by Mary Hughes
“She’s not pack,” the wolfman whined. “Since the new fuckin’ alpha came, this is the only fuckin’ wolf we could get.”
X sneered at the pathetic creature. At Killer. What a burlesque of a name for a stupid, dirty animal. “That’s your excuse? A new alpha?”
“He’s watching us too closely. Doesn’t let any females go out alone. Sends fuckin’ Mason along or goes himself.”
“So? One of him, five of you.” X’s eyes rolled in contempt. “Deal with him.”
The wolfman swallowed hard. “Blackwood’s different. Master, we got him to fight the old alpha before he was ready, like you said. But he won. He’s so fucking strong… You have to give us more. Give us something to help crush the fucker for good.”
“You want more?” X’s seething fury exploded. “When you offer barely adequate tribute as it is?”
Killer flinched.
X reined in his righteous anger. For now, he still needed the beast. “Do I not already provide you with drugs to make you more powerful, amulets to help lure whatever female you want, make her do whatever you want?”
The wolfman hung his head. “Yes, master. But this new alpha is just too much—”
“Stop complaining.” Idiot anti-alphas. Big men when beating up on bitches and pups, but let a real challenge face them and they were whiny girly dogs.
“Yes, master.”
“Have you at least uncovered information on Blackwood?” X turned from the pathetic loser to put one hand on the female’s forehead and ready the tool in the other.
“Yes, master.” The wolfman practically whimpered.
“Then I will be generous. Find me a weapon and I will ensorcell it. What have you discovered about Blackwood?” The young alpha was a mystery. Nobody seemed to know where he came from or who his parents were.
Which made him a prime candidate for the wolf X sought.
“He comes from Mason’s old pack out west. But get this, master. Blackwood wasn’t born there.”
“That’s all you have?” X glared at the pathetic Killer.
“Mason’s old lady is dead, master, and no one knows who Blackwood’s bitch mother was.”
“Imbecile. Answer me this. Is he the one we seek?” Spittle flew onto X’s chin. He wiped it away with an automatic fastidious flick. “Never mind. It’s obvious you couldn’t find a pimple on the end of your dick. I’ll know the answer soon enough.”
He turned to the bitch, slapped his hand against her forehead, and triggered the talisman.
Magic sucked out of her, flowing into him. She deflated like a ball. He pressed harder, following her as she slowly collapsed to the floor. She didn’t move, other than her gradual shriveling, didn’t even whimper.
Drugged to her gills. At least the wolfman had done one thing right.
When she’d collapsed into a pile of useless biology, X removed his hand. Stood, stronger and younger and flush with magic.
He turned to Killer.
The wolfman’s face was white. X almost used the talisman on the pathetic excuse for a were. But no, Killer had his uses.
All the power-hungry anti-alphas across the country were useful. X manipulated them, playing on their lust and greed and fear to make them do his bidding. With the right incentives, the anti-alphas weakened their own packs and made them vulnerable. They lined up their own females for X’s draining.
And most importantly, they prodded key young dogs into premature alpha fights.
The fact that Blackwood had actually won made him all the more interesting.
All the anti-alphas were useful, but this pack held a special place in X’s heart. Matinsfield would be the site of a long-overdue revenge. He smiled to himself.
“Will this switchblade do, master?”
X’s visions of revenge cleared to the sight of Killer, offering a palm-sized handle.
“Let’s see.” X took the case. With the flick of his thumb, a wicked blade erupted straight out of the top, slender as a needle and sharp as hell. It was a weapon of surprise, of deception. X was astonished Killer was smart enough to own something this clever, this deadly. Even the troublesome Blackwood wouldn’t see it until it was far too late. “Yes, this will do nicely.” He stabbed the tip of the knife into his finger.
The wolfman flinched.
X’s blood boiled out, sizzling onto the metal like water on a hot oiled fry pan. Gradually the bubbling subsided, the blood sinking into the blade as if it was being absorbed.
“You must whet the blade’s appetite before it can be used.” X retracted the blade and handed the knife back to Killer. “Let it taste the blood of its prey, as both man and beast.”
“You mean stick fuckin’ Blackwood?”
“You have no poetry.” X snapped his robes around him and stalked toward the trailer’s exit. “Stab him twice. Man, then wolf. When it is blooded, return it to me and I will finish the poisoning. And Killer?” X turned in the doorway, eyes narrowed, until the wolf trembled appropriately. “Next time, make sure the bitch is healthy.” He swept up his golden robe and stalked out.
Chapter Six
Sophia woke as the world brightened with predawn, a smile on her face. She felt wonderful, better than she had for years.
She opened her eyes and felt even better.
A luscious man, pure art in black hair and silver eyes and broad shoulders, watched over her. Protectiveness gleamed in that intelligent gaze, along with the masculine satisfaction of a man who’d given her the best orgasm of her life.
Happiness burst inside her like a radiant dawn. It had been months since she’d had any kind of orgasm, much less one as perfect as that. And she’d not just won the orgasm lottery, but he’d stuck around and was gazing at her with such tenderness? Keeper.
“Hi.” She felt a little shy. It’d also been months since a guy had seen her first thing in the morning.
“Sleep well?” His deep voice, roughened with a little morning growl, made him even sexier.
“Wonderfully. I must have been more tired than I realized. Well, with the drive and worrying about my aunt—my aunt.” She sat up abruptly. A blanket fell to her waist. He’d covered her. That was incredibly sweet.
But her aunt was missing and she’d lost minutes…hours…how long? She tossed aside the blanket. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. Why didn’t you wake me? What time is it?”
He raised one black brow. “Which do you want answered first?”
“Time.”
He pointed at the window, where impending sunrise brightened the glass. His expression turned puzzled, then alarmed. He leaped to his feet.
“Noah? What’s wrong—?”
“Stay there.” He fled toward the kitchen.
She rose and started after him but was slowed by her open pants sliding down her hips. “Noah?”
He’d already disappeared through the rattling curtain of beads. If he was looking for the bathroom, he was going to be disappointed. Those were in the store.
As the beads settled, she struggled toward the kitchen, wrestling her clothes straight. “Noah, what’s going on?” It occurred to her that maybe he’d suddenly regretted what they’d done.
Maybe he’d sneaked out the back.
She poked through the beaded curtain into the kitchen. “Noah, if you’re still here, say something.”
Silence. The room was empty except for a floor covered by pristine newspaper.
An orgasm, a sweet smile, and a thoughtful blanket, but then he’d run away? Happiness shriveled as regret thickened her throat and lynched her muscles of strength.
Shoulders slumping, she wandered back into the store. Finding herself at the sofa, she collapsed.
A yip raised her head.
“King.” Her mood immediately brightened. At least someone loved…um, needed her.
He jumped onto the couch beside her. She picked him up, and when he licked her face enthusiastically, she giggled.
A banker, an assistant VP, giggling. But the poofball made her
feel light as a girl. “Noah’s gone, King. You just missed him.” So did she. No, she didn’t miss him. She missed the backup he could have provided when she tracked down Marlowe. “Too bad I can’t have you as my protector.”
The dog yipped and wiggled, the universal language for “down”. When Sophia set him on the floor he scampered to the front door. Well, skittered actually, toenails clacking like he was trying to stride but his little legs were too short. What a strange combination of cute and assertive.
He stood before the door and yipped a couple times, wagging his tail expectantly. She realized he stood on bare, clean floor.
Noah had swept up the glass.
All that walking sex appeal, plus tidy? Where did she sign up?
King yipped. She got to her feet. “You want walkies?”
He grred a definite “no”.
“Something to do with outside, though?”
The grr transformed to a happy little yip.
She smiled. There she was, imagining he was talking again. “This is about Noah?” At another yip she said, “You think Noah ran out on me too, huh?”
King growled. He stalked on stiff little legs toward her until he stopped directly in front of her and nailed her straight in the eye. That stern look said, If you think Noah ever runs out on his responsibilities, you don’t know him at all.
Sophia was momentarily shocked. Then she laughed. More likely his stare meant, Let me out before I burst a faucet.
“Okay. I’ll try to find your leash.” But despite searching, she could find neither leash nor collar.
Tapping her pearls, Sophia stood there. What to do? Let him out and hope he didn’t run away? Or slip out to buy a leash and risk his anointing Auntie’s porous hardwood floors and mint-condition Persian carpeting? Although if the papers in the kitchen hadn’t been used, maybe there already was a surprise waiting for her somewhere else.
King started pawing the front door. Maybe she could improvise a collar? Something the size of her wrist…? Fingers tapping at her necklace, her gaze lit on a glittering display of costume necklaces and bracelets dangling on metal trees near the register.
She got an idea.
Aunt Linda had a fondness for antique jewelry. The rhinestone and paste on display, whether sparkling pink and robin’s-egg blue or emerald green and ruby red, were all mint condition.
Sophia picked out a sapphire bracelet as King trotted up with an annoyed whuff. “Hold out your neck.”
He cautiously extended his head.
Kneeling, she fastened the sapphire strand around his furry neck. The bracelet was too loose.
She took it off and selected a smaller one, which happened to be a bright pink.
King growled.
“Quiet. You get a collar or you don’t go out.”
King bared teeth and started yapping loud and fast, as if he was reading her the riot act. He even stomped once as if for emphasis, his package bobbling in a way that reminded her forcefully he was not in any way an “it”.
“Okay.” She put the pink bracelet back. “Happy now?”
King gave a final snarl and shut his mouth.
“This doesn’t mean I think you can understand me.” She sorted through the rest of the bracelets. “Wereterrier? Please. Shifters don’t come in any domesticated breed but cat, and cats don’t count. Even house cats aren’t truly domesticated.” She picked out an emerald bracelet with a hook on one end and a chain on the other. Not as sturdy as the blue or pink with their solid clasps, but it had the advantage of being sizable. “Although one might argue all ferrets are weres. Does this one meet with Your Highness’s approval?”
King gave a disgruntled yip, but he sat still while she put it on. It seemed secure so she tied some thick string onto it as a makeshift leash. Retrieving her jacket from the coat rack, she and the dog headed outside.
First morning light dusted the sidewalk and glittered off dew, golden light that made the whole day seem fresh and ripe with possibility.
Sophia nearly shared her thoughts with King, realized how foolish it was, and clamped her lips.
Oh, heck. If talking to King made her feel good, what was wrong with that? In fact, maybe “talking to King” was really only working through her problems out loud. That wasn’t crazy.
Although the thinking-he-answered part probably was.
But who was around to notice? She smiled again. “So, King. Where do you think Noah went? Should we try to find him?” Given everything she’d heard about Marlowe, it would be nice to have the big strong alpha by her side.
With a yip, King whirled and trotted in the other direction. Her gut jolted. Had he understood and caught Noah’s trail?
He trotted toward a tree.
She laughed. Right, the dog could “understand” her. “Okay, hurry up and do your business. I’d like to get this confrontation with Marlowe over with.”
King whirled again and almost upended himself, like he was expecting a bigger counterweight than his little stub of a tail. He recovered immediately, braced his hind end, and barked at her like he meant it.
“Fine.” She raised a hand. “Do your business and I’ll take you back inside before I go.”
“Yip yip.” King glared.
That was a “no way” if she’d ever heard one. “Well, I’m going to Marlowe’s, and I’m going now. Are you coming or not?”
He gave a disgruntled “yes” of a yip.
She hid a smile. “Then let’s go.”
She thought she’d just knock and ask a few polite questions. But when she got to the address a block past the sidewalk’s end, she was confronted by a yard-circling hedge as friendly as bailed wire. Remembering Miss Almira’s warnings, fear splashed into her stomach.
She crunched with King up the driveway through the weed-choked lot. A hand-painted sign with red drips read, Go away or get shot.
Subtle.
The sign was corny, and she wanted to laugh off her fear, but as she mounted the stoop to the rusty trailer with the dirty windows, King gave a worried little yip. Maybe wondering if she was going through with this. Heart pounding in her ears, she was asking herself the same thing.
Deep breath. She knocked on the door.
It swung open. Five-ten of punk-assed teen werewolf stared groggily at her.
“Marlowe?” She kept her stance and gaze neutral, not aggressive, but not victimish either.
His eyes sharpened on her. “Who’s asking?” He stepped out onto the stoop, crowding her back.
Not just a punk-assed were, but a bully.
Sophia opened her mouth to give him a verbal slap, but before she could, King leaped between her and Marlowe, the brave little thing.
The dog yapped sternly. She could practically hear him say, Knock it off, kid.
“Damn dog.” Marlowe kicked King before she could stop him.
Or kicked at King. The dog leaped nimbly to one side and the boy’s foot swished air. The whole time, King kept yapping, not angry so much as telling the kid to shape up pronto or else.
Marlowe swore, tried another couple kicks, and missed. With an irritated spit to the side, he turned his attention to Sophia.
Oh, the look that kid gave her, from head to toe and definitely in between. Her palm itched to slap him. But questions first. “I’d like to talk with you. May I come in?”
King threw her a look that clearly said he thought she was nuts. She shrugged. She couldn’t disagree.
Marlowe sneered up his attitude. “Sure. Yum, yum.”
“Ew. I’m probably nearly a decade older than you.”
“Ain’t you heard of cougars?”
“Ain’t you heard, cougar beats wolf?” A giveaway that she knew about werewolves, but she was tired of the boy. She shouldered past him into the trailer, King following silently. She thought it telling that the dog refused to sniff around.
Trash cluttered the place. Not clutter like her aunt’s store. There was clutter from an active mind, clutter from folks too tired to clean
, clutter from kids, and clutter from illness.
Then there was the miasma of filth-in filth-out, like a snake’s nest of sloughed skin. Her own skin crawled.
The trailer was mottled like a snake’s skin too, with amber light. The sun, struggling through the grimy windows, hit sills lined with beer bottles, splotching everywhere—except one corner.
A single red bottle lit that corner like weeping blood. A sign.
Death had happened here.
Horror scorched Sophia’s veins. She automatically reached for her magic, to cleanse the place with fire.
Pain met her instead of her power, her skull exploding in a headache. She released her will, vowing to find out what had happened and make whoever was responsible pay.
Marlowe pushed inside past her then turned with a grin. “Welcome to your worst nightmare.” It was a rehearsed line.
“Grow up.” She straightened to her full height and looked him in the eye. “I have questions about your theft. Why the bookstore?”
“Me? Theft?” Marlowe overdid the innocence. “Maybe old lady Blue needs better protection.”
King sat on disgusted haunches. She didn’t even bother contradicting the kid. “Who told you to steal from her?”
“Kille—hey. No trick questions. I didn’t steal anything.”
She held both hands up. “One more. Did my aunt come here to retrieve her property?”
“Please. We don’t allow scrawny old hens like her with us prime bachelors.”
And again, ew. That and King’s yip of warning were her cues to exit. “Thanks. I’ll be going.”
“I don’t think you will.” Marlowe’s eyes flicked to a spot behind her. His slow, lurid smile made the hairs on her nape rise.
“My brother’s right,” came a growl from the doorway. “You ain’t fucking’ going nowhere.”
She turned, relaxed, easy, but inside her nerves were screaming. “You must be Killer.”
“In the fuckin’ flesh.” Filling the doorway was an f-bomb of a werewolf on toothpick legs. “Speaking of fuckin’ flesh…” He grabbed his crotch and bumped his hips.
She ground fists into her eyes, trying to scrub out her retinas. Killer was Marlowe but heavier, hairier, and not as subtle. Now she knew where the kid had learned his suave way with the ladies.
