Page 1 of Psycho

Chapter 1

Heat Of The Moment

I felt twitchy as I steered my bike through the small streets of LaPlace, Louisiana. I couldn’t sit around and endure another wolf shooting questions at me on the compound. I needed to get out to clear my head. The rumble of the Harley soothed my nerves while I tried to avoid the almost full moon shining down on me, bathing my body with its curse.

I hated it. But I’d accepted it. I’d never told another living soul how much I loathed it. As far as everyone knew, I was a proud wolf, born from a strong pack of strapping ones.

As I turned the corner, headed for Wetland Watchers Park to let the waters of Lake Pontchartrain calm me, I was greeted by the exact opposite: Absolute chaos.

It took me a full thirty seconds to realize what I was looking at. Fists were flying, necks were being snapped, and worst of all, vampires were using super speed so they were a mere blur. But with my keen eyesight I could make out most of what was going on. The only problem was, I didn’t know what the non-vampires were. In my experience, could be humans, wolves, witches… who knew?

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned, killing the Harley’s engine and shoving my keys in my pocket. Then, I took out my cell and called Trigger, my second-in-command.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“Grab a cager and get down to Wetland. Bring at least three dudes. And some weapons.”

“You got it.” I heard him start to walk fast. “What’s going on?”

“Full-on brawl. Vamps and others. I don’t recognize anyone,” I replied.

“On it.”

He ended the call and I pocketed the phone, then dismounted from the bike. Folding my arms across my cut, I just watched, since I literally didn’t have a dog in this fight, but I itched to join in. The craving for violence living inside of me never quite died down, and my wolf was growling and clawing to get out and brawl. To join in the melee and do some damage to them. To tear something apart and howl in delight. He didn’t care who. I took a deep breath and quieted him. He would be out soon enough.

I watched as one vamp grabbed a man by his shirt, swung him as if he was a ragdoll, and threw him into the lake. The man immediately got out of the water and stalked, dripping wet, to the vampire who threw him. The vamp had his back turned to the water, and the wet man rushed up and put him in a bear hug, soaking the vamp. They both suddenly lit up with electric pulses, illuminating both their bodies. They shook violently, screamed in unison, and then dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Warlock. Got it.

I checked out the bikes parked near me. I didn’t recognize any, but that didn’t mean much. Squinting, I saw there were no Nighthawks—the vampire MC we normally tolerated—so I decided I had another call to make.

I pulled out my cell and dialed Viper, the Nighthawks’ president.

“Yeah, Psycho?” he answered.

“You should get down to Wetland Watchers Park. Big-ass brawl going on.”

I watched as two women tussled on the ground. The female vampire tried to bite the other female, but she screamed something in Latin, and the vampire fell back, gripping her head as if her brain was about to explode.

“Why do I care?” he asked.

“Vamps and witches are going at it… and from my vantage point, the vamps are getting their asses handed to them,” I replied.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and hung up.

A few minutes later, I heard a truck approach and turned to see my guys in our cager. They spilled out carrying knives and pistols. Trigger gripped his new crossbow pistol he liked to play with.

“The fuck?” Trigger muttered, coming up to me.

“Right?” I shook my head.

Menace came to stand on my other side and asked, “What should we do, boss?”

I stared into his dual-colored eyes and the scar on his face, and then back at the fight. “I don’t see any wolves. Just vamps and witches. I’ve called Viper. I assume he’s on his way.”

We all jumped when a large bolt of what I could only describe as lightning shot out from a male’s hands and sent a vampire on his ass, clutching his smoking chest. The other vamp who’d been electrocuted was now getting up. The wet warlock who’d done it was still lying prone and unmoving.

Would he recover from that, or was it suicide by vamp?

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