by L. E. Horn
He gave his head a shake. “Deny it all you want. But I’ve seen it, and I know Chris has too. You can’t alter what’s in your blood. You’re an enforcer, through and through.”
I was still staring at Josh in shock when Chris re-entered the barn.
“We’ve got an uprising in Brandon. They need me.” He looked at me with worry in his eyes, then glanced at Josh. “Can you supervise Liam’s training? He’s progressing well, he can do the physical part on his own now.”
“Hey, man, I know the drill,” Josh said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Lock him in for meditation, when you have to push him . . .”
Josh grabbed Chris by the shoulders and kissed him full on the lips. When he released him, he said, “Just go. And for Christ’s sake don’t fall on a sword. I’m running out of Band-Aids.”
Chris blinked. He pulled Josh in for another fiercer kiss, the sentiment so raw I had to look away.
After he left, Josh stood very still in the aisle. When he finally met my eyes, his face revealed nothing. He peeled his lips back from long canines in what could be considered a grin. It was not a reassuring expression.
“If you think Chris is tough,” he said. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
* * *
Over the course of the next two days, Josh proved his point. Chris might be a tougher physical taskmaster, but Josh proved insightful at pushing my mental boundaries. He seemed to sense the exact moment to poke, and when to bring me back down. The emotional rollercoaster exhausted me, but he continued to chip away—Chloe, Dillon, Peter, Keen, abandoned animals—until, on the heels of a story of starving and beaten horses in Texas, my temper snapped.
He sat in the aisle with Keen at his feet, safely beyond reach, while my eyes glowed emerald fire and my fangs dropped in a gush of blood, and that was when my jaw wrenched loose. At least, that was what it felt like, but I retained enough presence of mind to recognize that the bone stretched rather than broke, elongating into my wulfleng snout. Not fully, but my teeth had room to shift into proper placement. My ears tingled, and when I reached a clawed hand up, I ran fingers along the pointed tips.
I glared at Josh through the bars. “Bastard,” I slurred, and laughed. Or at least, I tried to, but my tongue hung out of my mouth like I was a demented dog. The release of my anger caused the changes to reverse, and I couldn’t suppress a groan as the bloody teeth slid back into my gums.
“Oww.”
“It gets better,” Josh said. “The first changes are always the worst. Wait until you feel the tail.”
Right. Spine pulling apart. Something to look forward to.
A ringtone had Josh digging through his pocket.
“‘Hungry Like the Wolf’? Seriously?”
“Used to be ‘Clap for the Wolfman’ but he objected.” Josh waggled a dark eyebrow at me before he hit a button on his phone. “Hey,” he said. I watched his face grow grim. “We’re good. Just got a full nose job from Liam. Made him laugh.” He listened for a moment. “Okay. Look after yourself. Love you.”
He disconnected and sighed. “He can’t make it back until tomorrow. They found where the wulfleng were sleeping, but not everyone was home. So they’re hunting, might finish late tonight or early in the morning.”
Hunting. What a term. Chris would return soon, and I experienced a rush of relief. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been about him being gone. I had a week until the full moon.
“He’s okay?”
Josh shrugged. “So far.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “Your teeth too sore for supper?”
“Never.”
We shared a companionable meal with Keen. It was good she ran with me daily or she’d be a butterball by now. I’d never live it down at the clinic if I had a fat dog. If I ever make it back to my old life. I thought about the change and what would happen if I made it through to the other side. And I considered what Josh had told me about enforcers.
“Are enforcers paid for what they do?” I asked.
Josh swallowed his mouthful of chicken sandwich before answering. “They’re paid a retainer, more if they’re on the clock. Almost all enforcers have alternative employment, but their job requires flexibility to accommodate enforcer duties.”
“Who pays them?”
“We have boards that run the wulfan interests in each country.” Josh popped the last bite into his mouth and chewed. He took a swig of what I thought was pineapple juice, judging by the scent—my ability to discern such things improved daily. Then he seemed to prepare himself for a lecture, sitting back and fixing me with a stern stare.
“It goes without saying that none of this gets out to the human population. Ever. You’re entitled to know because you are now, or soon will be, one of us.”
I nodded.
“As far as we know, wulfan evolved in Russia and spread into Europe. Once modern humans migrated through Europe, it pushed the wulfan through the Ukraine and into Romania. Over time, we learned to live alongside, and even within, human communities—peaceably, though the early integration didn’t always go smoothly, which is why many ancient cultures have stories of shapeshifters. Most became rumor and eventually myth, as the wulfan culture became better at hiding in plain sight.”
He looked to see if I was still interested. When I lifted an eyebrow at him, he continued. “In ancient times we all lived in family groups, each run by a dominant pair, like real wolves. But the families became too big to control. And alphas are born, not made—the new alphas challenged the elders and even each other. So, sometime in the seventeenth century, young alphas were permitted to start their own families. Now our structure is much looser. A council of elders runs each continent—large countries like the United States subdivide into several boards that report to the council. Canada’s population is low enough to have only two: Western and Eastern. The Prairie Provinces tend to be low-key—most wulfan live in British Columbia, Alberta, and Northern Ontario.”
Josh paused to take another sip of juice. “The boards fund a certain number of enforcers. When there’s an opening, the wulfan candidate is nominated by their peers. You have to have a unique combination of characteristics to be an enforcer—defending those who know nothing of us and would likely kill us if they did, not to mention the physical and mental fortitude required—and few wulfan are willing or able to take it on.”
I stared at him. And they think I’m cut out to be an enforcer?
Josh sighed. “Enforcers can sit for days or weeks with nothing to do. But when crap happens, they put their lives on the line. The three in Brandon aren’t just responsible for that area. Manitoba has ten enforcers altogether, scattered across the province. Something big goes down, they come together to deal with it. Especially uprisings.”
I thought about it. “How often do wulfan slip up? I mean, how many wulfleng are produced every year?”
“Hard to say.” Josh stood to clear the table. “There are those whose mates turn out to be human, which means they fall in love and together decide to risk the infection. There are accidents between friends or general carelessness at the wrong place and time. And there are the infections through violence, which is where the enforcers step in. If they catch the newly infected fast enough, enforcers prepare the initiate for the change. As you know, that can be an all-consuming process.” He turned from putting dishes in the sink to see me watching him. “Get your ungrateful ass off that chair and help me with the dishes,” he ordered.
I complied.
As I gathered the plates, he continued. “It’s impossible to say exactly how many wulfleng there are, but I can tell you one thing, you’re the first in this region in years. Alec came from Northern Ontario, so he doesn’t count. But it sounds like something’s cooking in Brandon now. I hope they get a handle on it.” Josh opened the dishwasher and gave me a pointed look. I started inserting dishes after he rinsed them—it appeared he was one of those who prewashed. Perhaps the routine distracted him from worrying abou
t Chris.
“What else do enforcers do, if there aren’t any wulfleng for them to guide?” Somehow, I kept forgetting that this was a life-or-death gig. If I didn’t make it through the change with my humanity intact, Chris would have to end me. I couldn’t get my mind around it, not only the ending part, and me being the endee, but Chris being the ender. How do you work so closely with someone and then have to kill them?
“Compared to the old days, wulfan don’t have as many rules to follow, but enforcers”—he paused, and his eyes darkened—“well, they answer to a board and must carry out their wishes, regardless of their own opinions.” His voice had hardened by the end of the sentence. “And if someone is doing something stupid that could expose wulfan to the human population, they step in to put a stop to it. If necessary, with lethal force.”
With lethal force . . .
“That’s what happened in Texas, isn’t it? Chris had to kill someone he didn’t agree needed killing?”
Josh hesitated. “There was more than one reason for us to go. The Canadian boards are not as rigid as those in the United States. There are some—particularly those in the southern areas—that are archaic in their views.”
“They’re old-school in a lot of ways, I take it?”
He sketched a smile and nodded. “By that time he’d met me and we were happy to leave. The board up here guaranteed our citizenship, and Chris went into training with the RCMP. When an enforcer position opened, he took it, although his job meant he couldn’t do it full time until he retired.”
“How did you guys meet?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. “Sorry, you don’t have to tell me that. I’m being nosey.”
“It’s okay.” He sighed. “My father is a doctor in southern Texas. I was in med school, being groomed to take his place.” He paused and glanced at me, forcing a smile. “I wanted to write even then, but it wasn’t in the cards. One day, my dad got called to an uprising, a bad one. The enforcers got sliced up, and three were killed. There was so much blood . . .”
He took a deep breath. “I was helping to patch them up, and suddenly, there he was. Covered in gore, not a stitch of clothing on him. He limped in and sat on a cot, and I began to clean him up. The moment I touched him, I knew.”
“You fell for him that fast?” Talk about love at first . . . touch?
“I sensed the attraction immediately, it was powerful. Chris took a while to figure it out. He kept showing up at my dad’s clinic, dropping by just to visit. My dad was not amused.” He stopped talking and busied himself with closing up the dishwasher and pushing buttons.
“Well, I, for one, am glad you guys made it to Canada.” I pushed away from the counter. “I’m off to do my evening torture on the bars.”
Josh nodded. “I’ll be down in two hours to lock up.” He glanced over to where a small monitor showed the barn aisle and cage. “I’ll watch for you. Do you think you can manage to stay human for an hour? I’d love a bubble bath.”
I refrained from laughing at the image of a scary wulfan taking a bubble bath. Of course, I had a hard time thinking of Josh as scary. “Knock yourself out,” I said, bending to give Keen a full body tickle. “I’ll be grunting my way to a new muscle or two.”
12
I dreamed of wolves. They snapped at my heels, and I could feel the heat of their breath on my back. I ran until the ground vanished beneath my toes and I teetered on the edge of oblivion.
“Liam, wake up!” Hands on my shoulders, shaking me. I awoke with a roar, my teeth bursting from my gums.
“It’s me, Josh. Cut it out!” A sharp slap, and I snarled, but my eyes made out Josh’s form in the dim light.
“Josh?”
“Yeah. Come on. Peter’s hurt. Chris said to take you to him.”
Peter? A surge of raw panic, with anger hot on its heels. I fought it but the wulf pushed back. Not now. Peter needs me. I visualized the teeth and claws being returned to their human sheaths and gasped when it worked, and pain pulsed along the abused nerves.
“Okay?” Josh asked. “You good?”
I nodded as he pulled me to my feet. I yanked on clothes as we jogged through the barn and out into the crisp night air.
“Keen’s locked in the house,” he said, anticipating my next question. “Let’s go.”
We ran for their second vehicle, a compact car. The cool air hit my sweat-soaked body like a fist, and I shivered.
“What happened?”
Josh slid into the driver’s seat. His face looked strained in the darkness and the vinyl creaked beneath his hands as though he would break the steering wheel in two. “Dillon,” he said through gritted teeth.
My heart stopped and then accelerated like a racehorse. “Chloe?”
“I don’t know. Peter called Chris. He’s on his way, but Brandon is three hours from here. Someone Matt knows has a helicopter, and if it’s rigged for night flight, he might get here sooner. But it’s a long shot.”
Dillon’s finally snapped and Chris is too far away to help. My hands fisted against my thighs and I knew the fingers had grown claws. But it’s not enough. Not against Dillon.
“How bad is Peter?”
“I don’t know. Chris said he could barely speak. I’ve called our wulfan doctor, but he’s coming from Winnipeg. We’re closer.” Josh twisted his fingers on the wheel, and his foot stepped hard on the gas. We flew along the highway.
Even at this speed, we were twenty minutes away.
Peter’s tough. He can hold on. But there was one thing I knew as a vet—life is fragile. Too many things could kill almost instantly. I cursed myself for not being there. And part of me cursed Chloe for being so goddamned blind. This should never have happened. Peter had her back. Who had his?
The seconds felt like hours as we hurtled down the highway. I wrestled with an inner demon that didn’t care that the full moon dangled six nights away. My teeth kept shoving through my gums, making blood drip from the corners of my mouth. I fought them with every breath. If he was hurt, Peter didn’t need the wulf, he needed me human.
Beausejour appeared and disappeared in a flash of streetlights and darkened houses. We turned onto the mile road. It seemed like an eternity until the headlights fell on the plank fence. The new boards, not yet painted, looked stark in the harsh light.
I don’t remember the car skidding to a halt. I leaped out and raced to my SUV.
“What are you doing?” Josh stared at me.
“Need my kit,” I said, yanking it from the back. I didn’t even bother to shut the door, but followed Josh around the house.
The shotgun lay abandoned on the deck. Whatever had gone down, it hadn’t been good. Blood sprayed over the boards and spread in a huge puddle that started on the deck and dragged through the door into the kitchen.
We followed the gruesome trail inside and my heart stopped. Peter stretched naked on the floor near the table, surrounded by a crimson pool. His phone lay inches from an outstretched hand. As I fell to my knees beside him, a low growl rumbled in my chest.
“Liam. Focus. He needs the human, not the wulf.” Josh crouched on Peter’s other side, and I latched onto the words. The human. Dammit.
Five parallel slashes, almost a foot across, had opened him up, revealing torn muscle and, in one place, the slick gleam of bone. But that was not the main source of the blood. “Help me roll him,” I snapped, the pain of holding back the tide making me terse.
Josh peeled off his shirt to spread it out beside Peter and we rolled him onto it. Blood obscured the older man’s face, and my fingers found a gash through the hair. The wound didn’t alarm me as much as the subtle shift of bone beneath my fingers. Before I had more than a cursory inspection, something gushed on my leg. My gaze dropped to another set of claw marks, closer together, starting on his chest and running up under his jaw. As I watched, a sluggish pulse of blood pumped from his neck. I raised his head and a jet of red liquid sprayed across my chest. I probed with shaking fingers, pushing for all I wa
s worth.
Oh, God. He needs a hospital, not a bloody vet.
Josh must have sensed something from me. “Wulfan can’t go to emergency. If you can get him stitched, he’ll heal. He’s a stubborn bastard.”
It was a moot point—Peter would never make it to a hospital. He’d lost too much blood and was still losing it. I nodded and took a deep breath. “I need my clamps—they’re rolled in a piece of tan-colored fabric, in a corner of the bag. Right side as the flap faces you. The outside pocket has gloves. Put a pair on and have another handy.”
My heart pounded in rhythm with the warm fluid running over my fingers and puddling on the floor. I knew Peter couldn’t have much of the precious stuff left in him. Hurry. “Same spot, near the bottom, a tray. Other side, large bottle of disinfectant. Pour some in. Put the clamps in the fluid.”
Years of working animal emergencies, where every second counted toward a life, had me slipping into a familiar pattern that calmed me. I pushed aside the fact that the body beneath my fingers was Peter. There is a reason you shouldn’t work on someone you care about.
“Okay, here we go. Hand me a clamp.”
As far as I could tell, the claws had torn into the internal jugular vein, and possibly the exterior. They weren’t severed, or he’d be dead, and the deeper arteries must be intact for the same reason. Josh handed me a surgical clamp, so I replaced the fingers pinching the vessel with it and locked it down. The flow of blood slowed.
From somewhere near Josh’s butt, a ring sounded. “Hungry Like the Wolf”—Chris, but no time to answer now. Josh hesitated.
“Leave it,” I said. “Hand me the bottle in the outer pocket of the bag.”
His lips compressed but he left it alone and surfed through the pocket. I used the resulting saline to flush away the blood, some of which had already clotted. “Clamp,” I said, and he handed me another. And another. Soon, I had all six sticking out of the jagged wound, and the bleeding had all but stopped.
