To Walk the Night by E. S. Moore Page A

to guide me to their leader. No one even offered to tell me why I had been asked to come. It was as if they were waiting for me to make the first move.
    I had no idea what to do. I hadn’t been given a name. I didn’t even get the name of the Cultist who had delivered the message. The only thing I knew for sure was that the Denmaster had supposedly asked for me. That wasn’t a lot to go on.
    “I received the message,” I said loudly, so that everyone could hear me. “I need to speak to the Denmaster, if anyone would be so kind as to show me the way.”
    A Cultist came rushing down the stairs and headed right for me. I moved instinctively, drawing my sword and leveling it at him before he could draw within striking distance. He stopped, eyes wide, as the tip of my silver blade pressed into his throat.
    The room fell still, not that many people were moving around before. It was as if my sudden movements had frozen everyone to the spot. I wasn’t sure if anyone blinked.
    I looked up and down at the Cultist who had charged me. He didn’t seem to have a weapon on him. His hands were empty, and he was wearing the same robe tied at the waste by a thick cord that everyone else was wearing. If he was hiding a knife on him somewhere, I couldn’t see it.
    He swallowed and trembled where he stood, but he didn’t back away. His mouth worked silently as if he was too frightened to speak. I didn’t blame him. I didn’t know what to say either.
    A large Mexican Cultist strode out from the crowd. His face was a mask of poorly concealed rage. I tensed, ready to draw my gun with my free hand if he made an aggressive move. I didn’t want to have to fight, despite having drawn my sword. They might be Cultists, people sworn to the wolf, but they were still Purebloods. I didn’t want their blood on my hands. At least not tonight.
    “Stand down,” the Mexican said. He stopped about a foot from where I had his friend at sword point. He glowered down at me, using his size to try to intimidate me. On someone else, it might have worked. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you will not come in here armed.”
    I stood my ground. This guy was just as big as a pro wrestler, but he was still a Pureblood. I had nothing to fear from him. He might be able to bench-press me twenty times over, but that would do him little good with my sword jammed down his throat.
    “I was invited,” I said. “If you didn’t want me here, then someone shouldn’t have been sent to fetch me.”
    “Where is Joshua?” the big man demanded. “He hasn’t returned.” His fists clenched at his side. “Did you kill him?” His eyes traveled to my weapons. “You are no better than the vampires.”
    “Let her through,” someone called from the second floor. The voice was faint. The speaker sounded scared. I wasn’t sure if he was afraid of me or the big Cultist blocking my way.
    The big Cultist tensed and glanced over his shoulder toward the source of the voice. He ground his teeth and then turned back to me. He thrust out a hand, palm open and upturned. “Weapons.”
    “I don’t think so.” I still had the other Cultist at sword point, but my Mexican friend seemed to have forgotten him.
    He sucked in an angry breath. “Give me your weapons.”
    “Are you deaf?” I said, ignoring his outstretched hand. I had already had enough of this guy. “I said no.”
    “You cannot come in here armed. Turn over your weapons or I will take them from you.”
    I laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”
    The Cultist bared his teeth at me. They were the normal, everyday teeth that any human would have. It was far from frightening.
    “Pablo!” a voice rang out over the assemblage. “Let her in.”
    Pablo stiffened but didn’t move. His eyes bore into me as if he thought he could force me to do what he wanted with his gaze alone. I could almost see the steam poring from his ears.
    I had to admit, I was mildly impressed. The guy stood no chance against me,