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Szabo replied with
swipes of his own. Soon the air became thick with the smell of
sweat, blood and fur.
    “Enough of this,” Szabo growled and with a
mighty backhand, knocked Anastasia against the far wall, where she
collapsed in a heap. He turned around and grabbed Harry by the
throat. The man-thing’s strength was incredible. Harry slashed the
monster’s forearms, kicked and squirmed, but no matter what he did,
he couldn’t break the hold.
    “You are less than nothing.” Szabo smiled,
and after practically crushing his larynx, tossed him to land on
top of Anastasia. He then took off through the door and into the
night with an astonishing burst of speed.
    “You’d better get off me,” Anastasia said
with a groan.
    His body screaming with pain and his breath
coming out painfully, Harry fell to the floor, trying to calm the
hammering in his chest. That thing had scared the ever-loving hell
out of him. Szabo was truly a nightmare come true. “Are you all
right?” he rasped. That monster had almost crushed his throat. He
could have—but didn’t.
    She panted out, “I’ll make it, but this is
really going to hurt in the morning.”
    With another painful groan, she got to her
feet and wended her way over to the couch, where she collapsed in a
heap. Harry wearily took his place next to her, noticed that her
body had already begun to heal and also noted the same thing
happening to him. At the same time, though, he cursed himself for
hesitating. Seconds counted, and he realized that hesitation could
be costly.
    Perhaps Anastasia sensed his uncertainty and
fear and perhaps not. With a gentle, loving hand, she patted him on
the shoulder. “You did fine,” she said, casting her gaze to the
ground. “He’s... way too much for me.”
    It was a rather astonishing admission on her
part. She’d never backed down from any challenge before, never
admitted defeat. Perhaps this was one adversary she couldn’t fight
against... and Harry had to own up and say the same. “Yeah, he’s
got the edge in strength, but not in speed. We have to work
together. We can take him.”
    Anastasia lifted her head and nodded. “Let’s
figure that out another day.”
    Her gaze then shifted from one of softness to
one of steel when it locked on Istvan. He hadn’t moved from his
position, but when he saw her face, he started to whimper once more
and curled up into a ball. “Don’t you try that I’m afraid don’t
hurt me crap on me,” Anastasia said.
    She got off the sofa and with an iron hand,
dragged him over to the couch. There she slung him onto the
cushions like a student tossing his backpack down after a hard day
at school. “We heard what Szabo told you. He called you a traitor.
If you don’t want to end up like those two agents,” she pointed at
their remains, “then you’d better start talking, and you’d better
start now.”
    Istvan gulped and nodded, fearfully looking
around him. “I will tell you,” he said in the faintest of all
voices, “but he will come back for me. He wants me. He wants this
man,” he pointed to Harry, “and he wants to kill. I cannot fight
him. I cannot win, and I cannot escape what I am.”
    A second later, he dissolved into tears and
his body shook uncontrollably. While he cried, Harry took one of
the dead agent’s cellphones and dialed the number for FBI
headquarters. A minute later, he hung up and turned to Istvan. “I
just called the FBI. An agent—his name is Farrell—is going to be
here as soon as he can. If you have anything to tell us, then you’d
better start now. Stop crying, or else we’ll do this on our own and
leave you—”
    The threat got through to Istvan, for he
stopped crying and got on his knees as if begging for mercy. “No,
please do not leave me. I will tell you what I know.”
    Anastasia crossed her arms over her chest in
the manner of a detective during an interrogation. “Then start
talking. We’ll listen.”

Chapter Four: The Plan
     
     
    “It is true,”