Streak of Black

"Thank you for not killing him as I'm sure you very much wanted to," I whisper as we make our way through the streets. We're already a few blocks from the theater, and while we still try to take a few lesser used side roads to convince the goons that we're trying to throw them off, we don't make as much of an effort as we did when we were leaving the theater. "I actually wanted to a couple of times," I admit.

"Well, you heard my brother. Murder being added to my criminal record wouldn't be too good for any of us."

I sigh. "I really wish you'd stop mentioning that thing. I hate thinking about the way that you used to be."

His shoulders sag, and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. "I know, but it's part of me and who I am. Just like how that voice thing is a part of you."

I pull away slightly and glare up at him. "She and I are nothing alike."

"I never said you were, but you can see the similarities between that thing and my criminal record, can't you. The voice is something that you wish you didn't have and something that haunts you. It's certainly something that I don't like. My past and ‘thug life’ are similar." He goes to wrap his arm around my shoulder again, but I pull away.

"Ryder, they are two completely different things. You can walk away from your criminal past and leave it behind—forget about it. I'm stuck with Monique."

He sighs and looks away. "It's not that easy."

We keep walking in silence. Ryder keeps his head down in an attempt to keep from being recognized. I know that I have no right to be angry with him over stupid things—not when I'm keeping the secrets that I am from him. But I always hate thinking about his past and who he used to be. I know that that's not who he is anymore. I saw him changing, not just into a werewolf, but also into a better person. But I just can't help feeling uncomfortable when I think about all of the girls he used to be with and what he did with them and what he did with his friends, guys like Kain, to get in as much trouble as he did.

Finally, a few blocks from the theater, we stop in front of an old warehouse. He takes my hand and leads me inside.

'Is everything in this neighborhood abandoned or run down or infested with something?' I mentally ask, not wanting to alert the guard who followed us that I've never been here before. I look around at the eerie but gloomy setting.

'I lived in a ghetto on the outskirts of a forest. What do you expect? Prosperous cities and uncracked pavements? Come on. The third floor is wide, open, and lacks too much furniture.'

'How do you know all of this?'

He glances at me and shakes his head. 'Believe me, you don't want to know.'

I shiver and follow him up the stairs to a wide, expansive floor that looks like it hasn't seen human life in years. Layers of dust cover the walls and fluorescent lights. Cobwebs, some of which house the spiders that spun them, are hanging in corners as the only decoration to the entire floor other than the signs directing people to the stairs, elevators, and restrooms.

We lean against one of the few desks left behind from when this building was still being used and wait for the guards to find us. I impatiently click my nails against the rounded edge of the wooden desk through the dirty white sheet that was left behind to cover it.

I hear slow, wary footsteps on the stairs pausing at the second floor landing, no doubt to look around that floor. They soon resume their ascent, and the smell of the men grows stronger. I recognize it from the mansion from the first time that I was there. Damien’s father must have assembled this watch in case we decided to flee while he came up with an alternate plan of action for dealing with us. They probably saw us walking around town on shopping trips or to and from our house, and we had no clue. The thought makes me shudder.

"You ready?" I ask quietly, glancing up at his face briefly.

"We have no idea how many men we'll be facing." He doesn't look at me, not daring to tear his gaze away from the door to the stair well.

I feel my eyes flash. "That's what makes it so much fun." I blink for a second, not having meant to say that. I'm growing increasingly and unmistakable aware of these momentary lapses in my ordinary behavior, and it begins to concern me.

Ryder doesn't seem to notice, and even if he does, he doesn't show that he does. He doesn't have time to say anything, and I have no time to ponder how increasingly different I've become over the past few weeks.

The door opens, and 15 guards storm the room, looking around at each corner. "This is all that he sent for me?" I hear my mouth say. "I must say, I’m a bit unimpressed, maybe even shocked—please be sure to tell him that if you get a chance to talk to him later. I will say that I am impressed with how stealthily you all followed us. Almost werewolf quality—almost. But we're still much better."

I think for a moment, but it doesn't feel like Monique took over. I still hold the reins of my mind. It just feels as though she’s influencing the way I'm thinking. At least my mouth seems to be done talking as the men begin charging us with guns and daggers drawn.

I don't pay attention to what Ryder is doing as I dive low and dig my teeth and nails into the guard closest to me before kicking out and knocking over another. I release those two and use my sneakered feet to pull the gun of one and toss it to the other end of the room. As that guy is pulled forward with the force that I had used to grip the gun, I grab his wrists and flip him over my body.

I finally stand back up and am surrounded by four other guys. I remember then that I still have the gloves in my back pocket, but I don't have a chance to reach for it, and I curse myself for that. Eagerly, the guy in front of me steps forward. I glance down at his finger and see that he's putting slight pressure on the trigger. I duck as the gun goes off and shoots one of his companions in the gut. I stand back up, grab him by the shoulders, swing my knee up, and see his face contort in pain as he drops his gun and falls to the floor. I kick his gun to another corner and focus on the other two guys on either side of me.

"Come on, guys. Can't we all get along?" They step closer with angry looks on their faces. "No? Okay." I shrug and turn to face the one on my left. I kick him in the each shin before punching him in the face. I can feel his jaw dislocate as he crashes to the floor in agony, and I turn to the other one. I grip both sides of his face and bang my head against his. While I feel slightly dizzy at the unexpected pressure, I felt his skull at least crack at the impact of my harder one, and he falls to the floor.

I look around and see that Ryder has taken down seven guards and is on his eighth. There's one more left, and I turn to him. "We can do this the hard way, or you can flee." The guy, who can't be much older than I am, looks around at his companions, drops his gun, holds his hands up in the air, and runs. I smile, proud of myself and look around. Some of the guards are alive and groaning in pain, some are knocked out cold, and one or two of them is dead. I feel a little guilty, but they were trying to kill us.

Ryder, seeming to notice that I'm done, just mimics my earlier move and bashes his head against the guard's. He turns to look at me. "We must be suicidal."

I sigh, grabbing the package that I had dropped on the desk earlier. "No. We're just way too dedicated to our Pack." I walk to his side and he wraps his arm around me. We begin walking out, but a gun goes off, and the bullet barely misses my leg. I turn and see the guard that I had kneed in the groin had grabbed a gun from the guy I had head-butted and was aiming it at us. "He tried to kill us," I comment.

"What do you suppose we should do about it?" Ryder smirks at me.

"Nothing. That's probably the closest a girl has ever gotten to there. Leave him be."

Ryder shrugs, and we hurry away before he shoots again.

We pause for a minute on the stairs. "Any injuries?" I ask, looking him over.

"I got a nick on my stomach that kind of hurts from one of their knives, so I bit that guy’s wrist, but other than that I was okay." He examines me. "How about you?"

"No. It's weird. Some of the others got a scratch or two here and there yesterday, but for the most part, we seem to escape in pretty good shape from these confrontations. Other than when I was with Damien, I've never gotten hurt by any of these guys. It almost makes me wonder if these guys are just really bad fighters or if they're just letting us win."

"Or if we're just really good. I mean, come on. I did get shot last month."

I shrug. "It was just a thought. Forget I said anything."

He nods. "Okay."