Death's Servant(16)

The scamper of a squirrel sounds to my right, urging me to give chase. I ignore the instinct and race off in the opposite direction, eager to search for a trace of my own kind. I’ve got to find help. Surely local werewolves would care what was happening over the state line? It makes sense that once Cecil’s finished with this pack he’d be looking to replace them with whoever was close by.
After searching for hours, mental exhaustion creeps in. Only the setting sun spurs me back to the safety of my jeep. I didn’t come across one trace of werewolf in the vast forest. I must have raced the almost six square miles at least three times. There’s got to be a better way of finding another pack. Where would werewolves hang out socially in this portion of Maryland? Would they occasionally go to a local bar like we did in Manitoba?   
I shake my head at my vain attempt in grasping straws. I’m screwed and I know it. Searching like this could take forever. If a smart animal doesn’t want to be found, chances are you won’t find it.
But what about an arrogant creature unafraid of being discovered by animals they deem below them in the pecking order? I recall hearing vampires are better organized than we are, and they have rules of conduct, too. What if I found one—would they help my cause or consider what Cecil was doing to be normal? I’d like to think if it were normal I would’ve heard about the barbaric practice of keeping a horde of Weres for a blood addiction.
Shrugging on my clothes, I slip into the cold truck and make my way out of the park.
Would searching for a vampire be any easier? There’s only one way to find out. From what I was told, vampires like cities. Lots of victims to choose from in a confined territory. That settles it. I’ll start right after I stay the night in the Maryland hotel and get my replacement cards tomorrow.
Looks like I’m headed to Washington DC to find me a bloodsucker.
The irony of such a statement regarding a town full of politicians is not lost on me.






 
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Chapter Eight

I wander our nation’s capital for two days with no luck. Considering how jaded I’ve felt since discovering the supernatural world really does exist, I’m strangely disappointed our judicial system and governing body is not overrun by power hungry, undead creatures of the night. It would be convenient if we could blame our country’s current problems on another species with a nefarious agenda.
Scouring the city in my wolf form late at night might not be the safest way to conduct a search, but it’s the only way I can think to accurately trace a vampire in this overwhelming soup of exhaust, exotic foods, and depressing stench of under-washed bodies. Searching as a wolf also helps me keep on the lookout for Raine’s master vamp should he still be out for my blood. Nothing beats a werewolf’s nose as an early warning detection system for danger.
I trot across the National Mall, the large expanse of real estate between the Capital building and the Washington monument. Sparse trees and a moonless night offer the cover I need to explore the area undetected. Yesterday, I caught a hint of a vampire scent at the newly opened World War II Memorial and wanted to come back today to investigate further—the appearance of an animal control van last night deterred me from following the lingering vampire trail onto the streets.
Creeping along the ground, my jaw open to catch all the night’s scents, I come across the same intriguing scent from yesterday, only this time it’s fresher. Once I single out the trail from all the crisscrossing human odors, I follow it away from the new memorial.#p#分页标题#e#
The scent mingles tightly with a human male, and both meander along the edge of the mall, in the direction of the Smithsonian Castle.
Small side gardens dot the sidewalk along Jefferson Drive, each one designed to pull in the visitor to walk through the display. The pair stopped at each garden, lingering over every signpost dedicated to a person, cause, or battle. It’s almost like the pair are sightseeing—in the dark.
A vampire sightseeing at night in our nation’s capital?
I heard the really old ones could tolerate the sun a little, so depending on their aversion level, I guess it makes sense—albeit an odd sense, but whatever.
After an hour of tracking, I hit pay dirt. The trail leads to a dark corner of a small empty park, sculpted trees and manicured bushes hiding the vampire and her companion. A light breeze changes course, bringing the smell of sex and blood.
Could the man with this vampire be in danger? Is it forced blood taking like Raine and her pack have endured? Will the bloodsucker drain him dry and leave his corpse hidden in the bushes?