"Thanks," Peter said to the cabbie, handing him a tip. The cabbie popped the trunk of the taxi, and Peter pulled the cases out then slammed the trunk. Connors clambered out of the taxi and picked up one of the cases.

"Charming neighborhood," he said, looking around at the mix of apartment buildings and warehouses.

"It's a safehouse, not a condo," Peter muttered. He picked up the case with the blood, the case with the equipment that Connors didn't already have. They went inside and up the stairs, down the hall, on the fourth floor.

Peter put a case down, opened the door. "Wait here," he said to Connors. He walked in half expecting to see Kravinoff smeared all over the walls. Instead, he was face down on the table where Peter had left him.

"I got a doctor. Equipment," Peter said. "You're going to be okay."

Kravinoff managed a grunt, and Connors came in. "Clear?" the doctor asked.

"Close enough," Peter muttered. "Kravinoff, this is Doc Connors. He's here to give you a hand. Connors, this is Kravinoff, the great white hunter." He half smiled at Kravinoff's back.

"Pleased to meet you," Connors said. "Let's have a look." He glanced sharply at Peter. "What's this gunk on his back?"

"Bandages, don't worry about it," Peter said. "Do your stuff."

"I'm going to need your help," Connors said. "I'm not a surgeon. And my situation is further complicated," he said ruefully, looking at his empty sleeve.

Peter took a deep breath as he put two cases on the table and popped them open. He propped the third up before he looked over at Kravinoff, then at Connors.

"Tell me what to do," he said, his jaw set.

"First we make this whole thing a lot easier," Connors said. "Fill this syringe with what's in that bottle."

"Please tell me that's anesthetic," Kravinoff said.

"It's anesthetic," Connors said. "We'll save all the real pain until you wake up."

"This is good," Kravinoff muttered into the table. "Much better than whisky for this sort of thing."

Then he felt a stick in his arm, and he listened to Connors count backwards from ten…

The operation got underway, taking all the focus the two men had in a desperate battle to save Kravinoff's life. No one saw the shadow that peered down on the proceedings with interest for a moment, then scuttled off the roof in search of its fellows.

xXx

Peter and Connors stood at the far end of the dilapidated loft from the gore-soaked table where Kravinoff lay senseless.

"I dunno, Doc," Peter said. "I've gone toe to toe with big clawed monsters, kicked in a guy the size of a Mac truck, and leaped from truck to truck on the interstate, but that's quite possibly the most nerve wracking thing I've ever done."

"You did it well," Connors said. "Without your help he would surely have died."

"Do you think he'll live?" Peter asked quietly.

"He's a big, healthy man," Connors shrugged. "We had to cut some muscles to get where we needed to get. But I think he's vital enough to survive without too much permanent damage. How did you come to know him?"

"Oh, that," Peter said. "He tried to kill me with a big knife. Tore my guts up. I invited him home for dinner. Long story."

"I see," Connors said, bewildered.

The skylights exploded, a shower of glass cascaded downward as lithe dark vampires dropped through, landing on the floor in a ready crouch. They zeroed in on Kravinoff.

"Oh no you don't," Peter said, tugging the mask up as he dashed past Connors and plowed into the vampires from behind.

In a heartbeat he was tangled with four vampires. They spun to engage him, snarling; one tried to get free only to find itself stuck to three of his fingertips, as trapped as if it had stepped on a bear trap. Another folded the spider ghost into a wrestling lock; the spider ghost flexed, and the vampire staggered back in startlement; the spider ghost was far stronger than the undead shadows.

"Nuff playtime," the spider ghost grunted. He flung a vampire the length of the loft, squalling and thrashing, and it flew in a flat arc to slam into Kravinoff's pull-up bar, its spine snapping so the back of its head briefly touched its back. It crumpled but did not start to smoke.

"Table," the spider ghost shouted as he punched his hand into a vampire's chest. He tore the heart out, a black sodden withered rag of flesh, and he tossed it away as the creature unleashed a rending scream. The spider ghost ducked and rolled, evading the attacks of the other two.

Connors threw his weight against one of the tables, knocking it over and running around to crouch behind it. To brace it.

The spider ghost snagged the two vampires and sent them sprawling. They each slammed onto one of the table legs, impaled through the chest, sending the table skidding back shoving Connors with it. Smoke wisped up from the slain vampires immediately.

"Tell me you brought some more," the spider ghost said, voice hard and lethal.

Six vampires dropped down through the shattered skylight. One of them was the pale woman.

"I brought some more," their queen said, her smile vicious. "I am Necra. Soon you will call me goddess." She looked directly at the spider ghost.

"Wow," the spider ghost said. "Now I feel like I'm getting hit on in a seedy bar."

"Slow him down," Necra said. The vampires pounced.

The spider ghost hurled himself to the side, noticing that Necra's wounds had all closed and her alabaster skin was flawless. The vampires pursued, and he found himself hard pressed to stay out of their clutches as he twirled and ducked, running up the wall. They leaped, forcing him to the side as he eluded them.

"Yo goddess," he pattered as he scrabbled along the wall, the vampires leaping after him. "How many people you kill to get your complexion back?"

"About ten," she said languidly, waving her hand. She started walking towards Kravinoff. "Who can keep track."

The spider ghost propelled himself forward, landed in a roll, and smashed the table Connors hid behind. He popped up with a table leg in each hand.

"Let's go," he gritted out. He slid under the first strike, thrusting a table leg into the second charging vampire's chest with a popping crunch. Swinging the corpse around, he slammed the other leg into the back of the lead vampire, tearing through its flesh and sending it banging into the wall.

With a spring he was over the last two that pursued him. He touched his fingertips to the tops of their heads and exerted himself, slamming their skulls together so hard they shattered and sprayed their contents in a flat ring. The spider ghost hit the floor in a miasma of dissolving vampire.

"This has gone far enough," he said, glaring at Necra and the remaining vampire that guarded her.

"I quite agree," she said demurely. "I accept your surrender."

"I think it's about time somebody smacked your eye teeth out," the spider ghost said. He slung in close to her and kicked, but she was already moving out of the way. His senses went wild as the other vampire pulled a speargun out of its coat and lined up with super human speed. The spider ghost contorted out of the way—

The vampire compensated and fired out a shaft that punched into the muscle over the spider ghost's collarbone and flung him back, pinning him to a support beam.

Necra pounced, moving fast. As the spider ghost yelped she was on him, her fangs flashing. She shoved his arm aside and in a smooth motion she plunged her mouth down to lock on the spider ghost's shoulder.

The spider ghost let out a scream as she bit down. Something—

Something passed between them—

Then she reared her head back, her mouth smeared with blood. His blood. She hopped back out of reach, then leaped up and caught the skylight, pulling herself clear. Her remaining servant was close behind.

For a long minute, all was quiet but the spider ghost's harsh breathing and the whistling wind outside.

"You," came a slow, thick voice, "are bitten." The spider ghost looked over to see Kravinoff's heavy lidded eyes open a slit, light glinting from his dark eyes.

Connors approached the spider ghost. "Spear," he observed.

"Spear," the spider ghost agreed.

Connors walked over to Kravinoff. "How do you feel?"

Kravinoff made a big production of trying to swallow. "I do not feel well," he said.

"Try not to talk," Connors said. He turned his attention back to the spider ghost. "Need help with that?" he asked.

"No," the spider ghost said. "Flanged. Not going to pull it out. Stuck in the wood. Here we go." He let out a shout and leaned forward. He slid off the shaft of the spear and collapsed on the floor, clutching his bloody shoulders.

"Medic," he said in a slightly strangled voice.

"Kill him," Kravinoff breathed.

"What?" said Connors, staring at him. The spider ghost peered over at him, woozy.

"Kill him," Kravinoff managed. "He is tainted with her bite. She will make him one of them."

"Keep this up," the spider ghost managed, "I don't think we're going to be friends much longer."

"Maybe if we clean out the wound?" Connors said.

"There is only one way," Kravinoff said. He cleared his throat. "Kill their queen, and unless he has succumbed to her energies he will be free."

"Sounds good," the spider ghost said, rising unsteadily. "I'll just web this shut and swing on my way."

Kravinoff struggled for energy and focus, still pushing his way clear of the anesthetic. "You would hasten… to your doom."

Connors stood out of the way, unsure of what to do. Kravinoff struggled for breath as he lay on the table. The spider ghost swayed on his feet. Then he pulled down his mask.

"Okay," he said. "As of right now, I'm out of my depth. This phone work?"

Kravinoff nodded, and Peter walked over and picked up the handset. He punched in a number.

He waited a bit. Then his face darkened. "Yeah, Logan, it's me," he said to the message recorder. "Look, I'll try back in a little bit. I hope you're in." He hung up, thought a moment. Punched in another number. Waited.

"Yeah, Doc, it's me," he said. "If you get this in the next, oh, hour or so could you find me? Thanks! Bye." He slammed the phone down, looked at it for a moment, then heaved a deep sigh.

"Doomed or no," he said, squinting at Kravinoff, "it's my only hope. All my tough guy pals are out of reach."

"The risk is too great," Kravinoff said hoarsely. "If you become hers, you will… be too dangerous."

Peter clenched his jaw. "I'm not a quitter," he said. "I'll find a way or die trying."

A long look passed between Kravinoff and Peter. Then the big man grunted a bit of a chuckle.

"I almost forgot," he managed, "your spirit. Very well, spider ghost," he said. He took a deep breath. "Open the cabinet there. Bring me the leather bag you find inside."

"You gonna kill me?" Peter asked uncertainly.

"No," Kravinoff said simply. "The bag."

Peter opened the cabinet and pulled out the bag. It was soft, smooth, worn leather. He took it to Kravinoff.

"Sit me up," the big man said.

"Too soon after surgery," Connors said quickly. "You'll dislodge the stitches if you exert yourself."

"Trust me," Kravinoff said. "Sit me up."

"I can't figure out why you even bothered to get a doctor," Connors said shortly, and he stalked into the adjoining room. Peter watched him go, then helped Kravinoff roll on his side and then get propped up to a seated position.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked quietly.

"You still have one tough guy pal," Kravinoff said. He slowly smiled at Peter, his eyes unfocused, his mouth bloody.

"No way," Peter said. "You even get up and you'll crash out and—" Peter grunted, and fell to one knee—

eyes, dark eyes, pulling him in, pulling him down; his heart struggled to beat as a crushing pale hand closed around it; his breath struggled locked in his chest as his throat constricted; he felt death

Peter gasped and fell on all fours, coughing.

"It will only get worse," Kravinoff said. "She will be going to ground somewhere she thinks is safe. Then she will bend all her energy through that wound, through your connection, until she has subverted you to her will."

"What do I do," Peter managed.

"Lay down," Kravinoff said. "Rest. Don't get agitated. Your blood will move faster, the contagion spread through your energy faster. Pretend it is a poison."

"And just what do you think you're going to do?" Peter asked.

"I once told you of time I spent in the jungle," Kravinoff said, opening the leather bag reverently. "I studied… their lore. I am sworn to never allow my prey to escape," he said. "So far, you are the only one that has. And so for you I will hunt this creature. For your humanity I will slay this monster." He pulled out a pouch, a few oilskin packets. "I will need your help."

"What's that stuff?" Peter asked, breathless.

"We'll just say drugs and leave it at that," Kravinoff responded. He opened the bag of powder. "The anesthetic has left me… thick and slow." He pulled out a pinch of the powder and sniffed it. His pupils dilated.

"Better," he growled. "Undo my bandages."

"You'll bleed to death no matter how hopped up on crack you are," Peter warned.

"I will not bleed to death," Kravinoff said, his eyes focusing with uncomfortably sharp scrutiny. "You will web my torso together for my hunt."

"I see," Peter said. "So, uh,"

"Just unwrap my bandages, help me apply a certain concoction I will make, then web me shut and leave me to my preparations. Or let me kill you."

"Fair enough, I guess," Peter said.

"Hot water. A bowl. Everything you need is under the sink. Do not delay. She will be close to her lair, then it will begin in earnest."

"Right," Peter said, and they got started.

xXx

"If I were poisoned," Peter said, "What would you do to delay the poison?"

Connors turned to look at him. They stood in the grimy lobby of the tenement building. "How is he?"

"He's absolutely insane. Answer the question."

"Well," Connors said slowly, "first I'd check for an antidote."

"Failing that," Peter said, "what then?"

"I'd give you a sedative, I suppose, and have you lie down."

"Let's get to it," Peter said. He was pale, his hands shook. "I don't feel so good."

"Are you sure it's a poison?"

"Kravinoff told me to treat it like it was one," Peter said, "and he would know. Let's go back upstairs."

"What about Kravinoff?" Connors said.

Peter shook his head. "He's gone," he said. "In so many ways, he is solid gone."

xXx

Kravinoff knelt on the roof, in the lee of the wind, incense steadily blowing away from him on the chill breeze. His eyes were closed as he focused on forgetting and remembering.

Awash in a gray sea, he felt no pleasure and he felt no pain. He was in a fog, where the biting chill could not find him. Then he began to remember.

He remembered scent, and the fog resolved itself somewhat into buildings, cars; he remembered hearing, and the echoes flung up to the sky from the canyons and corridors of the city reverberated in his mind. He remembered taste, kinesthetic, the feel of time slithering through him. He opened his eyes, remembering sight; everything resolved in painfully sharp detail. He remembered the pattering feel of the present, the precious stream of seconds he breathed in. He breathed steadily, warming the night sky in his lungs.

He forgot. He forgot the feeling of pain first. It had no meaning, no place in him. He forgot words next; they would not help him do what he was about to do. He forgot the finer sentiments of good and evil, of law, of justice. There was only one law that would guide him tonight. He forgot the past and the future, becoming a creature of senses and instinct alone.

The creature Kravinoff was becoming hunched down and tasted a drop of gore collected from the safehouse downstairs. The blood was cold and dark, and it tasted of ashes and decay.

Kravinoff closed his eyes and drank in the wind. Caught her traces on it.

Then in a smooth motion he slid to his feet and ran into the night after his prey. There was no escape for her now.

xXx

Peter lay down on the bed in Kravinoff's safe house. "So sedate me, I guess," he said.

Connors handed him a couple pills and a glass of filmy water. "Here you go," he said. "This shouldn't knock you out, just make things a little dreamy for a while."

"Better give me enough to knock me out," Peter said. "I have a bit of a speedy metabolism. You may have noticed."

"I suppose you do," Connors said, handing him the bottle. "I should have thought of that."

Peter opened the bottle and poured a few more pills out, then re-capped it and handed it to Connors. "Here goes," he said, and he washed down the mouthful of pills.

With a thin scream, a vampire with a crooked head charged from the shadows. Peter was up, pushing Connors aside, and thrusting with his leg in a smooth action. The kick caught the vampire in the chin, and with a crunch the rest of its neck went. Peter darted over to the broken table and snagged another table leg, then walked over and pinned the cripple to the floor.

"That's the one that met the pull-up bar," Peter said. He glanced around. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Oh?" Connors said.

"Necra knows exactly what's happening to me," Peter said slowly. "She's bound to send more of her creatures to force me to fight." He sat on the bed. "To speed my transformation." He glanced up, suddenly still, listening. "They're here," he murmured. "It's only a matter of time."

Connors looked thoughtfully at the roof, listening to the creaks that did not synchronize with the wind gusting outside. "I can protect you," he said. He walked over to the table and picked up a scalpel.

"Maybe you weren't paying attention," Peter said. "No, our only hope is to try to elude them in a running—" he gasped and doubled over—

her teeth shining, his stomach shriveling, he felt his lungs crush under an unseen grip, heard her laughter as he struggled not to die

"It's getting worse," Peter managed, a whine in his breathing as he lay on his back clutching his shoulder. He felt a painful thud each time his heart pushed his blood through his body, and he felt a strong urge to stop his heart so it would stop riling his blood up. He closed his eyes, tasting blood in his mouth, fighting for air.

"There's only one way we can defeat these things now," Connors said. He stripped off his coat and his shirt, standing bare-chested in the damp cold of the safehouse. On his right pectoral was a brilliant red and black tattoo, its pattern pulling the eye into it and away from it at the same time with an odd fascination.

Connors gazed down at Peter for a moment. "We become monsters," he said softly, "to save you from a similar fate." He smiled faintly. "I've waited for some time to repay a debt to you. This is my chance. You're the one who showed me that being a monster doesn't mean you can't be a hero too."

"Connors," Peter said faintly. "That's a really bad idea."

"It's the only hope left," Connors said. "For both of us. You'll survive this," he added. "It will be up to you to return me to my humanity."

He took the scalpel and cut an upside down V incision over the tattoo, then gritted his teeth as he peeled a flap of skin down a half an inch.

The border of the tattoo was breached.

Connors staggered back, breathing hard, eyes bright…

xXx

Kravinoff perched on the rooftop of the warehouse, looking at the huge ship moored at the dock. There. She was aboard. Its hull was streaked with rust, and it looked abandoned. Kravinoff could feel her lurking in the belly of the ship. He was moving, silent as shadow, as invisible as breath in moonlight.

A vampire stood on the deck of the ship, motionless, watchful. It did not see Kravinoff coming. The big man dropped, and as the vampire realized he was there, he rammed a pair of hedge shears into its chest and opened them, prying its ribs apart and shredding the heart. It screamed and toppled, smoking. Kravinoff yanked the shears out of its chest with the ring of steel against bone. He roared challenge. Then he cranked open the door and stared down into the noxious darkness, engulfed in a wave of air laden with the stink of rot and blood and filth.

He reached the hallway, facing three vampires in a space so narrow only one could fit at a time.

The creature that Kravinoff had become smiled, showing all his big square white teeth. He raised his shears, drew a massive knife from his belt, and advanced.

xXx

Peter gasped for air, limp on the bed, realizing he must have passed out for a moment. His sense of time was gone, his heart must have stopped. Dipped in death, however briefly. Peter fought to breathe, felt his heart sluggish and reluctant to pump. Through bleary eyes he looked around the room.

Three vampires dropped from the skylight, and one came in the door.

"Your goddess is lonely," one said, fangs flashing in the dimness. "We are here to collect you."

A shape uncoiled from the dimness, snapping into the vampire and sending both sailing across the lit patch and deep into shadow. A strangled scream was forced loose, and the floor vibrated with violent thrashings. Then all was quiet but a faint hiss, and steamy smoke drifted into the light.

The three vampires oriented on the shadow. They peered into it, the night holding no secrets from them. The creature that had destroyed their kin now stalked out to meet them.

Hunched and coiled, the creature had leathery skin and whipcord muscles. Its hands and feet were clawed, and it had a heavily muscled tail that lashed slowly behind it. Its head was that of a lizard, glittering dark eyes watching the vampires over a gaping mouth that emitted an oily hiss of menace.

"I don't know what it is," one of the vampires said, "so let's kill it."

xXx

Kravinoff stood, battered and bloodied, leaning on the doorframe and glaring at the pale woman. She was in the hold, sitting in the light of a circle of candles, eyes rolled back in her head, a ghastly rictus grin across her face. Her eyes trembled, then rolled down in her head so she could see.

"You again," she said. "I thought you'd be dead by now."

Kravinoff knew no words. He squared off with her.

"Oh, this should be amusing," she said.

He stalked closer.

She stood in a fluid motion and breezily approached. "I breathe on you and you fall over," she said, and she swiped at him with a backhand.

He leaned out of the way, and thrust with the knife. It zipped over her shoulder and plunged into her throat under her jawbone, its tip scraping the inside of her skull on the other side of her head. Kravinoff tugged it free and hopped back, crouched and ready for combat.

Necra slapped her hand to her throat and staggered back, eyes wide, as precious blood sprayed out. In a moment of shock she realized she was feeling real pain.

Kravinoff smiled, eyes glittering and savage. Necra narrowed her eyes and flared her nostrils.

"Mortal," she spat.

The fight began.