Irish woke up, feeling and hearing the panther purring in sleep beneath him. He smelled the werecat’s fur, and sighed.
It had been a while, since before his leg was mangled and replaced. He had been quick, and he hated himself for it. But Naz didn’t seem to care, and was content.
Irish slowly raised his head to look at the clock – it was 9 pm. He was three hours late for work.
“Shite,” he hissed, and pushed himself up.
Naz reached up and pulled him back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m late f’r work.”
“Call in,” he said, holding him down with more strength than he had to push himself up.
“It’s righ’ next door,” Irish said, but didn’t move after being pulled down. He liked it here, among the musky scent of the werecat, the warmth and soft down fur against his skin.
The werecat rubbed the rough pads of his paws along Irish’s back. Irish settled back down, his arm across Naz’s torso. “Not like they’ll miss me…”
————
Bomber was miffed. Irish had designed not to show up tonight. He looked at Nita, who only shrugged and tried to look innocent.
When Bomber was miffed, he got angry fast. The staff had learned this within the first week, after he destroyed a table because he was pissed off.
“Maybe something came up?” Devin offered.
Bomber threw on the vest and glared at him. “He’d better have a damn good reason for skipping out tonight.”
“It’s only a Tuesday,” said Nita, polishing glasses, trying to look calm, but Bomber could her heart pounding in fear. Good, he thought, then stopped walking to the security cage. Where the hell did that thought come from?
Since being in the Isles, he had given into his Beast more than he would have liked. It took a lot of patience to shoot a man’s head off at a distance; and then he would run down, grab the man and drag him somewhere, and drain the man dry. Women too, the ones who looked like they were tramps and thieves. One woman he had picked off the roof of a building in PO and left her dangling in the water without any blood left in her body.
He got some bloodwine – where did Valentin get this stuff? – and settled down in the security cage. He didn’t wear his glasses, and he was a bit hungry, so the predatorial instinct came out of him as he looked out at patrons coming in and leaving the bar. It wouldn’t do to go after the regulars.
Then a woman came rushing down the stairs, like the hounds of hell were after her. “Mister! Mister, you gotta save me.”
Bomber gave her an appraising look. Her heart wasn’t beating that fast. She was forcibly making herself breathe heavily.
“Probably,” he said calmly.
Her hyperventalating was causing the other people in the lobby to stare at her. “My boyfriend – he’s gonna kill me.”
“That’s nice, dear. You in or out?”
She stopped, glared at Bomber for half a second before keeping up with the acting bit. “Somebody help me!”
“Don’t,” Bomber said in that commanding voice of his, and the three regulars milling about in the lobby stopped and looked at him. “It’s a trap–”
Then the girl whirled on him, aiming a huge revolver at him. He ducked as she pulled the trigger. The gunshot went into the lockers behind him. Someone screamed. So did he, but it was a scream of rage as the Beast came out, full bore.
He threw himself against the bars, and they bent, and the woman backed off, her eyes wide in fear. The Beast didn’t even see the open door on the side, as he went at the iron bars. They didn’t budge.
By the time he saw the open door, the woman was booking it up the stairs. However, he was faster, and a lot stronger, and met up with her at the top of the stairs. Throwing her out of the bar, he felt something hit his skull.
On a normal man, he would have been dead, but on a raging vampire, it only served to piss him off even more. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the stone facade of the now-empty Mexican restaurant. He thought he could feel something hitting his back, popping it, but all he saw was the man’s artery, pumping sweet blood –
He tore the man’s throat out with his teeth. The man made no sound as Bomber gave in, slaking his thirst, his rage, his hunger. When the body seemed to have no more blood to give, he tossed it aside like a rag doll and kicked it for good measure.
“Fuck,” he growled to himself, as his frenzy came down. “Fuck!” He punched the wall.
Irish came around the corner, and looked at the body, at Bomber’s face, and looked almost ready to bolt. Naz, in his human form, was right behind Irish. Naz put a hand on Irish’s shoulder. “It’s okay. He’s on our side.”
“I don’t know about that sometimes,” Bomber muttered.
“I’ll take care of that,” Naz said, walking over to the body.
“Yeah,” Bomber said, wiping his face with the inside of his vest. He looked up at Irish. “You’re late.”
“Yeh, I – ”
“Get your ass downstairs.”
“Yeh,” he said, and did, quickly. He turned to see the body, and Naz, disappeared.