The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death
Chapter Twenty One: No Rest For The Wicked
Fandom: Anita Blake universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. all beta work, plot bunny shooting and ass spanking is being done by Gin. 

The Mary Sue Virus: Beyond Death - Index Link 

The office was cluttered, lit by dull bulbs and furnished with things that had seen better days. Shabby described most of the contents. The desk was warped in the center from the weight of all the papers and books that had passed across its surface in the years of its service. The chair behind it was worn and comfortable, the material faded and dingy from much use. The sofa across the room looked like something right out of the seventies, the upholstery frayed and worn. There were holes in some places, bits of thread and string sticking up in others. A wobbly bookshelf took up one wall, stacked with dozens upon dozens of copies of the Bible. A pair of floor lamps gave light to the room, one behind the desk and one in the other corner. They reflected sadly off the dirty beige paint that clung tiredly to the walls of the office. Horizontal blinds covered the window in one wall, blocking out the view on the other side. All in all, the room had the feel of old comfort and a good deal of use.

It also had the feel of higher purpose, something that was both dangerous and deeply spiritual. That fluttered on the faint stir of air like tattered angel wings. That spoke of a power not of the earth.

Looming over the desk, on the wall behind it, was a giant painting of Jesus Christ, his solemn face staring out over the room as if keeping watch or guard. The frame surrounding it was gold gilt, intricate and ornate. The painting had been a gift to the Reverend Garner when he'd first established the ministry some forty years ago. A brilliant depiction of undying faith from one of his congregation. On the wall directly across from it was a crucifix. It was as ornate as the frame, colored in the same gold gilt, and the details of Christ were astounding. It always looked as if God's son was about to wail in pain. The crown of thorns was sharp and the nails through his hands and feet were embedded deep. The painting and the crucifix were the only decorations to the bland office. But then again, God didn't need the grandeur and splendor that some people seemed to think He did. He only needed to know that one had faith in Him. That was enough for Him and that was more than enough for His loyal followers. Followers like the figure that occupied the room.

The man behind the desk was unremarkable, his blonde hair cut in a fashionable style. Short, neat and masculine in appearance. Very no nonsense. It looked good with the dark gray suit he wore. His shirt was white and crisp, his tie the color of sapphires catching the light. A small gold tie tack in the shape of a cross rested in the center of the silk, the only physical concession he made in acknowledgement of his faith. His eyes were almost a match to the tie, an intense and piecing blue that held the attention of any who looked at him. He had a book open before him, his eyes scanning the pages quickly. At the knock upon his door, he carefully closed the book and shifted it into a specific position at the corner of his desk. "Come."

The door opened to allow a young man into the room. He was barely into his twenties, hair a similar shade of blonde and the same blue eyes. His burned with a light of righteousness in them that the older man had long since learned to hide. The fervor and folly of youth.

The young man carefully pushed the door closed and moved to stand before the desk. The older man looked up at him. "Reverend Sol..."

The older man held up a hand and silenced his companion.

"Just 'Sir' will do for now," he commented and stood. The young man watched as he moved toward the blinds and lifted a few of the slats to look out on the scene beyond the window. The younger man knew what he'd see. Scores of the down-trodden and dejected masses, hungry for a hint of kindness and a sense of purpose. A small smile graced the man's lips before he turned back to the younger man and motioned to the window. "We can't be too careful. Some of our Brothers and Sisters here may still be in need of Spiritual Cleansing."

The younger man bowed his head. "Of course, Sir."

Silence fell between them for a few ticks of the clock, then the older man resumed his seat behind the desk. He made a motion with one hand, indicating his companion could go on. "We've had word from Brother Ezekial," the younger man said. "He said he encountered one of the demons."

"Did he kill it?" the older man asked, a mild hint of interest in his voice.

"He isn't sure, Sir. He sounded quite confused when he called," the younger man replied.

"Then why have you come to me with this, Deacon?" the older man's voice now held reproach. It was widely known that his business was too important to be disturbed for something so trivial as a near miss.

The young man blushed and shifted uneasily in place. Then he pushed on. "Sir, I know you think that asking the street people to help us in our quest is sound, but how do we know that..."

"It isn't your place to question me, Deacon," the older man reprimanded gently. "My plans will work. Trust in me. Trust in God's plan. Our Brothers and Sisters who are living by their wits are the perfect souls to work God's plan. They won't be easy to find because they can disappear within the crowd. And, should one of them get caught, they aren't tied to me and this place."

"Sir," the younger man began, only to halt when the older man held up his hand a second time.

"Do you trust God's plan for us?" the older man asked simply.

"Of course I do, Sir. I wouldn't be here, helping you, if I didn't think we could do God's work effectively. I only question the street people's loyalties to us."

"God brought them to us. Trust in Him to show them the way." The older man gave a serene smile to the younger man. When the younger man didn't move, the older man regarded him with an assessing gaze. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, Sir. It concerns the situation in St. Louis."

"The demon's dead whore," the older man remarked without emotions.

"Yes, Sir. There are rumors circulating that the demon has found himself a new whore," the younger man reported. Silence fell again for a few heartbeats. Then the older man stood and his expression finally changed. A light burned in the depths of his blue eyes. It was a look the younger man recognized and understood quite well. He wore that same look, day after day, when he bent to his tasks. Each time he sent one of their Brothers or Sisters off on God's plan, his eyes held the same kind of fevered glow to them. This was something the older man felt deeply about, something he wanted to see to personally. The younger man was certain that his news would draw the righteous fury of God into the older man, would make him once more drive him into action. He'd been still for too long.

"Has anyone been able to discover if there are truths to those rumors?" he asked lightly, hands placed just so on the top of the desk.

"Jacob Tinnerman is a staff member at one of the papers. He said that he was sure it was true. No one knows who the new whore is."

"I want the whore dealt with, Deacon."

"Do you want her dead, Sir?" the younger man asked. He watched as the older man paced to the window again and looked out. There were so many lost souls on the other side of the glass and none of them knew that he was here. No one ever saw him come in or leave. This missionary was too important and too secret for him to be seen in it. No, this one served a higher purpose, one that he was happy to carry out without fanfare or thanks. His reward would come when God called him home. He was sure of that. No. This was work he did because he knew it was right. He'd known since the first time he'd seen her, since he'd realized what had happened to her.

The younger man had heard the story so many times that he knew that the older man was thinking about it again. Even if he refused to admit it. Every time they managed to get close to one of the demon's whores, the same light shone in the man's eyes. The same sense of excitement and desire radiated from his body. When the older man was seeking out justice against the demons, he was filled with God's holy light, an avenging angel come to smite down God's enemies. The older man was beginning to show that same glow now.

"Dead is fine. However, should one of our Brothers or Sisters find a way to bring her in alive, have them do so. Perhaps I can save her soul before she dies. If nothing else, I can purify the evil from her spirit before she goes to God for her final judgement." There was nothing in his voice that suggested he felt anything. He was simply doing as God had told him to do. The younger man knew that, had long ago accepted that the older man was destined for great things. He didn't take joy out of destroying the demons that plagued mankind. He was merely doing as God wanted him to. He took no glory in it. He simply did it.

"I will send out word," the younger man bowed and started for the door.

"Thank you, Deacon," the older man replied, still peering through the blinds at the lost souls that milled about on the other side of the glass. His hand had closed around the doorknob when the older man spoke again. "Peter?"

"Yes, Sir?" he halted and waited. The older man turned and looked at him, eyes filled with something the younger man didn't quite understand.

"Has there been any word?"

"No, Sir."

"I see," he frowned and dropped the slat of the blind back into place. The older man turned fully to face him. "How long has it been?"

"There's been nothing for a very long time, Sir," Peter replied gently. He didn't know why the older man continued to ask the question. The answer never changed. His heart ached each time the subject came up and it always made him wish that the older man could simply let it go. The situation wasn't going to improve or alter. It would always be this way. Peter was sure of it. The last time he'd seen... No. Nothing good could come from the older man holding hope out on this one.

"God obviously wants me to do more penance," the older man replied in a soft voice.

"Sir, why would God want you to do penance? Forgive my confusion, but you aren't the one who was courting the destruction of your soul. Why would you..." Peter asked, but was cut off by a sharp look from the older man.

"It isn't your place to question what God wants me to do. Just as it isn't mine. I'm the one who failed at my task, so I'm the one who must do the penance for it. He will, in His own time, reveal to me exactly what he wishes me to do. For now, I must wait for some sign. I will know when the time is right."

"Of course, Sir," Peter replied, but he wasn't convinced. He'd never seen the older man act so foolishly about anything before. But this... This was enough to make him set aside all he believed in, made him forget his vows in order to erase one small mark on the purity of his own soul. And that's what it was. Peter was sure of it. The older man wasn't worried about any one's soul but his own, even though he always spoke of the need to cleanse the other one's soul. A soul that he'd lost not to the powers of Evil but to a sense of desperation that had sent said soul running. Hiding.

"Peter," the older man's voice held a hint of warning, as if he'd known what the younger man was thinking. He regarded the older man steadily, doing his best to let nothing show in his eyes. The older man studied him for a moment, then sighed and took his seat at the desk. "Make sure that the new Brothers and Sisters have properly confessed their sins and cleared their hearts of all evil. Then baptize them, give them the purification that they so want. Start them on their studies."

"Of course, Sir," Peter stifled the anger at the dismissal of what he felt was their biggest problem. This wasn't just any soul that the older man was willing to simply slip away. This was...

"Send out the word on the demon's whore," the older man reminded him, breaking through his thoughts as if he knew what Peter had been thinking about. Peter inclined his head at this.

"Of course, Father. Is there anything else?"

"That will be all, Peter. Go in God's grace," the older man said. Mouth twisted into a grim line, the younger man opened the door and stepped out. The older man sighed and reached once again for his book, opening to the page he'd been on when he'd been interrupted. Perhaps this one would have the answers he sought.

Perhaps he could find a way to save a lost soul. Before it was too late.

~*~*~*~*~

"You should go home and sleep, Dolph," Zerbrowski sounded unusually subdued. The bigger man waved his concern off with a motion of his hand. There was too much information laid out before him to simply ignore it. Sleep could wait. He was on to something, he was sure of it. His desk was cluttered with piles of papers and stacks of files. Ever since he'd gotten the call from Kinkade about the dead body in the warehouse, he'd been on the phone or the computer, standing at the fax machine or the printer. There was just far too much going on to allow him to sleep.

"There's some kind of pattern here, Zerbrowski. Young and green as she is, Kinkade called it," he motioned to the latest stack of glossy eight by tens he'd been looking at. Several cities had already had copies of files couriered over to him and he was surprised to find that there were considerably more of these crimes taking place than anyone had suspected. And there were still other files coming, due to arrive at any time.

The other man set down the paper cup he'd brought in with him, the name of a local coffee shop emblazoned on it. Then he took a seat on the other side of the desk and watched in silence for a moment. "Why would that surprise you? She's an intelligent woman, despite her lack of experience. And she has had some training."

Dolph made a dismissive noise and flipped through the photos of a young man who'd been carved up in a similar manner as the woman last night. He'd already started making piles. One held the three vics that had been found by cops in his city. Another held vics that he was fairly certain had nothing to do with his dead warehouse girl. A third held files that followed the same kind of pattern, with far too many similarities to be anything but victims of the same individual or group that was responsible for the one that had landed on his doorstep. He was convinced, given the number of unsolved murders that fit the same profile, that the victims hadn't all been killed by one person. He was sure it was a group.

Just what he needed. A fucking hate group with no qualms about killing operating in his city.

The last pile he'd started held deaths that could possibly be assigned to the same people. He even had someone digging into older murders, ones that had been left unsolved, that might match the girl from last night. He was running on a bad mix of anger and adrenalin at the moment, but he was onto something and he knew it.

Dolph opened his mouth to explain his problems with their new executioner but there was a sharp rap on the door. He barked out a terse command to enter. The door opened and a cop in his blues stepped in, a box in his hand. He crossed the room and held it out to Dolph. "This just arrived for you. It was delivered by some kid in a uniform, but the desk didn't take a good enough look at it. There's no return address and no post mark on it. We had it checked out before I brought it back."

Dolph looked up at the box and frowned. He had some of the best cops on the force under his command and their reaction to this was only more proof of that. He wasn't pleased to find that the cop playing delivery boy wasn't wearing gloves. A glance at the young man saw him flushing with silent apology under Dolph's scowl. It was plain to see that the kid knew he'd screwed up by not taking this seriously and considering that he was handling evidence.

Nodding, Dolph pulled a pair of gloves from the drawer and snapped them into place, then pointedly took the box from the younger man and stared down at it. The label was plain and white, the type on it probably from a laser printer. It was smooth and even, perfectly formed without any apparent tells. As he'd been told, there was no return address. In fact, there was no address on it at all. There was his name and rank, the squad's name and the building's name. No city, no street address, no zip code.

Clear tape held in place the brown paper used to wrap the box. Something told him that there'd be no prints to be found on the tape, that whoever had sent it had used gloves. The tape had the zig-zag edges that said the roll had been on one of those dispenser units. Nothing marked the brown paper. Chances were good it came off a roll. There were no clues to be found on the damned thing. Muttering a curse, he pulled out a knife and carefully sliced the package open.

There was no tape holding the paper to the box, so it slid right out of the wrapper when he tipped it carefully on its end. The box was plain white, again without any kind of identifying marks on it. It was made of sturdy cardboard, the top flap tucking into the inside of the box's mouth. Using the point of the knife, he flipped the top open and looked inside. It held a lump of metal and a piece of paper. The metal shone in the overhead lights, a dark, rusty brown substance dried to part of it. He frowned and pulled out the sheet of paper.

Plain printer stock. White. With a short note in black type. More than likely the same printer that had been used to make the label. It had been folded in half to fit into the box, but flipped open in his hand so that he could read the message printed on it.

Detective Storr,

This was found at the scene of an attack in the early hours of the morning. The intended victim was a vampire and powerful enough to survive the attack. However, he wishes to remain anonymous and asked that this be sent forward to you. Take a good look at it. You should find it interesting.

There was no signature on it. Nothing to give away who the intended victim had been. Nothing to tell him what the hell this had to do with him. But he couldn't deny that his curiosity was getting the better of him. Why would someone send him a battered lump of metal supposedly used in an attack on a vampire? He glanced up at Zerbrowski, who seemed to know what was going through his mind. The other man shrugged and motioned to the box. Dolph set the note aside and reached for the lump in the box.

It didn't take long for him to figure out that it was some kind of knife. It was a good, solid seven inches long. And the blade was made of a different metal than the hilt. Or what had once been a hilt. It looked like someone had beaten it with a hammer. If the note was to be believed, a pissed off vamp could have done that.

That first, cursory look didn't yield anything that would be considered interesting. All he saw was a bent knife with a bit of blood on it. But looks were often deceiving. He focused on the part that wasn't destroyed, figuring that would be the best and easiest place to start. Given the way the light reflected off the metal of the blade, he was fairly certain that it was made of or coated in silver. That made it an excellent weapon to use against a vampire. Or a werewolf. And then it hit him.

Drawing the knife closer to his face, he studied it intently. The hand guard hadn't been damaged and was a perfectly straight line. His fingers moved over it carefully, taking in the shape of the blade. It was a doubled edged weapon, not so much a knife as a dagger. The silver was flat and tipped with a deadly point. But there was something more. He was certain of it, had a gut feeling. After much searching, he found it.

"The folder on the top in the corner," he spoke without looking up. "Hand me the picture in it."

Zerbrowski did so wordlessly, laying the picture into his out stretched hand only a few seconds later. Dolph drew it back, holding it up next to the warped knife in his other hand. Frowning, his eyes flicked back and forth between the two while he studied it carefully. "Sonuvabitch!"

"Dolph?" Zerbrowski asked.

"You know that symbol that we found on our vic's back?"

"Yeah."

"Take a look at this," Dolph motioned to the weapon in his hands. Zerbrowski moved around the desk and bent down so he could stare at the spot that Dolph pointed out. The other man studied the etched design on the top of the blade carefully, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the picture that Dolph had asked for. Lips thinning, Zerbrowski stood back up and glared at the knife.

"That thing has the same markings as the vic's back. What the hell is this thing?"

"The mark of a serial killer. Or a hate group targeting the supernatural community," Dolph said with certainty.

Zerbrowski motioned to the folded piece of paper with one hand. "What does that say?"

"That this knife came from a vamp attack this morning. According to the note, the vamp was strong enough to survive the attack. Considering that this thing is either made of or covered in silver, that means that the vampire was probably a master."

"Who the hell would be stupid enough to go up against a vampire in the dark with nothing more than a knife?" Zerbrowski questioned, his voice suggesting that he thought stupid was too kind a word. When he didn't get an answer of any kind right away, he frowned down at his boss. "Dolph, what is it?"

Dolph held up a hand for silence and continued to study the abused weapon in his hands. After several long moments, he wrapped one hand carefully around the blade and held it up so that the guard rested on the top of his fist, the twisted grip sticking straight up in the air. Zerbrowski blinked at it a couple times, then shifted his gaze to Dolph's face. "What is it?"

The other cop studied the knife closely, as if he wasn't sure of his original answer. He finally shook his head. "It looks like... A cross?" Zerbrowski finally asked, his tone saying he was unsure. Dolph actually managed a bit of a smile and laid the blade down on his desk.

"A cross."

"If they're using crosses, that means we've got religious wackos doing this," Zerbrowski snorted. Dolph nodded, picking up the receiver of his phone. He punched a few buttons and waited silently while the other man stared at the knife.

"I need someone from forensics to my office immediately," he ordered into the phone. He paused a moment. "That's right. Storr. I've got a weapon I need the lab boys to look at."

After the exchange of a few more sentences, he dropped the receiver in the cradle and went back to staring at the damaged weapon on his desk. He wasn't sure if they'd get anything off it, but it was the only lead they had. Maybe they'd get lucky and get some DNA or fingerprints. Neither he nor Zerbrowski said anything, simply continued to stare at the knife. About ten minutes had passed before there was a knock at his door. "Come in."

The door opened to admit a forensics guy still wearing his lab coat. He had a kit with him that he set down on the desk before he even took a look at what he was there for. The room was quiet as he snapped a pair of gloves onto his hands. With careful fingers, he picked up the dagger and gave it a good once over. "What the hell happened to it?" the man asked, glancing from the knife to the other two in the room.

"Pissed off vamp," Zerbrowski replied. "Some idiot stabbed a vamp with that."

"So this should be the vamp's blood on the blade?" The question was spoken absently. He turned the thing over a few times before shaking his head. "The hand grip is pretty mangled. I don't know if we can pull anything off of it, but we'll give it a shot. What do you want to know about it?"

"Everything you can tell me. Get on the horn and check with other area labs and find out if there have been any other knives like this recovered from crime scenes."

"I'll get right on it. I don't know when I'll have information for you. I'll let you know as soon as I do, though," the lab guy popped open the case he'd brought with, dragged a plastic bag out of the kit and carefully slid the weapon into the evidence bag. After sealing it and writing on the bag with a black marker, he tucked it into his kit. Then he took out another bag to put the note in when Dolph handed it to him. Another, larger bag took the box. A final bag was filled with the paper that had come wrapped around the box. Then he closed the thing up and headed for the door. Once the door shut, Dolph motioned to the chaos that covered his desk.

"We've got files to look through," he told Zerbrowski.

"What are we looking at?" the other man asked, eyeing the mess that Dolph had indicated.

"I've got a few piles. One contains the dead found here who seem to have died under the same circumstances. One contains possible crimes that match our warehouse girl. One is a pile that holds crimes that don't match ours and the last one is filled with deaths that could be attributed to the people responsible for our girl. We're going to be going through them to see if we can find any possible connections to her."

"Is anyone else working on this or just the two of us?" Zerbrowski asked, already dragging his coat off. It ended up over the back of one of Dolph's empty chairs. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

"You and I will be doing the initial once over. Once we've determined where they fit within the parameters of our warehouse crime, then we filter them down to the rest of the team. They'll do the bulk of the foot work. Contacting witnesses and following any and all leads that are within the files. These people are not going to operate in my city."

"Dolph, I know you blame yourself for what happened with Anita, but this isn't the way to deal with it. She knew what she was getting into. She chose to walk the path she did. Stop..." Zerbrowski began, only to fall short when Dolph's eyes flashed at him.

"These people are not going to operate in my city. It has nothing to do with Anita. Now, start going through that bunch there," he motioned to a tall stack on the corner of his desk. Zerbrowski fell silent and took a seat, picking up the first file.

Silence fell over the room as the two men studied each file closely. The piles shifted height, a couple growing shorter while the rest grew taller and taller. A few of the crimes they studied were several years old. The farther back they looked, the more sporadic they became. There was a pattern there, but it was less obvious. The number of deaths that had some of the same earmarks as his warehouse girl hadn't really picked up until recently.

The early deaths were sparse, only happening occasionally. There was the feel of a single person committing them. But the closer they moved to the present time, the deaths seemed to come more and more frequently. Some of them had happened in two different cities at the same time, suggesting that there was more than one person or persons involved in the killings. That supported the theory of a hate group.

Where this group was located wasn't indicated by the pattern of kills because they were spread out evenly over a large area. Dolph was inclined to think that this was a different group from the usual ones they'd dealt with before. He was pretty sure they could rule Humans Against Vampires out because the group's members tended to stick with more legal means to try and push their agenda. Humans First, on the other hand, wasn't beyond murdering vampires in order to achieve their goal of ridding the world of the undead. But the symbol on the dead woman's back and on the knife he'd been sent were indicative of a religious group.

He was going to have to send someone out to talk to them anyway.

By the time they'd finished going through all of the files that Dolph had, a clearer picture was beginning to emerge. If he wasn't mistaken, there were far more of these deaths taking place than they'd suspected. That meant that the group doing this had been operating for some time. Possibly years. He was going to need something to work with, something to help him understand the group mentality that was responsible for this kind of activity. Sighing, he picked up the phone. He was going to have to kiss some Federal ass here. It was a good thing he'd brushed his teeth.

Zerbrowski watched him as he dialed the phone and asked to speak to the head of the Missouri office. After identifying himself to the woman on the other end, the phone was put on hold and he was forced to listen to crappy elevator music for several minutes. Eventually, it was picked up by the man in charge. "Special Agent Patrick Roberts."

"Special Agent Roberts, this is Detective Rudolph Storr with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team."

"What can I do for you, Detective Storr?" the man asked, voice full of professional courtesy.

"I'm investigating a series of murders that look as if they've been perpetrated by a hate group. Nothing I've come across points to any of our normal groups. I'd like to borrow a profiler to help me figure this group out."

"Vampire or lycanthrope murders?" Roberts questioned.

"We've had lycanthropes killed and I know of at least one vampire attacked. Evidence suggests that these crimes were committed by the same group." Dolph explained.

There was the rustle of paper before the Feeb spoke again. "You have a Federal Marshal in your jurisdiction. An Aedan Kinkade. Is she aware of this investigation?"

"Yes. She's the one who brought me the last body. She's also the one who suggested that there might be some kind of pattern. I did research based on her hunch and found that she was right. There is a definite pattern here. I'd like to know more about what I've got happening in my city."

"I understand, Detective. Fortunately for you, there happens to be a profiler in the city who's worked with us in the past on a handful of cases. She's quite accurate. I think you'll be pleased with the results. Let me get you the information. If you'll hold on for just a moment," Roberts said and put him on hold. Dolph gathered up a piece of paper and a pen. When the line clicked back, Roberts gave him the name and number, then signed off after wishing him luck.

He called the number immediately and found himself talking to voice mail. He left a detailed message in which he said who he was and what he was calling about. Then he left his number and asked that she call back as soon as she got the message. Hanging the phone up, he frowned and stared at the files again.

"So what do we do now?" Zerbrowski asked.

"We keep going through files. We wait for the coroner's reports on our bodies. We wait for replies from other departments."

"That's what I thought you were going to say," Zerbrowski nodded, then grinned. "I'm going to take a bathroom break. Maybe get something to eat because I'm sure you haven't done that yet."

"Make it fast," Dolph replied.

"You know, if I'd known that we were going to be spending so much time together, I would've worn my pyjamas to work." The frown on Dolph's face made Zerbrowski laugh.

~*~*~*~*~

Micah was frowning at her. So was Jason. Minette sighed. Neither one of them seemed happy with the idea. To be honest, she'd been joking last night when she'd suggested it. Well, mostly she'd been joking. But now, in light of all that had happened, maybe it wasn't such a big joke after all. All she needed to do was make the two of them see that. "It isn't like I'm mating for life or anything here," she said, trying to make them see the wisdom of this. Both men shot her a look that said they didn't like her choice of words.

"There's no telling what he'll try to do to you, Minette," Micah argued, his tone hard. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't want to share with another cat.

"If I can't handle him, Micah, I've got no business being your Nimir-Ra. Its one afternoon. He'll be gone soon and you won't have to worry about him again."

"He's got the power of a vampire behind him," Jason pointed out.

"So do I," Minette returned. "And I've got Aedan. I think her power trumps whatever Carswell has. I don't even know if the man carries any power."

"That isn't the point, Minette. We're talking about the Master of Beasts' personal cat. One of the corners of his triumvirate. I don't want to see him hurt you or..." Micah insisted.

"Why can't the two of you just admit that your desire to keep me away from him is due to jealousy? Nothing else. Everything you've mentioned has been little more than an excuse. Are you so insecure in yourselves that you think I'd drop you both for someone I'm never going to see again?"

She saw it when the barb hit home. Jason flinched and looked away. Micah's face slid into sadness and she wished she'd been a little more diplomatic about it. Heaving another sigh, she got up and crossed to where he sat. When he didn't look at her right away, she put her hands on his face and held him still so she could lean down and press a kiss to his lips. His response was almost immediate. He dragged her into his embrace and into his lap, his mouth feasting at hers hungrily. When he finally pulled back, she stared into his beautiful green eyes. "Could I kiss you like that and not mean it? Haven't you learned by now that I'm not really into casual sex? He isn't a conquest for me. Its a smart idea. Donating power to heal Asher last night has left me slightly drained. I'm going to need to feed soon. I can already feel it."

"Use one of the other leopards," Micah suggested.

"I'm not going to just fuck the pard because I need to feed the arduer, Micah. I'd rather not leave us any weaker than we are right now. Not with what's going on."

"You're living in the Circus, Minette. You and the entire pard," Jason replied, drawing her attention to where he sat. He still didn't look very happy. "You don't need to be stronger."

"Yes, we do, Jason. We can't expect Jean Claude to protect us forever. We have to be able to stand on our own. If that other pard returns, we need to be ready for it. This," she gestured to the stone walls around them. "This can't protect us forever."

"Why Gideon?" Jason questioned, his tone filled with his jealousy. With the hurt he felt at her choice.

"Why not Gideon? Its sex. I'm going to feed on him. It won't mean anything."

"He isn't..." Micah began, but was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Jason pulled a cell from his pocket and flipped it open. Whatever he saw on the screen made him scowl, but he punched the button to answer it.

"Hello?" They could hear the voice on the other end as clear as if he were in the room. Minette frowned and glanced at Micah.

"Where's Aedan?" Edward's voice demanded without preamble.

"She's sleeping. She finally crashed close to dawn this morning."

"And you're playing secretary?" There was a touch of humor in the question.

"Jean Claude gave strict orders that she wasn't to be disturbed for anything. He handed the phone to me and told me to deal with any calls that came for her until she gets up. No one is even supposed to go in her room."

"Good. Keep it that way. Tell her I'll be in touch." Edward clicked off and Jason hit the button that closed the connection. He folded the phone up and tucked it back into his pocket. The look he flashed was apologetic.

"Sorry. Orders."

"That's okay, Jason. We understand." Minette smiled at him.

"I still don't think this is a good idea, Minette. He belongs to one of Jean Claude's enemies," Micah drew them back to the matter at hand. She sighed and shook her head. Why didn't they understand what she was trying to do?

"Yes. He belongs to one of Jean Claude's enemies. And he doesn't want to. Don't you think its odd that he asked us about how Aedan and I got Anita's powers? You can tell by looking at Thomas that he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want anything to do with Padma. He's tired and he wants out. And he'll take what ever way he can."

"But surely there's someone else here that you can..."

"Gideon has power, Micah. Power that the pard needs." She frowned and slid from his lap so she could pace. She knew that this was going to look bad, but she had to tell them what some of the reasoning behind wanting to do this was. Part of her was glad to be ridding herself of this information while another part of her was nearly frantic that she not tell them anything. Her sense of decency wouldn't allow her to keep it from them any longer, wouldn't allow her to lie to them a moment longer. But still, she wasn't sure they were going to take the news very well. She didn't want them to think she'd been hiding information from them. "We're not out of danger yet."

"What do you mean?" Micah asked, frowning at her choice of words.

"The leopards that attacked the house. They aren't going to stop. They'll keep coming after us," she told him softly. "They'll keep coming after me."

"What are you talking about, Minette?" Jason's voice held cold curiosity in it. She glanced from one man to the other, trying to figure out the best way to broach the subject. Honesty was the best choice. She just wasn't sure what their reactions would be.

"I recognized one of the members of the pard that came to the house. I know who they were," she clasped her hands before her, unsure of herself. When neither man spoke, she drew her courage around her and pushed on blindly. "His name is Lawrence. He's the second most powerful member of the pard I came from."

"That was Bruce's pard?" Micah's voice was soft and almost foreign. Minette nodded at him, afraid that he was going to denounce her now. He studied her for a few moments before speaking again. "Why would they attack us?"

"Bruce doesn't let people leave his pard. I had to get his permission to go to college. He thought that it would be good to have an educated member. He thought that time away would change my mind. I'd wanted to leave the pard long before I went off to school. But I didn't have the strength to leave on my own. And there was no where to go. I didn't have any friends until after classes started."

"So when you petitioned to join my pard, you were running from the old pard?" Micah asked quietly. She nodded, hoping that this confession hadn't damaged her relationship with him.

"How bad was he, Minette?" Jason stood and crossed to her. She was thankful when he enveloped her in his arms and held her close to his chest. It took everything in her to suppress the shudder that rippled up and down her spine.

"When Bruce first took an interest in me, I didn't know what he was. I just thought he liked me. We dated for a while. I don't know what happened. I think he drugged me. But we went to a party one night. When I woke up in the morning, we were in his bed. I was naked and bleeding from scratches and bites. He'd left them everywhere. And he kept doing that, forcing me into bed where he'd bite and scratch, until he was sure I was infected."

"Bastard," Micah snarled. Minette looked up at him and he offered her a gentle smile. "When I checked on him, I knew he was bad. I didn't think he was that bad. Were other members of the pard purposely infected like that?"

"Quite a few of them," she confirmed. Jason's arms tightened around her.

"What about going to the cops?" he asked her. She looked up at him and shook her head.

"No one would have confirmed my story. Most of the members were either really close friends of his or they were scared of what he'd do to them. So I tried to find my own way out."

"He should have to fight a couple of pissed off wolves for what he did to you." Jason hugged her.

"I can't let you do that. He's..."

"A rapist, Minette," Micah told her firmly. "He takes advantage of people and uses them to his own ends. He deserves a little of what he's been dealing. You should have told us right away. We'd have..."

"You can't go after him," she told Micah in a firm voice. "He isn't your responsibility. He's mine and..."

"You're part of my pard, Minette. You're my Nimir-Ra," Micah stood and crossed the room to stand before her. Jason let her go so that Micah could pull her into his embrace, his arms hugging her close to him. She clung to him, realizing that Bruce still had power over her. She didn't like the feeling at all. She'd been so frightened of him that she'd thought she'd be willing to do anything to escape him. She'd even considered murder. It hadn't been until college that she'd found a ray of hope. "I'm well within my rights to challenge him. He attacked my pard. Our pard. If he ever got his hands on you again, he'd hurt you in so many ways."

Micah's beast slid behind his eyes, stared out at her for a few seconds before slipping back to where it lurked. She had to force herself not to shiver. He was quietly furious with a man he'd never met and she knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn't hesitate to kill Bruce if the two of them ever did. Letting go of the tension that had pulled her shoulders up, she leaned into him and hugged him. His words meant more than she could ever say.

"I don't want you to fight because of me," she whispered.

"I'll kill him, Minette." It was a promise that she should have been afraid of. She wasn't. There was a certain amount of comfort in the knowledge that he cared for her that much. No one other than Aedan had cared for her like that for a long time.

"He can't be allowed to keep doing this, Minette," Jason stepped into them, wrapping his arms around them both so that she was caught between the two of them. A gentle sense of peace slid through her, warmed her. That they were willing to kill for her meant more than she could put into words. She was loathe to let them go, to let this feeling go. But she knew they were going to have to continue their previous discussion and that would break them apart. She had to make them understand just how important this was for all of them.

Before she could speak, however, the chirping of Aedan's cell phone filled the silence of the room. Jason stepped back from them and fished the device out of his pocket. He glanced at the screen before answering it, his face blank. "Hello?"

"This is Detective Rudolph Storr. I need to speak with Aedan Kinkade," the voice on the other end of the line sounded tired and excited at the same time. Minette glanced from Micah to Jason, wondering if this was to do with the body she'd looked at last night.

"I'm sorry, Detective. Aedan isn't available to come to the phone at the moment. Can I take a message?" Jason asked politely. There was a moment of hesitation before Dolph spoke again.

"Its important that I speak to her. I'd appreciate it if you'd go get her for me," Dolph replied.

"Again, Detective. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't do that. She's sleeping and I'm under strict orders that she isn't to be disturbed. Not for anything or anyone."

"This is police business, Mister?..." the end of the statement trailed off into a question.

"I'm Miss Kinkade's personal assistant. And my orders come from higher up, Detective," Jason informed him. Tension crackled across the line.

"Does Kinkade know you're running roughshod over her phone calls?"

"No. As I stated, Detective. She's sleeping. I'm afraid the best I can do is take a message to give to her when she wakes up."

"I could come down there and arrest you right now for obstruction."

"I'm obstructing nothing, Detective. I'm merely following the orders I was given and my boss is just a touch scarier than you are. Aedan didn't go to sleep until well past dawn this morning. She needs to sleep if she's going to be of any help to your investigation. Whether you choose to believe me or not, its in everyone's best interests if she isn't exhausted. Her abilities take quite a bit of her energy from her. She needs to recharge or she's going to be useless."

"Let me speak to your boss, then. It sounds as if I need to have a discussion with him about the importance of police business," Dolph suggested. Jason actually smiled at that.

"As soon as he's free, I'll have him contact you. I'm sure you understand he's a busy man." They could hear the other man grinding his teeth. A small, wicked grin spread across Jason's face. "What message shall I give to Aedan for you, Detective?"

"Tell her I called and ask her to call me back as soon as she gets the message. Tell her its important. Its to do with the crime scene from last night."

"Of course, Detective. I'll be sure to give her that. And I'll be sure to inform my boss that you'd like to speak to him, too. I'm sure he'll be happy to discuss his orders with you. Good day, Detective," Jason disconnected the phone, then shut it off before closing it and slipping it back in his pocket. "The rest of them can leave a voice mail."

"She's not going to be happy to have missed Dolph's call," Minette pointed out.

"She can take it up with Jean Claude. I'm following his orders,' Jason shrugged. For a moment, Minette had a mental image of Aedan chewing Jean Claude out for taking over the way he had and it made her giggle. Her attention was dragged back to the matter at hand. "So your old pard is out there, trying to get you back."

"Bruce is nothing if not persistent. He won't give up until he has what he wants. Which is why it would be a good idea to draw on Padma's power. I can do that if I feed off of Gideon," she looked from Jason to Micah, hoping that they would understand now what she was trying to do. She wanted to be able to help protect the pard, too. That kind of power would make them stronger. All she needed was for the two of them to agree to it.

"I don't like the idea of you being intimate with him," Micah told her quietly. She smiled at him.

"Its going to serve two purposes. To feed the arduer, because I can already sense it hovering beneath the surface, and to give the pard power. I'm trying to do it for the good of all of us. I can't feed from you guys. And I can't feed from the pard because I'll only end up weakening all of us. I can't feed from the vamps because they're dead to the world right now. Gideon's here and he's available."

"You could feed off one of the wolves," Jason suggested. She shook her head.

"You know that's only inviting trouble. Richard will take it as a personal affront. We can't risk angering him so much that he breaks his agreement with Jean Claude. I know you don't like it, but this is the only way. I've given it quite a bit of thought. It makes sense. It really does."

Micah sighed, his gaze seeking out Jason's. Both men stared at one another silently, communicating with their eyes. Minette stood between them, breath held as she waited for them to give her an answer. She hated putting them on the spot like this, but she didn't really have much of a choice. They had to start protecting themselves instead of letting someone else do it for them. Wasn't that part of her responsibilities as the pard's Nimir-Ra? To protect the pard and make sure no one took advantage of them? How could she do that if no one would let her?

"I suppose you've got a point, Minette. But that doesn't mean that either one of us likes it," Micah finally said.

"I don't expect you to like it. I'm not really doing this because I want to sleep with him. The comment last night was meant more to burn Padma than invite Gideon into my bed. But after donating power to heal Asher last night, it isn't such a joke anymore. There's power there for the taking. A lot of it. Let me help the pard this way. Please."

"All right, Minette. But one of us is going to be in the room with you. In case he tries anything. I won't let you get hurt for the pard. I don't care what you're trying to do for us." Micah's face was set. She heaved a sigh and felt a rush of something akin to gratitude spill through her. Nodding, she offered him a kiss.

"Its better than no. I'll take it," she smiled up at him. Then she turned to Jason. "What about you?"

"If you're this determined, I won't stop you. I don't like it. But I won't stop you. And I agree that at least one of us should be there with you. Micah's right about that. And, much as I hate to admit it, he'll probably be better at protecting you than I could be."

"I'm sure you'd do fine, Jason," she smiled at him, then broke away from Micah and crossed to where Jason stood. He allowed her to hug him close. She pressed a kiss to his lips just as she had with Micah. "The fact that you want to means more than you can imagine. And thank you both. I promise I'll make this up to you."

"You're damn right you will," Jason growled, eyes flashing. She giggled and would have done more, but Jason stiffened a moment before she sensed the disturbance on the air. Then the door slammed open and skin-prickling energy filled the room as Richard stepped in. Micah immediately went on the defensive while Minette kept herself firmly between Jason and the Ulfric. She thought that Jason might have already hit the ground and started groveling if she hadn't been standing there.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded. His eyes were burning with rage, his wolf looking out at her for a moment before his gaze zeroed in on Jason behind her.

"I could ask the same thing," Richard's voice was a rumbling growl of an enraged beast. It was disconcerting to hear it come from a man's throat. He took two steps into the room before Micah moved to block his path. Richard ignored him. "I'm here because I had a call from one of my people. There was a murder last night that I should have been made aware of. And yet," his gaze remained pinned on Jason's. "No one bothered to call me and tell me what was going on."

"What are you talking about?"

"The body in the warehouse. The community is being warned that there's a possible lycanthrope serial killer on the loose. I even heard that this person used silver. I heard that Jean Claude's new toy was there and she didn't have the decency to warn us about what was happening."

"You know that she's bound by the law as to what she can and can't say," Minette shot at him. Richard's eyes flashed to hers, the gold of his wolf shining in them.

"Its called common courtesy, little kitty!" he snarled. His gaze immediately returned to Jason's. "And if not her, then my own wolf should have picked up the god damn phone and called me. He could have at least told me that we're being hunted. "

"Last night was a little busy. There really wasn't time for phone calls," Jason began, then promptly fell silent as Richard advanced further into the room. Micah shadowed him step for step, keeping himself between the snarling Ulfric and Minette and Jason. She reached behind her and took Jason's hand, gave it a squeeze to let him know that things would be okay.

"You have a responsibility to the pack, Jason. Or has playing snack to the vampire made you forget?" Richard's voice dipped lower. "You should have told us what was going on! You should have warned us. You should have god damn said something!"

"There wasn't time. Asher..." Jason tried, only to fall silent under the growl that issued from his Ulfric's throat.

"I don't give a shit! You should have called me! I'm your Ulfric!"

"Asher was dying, you son of a bitch!" Minette shouted at him. He gave his attention to her, forgetting about Jason standing behind her. Another growl, low and threatening rumbled up his throat. He took two more steps, slipping around Micah as if he weren't there, until he towered over her. Minette stared up at him, eyes wide.

"He's a blood sucker. I don't give a shit if he was on fire. What I do care about are my wolves and not sharing information with me puts them at risk. Someone should have called."

"Aedan was going to call you. At four in the morning. To let you know that they'd found a dead woman, probably a lycanthrope, with no name. I told her to go get some sleep because she was dead on her feet and it could fucking wait until morning. If you want to be pissed off at someone, be pissed off at me. Its my fault that no one told you at the ass crack of dawn!"

He was glaring down at her, anger boiling off of him in waves that Minette could feel slapping her skin like waves in the ocean rolling in to shore. He was on the verge of losing control. Something inside of her ground to a halt, tried to stutter to life and went blank. The part of her that remembered being Gin had known Richard was capable of tempers, but nothing like this. She'd never thought to see him this angry. He looked as if he were ready to kill.

"I've had people attacked and no one's told me anything. And now you're telling me that I should blame you for this?" he asked her, his voice still dropping until she could hear nothing but the animalistic growl in it. "Should I take that out of your hide, little kitty?"

"Richard, stop it!" Rhiannon's voice sounded distant. Minette could see the other woman's hands on one of the wolf king's thick arms, trying to pull him away from her. He wasn't budging, wasn't going to give an inch. As if Rhiannon wasn't even there, he took another step forward. She was dragged behind him, still jerking at his arm as if he would feel it and suddenly come back to himself.

Fear filled Minette and she staggered back. Jason tried to pull her away from his Ulfric, but the action only drew Richard's gaze his way. She blinked and Jason was airborne, tossed across the room like a ragdoll. Minette dropped back, spine connecting with the wall behind her. Richard followed, ignoring Micah's claws as they raked his arm. It was too much like before, too much like being with Bruce. All of the abuse, all of the danger, rushed into her and held her frozen.

She could barely breath, barely move. He was going to rip her apart with his bare hands and she couldn't stop him. Micah wouldn't be able to stop him. She was going to die here.

A hollow, metallic click halted his arm as it swung for her. Eyes wide, Minette looked up to find the barrel of a gun pressed almost painfully tight against Richard's temple. "Back away from Minette or I'm going to put a hole in your head, wolf boy!"

Richard's answer was a growl.

"Fucking do it! Now!" Another click accompanied the words. Richard's hands dropped to his side. Minette watched, frozen, as the barrel tapped hard against the man's head. "Back off. Move slow. Twitch the wrong way and I'm going to see just how fucking strong you are, you flea-bitten son of a bitch!"

Richard took a step back, then another and another until he was far enough back that he couldn't reach Minette without moving.

"Oh, shit," Jason groaned from the other side of the room. He pulled himself to his feet slowly, wiping at the blood trickling from his hairline with one hand. "Now you're in trouble. You woke Aedan up."