Fresh Meat

The prelude story in the front of the book....

Four people who weren't human stood in a circle in a brick cellar buried deep in the heart of the city. They congregated around a stone bowl, inlaid with mother of pearl and resting on a wrought-iron stand, from which the only light in the room emanated. Crystal-clear water stood in the bowl, and blue flame danced on the water's surface, painting the four people's faces in odd, unnatural light. Each person dipped a finger into the water and touched a drop of it to his or her forehead before the eldest among them spoke.

"He might be ready," that one said. "They're getting closer and paying him more mind. If he's ready, we need to be ready too."

"So get on with it," the man across the flame from the eldest said, standing with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. "Give us what we need."

"That's what we're here for," the eldest growled. He looked to the auburn-haired woman standing at his left a striking creature in the clothes of a nightclub predator. "Knife."

The woman held up and clicked open a switchblade, and the eldest took it. He held the blade in the blue flame for a moment, inspected its edge, then opened his mouth wide. In one quick draw, he sliced a shallow line across his tongue and then pressed the flat of the blade into the blood that welled up from the cut. He then handed it to the auburn-haired woman. Her nostrils flared over the blood as she took the knife, and she touched her tongue to the crimson fluid before passing it over to the next person in the circle. In moments, all four people had done the same, and the eldest among them held the knife again. He wiped the blade on the cuff of his denim jacket before folding the knife closed and handing it back to its owner.

"Now you know what I know," he said, looking the other three in the eye one by one. "Let's go."

I should get out of here, Mark thought, staring out the subway window into the rolling darkness. The rhythmic rocking of the empty car had lulled him into a half-doze, and that sort of state usually pulled back the curtain on how unhappy he'd become living in the city. He had nothing specific to complain about secure job, decent dating prospects, never been mugged but still, he was far from home, had no true close friends, and things had gotten strange lately. He scratched idly at the bandage wrapped around his right hand from where something in the park had spooked his dog, charged him and taken a chunk out of him before running off. Doctor had said he didn't have rabies or any other sort of infection, but it was still a damn weird, random thing to happen in a city park. And he'd been seeing things before and since then. Things that made him wonder if maybe this life was a dream from which he needed to wake up. Things he didn't like to think about.

When the subway finally ground to a halt, Mark got up and headed for the door, only to find a woman standing in his way outside. She seemed just as surprised as he was, but her nostrils flared and a light seemed to go on behind her eyes. The woman smiled at him, and Mark couldn't help but smile back. He also couldn't help but glance down at her, his eyes drinking in every inch of her small, firm body. She didn't have an ounce of fat on her, and she wore a nightclub outfit that left little to the imagination. Mark looked back to the woman's face, trying not to look guilty, and she gave him a knowing smile. She stepped into the subway door, never taking her eyes from his, and turned so Mark had to squeeze past her. Flushing and thinking of a movie called Subway Stories he'd seen on cable as a kid, Mark stepped off the train and walked away. When he was halfway to the tall turnstile gate that led to the stairs, he looked back to find the woman still standing there, watching him.

The next night, the woman was already on the train when Mark boarded. She sat next to a tall, broad-shouldered man who wore a long black coat and had thick, straight hair like a Native American. The guy glared up at Mark with stony contempt, but the woman smiled in that same knowing way and whispered something to her man. Mark smiled back uncomfortably and sat down in a seat very near the door. He opened his briefcase on the seat beside him and pretended to be deeply interested in what lay within, rather than looking at them.

The train got underway and Mark rode in distracted, uncomfortable silence all the way to his stop. The woman was unnerving despite how pretty she was, and the big fellow she was with certainly didn't help set Mark at ease. They kept looking at him, and Mark could feel it even when he wasn't looking at them. When the train finally pulled to his stop, Mark grabbed his things and made for the door. The strange man and woman got up too, and Mark heard them come out through the door nearest them. Their footsteps rang overly loud on the concrete platform, which seemed woefully desolate as Mark's unease mounted. He hurried for the gate, determined not to look back.

"In a hurry?" the woman called, clearly smiling as she said it. "Stick around, why don't you?"

Mark's heart raced, and it was all he could do to pretend he hadn't heard anything.

"This is stupid," he heard the tall guy say. "Mark, come here."

Mark's bandaged hand had already started shaking, and now he just bolted. He hadn't lived in the city long, but he knew that when strangers who knew your name followed you off the subway onto an empty platform, you didn't stick around to chat. He crashed through the floor-to-ceiling turnstile door then wedged his briefcase into it so it couldn't keep turning. Surprised and annoyed, the Native American guy ran up and tried to force it open, then tried to reach through and actually grab the edge of Mark's coat. When that failed, he grabbed the bars of the turnstile in both hands and started shaking them, trying to dislodge Mark's briefcase. Standing stunned a moment, Mark saw a glint of metal tucked into the man's belt beneath his coat.

"Damn it, Mark," the stranger growled, "you'd better—"

Mark turned and fled up the steps, with the beautiful woman's laughter following him. When he reached the street, he turned right and barreled into a kid a few years his junior who was wearing an "FDNY" T-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel. The kid lost his balance and toppled, and it took Mark a second to tear free and get to his feet again. The kid scowled, but then he took a deep breath through his nose and a look of recognition lit up his face.

"That's him, you idiot!" the guy down the steps shouted as Mark backed away, eyes widening.

"Damn," the kid said, kind of grinning. "You smell right, but… I guess you take after your mom."

That bizarre statement set Mark's head spinning, but it didn't paralyze him. He turned around and took off in the opposite direction. At about the same time, he heard something between a curse and a growl, followed by the sound of metal twisting and crashing. Then two sets of footsteps were pounding up the stairs, joined by one more when they reached the top. Pelting down the street, Mark cut left into the first alley he could find, his mind buzzing with primeval terror. Part of him almost gave up when he saw that the end of the alley was fenced off, but that part of him wasn't in control. Hardly thinking, he scrambled up onto a nearby dumpster, flung himself up to the top of the fence and hauled himself over. He tore his pants and landed heavily, wrenching his knee and winding up flat on his back. Crawling to his feet seemed to take an eternity, but the people chasing had only made it to the mouth of the alley behind him.

"Get back here before you seriously piss me off!" the big guy shouted.

Mark elected not to comply and instead took another left, back toward the parking deck where his car was waiting. He tried to ignore the sounds of pursuit, but that became especially difficult when the pounding footsteps paused for a long moment, followed by three loud, meaty thumps before the running sounds renewed. His pursuers were closing on him now, on this side of the fence, though they'd touched neither the dumpster nor the fence to get there. What was worse, the quality of the footsteps was changing as they drew closer. They fell lighter and made a clicking, scraping noise. And they got a whole lot faster.

Mark whined low in the back of his throat and tried to speed up, but it was already too late. Something low and black darted into his peripheral vision from his left and nipped at his thigh, making him flinch and stagger. Something else something sleeker and auburn-colored like the girl's hair on the subway came up on his right and tore off his shoe. That knocked him to his knees, and a heavy impact across his back drove him down onto his stomach before whatever had hit him launched off in another direction. He lay dazed until a hard kick planted in his ribs, flinging him off the ground into some trashcans by the wall.

He crashed to the ground and saw the Native American guy glowering down at him, only the guy didn't look right somehow. He seemed larger than Mark had first thought, and his face was more bestial and angular than it had looked in fluorescent light. He now had thick sideburns, his jaw bulged with long teeth, and his eyes reflected a faint yellow in the low light. He came toward Mark with a snarl on his face, and a sleek auburn-colored wolf fell in beside him, showing its fangs and lifting its tail aggressively.

Mark's ribs, knee and bandaged hand burned and his heart was hammering, but he wasn't afraid anymore. In fact, a diminishing part of him marveled to realize, he was getting angry. His teeth were grinding, and he was clenching his hands so tight he was starting to cut his palms. The sound of drums pounded inside his skull, and a haze of red closed in all around him from the limits of his vision. How dare they do this to him? He didn't even know them.

"Damn you, boy," the big man growled as he drew something long and metallic from beneath his coat. "We just wanted to talk. Now maybe we'll teach you a lesson about..."

Mark's body burned, like he'd just had a steel-wool bath. Thunder roared in his ears, the sound of his heart trying to explode. The moonlight through the murky clouds overhead burned his eyes. In the back of his mouth he could taste an electric rage that felt older than mankind. It wasn't just anger, it was more pure and more powerful. Feeling that awful power and accepting it opened the last seal keeping Mark in control, and everything inside him came screaming out. It was like he'd been hit by lightning and the bolt now lay coiled around his heart.

His blood turned to steam

His skin tore and burned from the inside out...

His teeth swelled and crowded each other, forcing his jaws apart...

His clothes constricted and tore as his body destroyed them...

Then he made a sound he'd never heard before except for pale imitations in movies and on television. It was an inhuman sound, full of rage and relief, and a whisper of longing. It was an honest-to-God howl, and it felt like it could carry all the way around the world before Mark ran out of breath.

The big man shut up and fell back a step reflexively, and the auburn wolf shrank back, her tail dipping. They both seemed so small now so weak. There was fear in their eyes and in their scent too, and when Mark picked up on it, he instinctively knew that all he had to do was let himself go and he'd be safe from them.

So he did...