Blood was dripping from its face. Blood, and something else. Something blackish. Something putrid. I suddenly had a very strong sense that it had dug up a body and feasted on it. In fact, I was certain of this. How I was certain of it, I didn't know. Maybe my sixth sense was evolving into something more.
Or maybe because this thing smells like the walking dead.
I made sure my back was to the open glass door. I wasn't sure what I would do if the thing attacked, but having a readily available escape route seemed like a damned good idea. And if I had to take flight, well, I could kiss these clothes goodbye. They would burst from my body in an instant.
A part of me felt like this was a dream. Hell, a lot of me felt like this was a dream.
We continued staring at each other. I continued wanting to pee. The creature continued breathing deeply, throatily. I could have been standing next to a tiger cage.
And that's when the beast took a step toward me.
Every instinct told me to run - and to keep running until I had put hundreds of miles between me and this thing. But I didn't run. Something kept me in that room. That something was curiosity.
Curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, the vampire.
It took another step toward me. A very long step. One that spanned nearly the entire length of my bed. As it walked, it sort of tucked in its shaggy elbows.
The thing, I was certain, was a werewolf. And that werewolf, I was certain, was Kingsley.
When I transformed, I was all there; meaning, I was still me, and I could control all of my actions and emotions. I doubted Kingsley would have chosen to dig up a grave and feast upon a corpse, if that was, in fact, what he had done. So that alone suggested Kingsley was not all here. Meaning, something else was controlling this beast. But enough of Kingsley was in there to find his way to my hotel room tonight.
What happened to the panic room? And where was Franklin the Butler who, I knew, looked after Kingsley during these monthly transformations?
You ask a lot of questions, vampire.
The words appeared in my thoughts, directly inside my skull, as if someone had whispered them straight into my ear cavity. I didn't jump, but I did step back.
"Who said that?"
As I spoke, the creature cocked its head to one side, its pointed ears, moving independently of each other, shot forward. Cute on a dog, not so cute on a hulking, nightmarish creature.
Who do you think said it, vampire?
The creature stepped forward. Its movements were graceful and surprisingly economical. It only moved when it had to. Nothing wasted.
"Kingsley?" I asked.
Kingsley's not home.
"Then who is this?"
The werewolf stepped closer still, and the wave of revulsion that emanated from it nearly made me retch.
I reminded myself that I was a terrifying creature of the night, able to strike fear in the hearts of even the most hardened criminals.
You look afraid, vampire, said the voice in my head.
Up close, the creature looked even more hideous. And up close, it smelled even worse.
"Who are you?" I asked again. My voice shook.
Does it matter?
"Yes. I want to know where my friend is."
Oh, he's in here, vampire.
"Where is here?"
In the background, vampire. Watching us.
Moonlight reflected off the creature's thick brow and slightly protruding muzzle. Long, white teeth gleamed over black gums. A low, steady, rumble came from its throat and chest. The creature seemed incapable of remaining silent. A low growl seemed to continuously emanate from it. I fought a nearly overwhelming desire to step back. But I didn't.
You are brave, vampire.
"And you smell like shit."
The werewolf tilted its head. One of its ears revolved out to the side, hearing something that was beyond even my own keen hearing.
Kingsley has been wanting to see you, vampire. Very badly. But he has refused to do so out of pride. But I thought I would take it upon myself to visit you tonight. I thought it was time to make your acquaintance. There are, after all, so few of us.
"Us?"
The undead.
"Fine, so you've met me. Now who the fuck are you?"
The werewolf growled a deeper growl, a sound which seemed to resonate from deep within its massive chest.
I am called Maltheus.
I did my best to wrap my brain around what I was hearing. "You are a separate entity that lives within Kingsley?"
Not always within, no. But I do visit him once a month. He's such a gracious host.
I sensed sarcasm. "And what, exactly, are you?"
I am many things, vampire.
"How is it that you can take possession of Kingsley? How is that you can turn into this thing?"
This thing, as you call it, is my physical incarnation. And I took possession of my dear fellow Kingsley because he allowed me inside him.
"He wanted to be bitten by a werewolf?"
No. He wanted death. He wanted revenge. He was full of hate and despair and emptiness. The voice paused; the werewolf stared down at me, breathing heavily through a partially open mouth. Its lips were pure black. I exist to fill that emptiness.
"I don't understand."
You will someday, vampire. And we will meet again. Of that, you can be sure.
In a blink of an eye, moving faster than any creature that size had a right to move, the werewolf turned its massive shoulders and dashed through the shattered door and leaped off the stucco balcony.
I ran over to the edge and watched as it dropped nine stories, landing softly and gracefully. It didn't throw back its head and let loose with an ear-splitting howl, nor did it dash off into the night on all four legs.
No, it simply sniffed the air, scratched behind its ear, and walked calmly away.
Chapter Fifty-four
It was late and my IM chat window was open. So far, there was no sign of Fang.
I had spent the past three hours cleaning my room, picking up glass and scrubbing clean the blood and other bodily fluids that had been dripping from Kingsley. With the place clean, now all I had to do was come up with a convincing story about the broken glass. I decided on going the drunken, divorced mother route. I had been drinking on the balcony, when I stumbled through the glass door. Could happen to anyone.
Now, with my hotel suite smelling like coconut butter and rotted corpse, I was sitting in front of my computer, waiting for Fang to log on.
I buzzed him again.
And again.
Twenty minutes later, I saw what I wanted to see: a flashing pencil had appeared in the message box. Fang was writing me a message. I felt overjoyed and relieved. I had come to rely on Fang more than he realized.
More than I realized.
A moment later, his words appeared: You are persistent tonight, Moon Dance.