Inside the large building three men talked in low tones. Gregori waved a hand at the reporter, and Wade Carter slumped back behind the wheel of the car, his eyes glazed. The wind stirred, and an eddy of leaves and twigs whirled together in a bizarre dance where Gregori’s solid form had been. Then the night was silent again. Unnaturally so.
Gregori entered the building through a crack in a yellowed window. He streamed into the room and wound his way through a collection of burners and beakers filled with various chemicals. On the far side of the room were three tables. Bolts of steel held manacles for ankles and wrists. There were three dissecting tables, where the society’s “scientists” could leisurely carry out their experiments on their victims. There was a splash of blood on one of the tables. Gregori hovered over it to examine its composition. To his relief, it was not one of his people.
In one corner of the warehouse was a bank of impressive computers, high-tech equipment, and rows of file cabinets. Three desks formed a loose semi-circle closing off the area.
The three men were playing poker, obviously waiting for someone else. He streamed across the table, a cold wind that blew the cards in every direction. The men dived for the flying cards, looking all around for the source of the unexpected disturbance. Uneasily they looked at one another, then back around the large warehouse.
Gregori summoned Wade Carter to the door. The reporter pushed it open and entered, walking with the familiar gait of a zombie, a vampire’s human puppet, with heavy, deliberate steps, head down, one foot in front of the other. He jerked to a halt in front of the card table exactly as a marionette would. A puppet on strings.
“So where is he, Wade?” the largest man, in a white coat, demanded. “You’d better have something important to pull Morrison away from his party tonight. It was a big do—he’s getting funding for his favorite charity.”
The others laughed. “Yeah—us,” a dark-haired technician added. “Damn, Wade, I hope you brought us a woman. I’m in the mood for some fun tonight.” He cupped himself crudely. “I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on that magician you claim is a vampire. She’s hot, really hot.”
The man in the white coat peered at the reporter. “So where’s this vampire?”
“Right behind you,” Gregori said softly, gently.
They whirled around, and his shape shimmered, first that of a man, solid and real, then contorting and crackling, bones and sinew popping as his face lengthened into a muzzle, and fangs filled his hungry jaws. Muscles and fur rippled, and the beast lunged forward, straight at the white-coated man’s throat.
The man screamed but had no chance to run before the black wolf was on him, tearing at his throat. Splashes of crimson cascaded through the room, a bright arcing fountain. The other two men stood, horrified, frozen in place, unable to look away from the raw, gaping wound that had once been a throat.
Then, galvanized into action by the sight of the thick, red river of blood, they turned as one and ran for the door. The wolf leapt, crossed the distance easily, and brought down the dark-haired technician. Claws tore at the soft stomach, digging into intestines, but the savage muzzle bore in low and mean, ripping deliberately at the prize. Blood spurted, erupting in a volcanic burst. The man howled horribly, clutching himself far too late to save his life, let alone his manhood.
The last victim had reached the door when the wolf leapt onto his back. One quick snap of the powerful jaw and the neck was broken. The wolf backed up and surveyed the dead and dying. Then he trotted over to the bank of computer terminals and slowly regained his own shape.
Gregori’s hunger was a living thing, filling him with need. The dark compulsion of the kill was on him. Beast or man, it didn’t matter; it was his nature, his destiny. But he fought back the hunger, even with the smell of blood all around him. The computers had to be destroyed. Every disk. Every document.