The Trouble with Beasts (Howl for the Damned: Book One)

by D. Fischer

  Straightening, I say, “You just told me I was a liar.”

  “Whatever is going on with you needs control. You’re not feral. Bitchy, but unfortunately that’s not a crime. I see remorse in your face. I feel how lost you are. If you tell me what you are, I can try to help. I’ll protect you when the shifters come for retaliation.”

  “And if I don’t?” I ask in a challenging sort of way, jutting my chin.

  “Then you’re still a threat. I’d have to assume you don’t regret ending a life and that you’ll do it again because you’re denying what I offer – a means to control . . . whatever you are.” He waves a hand at me. “You’ll have to be dealt with accordingly, and to do so, I’d have to hand you over to the shifters who’ve been after you.”

  We scrutinize one another, both determined to have our ways.

  “It’s none of your business,” I growl.

  “You’re right. It’s not. But you can’t deny that I’m the only one who’s offered to help you. Protect you. Aide you.” He squares his shoulders. “Tell me what you are. Last chance, or I’m walking out the door.”

  I say nothing, and when he moves to stand from his chair, I blurt, “I’m a skinwalker.”

  Slowly, he blinks. “A skinwalker.”

  I curse a stream of profanity at him for forcing my hand and then questioning my answer. “That’s what I just said,” I hiss.

  He settles back into the cushion. “Are you going to tell me what that is?”

  “I don’t actually know.” At his chuff of disbelief, I press on, feeling the need to defend myself - to keep him here instead of contacting my attackers. “I just found out, okay? My mother told me an hour before you knocked me out.”

  He stands abruptly. “If you won’t give me answers, then I have no choice –”

  I throw my hands in the air and let out a strangled cry of exasperation.

  Even if he understood what I was, a fact I’m still coping with and trying to figure out myself, he won’t let me leave. He thinks I’m joking. Joking, for God’s sake! In his opinion, I’m a danger to everything and everyone.

  “I’m a skinwalker, you prick. You asked for honesty. There it is!” I huff my next few breaths. “Perhaps I am a murderer since I can’t control it. I’m a freak. A woman born from a shaman and a witch. A fucking skinwalker. I could easily kill the next person who threatens me. That’s how it works. I’m attacked. I change into an animal. A beast. Is that what you want to hear?”

  It makes me wonder why I haven’t tried killing him yet. Why hasn’t the spirit animal inside me, or whatever it is, come forward and destroyed him like I did the others? It’s not a comforting thought – to kill again – but if it keeps me alive and breathing, then maybe my skinwalker side will eventually surface.

  He just watches calmly. Seconds tick by, but I refuse to squirm under the weight of his study. Then, he swaggers to the door. Just before he exits, he says, “I’ll send in a doctor to make sure you’re okay.”

  And with that, he leaves.

  Prick, I think, dropping my head back to the pillow.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jacob Trent

  A skinwalker? I snort at the thought as I stroll down the hall. What the hell is a skinwalker?

  My wolf rumbles his disagreement inside me. He doesn’t like that I’m denying what I feel inside – the truth to her words.

  Jinx Whitethorn has to be lying, because if she isn’t, everything – the beasts, the creatures, the species – we know, feels like a lie. She has to be using some kind of magic to kill people so brutally, even if it truly does turn out that it was self-defense. They’re dead, and she doesn’t have a scratch on her.

  Maybe it is magic. Maybe it’s just not a magic known to the creature world.

  I enter the cafeteria while rubbing my smooth head. I’m at a loss. I got answers, and yet, I’m still at a loss.

  “How’d it go?” Rex asks, and I snap my head up. I forgot that some of the pack were waiting here for answers.

  I survey the group, organizing my thoughts. “What is a skinwalker?” I blurt, surprising even myself with the harshness of my tone. I need answers. I need to know if she’s a threat. I need to know if my bargain with her to provide protection will eventually bite me in the ass.

  I need to know if she’s a liar.

  Everyone blinks at me, but it’s Chip who answers. He pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The thickness of his lenses makes his eyes look owlish. “It’s Native American lore.” That’s all he says, oblivious to my ignorance on the matter.

  Impatiently, I press, “Go on.”

  He adjusts his posture, sitting up straighter as though I snapped his spine to attention with my tone. His mate, Bia, looks curiously at me.

  “A witch who can transform into animals. Their spirits, anyway.” He snorts and puts his elbows on the table, tenting his fingers. “It’s just a fable though.”

  Bia grimaces. “I always thought that legend was about the other species around them. Back then, witches and shifters didn’t have to hide so much. They probably got the two confused, or thought we were one people, and thus . . .” The legend was born.

  Taking a seat across from Rex with the rest of the pack who’s here, I settle in, glancing once at the kitchen when Glenda strikes up a merry hum. She exits the kitchen with a tray of steaming coffee mugs and a plate of warm cookies.

  “What you need is caffeine,” she barks at me, heavily accented. “Caffeine and to pull stick from ass.”

  I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at her.

  “The girl said she skinwalker, yes?” I blink my confirmation. “Why lie?” Glenda doesn’t wait for my reply. She sets the tray down and hobbles back to the kitchen, cursing and mumbling under her breath about brutish, ignorant men.

  “Brutish,” Rex mocks. “We are not brutish.”

  “Hell, yes we are,” Damien says. He’s standing in front of the TV on the wall, tapping through the channels at complete ease. Cinder is practically steaming smoke from his ears on the opposite end from Rex, and Reese and Amelia are a few seats down from me. They’re the first to snatch their coffee and treat. The rest of the pack is off protecting the territory.

  I swear caffeine and sugar are the way to any woman’s heart.

  Unable to resist the urge, I wrap my fingers around a mug’s handle and bring the steam to my nose. “According to Jinx, their legend isn’t a fable.”

  Bia crosses her skinny arms. “Like I said.”

  “How is that impossible?” Cinder asks. “She’s saying she’s a skinwalker, but Bia thinks it was a confused legend. You’re saying she’s . . . what? Something in between an animal and a witch?”

  “She can’t be,” Chip says. “It’s just a tale. An old one.”

  “One that’s sitting on the bed in my room. Pissed, I might add.” I turn in my seat to the women cradling their mugs like a lifeline. “Can you check her over, Reese? She was out cold for some time.” As Reese nods, she stands, snatches another cookie in her free hand, and disappears through the cafeteria entrance.

  “You too?” I say to Amelia. “When Reese is done? I want to see if she’s mentally sound.”

  Amelia quirks a brow. “You think she’s crazy?”

  I refrain from shrugging. “I don’t know. The story is pretty implausible.” As I relay all the information Jinx told me, I watch as Amelia’s mind works frantically. Her eyes shift between both of mine, her lips pursed in either disbelief of Jinx’s tale or displeasure over my reluctance to believe it.

  “I’ll talk with her,” Amelia says.

  “Good. Give her a tour, too. We’re going to be having a guest for a while.”

  Damien turns on his heel and snarls at me, his beast seemingly lunging forward and taking over the man. I don’t bring attention to it. I don’t even act like I see the rage that curls his thick fingers into fists.

  “What are you going to do if it’s the truth?” Rex whispers.

  “I don�
�t know,” I breathe. “I told her we’d protect her, though. She can’t be roaming the streets. Not in this condition.”

  “A cross-species,” Chip says thoughtfully. “A witch for a mother. A shaman for a father.”

  “And that makes a skinwalker?” I ask doubtfully.

  “It could,” Bia says, shrugging. “Shamans are the opposite end of the witchy pole. It would make sense that together, their offspring would meet in the middle.”

  “Let’s refrain from calling a hostage an offspring,” Amelia says dryly, now standing behind me. “She’s a woman born to a witch, but nothing like her species. Her father died before she got to know him or learn about where she came from. I’m sure her mind is a mess right now. Calling her an outcast could tip her over the edge.”

  Bia blushes. Both she and her mate are more book-smart than people smart. Brilliant, but socially awkward.

  “Shamans have magic?” Cinder asks curiously.

  “Sure,” Bia shrugs. “More dealing with spirits, but yes. They do.”

  “And so it begins,” Rex says, scrubbing the stubble along his jaw.

  I glance at him warily. Why do I have the feeling that tiny woman in my bed is going to cause a whole lot of trouble?

  Jinx Whitethorn

  The doctor – Reese, I think her name is – shines a tiny, bright light in my eyes. I wince away from it and her cold fingers tightly gripping my chin. Since she entered the bedroom and approached Jacob’s massive bed, she’s been rude. I have half a mind to tell her where she can stick her attitude, but that might require leaving the warmth of the blankets.

  “Dizzy?” she asks, her tone cold.

  “Bitchy,” I correct sweetly. She veers back, glaring. “Oh, you’re asking about me?” I place a hand to my heart and flutter my eyelashes.

  “Are. You. Dizzy?” she asks between clenched teeth. Her frizzy hair resembles the fury building inside her. I delight in it. “Do you have a headache?”

  “Both,” I answer honestly.

  When she had swept in like she owned this room, I decided that I’d be civil and nice. I could tell then and there that she doesn’t want me here. Checking me over was the last thing she wanted to do today. Occasionally, like a moment ago, my resolve slipped, but I know that deep in my unique soul, sometimes the best revenge is kindness.

  The doctor had marched in here like I was a pest she planned to exterminate. But I’m a cuddly bunny. Sweet and fluffy, I’m practically rubbing up against this wolf, and there’s not a damn thing she can do about it but endure her alpha’s orders.

  She straightens, backing away from the bed I still sit on. “Good.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Your bedside manner is without match.”

  Sneering, she crosses her arms. “You are in my alpha’s bed. You are under my alpha’s protection. You are a murderer. Excuse me for finding the whole situation repulsive.” Excuse me for finding you repulsive, she doesn’t say.

  I quirk a brow. “Defensive much?”

  “When it comes to my alpha.”

  I lean and whisper, “Does it hurt you in all your fuzzy places that your alpha barely notices you?” Women like her are always the same. They don’t get seen by the man they love, and when that man stands by another woman. . . la-tee-da. One vengeful hag.

  Her cheeks redden and I smirk when my words hit truth. “At least, not in the way you want. It must suck to be invisible to the man you adore.”

  “You’re a bitch,” she hisses.

  “I try.”

  We both turn to the door when a knock vibrates the wood. Another woman enters, her posture straight and proper yet kind as she regards the two of us. She softly shuts the door. “Reese?”

  By the expression on her face, she had heard what Reese said to me, and she’s appalled. I cup my chin in my hand and look innocently back and forth between the two. Perhaps this isn’t normal behavior for this doctor, but I’ll be damned if I’m a victim of a bully and a hostage at the same time.

  With one more glare in my direction, Reese exits the room. Her feelings trail behind her like an invisible tail of palpable emotions.

  I huff a laugh. “She’s a real piece of work,” I say as the new woman approaches the bed, a plate of cookies in hand.

  She sets them on the side of the bed and frowns at the door. “Not normally.”

  Without being asked, I snatch a cookie from the plate and moan when the warmth of it melts in my mouth.

  The woman looks to me and holds out her hand. “I’m Doctor Amelia Montgomery.”

  Halting my chewing, I stare at her hand, shrug, and then shake it. A smear of chocolate chips transfers from my palm to hers. “Jinx Whitethorn” I say around a mouth full. Crumbs fall out of my mouth, bounce off my chin, and sprinkle the comforter. “Another doctor, huh? I bet this pack is just raking in the dough.”

  She lifts a well-manicured brow and then sits on the side of the bed. I snatch the plate of cookies before they can topple to the floor. The floor doesn’t need the sugary treat. I do. “The pack takes what it needs to survive and nothing more.”

  I snort. “I’ve heard the stories. You’re all wealthy. Prosperous even.”

  “Prosperous?” she says, both eyebrows raised now. “If you’re implying that we are thriving beyond all reason, then you’re sorely mistaken. Do you have any idea how many shifters we lost in the Realms War? Any idea how much it has affected my alpha? Cinder, even?”

  I swallow the bite of cookie and it travels down my throat like a rock. Perhaps that’s why their alpha is so uptight about losing more shifters from this realm despite the shifters in question not being under his care.

  And Cinder . . . what sort of hit did Cinder take from it? He’s never said anything about it. In fact, he’s always evaded the questions I’ve ever asked about the Realms War.

  Immediately, I feel like an ass, and the cookie plopping in my growling stomach agrees. That doesn’t mean I’ll forgive my ‘friend’ for giving away every tiny morsel of information I ever gave him.

  “And the witches? How many did your coven lose?” she asks quietly, taking a cookie for herself. As her hand moves from the plate settled crookedly in my lap, the scent of coffee swirls between the plate and my nose. She nibbles on the sugary goodness.

  I say nothing. Instead, I look down at the plate that now screams my guilt back at me.

  “That’s what I thought,” she whispers. “Hold your judgment, Jinx. You may not like the situation you find yourself in, but you have no idea what we’ve endured lately.”

  I dive for a different topic. “Why do I need two doctors?”

  She smiles sweetly. “I’m not a medical doctor like Reese. Couldn’t stomach the sight of intestines. I’m a psychiatrist.”

  I laugh and whip my mouth with the back of my hand. “A shrink? A shrink!”

  She laughs with me. “Not for the humans, though. Not anymore.”

  I sober at this. Not since the war, she doesn’t say.

  I chew thoughtfully on another cookie, watching her as she studies the room. Despite being part of my kidnapping, I can’t help but like her. There’s something bright about her. Something pure and sweet and kind. Understanding, too.

  Before I take another bite, I say, “I’m sorry about your friends. About all your packmates who died.”

  She nods to me. “Thanks. In time, we will recover. And so will you.”

  Amelia can read people too well, I decide.

  Standing, she grabs a small remote and turns off the fireplace. “Ready for your tour?”

  “Tour? You mean I can leave this room?”

  She grins down at me and holds out her hand to help me from the bed. “I believe you’re only a partial hostage.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jacob Trent

  I breathe in the lingering scent of oak and lemon oil as I enter my office. Today, this space of mine doesn’t hold the sense of overwhelming duty but instead, a freedom from my new responsibilities.

 
A heavy oak desk, passed down from alpha to alpha, is the central focus of the room. It’s wide, long, and the detailed trees and leaves are ornately carved along its edges. I remember being a child and playing in front of this desk while my father made calls and checked budgets. The walls still clutch the boom of his voice. I’m sure of it. Not until I was old enough to understand the inner workings of pack life did he begin to teach me.

  Behind the desk are two of the large windows I refuse to rid the structure of. They come to a point at the top, and their length is taller than I am, overlooking the forest’s treetops and the endless sea of sky.

  The stack of papers on my desk doesn’t go unnoticed, nor the blinking monitor screen button. My mind is occupied with witchy beasts – impossibilities – and new threats. With a sigh, I stand between my desk and the windows, surveying the room. Couches sit to my left, and floor to ceiling bookshelves stand to my right.

  I pick up the old leather book Jinx left behind at the bar and slide it into a gap of pack history binders. Sliding my fingers down the cracking spine, I wonder, not for the first time, what’s inside this book.

  Grimacing, I contemplate my options. I should look. I should know what she clutched so dear when she entered the dark bar.

  When I woke up this morning, I had no plans for today to unfold as it has. Not only do we have branded shifters to hunt down but retaliating witches to consider if they notice her missing. We’ll be the first they look at since Jinx lives in Cinder’s bar.

  Leaving the book in it’s new, albeit most likely temporary home, I return to the task at hand. Just as I sit roughly in my office chair, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s always on vibrate. Shifter hearing is useful that way.

  I sigh heavily and fish it out. “What?” I say tiredly.

  The voice on the other end laughs. “You’re in a fine mood today,” Evo says. “Rough night?”

  “You could say that.” I look to the book again as if it’s the reason for this mess.

  “So you got her then?” There’s no malice in his tone but, instead, a probing curiosity. “Did she come willingly?”