Page 80 of Hot Blooded

Tessa’s heart sank. “We have to help him.”

Amos was silent.

Chapter 22

Over the next few days, they had brief sightings of Phillipe here and there, but they were never able to corner him again. They had their regular jobs to do most nights, which left them with a limited window for thrall-chasing. With each passing day, the likelihood of his demise grew stronger. Amos suspected Phillipe had a nest somewhere nearby where he was sheltering for his daysleep. If they could find the nest, they could catch him as he was emerging. Thralls slept more than fully-turned vampires, which meant Amos would likely be able to get there before he woke.

Finally, Amos found the spot. One of the neighbors on the other side of the back alley had a pretty wooden garden shed—beneath which, Phillipe had burrowed like a badger. His scent was all over the yard, and especially potent by the hole under the back wall of the shed.

The next night she had off work, Tessa and Amos set out to catch him as he emerged from beneath the shed. Tessa waited a few feet away while Amos crouched beside the opening. He tilted his head, listening. After a moment his gaze flashed to Tessa and he nodded—Phillipe was in there.

Amos stood poised, ready to grab him as he emerged. But Phillipe had other plans. A sudden thunk sounded on the other side of the shed, and a huge chunk of grass went flying. Phillipe burst from the new opening like he’d been shot out of a cannon, taking off running.

“Son of a bitch!” Amos spat. He flashed to Tessa’s side, flinging her onto his back and then launching them both after the fleeing thrall.

Tessa clung to Amos as he ran, closing her eyes against the wind. Her stomach sloshed unpleasantly with every sharp turn, every sudden acceleration or deceleration. Periodically she opened her eyes to get a sense of where they were, but just as quickly closed them, head spinning.

They chased Phillipe through Lincoln Park, up past Wrigley Field, through a large cemetery, and then over towards the lakeshore. They followed him to Montrose Harbor, where docked boats creaked and shifted with the water’s gentle undulations. Amos stood beside the water, Tessa still clinging to him like a baby possum, and silently scanned the dark rows of boats.

Movement at the mouth of the harbor caught Amos’s attention and in a flash, they were moving again. When Amos stopped, they were standing at the lakeshore, wooded parkland at their backs, Lake Michigan stretching to the horizon in front of them. Phillipe stood trapped between the lapping waves and Amos. In a space this wide open, there was nowhere for him to run where Amos wouldn’t outpace him.

“You’re out of options,” Amos said roughly. “Let us help you.”

Phillipe looked like he was already on the verge of death. His arms protruded from the rags of his clothing like two white sticks and his skin cleaved so closely to the bones of his face, he looked like a walking skeleton.

“You can trust us,” Tessa said gently, sliding off of Amos’s back. Phillipe flinched back, stumbling as he splashed into the lake, feet sinking in the sand.

Tessa halted, holding her hands up placatingly. “Phillipe, you need blood. You need a safe place to rest. Let us—”

A sharp, baying howl suddenly cut through the air, coming directly behind Amos and Tessa. They both spun to face a pack of unnaturally large wolves emerging from the trees.

Amos moved to shield Tessa as the wolves fanned around them. Their gleaming eyes shone with human acuity, their predatory postures signaling cruel intent. Tessa counted them as they moved into formation—eight. Eight massive werewolves pitted against a single vampire, an ordinary human, and a nearly-dead thrall.

“Where did they come from?” Tessa whispered, clutching the back of Amos’s shirt, her voice thin with fear.

“From the city,” Amos said grimly. “In their human form, they’re indistinguishable from ordinary mortals.”

The wolves eyed Amos warily as they circled, snarls reverberating in their throats.

“Are they the same ones from the park?” Tessa asked.

“Most likely.” Keeping Tessa behind him, Amos backed towards the water, preventing the wolves from circling them entirely. Phillipe was still there, ankle-deep in the lapping waves.

Tessa hissed as her shoe sank into cold lake water. Allowing Amos to guide her, she continued to trudge deeper into the water until it was up to her knees. For the first time, Phillipe willingly moved closer to Amos. He didn’t get quite within arm’s reach, but he waded out to the deeper water with them, shivering and wretched.

Among the wolves, a copper-pelted female stepped forward. The others quickly merged to close the space she’d left, keeping Amos, Tessa, and Phillipe blockaded. In a strange metamorphosis that Tessa’s eyes and mind couldn’t quite reconcile, the wolf’s body transformed into that of a human woman. She stood before them, nude and utterly unfazed by it, her expression trained on Tessa with urgent concern. She was tall and muscular, with pale pink skin and apparently naturally blonde hair.

“We can protect you from them,” the woman said, speaking in that looping cadence from northern Wisconsin and Minnesota. “Run to us.”

Tessa clutched more tightly to Amos’s shirt.

“I don’t need your protection,” she said, voice cracking. “I need you to leave us alone.”

“We won’t hurt you,” the woman insisted, taking another step closer.

Amos snarled a vicious warning. The woman froze, but the surrounding werewolves took up a growling chorus, their pacing becoming agitated. Phillipe suddenly dropped to his hands and knees in the water—whether from fear or simply near-death exhaustion, Tessa couldn’t be sure. She loosened one hand from Amos’s shirt in time to catch Phillipe’s rail-thin bicep, hoisting him up so that his head didn’t slip below the water.

“If you won’t hurt us, then leave,” Tessa pleaded.

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