Vampire Uprising

Epilogue

The Half Breeds had taken Randolph on a circular trail through Louisiana, Arkansas, and down into eastern Texas over the course of several days. Dawn was only a few hours away when the beasts pointed their noses toward Oklahoma and bolted in the straightest line they’d taken since Kawosa had first set them loose.

If Half Breeds were good for anything besides killing and eating, it was tracking. They could pick up a scent, follow it for hundreds of miles, rest for an entire day and pick it up again later. Randolph could do the same over a much wider expanse and without rest, but there was one scent his nose simply wouldn’t allow him to catch. Once Kawosa had convinced the Half Breeds to forgo their natural tendency to either attack or avoid a Full Blood, the wretches had caught that scent for him.

It was a region of the country inhabited by creatures that thrived in harsh terrain and knew how to live without catching the eye of predators equipped to challenge them. Mongrels unassociated with any pack, savage felines that had completely abandoned their human form—even reptilian tribes that rarely stuck their leathery noses above the waters of their home swamps—were commonplace this close to the southern coastline. The humans didn’t know much about them, but they didn’t know much about anything. That’s what made them such good company to the man that had taken the name Randolph Standing Bear almost two centuries ago. Even that was about to change.

The leeches had been entrenched for too long, and the Skinners had proven too weak or lazy to prevent it.

Mongrels were clawing their way into civilization from the ground up.

A few of the modified Half Breeds had already been discovered by Skinners, but the hunters would be too preoccupied to see through the deception Kawosa had put in place. They would think they’d killed a Full Blood or two, which should keep them chasing their tails for a while.

Liam’s call to arms in Kansas City had been answered by not one, but two Full Bloods. When Randolph figured that out, it had been difficult to keep it from Kawosa long enough to strike out on his own. The First of the Deceivers was conceited enough to think anyone who knew his true nature would trust a word that came out of his mouth. To Randolph, the fact that Kawosa’s brethren were converging on his territory only made his own task more important.

The moon hung midway in the sky and was nearly full. Every shapeshifter would feel its pull, but the reddish hue on its face meant tonight would be the night he would get what he came for. It wouldn’t be a true Blood Moon, but the shadow passing over the lunar face was deep enough to sharpen the younger werewolves’ yearning to shed their human skins. Randolph could only imagine the hell being endured by Mongrels that had survived Liam’s attentions.

Both of the Half Breeds had already started cocking their heads and casting accusing looks up at the moon with glazed eyes. When they arrived at a run-down little house on the outskirts of the little town of Atoka, Randolph was certain Kawosa’s wretches had done their job properly. If the old Coyote could be trusted that far, Randolph thought, perhaps he could be trusted with the other task that weighed heavily on his own mind. One thing at a time, however. This night’s business was much more pressing.

The house was constructed of wood that could barely hold onto the nails that held it together. Warped walls leaned in on each other beneath a slanted roof that sagged in too many places. Chipped white paint flaked off every plank and hissed when the wind caught it just right. The sturdiest thing on the tiny patch of land was a brick chimney that stood tall and straight even as the rest of the house clung to it for support.

Randolph approached the house on all fours, creeping with his chest less than an inch off the ground. As he passed the Half Breeds, they snarled at him and bared their teeth. The Full Blood dismissed them with a growl that rumbled up from his chest and caused saliva to flow along teeth that had grown long enough to scrape against each other. Lowering their heads, the wretches scampered away.

Randolph circled the house, peering in through cracked panes of dusty glass held shut by latches that were only intact because there was nothing inside worth stealing. The Full Blood wasn’t interested in theft, however. On this night, he wanted to watch and witness something that his kind rarely got to see.

The time was drawing closer.

The moon had reached its zenith, the reddish tint approaching its deepest hue.

Pushing past the dead bolt on the front door with a nudge of his head, Randolph padded through a sparsely furnished living room and down a short hallway leading to a pair of bedrooms. One was occupied by a solitary man sleeping soundly beneath a patchwork quilt. Randolph was sure not to let his eyes remain on him for too long. Even in their sleep, humans could sense when they were being watched by something as deadly as a full-blooded werewolf.

In the next room two twin beds were set up on either side of a cluttered space. The floor creaked beneath Randolph’s weight as he stalked forward while shifting into something that spread his bulky mass out a bit more. The bed on his right was occupied by a girl in her late teens. On the left was a boy of approximately the same age. Both of them had dark hair that reflected the moon’s rusty glow like an oiled raven’s wing. Their skin was almost the same color as the rich clay found on a desert floor, and their wide, rounded features marked them as descendants of the only humans who had any right to challenge Randolph’s claim to this land.

The boy shifted in a restless sleep, kicking at his covers and pounding his mattress with sweaty fists.

Randolph nodded and cursed silently at the fact that he still couldn’t detect the scent belonging to the only one that interested him. This fault was by design, he knew. A natural way to prevent greedy Full Bloods from thinning out the small number of beings they might consider competition.

When the boy allowed his head to slump and his chest to resume its normal pace, the girl on the opposite side of the room sat bolt upright and sucked a haggard breath into a tightening throat.

She picked out the intruder immediately and stared at Randolph with wide, crystalline eyes. Before she could question his presence there, she grabbed her face, rolled out of bed and hit the floor on arms and legs that creaked and stretched with the first of what could be an eternity of transformations. Her back arched beneath a short nightgown decorated with faded yellow daisies, sprouting up like a ridge of stone pushed from previously unbroken soil. Claws tore through her fingers, and when she tried to scream, her voice was stifled by the agony of daggerlike fangs cutting through her gums.

The boy in the room stirred but was too frightened to move any more than that.

“When one falls, another shall rise,” Randolph growled. “Hopefully you will serve us better than poor, misguided Henry.”

The girl watched him intently, recognizing Randolph but unsure why. Shifting into a taller, unsteady two-legged form, she stretched her arms up to claw at the ceiling and let out a prolonged, wailing howl.

Cole knew what Paige was capable of. Still, he was shocked to see that weapon come toward his chest.

There was no hesitation in Paige’s movement.

There was no trace of anything clouding her judgment.

There was no pity in her eyes.

Sorrow, but no pity as she was about to plunge the crude weapon to the spot that would pierce Cole’s body, destroy his heart and kill the thing currently attached to it.

“I’ve seen it happen, Cole,” she said quietly “And I won’t see it happen to you.”

Without another word or even another breath, Paige dropped the hammer toward his chest …