Blood and Silver - 04 Read Free Page B

closed up already. Damn lycanthropes. They heal like magick.
    “He is right, human. Put the gun away, you are outmatched.” A taloned finger flicked a dread from across his eyes. “Put it away. Take your beating like a human and we will let you live.”
    I didn’t move from the dirt and gravel. Sharp rocks dug into my back and shoulders. Liquid heat was building in the muscles of my arms from holding my gun up while lying on my back, but they weren’t trembling.
    Yet.
    “I don’t know. I see seven assholes and I have eight silver bullets. I’d say I was matched pretty damn good.”
    The tension in the group cranked up to eleven. They all began to cast eyes at Leonidas, the Were-lion. I had gotten their attention by saying the magic words: silver and bullets.
    Silver is good against most supernatural threats. It slows monsters down, equalizes the equation. To lycanthropes, silver is poison. They can heal most damage done to them, except for silver. Not only does a silver bullet cause the same trauma to them that a regular bullet does to a regular human, but it sets up a violent, allergic chain reaction too. If they don’t get the bullet out of them, it can lead to anaphylactic shock and death. With regular bullets, you have to completely destroy the brain or the heart to kill a Were. Toss silver on the bullet and you have a fast-acting poison to lycanthropes.
    It changes the game. Evens the odds.
    “Bullshit.” This was from the giant. It sounded like the word was stuck in his gullet. He choked it out, wet and messy. “Nobody uses silver bullets. They’re too expensive.”
    My eyebrow cocked up. “You can be the first one to find out.”
    I could feel the tremble starting in my shoulders. The gun didn’t shake yet, but it was getting heavy. Really damn heavy. I was going to have to do something to change the dynamic we were in. A standoff was not in my favor. My arm would quickly fatigue until my aim would be worthless, even at this close range. If I moved and took my gun off them, they would jump on that moment of weakness and distraction like quicksilver. I had no idea how to change the situation without opening fire, so I continued to buy time.
    “The name is Deacon Chalk. Surely you didn’t roll your furry asses into town and not check out the local players.”
    Leonidas waved his hand dismissively. “You are not our prey. We don’t care who you are.”
    “Turn around, leave the dog with me, and clear the hell out of my town.” The tremble that had been twittering in my shoulders now ran down my arm, spasming my triceps muscle. Fire poured into every fiber of my arm. The muzzle of the gun moved side to side. Tightening my grip steadied it. But only a little.
    “Be warned, asshole.” My own voice was a snarling growl now. “I will shoot before I lose control of my gun. Make your choice right now. Walk and live. Stay and die.”
    There was a moment where time froze, clear and sharp and fragile. None of us moved. None of us breathed. We just stayed locked in a bubble of potential violence and bloodshed. Tension crackled the air, ozone hot.
    Then, the pressure changed.
    All of them leaned slightly forward, drawing into themselves, getting ready to leap in tandem, murder in their eyes. My finger tightened on the trigger, arm tensing to absorb the shock of recoil that would happen the split second the hammer fell.
    Death held his breath, waiting for blood to be spilled. I would not be able to take them all out before they tore into me. But some of them were dead meat, they just didn’t know it.
    A midnight black hot rod roared into the lot, grinding gravel under its wheels as the brakes locked down.
    Its monster grill loomed like a killer whale over a family of seals. Dust flew forward, swirling over the hood and front tires. The engine snarled with pure American horsepower. The 1966 Comet Cyclone is the epitome of what a hot rod is supposed to be. It stood with attitude. Badass black with chain-link