Blood of the Wolf

by T. L. Shreffler

  “What about that one?” his brother said, straightening and putting a quarter in his pocket.

  Stevie sneered. “You can't tell by looking, dumbass.”

  He glanced around the bus station. Davenport was a run-down place, a city that had been prosperous fifty years ago and was now about three decades behind on repairs. The streets were small and cracked, the buildings low and dirty. He watched as human after human emptied from the bus, hardly any of them sparing the two werewolves a glance. None of them looked familiar; none of them smelled like pack.

  Except....

  “I think he's close,” his brother murmured, sniffing the wind. Jones had always had the more sensitive nose of the two. “Right over there... no wait, the bathrooms...? Can't be right, but it's close... its coming from....”

  “Hello.” The voice was deep, smooth, unexpectedly silky. Stevie whirled around, eyes wide, staring up at the figure behind him... and up and up.

  The man was huge, way over six feet, his skin a deep ebony, his head shaved and long tattoos snaking up his arms. His neck looked like a tree trunk. Stevie gawked, looking the man up and down. His Hawaiian-print shirt and tennis shoes seemed out of place on the intimidating figure, along with his blindingly white smile... but even with that smile, Stevie could feel himself instinctively wanting to tuck his tail between his legs. The stranger's presence was as powerful and confident as any Alpha's. Obviously he was of a strong bloodline... unsurprising, since he was a Tracker.

  “I take it you are the two I have been hired to help?” he asked, smiling broadly.

  Stevie still felt like the man was laughing at him, somehow mocking him behind that big grin. He stepped up boldly. “Yeah, I'm Stevie, this is Jones — I trust you know the details of the situation?” The man nodded silently. “Well then, you should know that this just isn't any girl we're dealing with here. She's the last of the Paxton wolves.”

  The giant shrugged, his massive shoulders rippling beneath his tropical shirt. He had a backpack over one shoulder and a gym-bag in the other, and a pair of black shades over his eyes. Stevie got the distinct impression that this Tabari fellow didn't care about specifics — he was a Tracker for reasons other than allegiance... maybe even one of those sick fucks who got pleasure out of chasing something down and destroying it...

  “Let's get this show on the road,” Tabari growled, looking around the bus station. It was nearing midday, and the station was busy and bustling. “Over there.”

  Tabari turned away from them, starting across the crowded waiting platform, the black giant sticking out like a sore thumb. Stevie and Jones shared a glance, neither one sure what to make of the massive werewolf. They followed him after a moment, stopping when he knelt by a bench, tucked away from traffic.

  “I'll need something that belongs to her, a piece of clothing, something from her room....”

  Stevie reached into his pockets, withdrawing a blue scarf they had stolen from her a month earlier, for this very reason. Tabari took it from him and crouched close to the ground, as though he was going to dig something out of his backpack, but he just stayed there, hovering over the cement. Stevie and Jones watched him silently, unsure of just what was happening. Trackers were strange breeds, usually extremely talented or powerful werewolves, most often from Alpha bloodlines who — for some reason or other — didn't have their own pack. They attended special underground schools and were taught all of the ancient werewolf knowledge. Undergoing training as specialized as the Special Forces or Navy Seals, they learned everything about how to track, survive and rule in the wilderness. Put a Tracker on a wolves' trail and... well... they were as good as dog meat.

  Tabari had been poised with his eyes closed, but now he opened them, the broad smile returning to his lips. Stevie didn't like that smile... it reminded him too much of the Seneca Alpha, the bastard that had grinned the whole time he was cutting off his ear.

  “Well, I have good news and bad news,” he said, his voice rich and deep. He stretched one long arm out to the right of him, pointing to the parking lot and the busy street beyond it. “She was here about three hours ago... and she's still in the city,” he said, nodding. He stood up, shouldering his bags and starting for the parking lot, appearing to be on a direct course for their car. It unnerved Stevie, but it made sense — of course a Tracker would be able to tell which car was their's.

  “The bad news?” Jones called, the two brothers trotting to keep up.

  “She's not alone,” he grunted.

  Stevie frowned, knowing that his worse fears had come true. Either she was with the cops—the less likely possibility—or she was back in the hands of that Seneca Alpha.... His gut wrenched in sudden apprehension. He couldn't deliver Magnus a damaged package; she needed to be pure and unused during her wolf-moon. If the Seneca Alpha took her as his mate first....

  It was more complicated than that, but Stevie didn't know the specifics... only that the sooner they had the girl in their grasp, the sooner they could deliver her... and the sooner he could get back to his normal life, to his two-bedroom apartment and the unwatered house plants.

  “Think this guy knows what he's doin'?” Jones muttered.

  Stevie grimaced. “He better, otherwise we're as good as dead.” It caused a brief, tense silence to fall between them.

  They were shaken from their thoughts by Tabari's strong voice. He stood next to their car, his hand on the driver's side door. “Hey, I'm thinkin' I should drive,” he said, smiling widely. “That way we can follow them directly.”

  Stevie nodded slowly; why protest? Maybe this would all be much easier than he had originally thought. He wondered how much Magnus was paying the man, and whether or not the Tracker shared any personal loyalties to the pack. He couldn't trust him... but Stevie tossed him the keys anyway, unable to see any other option. At least the man would get the job done. He climbed into the passenger seat, motioning for Jones to get in back.

  “So? Where'd they go?” he asked as the Tracker turned the car on and threw it in gear. He twisted to back out of the spot, driving with an alarming amount of enthusiasm.

  “We're about to find out,” he said.

  * * * *

  “Eat your sandwich,” Sirus grunted, watching her carefully across the table.

  She was staring out the window of the Denny's with a vacant expression. He didn't like that kind of look on a woman... it meant she was thinking about something. Something she wasn't going to tell him.

  Jaime darted him a glare, a spark of defiance; good, at least it was closer to her usual self. Ever since leaving the bus station she had been distant and withdrawn, nothing like the fire-cracker he had chased all over Black River the day before. Her high, delicate cheek bones were scuffed and bruised, her lips fragile, her dark eyes evasive.

  He hoped she wasn't giving up. She had been awfully quiet all morning.... Had he beaten the fight out of her already? He wanted to shake his head in disappointment, tsk-tsk... Had he misread her, overestimated her, expected too much? Or maybe, was he being too hard? Sirus considered it for a moment, then dismissed the thought — no, impossible. This was just his usual self. If she couldn't handle it, well....

  But last night. Last night haunted him. He could remember every shudder, each quaking breath and bead of sweat on her body. It was just a matter of time before the rising lust of her wolf-moon became too much. She would need to take a mate....

  He bumped her foot under the table, trying to get her attention. She glared at him again. “Come on, cheer up.”

  “I hate it.”

  “Hate what?”

  “The handcuffs.”

  “Oh come now,” he murmured, tugging gently on the chain under the table; it was clasped around a metal pole that connected the tabletop to the floor. The table was cemented to the ground and solid. “Its only a necessary precaution. We couldn't have me actually trust you, could we?”

  “Oh?” she snapped. “And aren't we supposed to trust each other, if I'm your future
mate?”

  He grinned wickedly. “Oh you can trust me, darling... I have been nothing but honest about my intentions.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “If you want.”

  “Argh!” She yanked her hands up to attack him but found herself slammed back against the table, her arms restrained by the handcuffs. The table shook loudly, jostling the plates and silverware. “I hate you!” she shouted, sitting back against the booth, as far from him as possible.

  Sirus glanced around; the few occupants of the diner were looking at them in alarm. He turned back to her, saying loudly, “If you don't like the orange juice, then next time ask for no pulp.”

  “You're an asshole.”

  “Am I?”

  “Like you didn't notice.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” he said, smiling at her. “But you're not exactly making this easy. If you'd just behave and stop running, we wouldn't need the handcuffs at all.”

  She glared at him, face flushed. Damn, she was beautiful.... “What, making excuses for keeping me prisoner?”

  “Look at it my way — it's either have you as a prisoner, or not have you at all.”

  “Now don't be getting sweet on me.”

  “I'm just saying.”

  “You're disgusting. You're a murderer and a killer, and you'll never be anything else.” She glared.

  He glanced away. She had no idea what those words meant, coming from her.... He couldn't argue about his past. But she would never believe the truth. Maybe he had been there on that night when the Paxton wolves were destroyed, but he hadn't been the one to orchestrate it. He had to wait to tell her at the right moment, when he had proof to back his story. It wouldn't be long now... until then, he just had to keep her from hating him even more.

  “Look, I bought you a sandwich, would you just be happy and eat it?” he grunted, turning away. Now she was watching him, her dark eyes wide and curious, her hair a smooth, perfect brown. She was giving him that searching look again, trying to piece him together like a puzzle. He wished she would stop.

  She hesitated, then took a bite from her sandwich, still looking at him with her big eyes. He focused once more out the window, watching the traffic slide by. He had checked her wounds briefly in the bathroom at the bus stop. Not the most sanitary place in the world, but it had to do. Her stitches were already healing nicely; the leg would most likely be back to full health within a week. Her werewolf abilities were strong, some of the most powerful he had ever seen, with the exception of one other... the man they had come to see.

  “How are we ever supposed to become mates if we don't even trust each other?” she said suddenly, catching him by surprise.

  He glanced at her. “Very easily—I claim you on your wolf-moon.”

  She flushed scarlet; he liked that, and the surge of heat that came with it. She kept speaking, regrettably. “No, I mean... don't you care that you're treating your future mate like a fugitive? I'm trying to say... that maybe we started off on the wrong foot.”

  Sirus looked at her fully then, sniffing the air, trying to get an idea of where she was going with this. He frowned. “Go on.”

  “I think... well, I don't know, maybe we can start over.”

  “Like?”

  “Like trying out this trust thing! I can't just walk around with a pair of handcuffs on! Why don't you let me take them off... its not like I can go far with this leg. And you know you can't force me to join you, either way.”

  He was looking at her, studying her pale skin and heart-shaped face, still testing the air. Her body language told him things she could never intend; how she played with her hair, the casual way she leaned towards him and crossed her legs. He could smell her arousal as well; it ate at him like a deep hunger.

  “You want me to take the handcuffs off and let you walk around, and trust that you won't run from me? After everything I went through yesterday to catch you?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You think I could run like that two days in a row? You've got to be kidding me. You're not seriously thinking of walking around with me cuffed to your wrist, are you?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Oh come on!”

  He leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand, a smile spreading slowly across his face. He saw her blink and fidget; her confidence wavered. It was just enough vulnerability to make up his mind.

  “Alright. Let's give it a try.”

  Chapter 9

  Jaime opened her mouth, stunned. “What? Really?”

  “Yeah... no sense keeping you prisoner if you're supposed to... what, eventually like me?”

  “That might be a bit too hopeful.”

  “We'll see.” The glint in his eyes made a shiver go down her spine, though she wanted to smile at the same time. These tiny battles of will were unexpectedly pleasant... although she hated to use that word concerning him in any way. She wasn't sure what he had done to her last night, but today, nothing was the same; she felt dirty and conflicted. Her skin was flushed and super-sensitized, her clothing rough and uncomfortable, her nipples swollen and tight. Every time he moved or casually brushed by her, she felt a fiery streak in her belly. She wondered if he did it on purpose.

  This agreement, however, was unexpected.

  “You're really going to take off my handcuffs?” she said, disbelieving, as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the keys. She watched as his hands disappeared under the table. He began fumbling with her wrist, his strong hands maneuvering so he could undo the lock. Every brush of his rough fingers caused tendrils of fire to slip up her wrists....

  “Yes, and if you don't believe me, just wait a second.”

  Jaime frowned. She truly hadn't thought he would agree to go along with this... and part of her was a little disappointed. Was he really this dense? No wonder she had ran from him so easily the previous day. She had spent the entire morning in deep meditation, trying to devise a way to get free of him... could it really be this simple? A few well-placed words and a pouting lip... an appeal to the human side of him, which apparently existed. If he thought she was going to have a change of heart now, just because he had fixed up her leg and made her orgasm, he was badly mistaken. As though she would ever trust someone as ruthless and bloodthirsty as Sirus. His dominating presence may hold sway over her body, but not her mind.

  The cuffs came off, sliding from around the bar. He folded them up and put them in his pocket along with the keys, looking at her closely. She blinked, trying not to seem as transparent as she felt in front of those pale, cold eyes.

  “Uh... thanks,” she said, wondering what he was waiting for.

  “Of course. How do your wrists feel?”

  “Fine, I guess.” She rubbed the chaffed skin. It was a little sore, but nothing like the pain from her leg. Sirus had given her aspirin a few hours ago, but it did little to stop the throbbing. She had been partially telling the truth when she had said that she couldn't run from him again. She could certainly escape... but she wouldn't be able to physically do what she had the day before. Jumping onto a train was certainly out of the question. Despite her sleep on the bus, she still felt tired and weak, not to mention hung-over from the alcohol. Part of her still couldn't believe that she had been stitched up in the back seat of a bus, fully conscious.

  He went back to gazing out the window and she set about finishing her sandwich. If she was going to run away from him, she might as well do it on a full stomach. She was lucky that his cronies weren't around. They had met him at the bus station, a disappointing sight as far as she was concerned, but he had quickly sent them ahead to meet with the Davenport wolves. They would be visiting the Davenport Alpha later, though she wasn't sure why. He wouldn't tell her.

  “Aiden and Darren should be back soon. Done with your fries?”

  “Yeah,” Jaime muttered, glancing around the diner. It was just past noon but the place wasn't anywhere near full; most of the occupants were hunched and elderly. Where was the back exit, or any sort of
escape route? Her eyes landed on a hallway peaking out at one side of the restaurant.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” she said. She bit her lip, trying to look fragile. “Please?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes intense and searching; it was all she could do not to look away. He sat back for a moment, considering her, leaning his head to one side. Finally, he gave a casual shrug.

  “I suppose. Be back quick. If I don't hear from you in a minute, I'm coming in after you.”

  She nodded, deciding it was better than speaking. Her voice might betray her.

  He made a brushing motion with his hand, as though shooing her away. She scooted from the booth, trying not to move too quickly, her heart pounding. Was he really falling for the oldest trick in the book? She couldn't believe it, it was too easy... he had to suspect something, right?

  She turned and straightened her clothes, then started for the bathroom, controlling how fast she walked. Acting too eager would tip him off....

  “Oh, and Jaime?”

  His voice stopped her. She turned to look back at him, knowing the fear showed on her face — he was about to change his mind. It had been too good to be true.

  He looked at her, his mouth quirking into a slight grin. She didn't like that expression....

  “You're not going to let me down, now, are you?” he asked softly.

  She blinked in surprise, then frowned, unsure of how to take the question. Finally she shrugged nervously. “No?”