Moon Sworn (Riley Jenson Guardian 9)

I wiped away the sweat that was threatening to blur my vision and wished I could get rid of the burning in my leg as easily. It was a burning that could end my life if I didn't get the bullet out of my flesh quickly.

None of the people inside the cells was moving. The vamp was obviously alive and well, but I had no idea about the state of the others.

And there was only one way to find out.

I hobbled around the corner, moving with neither speed nor grace. But every sense I had was alert and the gun was steady, despite the trembling weakness beginning to flare up my leg.

The room immediately beyond was small and little more than a waiting area for the main holding cells. The two areas were divided by a barred steel gateway -  which was currently open - and beyond that were four cells. Only one was open.

I hobbled forward. The vamp was in the first cell. I couldn't actually see him from where I was standing, but I could smell and feel him. Not physically but mentally. The wash of power flowed around me like a stream, not aimed at me but at the cop in the other room. He was trying to wake him, trying to make him attack again.

I stopped and peered through the food tray opening. The vamp was sitting on his concrete bed platform and glared my way balefully. He didn't, however, look too concerned.

"Quit the telepathic attacks," I said flatly, "or I'll make you."

"I think I'll take the second option," he said, his expression overconfident, almost jovial. "I can smell your blood and feel your flesh burning, wolf. We both know you won't come into this room right now because you have neither the physical strength nor the speed to beat me. And with the silver in your flesh, you're barely keeping your shields at maximum. All I have to do is wait, and you will be mine."

The bastard was right. Given the fact my leg was already going numb, there was no doubt my shields would weaken as the silver drained more and more of my strength.

But it wasn't like I had no other options and, given the situation, I wasn't afraid to take them. I raised the gun, aimed it through the feeding slot, and shot him.

The bullet smashed through his kneecap, spraying blood and flesh and bits of bone across the grimy white walls. He screamed and clutched at his leg. My second shot took him high in the shoulder, and the caress of energy dropped to nothing.

"Try to control anyone else, and I'll shoot to kill," I said, and slammed the food tray slot closed. It didn't do much to muffle his screams.

I knew how he felt. I very much felt like screaming myself.

I hobbled on, all but dragging my right leg. Blood was pouring from the wound, but it was the burning - and the numbness that was spreading like tentacles across my flesh - that was the biggest concern.

A quick look in the next cell told me it contained the pilot. He was lying on the concrete bed, but his eyes were open and his expression was an odd mix of defiance and fear.

The third cell held Harris. He was also lying on the bed, but his eyes were closed and the side of his face was battered and bloody.

"Harris?" I said. "You okay?"

He didn't respond, and his breathing was shallow and rapid.

"Harris," I repeated, louder this time. "Wake up."

He jumped, then groaned and somewhat groggily scrubbed a hand across his bruised and beaten features before turning his head toward the door. "What?" he said, the word coming out a little slurred.

"Where are the keys for the cell?"

He blinked rather owlishly. Concussion, I thought. "Why do you want that?"

"Because you're stuck inside of one."

"I am?"

He sat up abruptly, but the movement was too sudden, and he vomited without warning. It splattered across the concrete floor, making me suddenly glad I wasn't standing inside. The smell was bad enough from out here.

I waited impatiently, watching the blood trickle down his cheek, feeling it pour down my leg. My jeans were saturated, and blood was beginning to drip onto the tiled floor.

"Harris, you need to concentrate. Where are the keys?"

"There are none." His words, though still slurred, seemed a little stronger.

"What?" I glanced down at the door and noticed for the first time it had two methods of locking. One was the traditional key lock, the other electronic.