70. The Blood Traders

Paul - Wolves Inc underground level
Surrounded by my wolves, I look around at the various vehicles. Most of them are high-end or luxury models.
Dan falls into step behind me as everyone else follows us to the cars. Even if I can’t see the sky from the underground parking lot, I know the moon isn’t shining in the sky yet.
I take the passenger seat as Dan gets in the car at the wheel. Instead of igniting the engine, Dan sighs heavily and turns to me.
"Perhaps you should rethink your course of action. There's no going back, Paul, if we tackle the blood traders. The accord will break, and all you have fought for will be lost."
As my gaze darts from his face to the wall in front of the parked car, my heart begins to beat faster.
"You don’t understand. No matter what I do, her name, her face, and our moments together come to mind. I must act now. She might be suffering as we speak." My voice thins as I utter the words until it sounds like a broken string. I gulp and regain my composure as I lean on my back. "Don’t worry. I have a contingency plan. Now drive!"
Dan starts the engine and drives off in silence.
Even though my mind and heart bleed as if something invisible within me is being crushed, I don't cry. I don’t know how to cry. And I'm at a loss for words. Instead, I let my wolf howls tear through me, igniting my rage.
Once I was ashamed of myself for being swayed by anger and rage. Now only these keep me going and not falling apart.
As we approach our destination, Dan points out the sign looming above a warehouse: “Ice Storage for the Red Cross.”
Humphing in disgust at such a horrible cover name for the blood traders' enterprise, I motion for Dan to steer left.
“Let’s park the cars out of sight.”
Dan stays by my side as we exit the black vehicles and begin heading toward the warehouse.
"Do you know, Paul, that you make us look like a bunch of goons from a lousy mafia movie?"
My teeth grind together as I growl softly. I don’t reply, solely focusing on my footsteps.
Silence swallows my eardrums even though I see people moving their mouths around me. All that's left in the world is color and shape. Then I hear the pounding of my heart: painful and pathetic.
No security at the main gate. The blood traders feel secure and protected by the strigois.
"Do a systematic sweep from both ends. Dan leads Team One. You go through the front door. Team two is with me. We get in through the back," I instruct the two groups of wolves. "Release the humans and find the leader of the blood traders."
We move quickly but carefully. A few seconds pass by before we reach the back entrance.
Anyone entering the warehouse can easily conclude it’s not a legal business. The stench makes any nose twitch, and, for wolves, it stinks even worse. It’s a slaughterhouse, to put it mildly.
I have to fight myself to focus as I stroll through the rooms. Caked blood stains the floors and walls, and I smother that part of me who hates myself for letting this be.
The idea of making a living from trading the blood of your kind to monsters is abhorrent. But some would do anything to make quick cash, regardless of the amount of blood drenching their hands.
Innocent women and men on the street, schoolchildren, and family pets are all targets of these people. Also, the blood traders infiltrate morgues and squeeze the last drop of blood from the fresh corpses. Nevertheless, warm blood stored in thermic containers is more valuable than the thick one of the departed.
It's sickening.
I’ve always wanted to squash these bugs from existence, but the accord had my hands tied. This is my opportunity to shoot two bunnies with one bullet.
(A/N: To shoot two bunnies with one bullet is a Romanian idiom equivalent to hitting two birds with one stone.)
Humans—both males and females—lay in beds, too weak to get up, most even too feeble to make a sound.
A few old ones sit on chairs as they stare vacantly out the windows. Their eyes are dull, seeing nothing but darkness.
The scent of death permeates every inch inside the warehouse. I feel nauseated.
Behind me, a low whistle echoes. A rat scurries over my feet, and I hiss. I spin around, ready to rip the head off whoever dared to make such a sound.
A small woman, dressed in a once-white shirt—now just a tattered, blood-stained rag—staggers toward me. Her mouth hangs open in a muted scream, her eyes wide.
She throws a mean punch with that tiny fist, her face emotionless, expressionless, full of blood. I let her take the shot. She totters to one side before she can land the hit, and I catch her in time.
“You’re alright. I got you.” I smile to comfort her. “You’re safe now.”
She looks at me, scared and trembling.
Did I come off too scary? But I smiled when I said it… Well, I guess no smile can light up my face now.
I hand her over to my men and instruct them to escort her out of the building.
She stumbles toward the exit supported by the wolves, trying to keep her balance. My heart breaks.
A confident, booming voice bellows, driving aside the gentle whimpers and pathetic sighs.
“You better have a damn good reason for all the shit you’ve pulled here.”
Entering through the open door, I find the one who uttered those words. Dan is in front of him, a deep frown on his face.
“You’re the leader?” I ask the pissed-off man.
“Yeah. Why do you attack a place protected by the strigois?”
My teeth grit as I grasp him, the muscles in his neck tense under my grip. I can't kill him as long as he's a bargaining chip and a well of information.
I growl in his face, "The strigois have stolen something of mine. Blood traders assist the strigois in obtaining their supplies so that the masters will not have to go hunting or starve. I'll cut off their supply line, and they'll come to negotiate."
The man still keeps his composure. “I’m merely their associate. If you have problems with the strigois, go to them. I won’t have any of this mess.”
"So, you're just an associate drowning in your partner's mistakes?" The bizarre, wild chuckle emerging from my lips chills even my bones. "You may go as long as you tell me where, when, and how you contact them."
“I can’t tell you anything. The strigois would kill me.”
“I can be worse than the strigois.” My fingers press over his windpipe. My voice grows sharp, threatening. “You will live longer if you talk faster. Soon, the full moon will rise. And there will be more blood here than ever before.”
The man doesn’t say a thing, shutting his mouth completely.
My wolf is restless. His time draws near, and his tugging grows stronger. I'll let him out.
I’m pushed back inside my very being, surrendering control to my enraged wolf.
His growls are feral as he takes over. My eyes flash golden, and I'm fully aware of what my body is becoming.
The leader of the blood traders whimpers, huddled down in a corner, fear in his eyes.
As soon as every wolf in the room shifted, I shriek and pounce on my target. Saliva drips from my sharp teeth that stand menacingly just an inch away from his face.
“I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” the man screams, his voice shaking with fear of death. “Please don’t kill me!”