I Reject You, Mate.

6. Blood On The Wall

A staring contest, for the lack of better word. That's all that's happened between Mr. Winchester and the man he calls Elijah. Fifties, nasty scar along his jaw line, dead dark eyes, thin lips pulled in a tight line, an expensive tuxedo that screams power and style.

Several rings adorn his fingers and they glint in the light as he pulls the pipe from his lips and releases the vile smoke that has me holding my breath.

Oh, but the tension goes all the way to the roof. Behind Mr. Winchester and I, there are half a dozen guards. All armed. Elijah has his too, hands resting on their guns, ready to unload the bullets.

I try as much as possible to shrink back in the chair. I am not prepared to find out if I can outrun a bullet. I do hope my pay check is worth this danger.

"Perhaps, she could be the subject," Elijah says, voice cold like ice as he regards me.

I feel Mr. Winchester stiffen beside me, though his expression remains blank. "Your last sample had my secretary bedridden for months. I must decline your offer." He jerks his head toward the two females rubbing at Elijah's beards. "They could serve as subjects this time. Two hours. If it's safe, we can distribute it on my streets."

But Elijah's doesn't look away from me. I am not looking in his direction, but I feel his dead gaze bear holes into my cheeks. "What might your name be, doll?"

"That is hardly any of your business," Mr. Winchester cuts in swiftly.

Elijah chuckles. "But it is, Sinclair. I need to know if she can keep her pretty mouth shut about this or I might have to put a bullet in her head like the other blonde you were rather fond of."

Sudden rage fills me up, and I jerk in my chair. Hate. Pure, dark hatred, enough to suffocate me follows, slamming into me like a truck. It takes me a moment to realize it isn't mine. It is Mr. Winchester's. My gaze jerks to him, and it startles me to find his expression calm and collected as he counters Elijah softly. "Tiana was a fluke. My PA will keep her mouth shut."

I stare at Sinclair Winchester, and as if he can tell how much of his feelings have flown down the bond, he shoves his walls back up, locking me out and leaving me confused and curious all the same.

What the hell was that?

Elijah waves, and one of his women places a small rectangular box on the table between us, stretching it out slowly until it is on our end. Her bulging boobs seem ready to leap out of her dangerously cut neckline, and I hate how my gaze shifts to check if Mr. Winchester is looking.

He isn't. His gaze is distant, if a little lost.

The woman opens the box on Elijah's order, and an extra large syringe comes to view, filled with liquid so red, it could pass off as blood.

"I like to call this one Wolfblood," Elijah starts, extracting the syringe from the box, and I can't help but look in his direction as he stares at the liquid with awe and unholy fascination. "Allow me to demonstrate its work."

The blonde perching on his left arm walks around him to settling in his lap, dragging her tongue up the column of his throat as she bares her wrist to him. I wince at the holes in it. Too many. Her brown eyes are glazed and she makes sound, pleading to be injected.

I'd be taken aback by all of this, but at Lycanthia, getting heavily drugged and high was the norm for most when growing up. A moment of temporary bliss was something we all sought at some points in our lives. Little can harm us, and human drugs wasn't one of them.

But this woman looks unwell. Other than the glazed look in her eyes, her sockets are hollow and her cheeks are gaunt. There are purplish marks on her neck, half covered by cakey foundation or concealer. Her fingernails coated in black are cut very close to her skin, unleveled, no doubt from biting nervously.

The closer the syringe gets to her skin, the more pleas she makes.

An addict, I realize.

Something in me recoils at that and I start to rise from my chair. Sinclair Winchester's hand is suddenly on my lap, pressing down to keep me in a place. He shoots me a quick look. A warning.

The blonde moans as the liquid is injected into her arm, and it takes a moment for it to set in. She writhes and shudders so violently, Elijah tosses her off him like dirt.

And then, it begins.

Her back hunches, and the sound of bones cracking fills the air. She slams into the table and I am suddenly pulled back before it can crash into me.

Mr. Winchester stands before me, shielding me from the woman who morphs into something inexplicable. Injuries heal and scars disappear, replaced with...fur.

I watch in horror as she snarls, teeth elongating into fangs and sharp canines, and her brown eyes bleed into red.

It stops there.

The in-between. The tether between a wolf and a were. An abnormality is what has been created.

She rises, several rips in her clothes and several feet taller than she had been seconds ago. She bares her teeth at us, saliva frothing on her lips and dripping down her jaw unto her neck.

I am too horrified to move or speak. Three races exist in this world. Lycans, wolves and humans. This...this is something that hasn't been born or created by the Moon Goddess. It is a sin. Blasphemy.

"Norah."

One word from Elijah, and he somehow has her leash. She jerks to a stop, hovering beside him like a dog tailing its owner.

"I believe that is enough," Mr. Winchester mutters, and I give him a lot of credit for looking unfazed, even if his fingers are around my arm, pushing me back as if to hide me from them.

Elijah grins. "Not nearly." He inclines his head toward the nearest bouncer and I gasp as the female--Norah--leaps on him. Her fingers fist in his collar and it takes little effort to hurl the bouncer across the room.

His spine cracks upon impact and the sound goes all the way to my bones, announcing his death before he even hits the ground.

I stagger at the sight of the blood splatters on the wall, and the limp form on the ground. No heartbeat. No breaths taken. No pulse. I can't hear him.

I need air, I think, a whimper escaping my lips. My breakfast rushes up my throat and I can't wait to get it all out. But Mr. Winchester isn't letting me move an inch away from him. His hold tightens, becoming nearly painful.

Elijah laughs, clapping amidst Norah's inhuman growls as she falls to the ground, curling herself into a ball. "It is inconceivable, is it not?"

"What the f**k is that?" Mr. Winchester asks, voice strained.

Elijah tsks. "I will only give you the intel once you sign the contract."

Mr. Winchester's face turns feral. "I will sign nothing. I own the streets of New York, not because of my money. They trust me with their lives. They purchase whatever *goods* I sell to them because they trust me. I will not put millions of lives in jeopardy with whatever hell's rain that is!"

"Do you not see what it gives? The strength is unmatched. It's healing properties are--"

"I don't give a bloody f**k, Elijah. That s**t stays off my streets."

The man leans back on his heels, and shrugs. "Then you leave me no choice."

I hear it first. A bullet wheezes past my left ear, embedding itself in the wall beside me, and a terrified scream leaves my lips. My ear burns and I feel warmth dripping down my dress.

My fingers come away sticky with blood, and I clutch my ear before the old fool can see it heal.

Mr. Winchester whirls around, beautiful wide eyes scanning me with fear haunting them. When he finds no injuries, his gaze immediately turns murderous. His head snaps in Elijah's direction, muscles tensing.

I spy the shadow of claws on his hands as he takes a menacing step forward, but something else grabs my attention.

The flickering of red light in my eyes.

"I'd suggest you think long and hard before you make a decision," Elijah drawls, inclining his head in my direction.

Sinclair Winchester tilts his head toward me, and I can only assume what the blinking red light means. Sniper. I really do hope my pay check is worth all of this. No matter. I'm quitting the stupid job if I get out of here alive. Nothing in this world is worth my precious life or head.

His eyelids drop and his expression smoothens. "Call off the sniper. I'll think about it."

"Good," Elijah says, waving in the air.

The blinking stops and his bodyguards pull back on his next order that I don't wait to hear.

The next couple of minutes pass by me in a blur. I try focusing on breathing for the most of it, and ignoring the blood or the body being cleared by the bodyguards.

And when the male and his horde are gone, I toss the files on the table, and bolt for the bathroom in the suite, hurling up my guts into the ceramic bowl.