Perfect Dark (The Company of Wolves Book 1)

by J. A. Saare

  "Brace yourself, grá," Noah said, reverting to the endearment that I had always adored. I didn’t have time to dwell on it, however. Forced to concentrate on more important matters as he fully opened the connection between us. This time he used our bond and strength to reach out to the beast that appeared between the columns of the hallway.

  Trapped in the form of a man and a wolf—the penis dangling between its legs clearly indicated the sex of what we were dealing with—the wolf-man was spattered from head to toe with fresh and dried blood. The source of some of the bleeding came from numerous cuts and scrapes along his body and hands. Several of his fingers were bent at odd angles, indicating the bones were broken in more than one place. The wolf-man was so far gone, he was beyond reacting to pain.

  Noah’s wolf was a powerful thing, so strong I had to bend my knees to maintain proper balance when it demanded control and sent his presence through the house. I clenched my teeth and instructed my feral half to support him in whatever manner he chose. His influence surrounded us, encasing us, until there was no denying where control and authority existed and from whom it came.

  "Heed me." Noah’s voice was no longer his own.

  I’d only heard the verbalization of his wolf twice—when my arm was accidentally broken by Mark in a game of football that became too rough, and when I informed Noah I was leaving to care for my ailing mother—and just as before, the sound sent a tendril of fear and awareness up my spine.

  The wolf-man snarled through his long, lethal teeth, trying to formulate words. Saliva dripped from his jaws as he raised his clawed hands, his eyes glowing a bright, eerie yellow. Up close, I was able to scent something odd oozing from his skin, something citrusy that I couldn’t place.

  "Get control of yourself," Noah commanded. "Shift back."

  The absolute power and strength in the order sent me staggering back a couple of feet. A loud, gut-wrenching howl came from the beast as he fell forward, keeping his balance on hands and knees. He started changing to his human form, his hair drawing back into his flesh to slowly reveal flashes of skin. The distinct sound of an object falling in the distance obliterated the silence and, for a moment, caught Noah’s attention. The wolf-man leapt to his feet when the focus on him was broken, turned back into the hallway, and tore a path in the direction of the interruption.

  "Damn it," Noah snarled and followed.

  A shrill scream and a loud slam indicated a door had been shut, and not a moment too soon. As Noah swept into the hallway and I followed, we watched as the wolf-man launched himself at the door and slashed at it with his claws. The wood was almost entirely obliterated, and I could see a large dresser had been pushed in front of it on the opposite side.

  "God, no!" A woman cried out, and I glimpsed her through a splice in the door. She was leaning against the dresser, using all her strength, attempting to keep it in place. Her face was red from the effort, and she had a bruise forming on the side of her face. "Get back kids! Stay back!" she screamed at her children who were also partially visible, their huddled forms pressed together against a far wall.

  Noah reacted without hesitation, holstering his gun in the same motion he made a sweep for the wolf-man. He wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, placing his free hand around his head, and placed him in a choke hold. When the man spun around, I saw Noah’s face. His eyes were no longer their normal dark blue shade. The irises had become a vivid and bright golden-silver. The hands holding the wolf-man were now clawed, and Noah's canines were visible through his parted lips. The man continued fighting even as Noah deprived him of oxygen. The wolf-man's orange gaze flickered upward, until his focus was entirely on me.

  "Oh shit," I whispered and took a step back.

  He came at me like a freight train, teeth bared and arms extended, despite the two-hundred pound man against his back. There wasn’t time to hesitate. It was me or him. I balanced the gun with both hands, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. There was no recoil, the barrel remaining nice and steady due to the design of the weapon. I remained as I was as the silver bullet traveled the short distance, vanished in the left side of the wolf-man’s chest, and stopped him just feet from me.

  It was a kill shot, straight to the heart.

  His eyes told me of the agony he suffered in the moment the bullet obliterated the organ inside his chest cavity. He stared at me, as if memorizing my face before he went to whatever place existed when you kissed the world goodbye. Noah released him and the man’s body slid to the ground. I watched, numb and oddly detached, as a large pool of blood spread out beneath him, coating the cream colored carpet in a pool of red.

  It felt like I was in a trance. Maybe in another reality.

  Or was this a bad dream? Perhaps I'd wake up.

  It wasn’t until I felt Noah’s fingers around my wrist that I tore my eyes from the sight and came back to reality with a jolt. I wanted to fold in on myself. I didn't know what to think of myself and what I'd done.

  I just shot and killed another person.

  Noah pulled me into his arms and rested his chin on the top of my head. I sagged in his embrace, leaning against him. He whispered soothing reassurances in Gaeilge—his grandmother’s language—and stroked my back.

  Muffled whimpers were the only thing powerful enough to force me from the warmth of his arms. As I stepped back, I saw the woman peering through the ravaged door, her attention riveted on what was now a naked man on the floor. Her mouth opened and closed several times, her face conveying her shock. She cautiously exited the room, studying the body. Then she inhaled raggedly. The peppery smell of fear mixed with the scent of bewilderment.

  "Stay back, ma'am." Noah retrieved his cell, pressed a button, and placed it to his ear. After a couple of seconds later he said, "It’s clear." He lowered the device, pressed another button, and slid the phone into his pocket.

  Kneeling, Noah studied the deceased male. "Are you Marcy Stamp? Is this your residence?" When she nodded he asked, "Do you know him, ma’am?"

  The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Noah and I studied the two adolescent children—a boy and a girl—who stepped into the hallway. Marcy lowered her hand and turned toward them.

  "Go back inside the room and stay there until I come for you."

  The young boy saw the lifeless form on the floor. "Mom?"

  "You heard me." After all she'd been through, the woman was handling herself well. I admired her courage and strength. "Don’t make me tell you again."

  Both children did as she asked.

  I heard the creak of mattress springs and glanced inside the room to see they’d taken a seat on the corner of the bed, whispering frantically to each other.

  Both appeared unharmed.

  "Do you know him, ma’am?" Noah repeated, crouched just across from her.

  "Can you turn him over?"

  Noah glanced at me before he moved to do as she asked. The body was still warm and easy to maneuver as Noah flipped him to his back, shifting the male until his face was visible. The man was well into his forties, with visible laugh lines around his eyes and mouth.

  "Oh my god." She seemed to choke on the words and brought her hand to her mouth again. "How can it be? It's not possible." As if something occurred to her, she swiftly moved to place herself between the door and the man, blocking the body from the view of her children.

  That's when she started crying.

  "Ma’am?" Noah queried softly.

  "Yes." She was going into shock. "I know him."

  I squatted beside Noah and asked, "Who is he?"

  She looked me in the eye and said, "My husband."

  ◆◆◆

  Tom watched as the coroner inspected the remains of Floyd Stamp. The officer who'd been pulled inside and killed had already been bagged and removed from the scene. Noah focused on questioning. The environment was tense for obvious reasons.

  Floyd had been missing for three months, only to return like he had.

  The wife had been confused, and so
were we.

  I went over the entire house, trying to locate the source of the scent I couldn't place. It was familiar, but I wasn't able to put a name to it. Like lemon and mint. Each time I found a trace of the odor, it immediately faded away. It seemed the direct source of the scent was coming from Floyd himself, which was strange. Citrus did change the body odor of people, as did other foods, but not like this. I was certain he hadn't used any sort of body spray or deodorant, and the smell wasn't acidic enough to be a household cleaner or sweet enough to be perfume or cologne.

  Where do I know it from?

  "You haven't heard from his co-workers?" Noah asked, jotting down what Marcy said. "What about his friends?"

  "Not in the last month. Some of his friends used to come around and help with the kids, but they have families, too."

  "What about the police?"

  "I called them two weeks ago to see if there was any progress in the case, but they said they were still following leads."

  "He went to the bar in your van, correct? Where it's believed he went missing?" She nodded and Noah continued, "They found the van in the parking lot but there was no sign of him. How long did the police keep it in storage?"

  "They didn't." Noah frowned at the knowledge, and she asked, "Is that bad? Should they have kept it?"

  "I'm not sure." He studied her. "Did you notice anything strange in the car when you got it back? Was there anything different?"

  She took a moment. "No."

  "Ray?" Noah said, and I knew what he wanted.

  "Mrs. Stamp," I said, "is the van unlocked?"

  She combed trembling fingers through her hair. "Yes, I think so."

  I walked out the hallway, entered the living room, and exited the house.

  The police had managed to move people back, but many of them refused to leave and go back to their homes. I went to the van but didn't bother inspecting the outside. Marcy had been driving it for three months. Between the heat and rain, any evidence I needed would be long gone. I opened the sliding side door and put my head inside. Despite inhaling several times, I didn't scent anything out of the ordinary. Just the usual musk of sweat, and a hint of what I placed as grease from fast food that had been placed in the vehicle. There was no evidence of a so much as dog having ever been inside the van, much less a werewolf.

  Damn.

  Just to be sure, I climbed inside and tried again. I put my nose up to seats, the ceiling, the floor. I spent a solid twenty minutes trying to locate anything that could shed light on Floyd's disappearance and reappearance, but there was nothing to be found.

  I returned to the house.

  Floyd's body had been bagged.

  Tom and Noah were talking.

  Marcy sat in a dining room chair that had survived the carnage. She'd put her children in a bedroom that hadn't been scathed, told them to stay there, and had come into the kitchen to retrieve wine from a cabinet. She hadn't bothered with a glass, drinking directly from the bottle. Every now and again, she'd gaze down at her hand and ran her thumb across her wedding bands.

  I felt horrible and shitty.

  I'd saved her life by taking her husband's.

  A man she clearly still loved.

  Ashamed, I went to her. "Can I get you anything?"

  "What?" Her head shot up, like she hadn't seen me approach her. Her eyes were glossy. The bruise on her face had swollen, turning purple. She was lucky she hadn't been bitten. "No, no," she said. "Our parents are on the way. They'll be here soon."

  I wanted to apologize a second time, but I didn't think it would help. I went to the refrigerator and looked in the freezer. I found a bag of frozen peas and took them to her.

  "Here, ma'am." When she looked at me, dazed and broken, I said, "For your cheek."

  "Oh." Accepting the plastic bag, she lowered her head and carefully pressed it against the puffy area with a wince. Before I turned away, she attempted to get answers. "How could this happen? We live in a safe zone. We don't know any werewolves. We've never been near them." She glanced at me and added, "Well, we haven't until now."

  "I don't know what happened to your husband, but we're going to do everything in our power to find out." Not much of a comfort, but it was all I could offer.

  Noah strode into the room and waved me over.

  "How are you doing?" His gaze took in my face, looking at my expression. "Are you holding up?"

  "I'm doing my best."

  Satisfied with my response, he looked at his notes and asked, "Did you find anything in the van?"

  "No."

  "What about the scent you mentioned."

  Not being able to provide assistance annoyed me. "No," I grumbled. "I know the smell, but I can't place it, and it's so faint."

  "You're sure it's not a beverage? Or maybe a spray?" He usually took me at my word, but it had been a long time since we'd been in the field. He probably thought I'd lost my touch. Since he hadn't caught a whiff of it, he had to rely on me to get things done. "What about a candle?"

  "It's none of those things."

  He caught the anger in my tone and looked at me. "You sure?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Maybe the toxicology reports will tell us something."

  As he looked at the small notepad, I watched.

  There was one thing I'd always appreciated about Noah, even when I wanted to hate him. The man had always been dedicated to his work. He took his role in the pack and duties with the PBI seriously. He didn't goof around, and he didn't play games. He'd once told me he had a responsibility to his people. He knew every single incident, if handled incorrectly, could impact werewolves in dangerous ways.

  "Did you locate the bite wound?"

  He sighed in frustration. "He has too many injuries. I can't tell how they were inflicted. When they get him to the morgue, Tom's going to make sure they comb him over from head to toe."

  That made sense.

  There was no way to know how severely Floyd had been injured when he'd been attacked. All it took was a simple nip, which might or might not leave a scar. It was rare that a wound wasn't severe as attacks were normally violent, but it had been known to happen.

  I thought about the little girl I'd bitten in the robbery.

  She'd gotten the vaccination right away. She had a chance.

  If she hadn't, the infection would kill her.

  "Noah," Tom said, coming over to us. "We're going to log the evidence. The coroner is going to do the autopsy tonight. When everything is processed, I'll send you the files."

  "What about the police reports?"

  "You'll have them tomorrow."

  "Did you notice anything suspicious?"

  "Not really. It was like any other missing persons case."

  Voices carried from outside the house. When I looked through the door, I saw a pair of vehicles pulling up to the driveway. I could see the outline of people through the windshields.

  I made sure I spoke quietly. "I think the parents are here."

  Tom and Noah followed my gaze.

  "Do you have everything you need?" Tom asked and straightened his shirt and coat. "Or will you need to come back tomorrow?"

  "I'm not sure." Noah closed his notepad and slid it into his pocket. "I'll go over everything and call you."

  "Sounds good." Tom patted Noah's shoulder, giving me a sideways glance. "Talk to you soon."

  Tom exited the house to talk to Marcy and Floyd's families.

  I peered over my shoulder to look at Marcy. When I did, there was only more guilt and regret at what I'd been forced to do.

  "We should go." Noah's tone indicated he knew that, despite what I'd said, I was barely holding up under the strain. His eyes rested on me, taking a moment. He took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm. "Come on, angel."

  I didn't protest, and I certainly didn't argue.

  We went to this truck. He opened my door for me, waited until I was settled, and closed it. I let my head drift back, resting it on the seat. But I didn't c
lose my eyes. I knew if I did, I'd only see one thing.

  Marcy, sitting in that lone chair, nursing a bottle of wine.

  She'd lost the love of her life forever. I never wanted to be in her position, I didn't think I could handle it.

  Noah got in the truck and my gaze rested on him.

  As angry as he made me, as much as I'd resented him, I couldn't bear it if something happened to him. Despite everything that had happened. I'd destroy anyone or anything that tried to harm him.

  And then it hit me.

  I'd never stopped loving him. I never would.

  We was part of me, always.

  No matter what.

  Chapter Six

  It was dark and we were over an hour late when we made it to the home in which I’d spent my final teenage years. The glowing living room windows flickered as someone walked past them, no doubt making their way to the door to greet us properly. I tried not to notice the new vinyl siding or the neatly trimmed lawn as I climbed the stairs to the large, wrap-around porch with Noah by my side. There was a purpose to this visit, and I had to see it through. It was expected I show respect to the man who gave me life, even if I resented the hell out of him. At least, that was what I told myself as we approached the front door and it swung open.

  My father appeared in the doorframe, haloed by the yellow glow of the lights inside the house. He looked exactly the same, clothed in his usual blue jeans, T-shirt, and well worn work boots. My green eyes, blonde hair, and facial features had come courtesy of his genetics, but my frame and build were similar to my mother.

  "Welcome home, Ellie." His concern, worry, and anger were identifiable.

  His hands opened and closed, and he shifted his feet, as if he couldn’t decide if I would allow him to embrace me or if it was best he remain where he was. It was an awkward dance we were both accustomed too, which proved that despite everything that had changed, a few things remained the same.

  I knew what he wanted, aware of the way to end the rift and give the man peace. It was such a simple thing. I only had to say one word consisting of three letters. When spoken with genuine feeling, the title could express reverence, adoration, or in this case forgiveness. Loyalty to my mother had prevented me from giving him the courtesy, and watching her slowly wither away from cancer hadn’t diminished my need to honor her for the sacrifices she made to keep me fed, clothed, and cared for in his absence.