her face was...terrifying and I knew, with a certainty that surprised me that Mel expected to die in the next minute.

"Mel, no," Ralph whispered as if he had realized the same thing.

"I will not," Mel told Gayle, her voice even. "Victor is alive because we saved him. This is not the same, and you know it."

I saw Gayle's finger twitch and I stepped in the path of the bullet headed directly for Mel. It hit me squarely in the chest and I fell to the ground, unaware of anything after that.
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

I gasped for air, my vision fuzzy and my ears ringing.

"See?" Gayle said, I guess talking with Boyd. "Just one of the many things we've learned by studying werewolves. They won't really die unless you shoot them with silver. But it still takes them a minute or two. They really do have the most remarkable healing properties."

I blinked a couple times. My chest ached, a sharp point of pain radiating from my heart and pulsing outward. I was on the floor of a moving van, the rumble of the road underneath my back.

"What?" I managed, but talking hurt more than I had expected.

"So you just... Gayle, you shot Conor right in front of them. They think he's dead. They will come for him when they find out." Boyd shook his head. "This is messed up, even for you."

"That pack finds itself in the center of any drama in a thousand mile radius," Gayle told him. "We needed leverage when they let Sasha escape or turn our hunters or the any number of things that pack has accomplished in the past six months. This would get me leverage. I had been aiming for Mel, but this will be much more useful."

She turned her attention to me.

"We own you now," she said, pointing the gun at my head. "Try to escape, and I wipe your pack off the map with a single phone call. Call them, or otherwise alert them? The same thing will happen. If I have to make that call, you won't live out the day. There won't be some last minute rescue, no heroics that will change my mind. Do you understand?"

I nodded, unwilling to speak again if I didn't have to.

"Gayle, no," Boyd insisted. "You can't. He's a person, regardless of..."

Gayle pressed the gun into Boyd's chest and fired. The shot was deafening, and I winced, though even that action hurt my chest. Boyd slumped over, his blood spattering the wall of the van. Whoever was driving didn't even slow down.

"Have I made myself clear enough?" she inquired.

"Yes,ma'am," I whispered.