Blood and Silver - 04 Read Free Page A

can be. This one was covered with swirls of engraving. The ivory grips were carved into the face of a skull. It was one of a matched set that I had taken off a Yakuza assassin a few months back. The other was at home. One big-bore semiautomatic and a backup gun should have been enough for a day out to a street fair.
    Should have been.
    The safety was thumbed off the second I pulled it free of the holster. I had it pointed at the group of men who now stood surrounding me. They had been closing around me in a half circle. They stopped midstep when the gun flashed out. It’s hard to feel anything but helpless when you are flat on your back, but having a big-ass gun helps. The 1911 holds seven rounds of silver-jacketed death. Eight if you carry one in the chamber.
    I always carry one in the chamber.
    “Everybody stay right where you are.” I swung the gun back and forth from one to the other in a smooth arc, red laser sight bouncing from chest to chest. “Next person to take even one step toward me eats a bullet.”
    The five men were all different but dressed like the Were-lion was—black military BDU pants, boots, and a black shirt. Each had small touches of individuality, but they still looked like they were wearing some sort of paramilitary uniform.
    And they were all lycanthropes. I could feel their power pressing against my skin in a mishmash of sensation. Flashes of fur short and thick, fur coarse and greasy, rubbery skin wet and rough, thick pyramids of horn, and the oil-slick feel of snakeskin. The impressions slithered and crawled over me until they took hold of my mind. Pressure built in my skull as I drew in my power to sense the supernatural, closing it like a fist. I tamped the impressions down in my mind. Pulling my power close inside made the sensations fade. It’s a bitch to concentrate when all of that is going on and I was a little occupied.
    The lycanthropes around me were all different sizes and shape; the only thing similar about them was the clothes they wore. The one on the left crouched, ready to spring. Yellow eyes gleamed in the sunlight, and they had the same feline cast as the Were-lion’s. He wasn’t nearly as large as the lion—smaller, sleeker, but similar in build and feel.
    Next to him stood a long, thin man with black eyes set in a wide face. His dusky skin was hairless and slick. Even holding his position, he swayed gently back and forth. A bloodless, forked tongue flickered over thin lips. I knew from the feel of him I was looking at some kind of snake. I would bet money he was venomous.
    His neighbor was short and stocky, standing on squatty, bowed legs. His skull had shifted, elongating his face into a reptilian snout. Matching black eyes blinked slowly at me, and hard, pebbled skin formed across his brows and cheeks.
    A small, greasy man with a wide chest was helping the Were-lion to his feet. Small, sharp teeth flashed in a wide grin, too many teeth for just human, and dark brown hair shot coarse from his head.
    The fifth one was a giant of a man. He would have towered over me, and I am not short. Hell, normally I am the biggest man in any given situation, but this one stood an easy seven feet tall. His head was shaved like mine and gleamed in the springtime sunshine. Everywhere his skin showed it was fish-belly pale. Thick and rubbery, it covered massive limbs. Arms like slabs of beef hung loose by his side. Webbing stretched between his knuckles, skin solid to the first full joint of each finger.
    The greasy Were hopped from one foot to the other, tugging on the Were-lion’s arm. His voice was a raspy bark. “Leonidas, he is down on the ground, showing his belly.” A finger shot in my direction. The arm and hand it was on covered in a thick layer of wiry brown hair. “We can take him.”
    The Were-lion shook him off with a growl and stepped in, closing the circle around me. Blood matted dreadlocked hair, and his face was twisted with anger. The wound from the cinderblocks was