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

by D. Fischer

  “Nope,” I grumble. I slump in my chair and peer at the ceiling. “Gave Damien a black eye.”

  Evo whistles. “At least no one got seriously hurt. If she is the culprit to these murders, you got off lucky.”

  “Is that why you called? To gossip?”

  “No,” Evo says, laughing. “At least, not on this matter.”

  I lean forward in my chair and jab my index finger on the desk. “There’s more trouble going on?”

  “That’s the rumor,” he says, and then there’s a pause. From the sound of the rustling, he’s switching the phone from one ear to the other. Papers crinkle in the background. “You know who Wice Bane is, right?”

  Under the stack of papers awaiting my attention, I carefully tug out the binder full of surrounding shifter packs and their alphas. “Alpha of the Bane Pack, right? What about it?” I flip it open and pinch the Bane’s tab.

  “You’ve heard the rumors about him and his shifters, right?”

  I nod and then remember he can’t see me. “Yeah. Some say they’re mercenaries for hire.”

  “I’ve heard that too.”

  Placing the binder on a clean surface of my desk, I open the Bane’s information. “Is there a point to this gossip?” I ask, meeting Wice Bane’s eyes in his picture then grabbing a pencil and a scrap of paper. I scribble down his name.

  Notes are a habit of mine. I always write down information, only to lose the note later. It doesn’t matter. Whatever I write down I seem to always remember anyway.

  “I heard some of the pack is in town.”

  I frown, and goosebumps riddle my skin. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. No one does.”

  “Do me a favor?” I ask and I presume his silence as confirmation. I add this to my note and use tape to stick it to the edge of my monitor. “Find out why.”

  I hang up shortly after that, not able to concentrate on any other word he says. If the Bane Pack is in town, even some of them, then problems will surely follow.

  Trouble always follows that pack. It’s led by that asshole. There’s a reason everyone knows nothing about them, but the rumors spread like wildfire nonetheless. They’re bad news, and if they’re roaming the streets, we need to know why.

  Once I snap myself from my daydreaming about all the possibilities regarding what that could mean for the shifters in the area, and why they’re here, I stand, stretch, and head to the gym. Rex is down there, and he needs to be aware.

  Jinx Whitethorn

  Every hallway she leads me down is oddly vacant of shifters. There’s wall decor of shifters, some ancient photos and some newer, but no living, breathing beings. As we pass bedrooms, I can hear people shuffling around or hushed conversations inside them. None of them come out to greet me. Perhaps they’re afraid of me. Or maybe they want nothing to do with me. It doesn’t matter. The shifter shrink is unknowingly showing me every exit in this building.

  Is she doing it on purpose? To ease me into a sense of comfort? To gain some level of trust? Probably. Damn her that it’s working.

  Every time I stop and study a photo or trail my finger over a frame, she waits with the patience of a saint. Perhaps, too, she knows I’m testing her on some level. I can say one thing for sure though. On the way down to the taunting smell of food, I have yet to see a speck of dust, a morsel of crumbs, or a stray sock. They may have all the bells and whistles, but they certainly do know how to take care of what they have.

  Standing in the cafeteria, I look at the whiteboard of the people I killed. I hadn’t realized I gravitated so close to it. Not until Amelia breaks my reverie by handing me a cup of milk. My own name is circled, and I study it. The script was written quickly and messily.

  Murderer. Freak. Beast.

  “A skinwalker, huh?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” I say, toasting her with milk as a silent thank you.

  “What all does that mean?”

  A female voice, rough around the edges, barks from the kitchen. “It mean she different. Special.” The woman’s greying head pokes out and points at me with a wooden spoon. A Russian shifter? “Special is good.”

  Amelia smirks when the woman disappears back inside the kitchen and whispers, “That’s Glenda. We keep her around for the food.”

  “I hear that!” she yells from the safety of her domain.

  “You starve with no me,” she adds, more a grumble to herself than a response to us.

  I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shoulder and prop myself against a table. “It means I turn into an animal. A wolf, according to my friend.”

  “Sara, right?”

  I don’t answer, preferring to keep my best friend out of it. How is it that everyone here knows about me, but I know nothing about them?

  “How is the coven handling it?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I admit. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “I left before anything could be said.”

  “Do you think they’d accept you?”

  I chuckle faintly. I wish I hadn’t. It shows my nervousness on the subject. It’s not something I’ve entirely thought about since I left the coven house. “No. Coven life isn’t for outsiders, especially ones they don’t understand.” Even if they were born into it, I add for myself.

  “I see,” she whispers then looks back at the whiteboard. Reaching, she erases a smudge with her thumb. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I scowl then look behind me to see if it’s me she’s talking to.

  She waves at the board. “For all of this. For not being able to control your life or understand what you are. For all of it. It must be hard.”

  I blink at her. “Thank you?”

  “You don’t have to thank me for sympathy. I understand you. I, too, came from a broken home. My mother died when I was little and as the way of mates, my father followed. It’s probably for the best,” she adds. “If it weren’t for the rules of the mating bond – the old ones – he probably would have drunk himself to death anyway. From what I remember, they were deeply in love.”

  I soften toward this woman who’s willing to share a piece of herself with a complete stranger. “I suppose our circumstances have made us who we are.”

  The shrink crosses her arms loosely and cocks a foot out. I can tell she’s the one who likes to give advice and not have it given to her. “Is that why you took self-defense classes? Why you’ve learned to fight?”

  I shrug again and gulp the milk. “Possibly.” I wipe away my milk mustache. “My body is the one thing I can control, and with the shifters after me, I’m glad I have the training to defend myself.”

  “But you don’t,” she says. “You don’t defend yourself in that manner. Your magic takes over.”

  Startled, I cock my head. I push off from the table and set the empty glass on the surface. She continues before I can defend myself. “You can’t control what you are, can you?”

  “Now wait just a minute, Sally Sue. I can defend myself just fine.”

  Amelia scoffs. “I wasn’t questioning your physical abilities. I was questioning your magical ones. You can’t control it.”

  With a distinct glare, I reluctantly say, “No. There isn’t exactly a rule book for what I am.”

  “That must be scary,” she whispers, surprising me again by touching my upper arm gently. I thought for sure she was leading to hidden prejudices. I thought for sure she had lured me with kindness and acceptance only to tell me I wasn’t welcome in the end.

  “I haven’t had much time to think about it. I was kidnapped, remember?”

  “Right,” she says, dipping her head and blowing out a breath. Her attention moves to my pocket where the necklace settles warmly against my thigh. “Is that the necklace?”

  I follow her gaze. “How’d you –” I roll my eyes. “Jacob searched me, didn’t he?”

  She gives me a bright grin. “It’s his job. Can I see it?”

  Breathing in deep, I consider turning on my heel and taking myself back t
o the room I woke in. I don’t need to share anything with this woman. I don’t need to have friends either. But the way she’s looking at me – seeing me for me instead of the freak I see in the mirror . . .

  I fish it out of the depths of my jeans. My hands shake as it hums against my skin, but I manage to hold it out for her examination. When she reaches to touch it, I pull back a little. She gives me an expression of apology and says, “It’s beautiful. Alluring almost.” She tips her head to the side and squints at the carved details. “The wolf – it’s expertly carved. Who gave it to you?”

  “My father,” I say, tucking my chin to hide the sorrow I kept from my voice.

  She touches a plain but smooth silver ring on her finger. “My father gave me this as well. Nothing as special as yours, but it’s been passed down from generation to generation for nearly two hundred years. I’m the last of the Montgomery’s, and someday, if I have children, it’ll be theirs.” I lift my gaze back to hers. “After my parents died, Jacob’s father, our old alpha, had it resized to fit my finger once I was a teenager.”

  An awkwardness settles between us, both settling into the memories of the other. She gapes at my necklace so intently; I wonder what she sees that I don’t. Perhaps she’s placing herself in my shoes, wondering how it would feel to know nothing about her father other than something he carved by hand.

  “Should we continue the tour?” I ask when it’s clear the necklace has her in some sort of lure.

  Snapping to attention, she points. “Keep that safe. There’s something . . . different about it.”

  Twisting my lips, I put the wolf-shaped bone necklace back inside my pocket. It settles at the bottom, and its presence against my thigh brings comfort to the sad topic we had been discussing.

  Amelia walks me past the gym, telling me I’m allowed to go in there and use the equipment whenever I choose. She encourages me to do so and keep up the training I’ve so diligently done in the past. The smell of the sweat and metal and plastic reaches my nose as we pass, heading toward the stairs that lead back to the upper levels.

  “Up here is the alpha’s office,” she says once we’re settled on the third floor. She directs me to the first door on the right and pushes the office door open.

  “Where all the bossing happens,” I chip in to distract myself from the swirling scents of the alpha. The aroma does something to my insides, turning it to putty, and I wonder just how many pheromones this man contains.

  Flicking on the light, she says, “Jacob is usually up here if you can’t find him anywhere else. The door next to this one is the beta’s office. Both Jacob and Rex are good men, so don’t hesitate to ask for anything. You may have been ‘kidnapped,’” she quotes, “but you won’t be treated as such. Not here. Jacob will see to that.”

  I’m sure he will. The thing about beasts, I’ve learned, is that their actions and thoughts are controlled separately. I suppose it’s that way with all species.

  Jacob can’t force his wolves to accept me. Only I can persuade them to, and I find myself wanting to do just that. There’s something about this compound that feels wholly different than a coven’s home. I can feel the easy links of relationships lingering in the air like a different sort of breeze. I can also feel the part of me that’s been searching for a place to belong, wishing this was where I could finally settle.

  “And you?” I ask, stepping into the spacious office. “Can I come to you if I need anything?”

  I trust this woman. Perhaps that was her plan all along, but if I’m going to be here for a while, then I need at least one sympathizer – one friend.

  “Of course,” she says cheerfully, and it’s then I know I hit the nail on the head. All of this – the tour, confiding in me, asking me questions – it was all to gain my trust. I had suspected correctly, but I don’t mind. I see the logic in it. And I also find myself filling with joy about it.

  I shuffle to the desk, running my fingers over the bulge in my jean’s pocket. The desk is beautiful. Old, but beautiful, and the color scheme of reds and whites is oddly suiting for their alpha. A man’s cave. A leader’s cave.

  Quietly, I peer at the objects on his desk, ignoring the stacks of paper entirely and the numbers scrawled across the tops of them. There are no personal items, but I note his handwriting. It’s careful, neat, telling me that he’s mindful of the information he transfers from note to note.

  “He really is a good alpha, Jinx. If you give it some time, you’ll see it too.”

  I ignore her in favor of getting a feel for the man who brought me here. Pencil shavings are gathered near the end of the desk. I run my fingers over the clear trail that he uses to shove the slivers of wood across the surface and into the trash bin on the floor next to the desk. Budgets are highlighted in yellow and sticky notes are piled haphazardly on top of one another. He truly does perform his job with a great sense of loyalty. It reminds me of what my mother said – that she and my father had to choose between desires and loyalties. Does Jacob give up his desires for loyalty?

  Just before I turn away from the desk, I glance at the binder open on the far corner. I move closer to it, peering at the face of the man on the front sheet.

  Wice Bane, it reads above his picture. Alpha to the Bane Pack.

  Bending closer, I study his picture. How cocky of this alpha to name a pack after his surname? It was probably his ancestors who named it after themselves, and I remind myself not to judge the man by something he can’t change. After all, don’t I want the same courtesy?

  Aged enough to be my father, his face is scarred as though it’s been the target of many fists. One particularly nasty scar is slashed across his greying eyebrow. Somehow, it makes him more handsome. The word ‘dapper’ comes to mind. His hair is a long, neat, tidy ponytail, and his jaw is narrow but sturdy.

  Despite not wanting to judge this alpha, I get this wrong feeling from him. It settles behind my sternum like a warning to my guarded heart. As my eyes travel past his jaw to the welt on his neck, I stiffen.

  “A diamond within a diamond.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jacob Trent

  “What are the odds that all this trouble falls onto our doorstep at the same time?” Rex says. Using the knuckle of his thumb, he wipes sweat from his brow.

  I open my mouth to answer him, but the gym door bursts open. The tiny woman in question strides in with a binder in hand. A binder I immediately recognize. Amelia quickly follows with a look of panic on her face.

  “Ladies,” I greet warily. Travis and Trevor stop their treadmill as soon as they notice Jinx’s determined, angry strides across the blue mat floor and onto the concrete platform home to the machines.

  “What the hell is this?” Jinx yells over the music. Everyone stops lifting weights, and Damien, who’s on the treadmill behind the twins, steps off, growling and moving in the path of Jinx’s destination: me.

  “Move,” she barks at him. “Or I’ll give you another black eye to match the other.”

  “Touch me and –”

  “And what?” she says, glaring up at him. Compared in size, she’s a tiny little thing. A kitten spitting at a bear. “You’ll hit a girl?”

  “I will if I have to. Not another step toward my alpha.”

  She tips her head back and laughs. “I’ll go where I want when I want.”

  Sidestepping him, she ducks when he moves to grab her, spins on her heel, and kicks his leg out from under him. I blink at the thud Damien’s large body makes against the floor and look to a grinning Cinder standing next to a swinging punching bag. The pride in his eyes makes me glare. He quickly looks away, but his expression remains in the mirror on the wall.

  Jinx doesn’t miss a beat. Not a binder paper is out of order as she rights herself and continues her march in my direction. Amelia helps up a seething Damien and watches as Jinx approaches me.

  “You told me you weren’t a part of this group,” she spits. “You lied.”

  Rex hands me a freshly
folded towel. I snap it open and dab my face, honing my senses to the skinwalker. “I’ve been known to lie once or twice, but I assure you it’s always for the greater good.” I quirk a brow at her. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific about your accusations.”

  She opens the binder and loiters through it. When she finds the page she’s looking for, she stabs Wice’s face with a sharp fingernail. “You told me you weren’t a part of this group.”

  I frown, but it’s Rex who answers, looking over my shoulder. “The Bane Pack? We aren’t.”

  “Then why was it on your desk?” she asks mockingly. Her large almond-shaped dark eyes search mine as if she can dive into my heart to find my intentions.

  “Every alpha has information on local packs, Jinx,” Cinder says as he joins the group. “Jacob heard they were in town.” He cocks his head. “Why were you snooping in the alpha’s office anyway?”

  “You –” she jabs a finger at Cinder. “You were a part of this mess. You helped kidnap me. You don’t get to talk to me. Not today.”

  “I had no choice,” Cinder mutters apologetically. “Alpha’s orders.”

  “I don’t care whose orders. Friends don’t kidnap friends.” She whirls back to me. “If you’re not a part of them, why are you looking into them? Why are they in town?”

  I shift my attention from a hurt Cinder to the tiny furious woman before me. She vibrates with rage, and her scent changes to something more charged. More . . . unique. I’m not the only one who smells it. Damien’s nostrils flare. “We were just discussing that. The true question is, how do you know who Wice is?”

  “I didn’t,” she barks. “I didn’t know who he was or his name. Not until I saw this. I recognized the brand. Look familiar?” She tips the binder to me, and I squint past the sweat dripping in my eyes.

  “Holy shit,” Rex whispers. “Jacob . . .”

  “I see it,” I murmur then look to Jinx. She blinks, surprised, and her shoulders relax.