Chapter 3 : Hotel Crisis

Westin lobby. Marble. Quiet. Too quiet.

Alan Fox walked in first. Senses high alert. Smelled the place—cleaning products, perfume, fear. Jennifer Yang''s fear. Room 1208. Hung in air like smoke.

Michael Black followed. One step behind. One step side. Covering angles. Watching doors.

"Front desk." Alan voice low.

Approached. Woman perfect makeup smiled. Too perfect. Too still.

"Help you?"

"Room 1208. Jennifer Yang."

Woman''s smile didn''t waver. But heartbeat jumped. Alan heard it. Smelled adrenaline spike.

"Elevators are—"

"Know where they are." Alan cut off. "She alone?"

"I... couldn''t say." Fingers twitched toward button under desk.

Alan''s hand shot out. Covered hers. "Don''t."

Froze. Eyes wide.

"Michael." Alan not looking away.

Michael moved. Fast. Checked behind desk. Found button. Silent alarm.

"Disconnected."

Alan released hand. "How many?"

"I don''t—"

"How many men? Robert Lee''s men."

Tears now. Real fear. "Six. Maybe seven. Came hour ago. Told me signal when you arrived."

"Where?"

"Two lobby. Disguised guests. Two by elevators. Two twelfth floor. One... don''t know where."

Alan nodded. Looked at Michael. "Lobby first."

Moved.

First man plush chair. Reading newspaper. Alan smelled him before saw—sweat, gun oil, chemical. Enhanced.

Man looked up. Newspaper dropped. Hand going for weapon.

Too slow.

Alan on him. One hand on gun. Other on throat. Squeezed. Not kill. Enough stop.

"Where others?" Voice growl.

Man choked. Struggled. Enhanced strength—Alan felt it. Not enough. Not against what he was.

"Alan." Michael''s voice. Warning.

Second lobby man. Coming behind. Gun raised.

Michael moved. Intercepted. Elbow throat. Knee groin. Gun clattered marble.

Two down.

"Elevators."

Moved toward elevators. Two men there. Big. Armed. Not hiding now.

Guns raised.

Alan didn''t slow. Charged.

First shot missed. Second grazed shoulder. Burned. Ignored.

Reached first man. Took gun. Broke arm. Bone snap.

Second man fired. Michael there. Knocked gun aside. Fist jaw. Crunch.

Four down.

Elevator doors opened. Empty.

"Twelfth floor."

Stepped in. Doors closed. Elevator smelled blood and fear.

Alan''s shoulder burned. Touched it. Blood. Not much. Would heal fast. But scent... attract attention.

"Alan." Michael''s voice tight. "Your eyes."

Alan looked polished doors. Saw reflection. Gold bleeding brown. Canines lengthening.

Control. Needed control.

Not now. Not yet.

Closed eyes. Breathed. Focused Michael''s scent. Soap. Skin. Calm.

Beast settled. For now.

Michael''s hand on his back. Brief. Warm. Grounding.

Then gone.

Ding. Twelfth floor.

Doors opened.

Two men waited. Guns ready.

But not pointing them. Pointing down hall. Room 1208.

Third man at door. Picking lock.

Alan moved.

Fast. Too fast human eyes.

Reached lock-picker first. Hand back neck. Slammed into door. Wood cracked.

Other two turned. Fired.

Alan dodged. Michael already moving. Took down one. Disarmed other.

Six down.

One more. Somewhere.

Alan listened. Heard breathing. Fast. Panicked. Stairwell.

Moved. Opened stairwell door.

Empty.

But scent... fresh. Just gone.

"Alan." Michael''s voice hallway. "Room."

Alan turned back. Looked Room 1208. Door slightly ajar. From impact.

Pushed open.

Jennifer Yang center room. Back them. Staring bedside table.

Postcard there. Blue iris. Father''s drawing.

But something else too. Symbol drawn red bottom. Fresh. Wet.

Alan''s breath caught.

Knew that symbol. Knew bones. Blood.

"Godfather''s" mark.

Flash—memory. Laboratory. Silver tables. That symbol on walls. On instruments. On...

Cut off. Not now.

"Miss Yang." Voice careful.

Turned. Eyes wide. Scared. Not him. Symbol.

"You''re Alan Fox."

Nodded. "Michael. Here protect you."

Looked symbol again. Then him. Really looked. Eyes still holding traces gold.

"You''re... not human." Whispered.

"Not entirely. But not enemy."

Moved table. Looked symbol. "Godfather''s" mark. Drawn blood-smelling.

"When appear?"

"Don''t know. Bathroom. Came out... there."

Touched. Sniffed. Human blood. Not fresh. Hours old.

Message. Warning.

He''s watching. Knows you here.

"Who drew?" Jennifer asked.

"Man wants you dead. Robert Lee. Or working him."

Looked Michael. "Need go. Now."

"But men—"

"Dealt. But one more. One drew this." Pointed symbol. "Still here. Somewhere."

Took postcard. Folded. Pocket. "Going see friend father''s. Frank Wilson. Tell what really means."

Jennifer hesitated. Looked symbol. Blood.

Then nodded. "Okay."

Moved. Out room. Down hall. Service elevator.

Alan''s senses screaming. Danger. Close.

Missing man. One drew symbol. Where?

Reached service elevator. Michael hit button. Doors opened.

Empty.

Stepped in. Doors closed.

And that''s when Alan smelled it.

Seventh man.

Not elevator. Not hall.

Above.

Roof elevator.

Elevator started down. Panel ceiling slid open. Face looked down. Smiled.

Face Alan knew.

Henry Wolf.

Memory flash—training yard. Henry younger. Smiling same way. Before experiments. Before...

"Hello, Alan." Voice smooth. Poisonous. "Long time."

Then dropped into elevator.

Alan''s body tensed. Instinctive. Old enemy. Old threat.

Michael shifted. Ready.

Henry smiled wider. "Missed me?"

---