Winter Halo (Outcast 2)

The creature leapt at me. I twisted around and swung the leg with all my might. It smashed into the creature’s head, caving in his side and battering him back across the table.

A final gunshot rang out, and the rest of the creature’s head went spraying across the darkness. His body hit the concrete with a splat and slid past the glow of the UV, burning brightly in the deeper shadows crowding the room beyond.

I scrambled upright and held the leg at the ready. But there were no more fiery forms left to fight. We were safe.

For several seconds I did nothing more than stare at the remnants still being consumed by the UV’s fire. The rank, bitter smell turned my stomach, and the air was thick with the smoke of them. Soon there was little left other than ash, and even that broke down into nothingness.

I lowered my hands and turned my gaze to the man I’d come here to rescue. “What the hell is going on here, Sam?”

He put the safety on the gun, then tossed it on the bed and stalked toward me. “Did they bite you? Scratch you?”

I frowned. “No—”

He grabbed my arms, his skin so cool against mine. It hadn’t always been that way. Once, his flesh had matched mine for heat and urgency, especially when we were making love— I stopped the thought in its tracks. It never paid to live in the past. I knew that from long experience.

“Are you sure?” He turned my hands over and then grabbed my face with his oh-so-cool fingers, turning it one way and then another. There was concern in the blue of his eyes. Fear, even.

For me.

It made that stupid part of me deep inside want to dance, and that annoyed me even more than his nonanswers.

“I’m fine.” I jerked away from his touch and stepped back. “But you really need to tell me what the hell is going on here.”

He snorted and spun away, walking across to the coffeemaker. He poured two cups without asking, then walked back and handed the chip-free one to me.

“This, I’m afraid, has become the epicenter of hell on earth.” His voice was as grim as his expression.

“Which is about as far from an answer as you can get,” I snapped, then took a sip of coffee. I hated coffee—especially when it was thick and bitter—and he knew that. But he didn’t seem to care and, right then, neither did I. I just needed something warm to ease the growing chill from my flesh. The immediate danger to Sam might be over, but there was still something very wrong. With this situation, and with this man. “What the hell were those things if not vampires?”

He studied me for a moment, his expression closed. “Officially they’re known as the red plague, but, as I said, we call them red cloaks. They’re humans infected by a virus nicknamed Crimson Death. It can be transmitted via a scratch or a bite.”

“So if they wound you, you become just like them?”

A bleak darkness I didn’t understand stirred through the depths of his blue eyes. “If you’re human or vampire, yes.”

I frowned. “Why just humans and vampires? Why not other races?”

“It may yet affect other races. There are some shifters who seem to be immune as long as they change shape immediately after being wounded, but this doesn’t hold true in all cases. More than that?” He shrugged. “The virus is too new to be really certain of anything.”

Which certainly explained why he’d examined me so quickly for wounds. Although given I could take fire form and literally burn away any drug or virus in my system, it was doubtful this virus would have any effect.

“So you’ve been assigned to some sort of task force to hunt down and kill these things?”

Again he shrugged. “Something like that.”

Annoyance swirled, but I shoved it back down. It wouldn’t get me anywhere—he’d always been something of a closed shop when it came to his work as a detective. I guess that was one thing that hadn’t changed. “Is this virus a natural development or a lab-born one?”

“Lab born.”

“Who in their right mind would want to create this sort of virus?”

“They didn’t mean to create it. It’s a by-product of sorts.” He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze still on mine. There was little in it to give away what he was thinking, but it oddly reminded me of the look vampires got when they were holding themselves under tight control. He added, “They were actually trying to p

in down the enzymes that turn human flesh into vampire and make them immortal.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to be immortal? Or near immortal? It sucks. Just ask the vampires.”

A smile, brief and bitter, twisted his features. “Humankind has a long history in chasing immortality. I doubt the testimony of vampires—many of whom are unbelievably rich thanks to that near immortality—would convince them otherwise.”