by L. E. Horn
Right. So not doing that.
I got down to business, as it were, and in an undisclosed amount of time, returned to the library and handed Hayek the containers. He looked up from behind the desk and received them with a smile. “I have one final thing for you, and you may not like it.”
Have I liked any of this? I reconsidered. Okay, maybe one aspect wasn’t the worst thing that has happened today.
“Hit me,” I said with a certain amount of trepidation.
Hayek showed me a thick needle, similar to those vets used to microchip pets. “We are inserting three of you with a GPS tracker, to follow your movements in case you have a memory lapse.”
Or go on a rampage. I thought of Dillon, and found myself shifting from foot to foot, as though the wulf in me wanted to bolt. A tracker might make perfect sense, but it went against the grain of anyone who appreciated their freedom. That is, everyone.
“Why do only three of us get trackers?”
“Chris already has one,” Hayek said. “All enforcers do. It provides a measure of safety for them out in the field.”
I must have looked surprised because he continued. “Only their provincial supervisor has their tracking code.”
“Who’s that?”
“Jason Sobosky. Based in Winnipeg. He’s in charge of this entire investigation.”
I should have realized that Chris wouldn’t be, considering he might be infected too. It made me uneasy though. Chris gave people the benefit of the doubt, and Matt and Sam were cut from the same cloth. But the thought of being at the mercy of someone like Garrett, frankly, scared the crap out of me.
“Who will have my tracker code?” I asked, eyeing the big needle with trepidation.
“Only Jason for now,” Hayek said. His eyes filled with sympathy. “Liam, we are all hoping this is just a waste of my time.”
“Yeah, I get that. Okay, go for it.”
Hayek numbed the skin, waited a few minutes for it to take, and then plunged the needle into the muscle that runs from my neck to the shoulder. Even with the freezing, it stung like hell.
“At least someone can track me now if I get lost,” I said. “I should take one for Keen.”
Hayek gathered his samples and paused at the door. “I hope to see you soon to remove it .”
“Thanks, doc.” I said, and I meant it. Hayek was good people. He gave me a wan smile and left me to get dressed.
It felt weird to be joining the somber crew in the kitchen after providing samples and getting tagged, but the others were in the same boat. Except for the girl with the storm-gray eyes, which danced at me as she handed me my steak.
“Things went well?” she asked innocently, the impression destroyed by her bobbing eyebrow.
My face returned to its previous flame-red state in an instant, but I managed an echo of her eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Hayek snorted from where he bent over his cooler, arranging the samples with care. He snapped the lid shut and straightened. “I’ll take these to the lab. Our wulfan friend is waiting up for us.” He hesitated, his expression doleful. “I probably don’t need to say this, but I will anyway. Until we know if you’re infected, act as though you are. If this is a mutant virus, we have no idea yet of its reproductive cycle. We have reason to suspect you might be infectious more often than every full moon. I’ve left a box of antiviral spray for treating surfaces in the bathroom after each use. Follow the instructions for washing dishes with it but be careful if you cut yourself.” His eyes slid over Josh and Chris and came to rest on me. “Keep all interpersonal relations in abeyance until we get the test results. And as we’ve already discussed, no shifting.”
Satisfied that we understood, he turned to leave. Josh offered to help him out to the car, hefting the cooler with ease. Watching him, I wondered how strong wulfan really were. Sam had seemed so amazed at what she’d seen me do, but I’d assumed with my strength came my new abilities as a wulfleng. Perhaps I’d been wrong, and they were from the mutant virus.
I looked at my steak, and my stomach rumbled. I couldn’t believe I was still hungry. But I tore into that meat like I hadn’t seen food in a week, and by the looks on faces around me, my ferocity did not go unnoticed.
* * *
Apparently, Garrett had a problem with Sam watching over me.
While Sam and I had visited with Sherman, the others had discussed the best way to monitor the situation. Until the tests deemed Chris clear of the virus, he also required monitoring. With the city enforcers tracking crazed wulfleng, the board couldn’t offer more resources to watch over four possibly infected people. Garrett and Sam were all they’d spare.
Peter agreed to move in with Josh and Chris until the test results came back, but I had a job to perform. I refused to miss more time at work than I already had while incubating the virus. As the board had not yet relegated me to the cage, it was life as usual for now. So that meant that whoever monitored me needed to become a temporary vet assistant. . When Sam volunteered for the job, Garrett scowled.
Chris, Peter, and Josh engaged in cleaning up the kitchen as though embracing any distraction from the issue at hand. I called the dogs and headed outside to close down the barbeque. Sam followed me, and Garrett, still scowling, trailed after her.
We’d no sooner passed beyond the earshot of those in the kitchen than Garrett expostulated, “I should shadow Liam.” His eyes slid from Sam to me, and back.
The man obviously had things on his mind. I abandoned scraping the grill and regarded him intently—did he have something going with Sam? They’d been partners for a while. If he thought I had a thing for her, he wouldn’t be wrong. But if he pursued his goal from that direction, I suspected we were in for a show.
Sam put her hands on her hips and gave him a look that should have offered fair warning, if Garrett were the type to heed such things. “Why should you shadow Liam?” The phrase came out loaded with possibilities, none of them good.
“Liam”— he granted me the courtesy of a nod—“is wulfleng. If the virus affects him like it did Dillon, he’ll be dangerous.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I can’t handle dangerous?”
“Sam, be reasonable.” Garrett appeared to be holding onto his temper by a thread. “I know you can handle dangerous, but think about this—could you have put Dillon down on your own?”
I possessed a fleeting sympathy for the man. True, if I lost my mind and turned into Dillon, a wulfan of Garrett’s size might have an easier time with me.
To give Sam credit, she didn’t immediately shoot him down. Her eyes passed swiftly over me, as if assessing my tendency to transform into the wulf equivalent of Frankenstein on the spot.
“It took Dillon time to turn into a monster,” she said. “So far, Liam is fine. It isn’t a Jekyll and Hyde situation. I know the signs to watch for.”
Hmm—like throwing three-thousand-pound bulls in the dirt? She wasn’t lying, but to say I was behaving normally for a wulfleng would be stretching it. It was true that Dillon gave us all kinds of warning that he was losing it, but I didn’t want to put Sam at risk. Maybe Garrett was right.
But that meant spending time with Mr. GQ, and I was not looking forward to more than ten minutes near the guy. He could complicate things at work. Garrett may have a toothy side, but he wasn’t what you would call “an animal person.” Even the dogs seemed to have an instinctive distrust of him. When Sam and I returned from the Sherman incident, I’d noticed they’d stayed far away from the tall enforcer.
As I applied the wire brush to the grill, I realized I would leave the decision up to Sam. It was partly cowardice. Agreeing with her—no matter what the verdict—ensured I wouldn’t sustain bodily damage. I preferred existence as a real man and not a eunuch. But to be honest, I wanted to be with her as much as I could. I told myself it would be easier to explain Sam at the clinic than Garrett, who looked like—well—an enforcer.
I closed the lid on the barbeque, and we
all stood staring at each other. Sam’s eyes had gone pure silver. Garrett seemed to assess her expression, and his own instincts for self-preservation kicked in. “You make sure you report inconsistencies. If he does turn, it may take more than one of us to bring him down.”
Sam nodded. “Same goes for you. You have three under your wing.”
“They’re wulfan. The doc says they’ll have some immunity if this virus thing is real. And I have the cage, if things start to go south.”
It seemed Garrett didn’t consider Josh and Peter much of a challenge, but I wouldn’t want to tackle Chris. The man impressed physically, but he also possessed serious cred as an enforcer. I couldn’t imagine that experience and ability gone to the dark side.
Garrett followed us, stood with his arms crossed, and glowered at Sam as she grabbed her bag from his truck. The others appeared as we loaded three antiviral spray bottles plus Keen into Peter’s vehicle. We waved goodbye to the tense little group standing outside the house, illuminated by the yard light. Josh held onto the puppy’s collar, and I wondered how they would cope with the dog’s destructive ability on top of all this. Yet when I’d suggested taking Havoc back with Keen and me, Josh had said no.
Keen expressed her joy at leaving the giant pain in the butt behind by leaning between the seats with her jaws open in a happy grin. Sam laughed and scratched her as we pulled onto the highway. Then she turned to me.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Tired, but it's a normal kind of tired, I think. I just want to sleep.”
She nodded. “Chris said you looked beat, but it didn’t raise any flags with him.”
“He’s got a lot on his mind.”
“Josh. He’s worried sick about him.”
You’d have to know Chris well to see that. Even when stressed to the nines, the man held it all together. “Until Josh had memory issues, I thought Peter’s problem was due to blood loss after the attack.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I sensed her look at me in the darkness. To my surprise, she placed her hand on top of mine, where it rested on the console between us. “We’ll get through this, Liam.”
My pulse raced, chasing away the fatigue. I rotated my hand to interlock my fingers with hers, and we drove the rest of the way like that, not saying a word.
22
My suite had a small second bedroom, which I had set up as an office. I had a futon along a wall and by pushing the desk into a corner, I had room to open the couch into a double bed.
“Just point me to a linen closet and get done in the bathroom,” she said. “I’m dying for a shower.”
I showed her the closet, grabbed a bottle of the antiviral spray, and disappeared into the bathroom. When I emerged fifteen minutes later, she had the bed made up and was brewing a cup of tea in the kitchen. I walked over in pajama bottoms, towelling my hair, but stopped as I remembered another woman doing the same task in Peter’s kitchen. At the time, I’d found Chloe attractive. But what I felt for Sam was different. The petite wulfan enforcer stood out like a rose among dandelions. I ached to investigate what might lie between us.
Sam placed her tea on the table and pulled out a chair. “Did you want some—” She broke off when she turned to look. Her eyes slid over me, and I was acutely aware of my naked torso. She lifted her chin and inhaled; her lips dropped open, revealing the tip of a fang. When her eyes rose to mine, it shocked me to see they’d turned silver. Her wulf looked straight into my soul, connecting to something hidden within, making me shiver.
So fluidly I didn’t see her move, Sam stepped into my personal bubble. I dropped the towel from suddenly nerveless fingers and retreated a step in surprise. Even from inches away, the skin of my naked chest absorbed her heat. I breathed in her unique scent, spicy yet sweet, and laced through with the wulf. She touched a bruise on my chest with a finger, sending electric frissons coursing through me. Unable to help myself, I reached out and ran my fingers along her jaw, my heart thundering in my ears. The softness of her expression and the wide blown pupils in her wulf eyes told me she would welcome my advance.
Liam, you idiot. This is sooo not a good idea. Stop. Now. The virus lay between us like a vicious chaperone.
I let my hand fall away. She grabbed it to trace my fingers with her own, as though fascinated by the contours, before raising it to her face and sniffing along the palm. Her eyes flashed silver from beneath her lashes, and she growled low in her throat as she brought her lips to the very tip of the index finger, giving the smallest flick of the tongue to taste me.
The effect was akin to being struck by lightning, the energy coursing through me, threatening to take me out at the knees. The wulf surged, but my exhaustion hampered it, as well as me. I won’t risk her. I shoved it brutally back down. Gotta get control. She’s playing with fire. I struggled to grasp coherent thoughts as they scattered like leaves in the wind.
“Is this how you guard all the guys?”
Sam jerked away as though I’d burned her. I caught the faintest glimmer of something in her expression—frustration? disgust? anger?—before she shuttered it. A muscle jumped in her jaw as she took a deep breath, before releasing a small smile more akin to a baring of teeth.
“Those I don’t castrate,” she replied. But her voice shook.
She backed away from me, tossing her hair over her shoulders. My body still on fire, I stood mesmerized by the cascade of russet and gold. I was grateful when she fetched her tea, giving me a moment to compose myself. She took a long sip before raising her eyes to mine. They were beautiful, the color of a summer storm—fully human and mad as hell. At me, or at herself, I didn’t know.
“I’m more tired than I thought. I’ll crash once I’ve drunk this.” Something more flickered in her eyes, but all she added was, “You’d better go.”
I became aware that pajama bottoms left a lot to be desired in the discretion department. I swear that battling with my wulf had nothing on turning and walking away from her. I forced my feet to take me toward my bedroom, aware of her gaze raking me from behind.
“Good night, soldier.” A growl lurked beneath the words.
“’Night, Sam.” Before my resolve fractured into a million jagged pieces, I closed the bedroom door.
* * *
After several failed attempts at casual conversation over breakfast, it became apparent that our brief interaction the night before had pulled us across a line. Retreat no longer seemed an option. Every gesture and look possessed hidden undercurrents that elevated our senses and made us aware of the thing growing between us. A thing we could do nothing about so long as the threat of the virus loomed.
It was almost a relief to load Keen into the SUV and head to the clinic where I introduced Sam as my friend who wished to become a vet tech.
Mandy, now sporting vivid purple bangs, embraced Sam like a sister and carted her into the depths of the building. Meanwhile, Darlene took the opportunity to pull me aside.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m a bit bruised, but fine.”
“Listen, I wanted to thank you again for what you did. I still can’t believe what I saw.”
“It wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t slipped,” I said. “I got lucky.”
Her bright blue gaze perused me skeptically. “Well, I’m glad I called you.” She frowned, as though suddenly remembering something. “Hey, if Sam’s going to shadow you, she should get her rabies vaccinations. They found another rabid skunk just outside of Beausejour yesterday. It’s going to be a bad year for it.”
“Right.” I wondered if wulfan got rabies, but considering the virulence of the virus, I suspected they could. Like all vets in the area, I’d received the three shots at days zero, seven and twenty-one, and boosters every year or so after. Two years ago, I’d come in contact with a cow that died from rabies and I’d had to endure an extra series of shots. Not fun, but I didn’t contract rabies, either.
With viruses stalking through my thoughts, I plunged into my day.
Hours later, I carried a cat into the x-ray room when I bumped into Sam trailing Mandy out of the surgery. I noted Sam’s glazed expression and grinned. Mandy chattered on, her narration laced with an abundance of inventive profanity substitutions—in her element and loving every minute. Sam shot me a pleading look. I wasn’t used to her appearing helpless, so I relented.
“Lunch in forty minutes?” I suggested.
Mandy paused in her discussion of sterilization of operating equipment to glance my way. “I’m eating in,” she said, as I expected her to—Mandy was vegan and quite purist about it. But she’d grown attached to her new protégé. “I have enough to share with Sam.”
“I’d love a break,” piped Sam, with a note of desperation that passed straight over Mandy’s iridescent head.
“You can keep me company for lunch. Grab Keen and meet me at the truck.”
Mandy shot me a look.
“You’re welcome to join us.”
“I don’t put that—shi . . . sludge—in my body, thank you.” She turned on her heel and headed for the library, which doubled as a lunchroom. I watched her go, disappointed in her word choices.
By the time I exited the clinic, Sam and Keen were in the SUV. Sam was on the phone, and when I arrived, she signed off. I slid into the driver’s seat.
“Who was that?” Belatedly, I realized that she was entitled to her privacy.
She glanced at me but answered readily enough. “Josh . . . I wanted to know how he was doing.”
“And?”
“He’s good, or as good as can be expected.” She let her head fall back against the seat and closed her eyes.
I grinned. “Only half a day and you’re done?”
She rolled her head toward me. “An army of Mandys could conquer the world. I don’t know whether to scream or wulf out.”
