Deceived By the Others

by Jess Haines

  “Computer club,” answered Spike.

  That explained a lot.

  We didn’t say anything else for a while, following the invisible trail that Doc had picked up. Strangely, none of the Sunstrikers were around the cabins. Even the kids, usually heard if not seen, were nowhere in evidence. The whole place seemed deserted.

  Doc paused and turned to focus on one of the cabins, then stopped in his tracks, furrows appearing between his brows. He scratched the back of his neck, his face reddening. The rest of us gave him questioning looks, but all he did was point vaguely at the entrance. The curtains were drawn, and it didn’t look like anybody was there.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Hawk, brandishing his bow as his gaze darted over the shadows between the trees. Spike lifted his head, taking a whiff of whatever Doc had been scenting. His face also reddened, and he shot a look at Hawk.

  “Eugene, I think we’ve got a situation here.”

  “What? What is it?” I demanded. Paused. “Eugene?”

  “Yeah,” said Hawk, grimacing. “That’s my real name. Just call me Hawk, okay?”

  I shook my head and turned back to Spike. “What’s the problem?”

  Spike didn’t look at me, gesturing vaguely at the cabin as the Were-python had. Doc wasn’t any help either; he’d backpedalled, scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand. Hawk kept looking around for a threat, his bow drawn, clearly frustrated and unnerved at the lack of answers from his friends.

  Figuring we weren’t going to solve anything by waiting around, I rolled my eyes, threw my hands up, and stalked to the door. It opened easily under my touch.

  At first, I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking at. There were clothes everywhere, strewn over furniture and the floor, some tangled in the bedding. On the bed, though, that’s the thing that my brain didn’t want to process right away.

  The tangle of arms and legs wasn’t the issue. Nor the obvious scents in the air, strong enough that my weak human senses could pick them up. Even the sound effects which, given the activity taking place, were not all that surprising.

  It was the tattoo. The swirling tattoo of a Chinese dragon coiling down the bare right ass-cheek and across the hip of the man, clearly visible considering the position he’d taken over the woman sprawled beneath him on the bed.

  Chaz’s tattoo.

  “What the blue flying fuck?!” I hollered, stalking forward.

  The woman screamed, and Chaz twisted around, then promptly scrambled back on the bed, disengaging himself. He grabbed for the nearest pillow, hurriedly covering his groin. “Shia, I—”

  “What the fuck?!” I cried again, stopping in my tracks as Kimberly drew herself up, yanking the covers over her breasts.

  “Shia, please—”

  “What the fuck is this? What in the fucking hell is this, Chaz?”

  “What the hell do you think it is?” Kimberly screeched, throwing one of the pillows at me. “Get out!”

  I turned on her, and she shrank back at the rage twisting my face into a hateful scowl. It didn’t take me long to turn that bottomless hatred back on Chaz. He had the gall to gesture at me to calm down with one hand, even while he used the other to conceal his privates.

  “Shia, please, let me explain—”

  “You fucking bastard,” I cried, the first prick of tears stinging their way in a hot trail down my cheeks. I sensed the Nightstrikers creeping up behind me, their frames shadowing the doorway. Chaz barely paid them a glance; his attention was focused entirely on me. “You cheating, lying son of a bitch. How could you do this to me?”

  “What the hell did you expect?” Kimberly growled, scooting back against the headboard. “You don’t put out; you leave him hanging—you didn’t leave him with a lot of options.”

  “Shut up!” Chaz and I both shouted at her at once. She complied, folding her arms across her chest and sullenly glaring at me.

  Chaz hastily filled the crackling silence. “Shia, I’m sorry. I know this looks bad, but it’s not what you think! I still love you—”

  “The hell you do!” I exploded, grabbing the nearest item to hand—a mug on the table—and hurling it at him, sending the coffee inside spilling over the sheets. He barely managed to deflect it, the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor. “You don’t fuck around on the side when you love someone, you fucking asshole!”

  I reached for the next closest throwable object, one of his sneakers, and this time managed to score his temple. “Stop!” he bellowed, batting at everything I threw at him in my haze of fury. “For God’s sake, you don’t understand! I can’t function without a little relief now and then—”

  My scream of fury had him cowering back. The laughter of the Nightstrikers only further spurred my rage into new heights of aggression. I was soon across the room, slapping him with all my might, leaving a reddened imprint across his perfectly sculpted cheek.

  His eyes flashed yellow as he snarled, and I gasped when he reached out lightning quick to wrap his fingers around my wrists, halting my furious tirade.

  “Shia, stop! Listen to me!”

  I tugged to free myself, but he wouldn’t loosen his hold. As soon as I figured out I wasn’t going anywhere, I glared into his eyes, uncaring if the beast below the surface saw it as a challenge or not.

  “Listen. Just listen! I can’t go without sex or violence for too long, Shia. It’s not the way I’m wired. I have to have an outlet. You have no idea how hard it is to fight those instincts. I managed for a little while, but when I saw you with Royce—”

  “Don’t you dare bring him into this, you—”

  “Shut up!” he roared. “I never once complained. I didn’t say a damned thing when you let that leech touch you. You have no right to judge me!”

  I gasped in outrage, pulling at his grip again. This time he let me go, and I retreated several steps back toward the door. “Is that what you think of me? You think I slept with him?”

  “Didn’t you?” he snarled, withdrawing to put the pillow over himself again. “You were mooning over him for days. Hell, he might have ordered you to do it. I couldn’t have stopped him if he did. I didn’t hold it against you, and I know you didn’t want to sign a contract with me, not after what happened with the leeches. I didn’t press you because I didn’t know how long it would take for you to get over it and come back to me. To come to your senses. To want to be part of the pack. Did you think I’d sit back and wait forever?”

  At first, I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

  Rage was too kind a word for what I felt in that instant.

  Beyond caring, beyond speech, I turned around to face the Nightstrikers. Hawk had a look that could best be described as rapture plastered on his face as he watched our little drama play out. With no thought on the matter, I grabbed one of the arrows out of his hand and twisted around to hurl it at Chaz.

  He jerked away, but it still hit one of his ribs and fell into his lap, and he awkwardly juggled it until it dropped to the floor. Everywhere the head and shaft of the arrow touched his bare skin they left behind the red streak of silver burn. He gave a howl of pain and shouted something I ignored as I brushed past Hawk, Doc, and Spike to rush out the door, my vision blurred with tears.

  Even so, I couldn’t miss the throng of Sunstrikers gathered outside. They were watching the spectacle from a safe distance, several yards from the cabin, all of them with wide eyes and open mouths. Paula was there. Her triumphant smirk and the glitter of success in her eyes weren’t lost on me. Nor the shamed blushes and eyes cast aside rather than meeting mine when I spotted Sean and Simon. Their looks spoke of guilt—which meant they’d known about this. God, they’d all known and covered for Chaz, leaving me to think everything was just peachy while Chaz was screwing some other bitch on the side.

  Paula stepped close enough to whisper a few soft words as I passed, and it was all I could do not to turn around and deck her for them. “See how much a leech’s pet means in this pack? Stay away from us. You’re
not welcome here.”

  Enraged, I stalked along the path, brushing past the gathered Sunstrikers who hurriedly backed out of my way as I approached. None of them made any move to follow.

  The shadows had lengthened, and night would fall soon. Chaz wouldn’t be able to come after me to continue the argument; he’d be shifting soon enough, as would the rest of the pack. I thought about what to do while he was out of my hair for the next few hours. The Nightstrikers had gotten one thing right in their childish attempts at revenge—setting fire to what remained of Chaz’s personal belongings would be an excellent place to start. I’d follow their example.

  My planning was interrupted as Hawk, huffing a bit, caught up with me, settling into a slower pace to match my stride. I didn’t bother to look at him.

  “That was awesome,” he said.

  “Pretty impressive, lady,” Spike rumbled from behind me, sending me stumbling when he patted my shoulder.

  As soon as I caught my balance, I kept walking, silently seething. I wasn’t sure what would come out of my mouth if I answered them just then.

  “Hey, you just accomplished what we have been hoping to do for the last thirteen years. That was a hell of a way for him to lose face in front of his pack.”

  “Look,” I growled, turning on a heel to shove an admonishing finger under Hawk’s nose. He stopped in his tracks, surprised. “I didn’t do any of that for you. I did that for me. Can you let me cool off before you try being chummy? Please?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Spike, tugging on Hawk’s arm to pull him back. “No problem. We just wanted to let you know we’re done now.”

  “Yeah,” said Doc, his beaming smile revealing that wicked set of fangs again. Were his features narrower than before? “You helped us finish our quest.”

  “We won’t bother you again,” Hawk said.

  I didn’t reply, watching as the three gave me cheery waves and wandered off toward the lodge. My eyes weren’t mistaken; inky black feathers were sprouting around the cuffs of Hawk’s shirt, and Spike’s hands were now shaped more like paws, tipped with huge curved claws. They joked and laughed as they wandered up the trail, past some trees, and beyond my line of sight.

  A chill of foreboding ran through me. If they were shifting, the Sunstrikers must be close, too. Chaz’s temper would be fired up. The rest of the Sunstrikers had no reason to avoid me now that I was undoubtedly beyond the pack leader’s protection. I had no weapons if they should come upon me in the dark.

  I turned and ran.

  Chapter 20

  Nick and Dillon weren’t happy to see me when I rushed back into the cabin. I’d forgotten about them.

  They were straining at their bonds, teeth too prominent and hands sporting claws flexing as they twisted and fought against the chains. I very nearly turned around and left them there to take my chances in the woods.

  “Get us out of here!” Dillon shouted.

  They were still human enough to speak. Human enough to know better than to touch me. It didn’t make it any easier to approach the struggling pair.

  Dillon’s eyes glowed green when I knelt in front of him, searching for all of the carabiners used to hook the chains together. He stilled when I put a hand to his shoulder, nostrils flared and breath hissing between his teeth.

  Spike had used a few of the hefty clasps to secure the chains. My hands shook as I fumbled at the catch to the first one. The occasional ripples of shifting muscle as Dillon fought to keep still didn’t help.

  Soon, Dillon was freed, and he practically leapt to his feet as he shrugged out of the chains. I concentrated on freeing Nick, carefully not looking at Dillon as he tore off his clothes in preparation for the shift.

  By the time Nick was free, Dillon was already sprouting fur, crouched low on the floor as his bones and muscles rearranged themselves. The sounds of popping tendons and creaking muscles made my stomach lurch. Worse, as I patted Nick’s shoulder to let him know he was free, he twisted around to face me, his face distorting as his jaw extended into a muzzle baring teeth dripping with saliva.

  I backpedalled, crab walking across the tile until I slammed my shoulders and the back of my skull against the cabinets behind me. Nick tilted his head back, a low, coughing growl escaping him as he shimmied his way out of the chains. Fabric tore and split as he fought his way free. Thick golden fur sprouted to cover his nakedness.

  Dillon let loose with an ear-splitting howl, one that was soon answered by others in the pack outside. I tore my gaze off of Nick to see if Dillon had finished with his transformation.

  To my horror, he had. He was the same black-coated Were with the cat-like green eyes that had once stalked me like prey, hunger glittering in his gaze as he approached me. He’d stopped in that stinking alley, leaving me alone only because Chaz had been there to protect me. He’d been there during the fight against Max Carlyle in Royce’s basement, too, though there had been too much going on at the time for him to be a danger to me. This time, there were no distractions, and Chaz wasn’t here to stop him from attacking me.

  My fingers practically split the wood of the cabinet as I grabbed the door to pull myself up off the floor.

  Dillon watched me from his crouched position, lips pulled back on that dog-like muzzle to bare yellowish fangs. Triangular ears were pricked forward as he took a careful step closer, pausing as his claws dug furrows into the wooden floorboards.

  Panting with terror, I reached for the closest thing to hand—the coffee pot—and held it out in front of me in warning. Comical, perhaps, but it was the only thing within reach that I could use to defend myself.

  Nick voiced another low growl, and I had to stifle a scream as he reared up beside me. I arched back against the countertop as he bumped his head on the ceiling, grimacing and baring his teeth in a remarkably human expression of pain. Both clawed hands came up to cradle his skull, rubbing where he’d struck it.

  Even in this form, he still had the piercings I remembered seeing on his brows, nose, and ears. When he tugged the tatters of his shirt off his chest, nipple piercings remained, too. I didn’t dare peek lower to see if he had any others.

  I flinched back when he leaned toward me, thrusting the coffee pot at him. He jerked back, then gave me a cursory sniff. Apparently satisfied, he turned away and lumbered toward the door, casting a glance at Dillon, who was still watching me with the intent hunger of a predator.

  Dillon crept closer as Nick got out of the way, stalking forward on all fours. Panic at being trapped beat at my breast, and I frantically searched for some way—any way—out of this mess.

  Nick growled, and Dillon froze. The pair looked at each other, ears flattening and lips lifting in threat, though now they made no sound.

  Another howl split the air, this time much closer, from somewhere outside. As Nick turned to look, Dillon leapt at me.

  I screamed, hurling the coffee pot at him in reflex. It struck a glancing blow on his snout before falling to the floor and shattering.

  Just before Dillon reached me, though he was close enough for me to feel the fetid wash of his breath across my face, Nick knocked him off course and into the wall. Hot pain stung my arm, but all I knew was terror in that moment, and I skittered back as far as the tiny kitchenette allowed. The pair of wolves grappled, snapping and snarling at each other, claws soon wet with blood.

  Unable to cope, I sank to my knees, clutching my arms around my chest as the two thrashed and fought. They crashed into the bed, shoving it into other furniture hard enough for wood to audibly crack. Nick thrust his jaws under Dillon’s, closing on the black Were’s windpipe as they rolled into the table, snapping one of the legs and sending the chairs tumbling to the floor. Nick soon had Dillon pinned on his back, his teeth digging tight into the fur and cutting off any hope of Dillon’s gaining the breath to fight back.

  Though Dillon’s claws raked over his chest again and again, Nick didn’t let go. I flinched as one of his nipple piercings rolled across the floor and struck my shoe
, leaving behind a tiny spatter of blood. Eventually, Dillon subsided, stilling under the golden-furred Were.

  Once he stopped fighting, Nick released him, backing up a few paces. Nick bared bloodied teeth, keeping his amber irises locked upon the gasping, choking Were before him.

  Dillon remained on his back for a few minutes, furred chest heaving as he regained his breath. Soon he rolled onto all fours, keeping his body low to the ground and his tail between his legs as he crept closer to Nick. His lips and ears were drawn back, though he didn’t show any teeth, and he only lifted his head long enough to lick Nick’s muzzle with a few swipes of his tongue.

  Nick’s tail, which had been sticking straight out like an arrow, parallel to the ground, dropped, and he lowered his head, returning the fervent licks before glancing at me. I stayed where I was, unmoving, frozen with terror.

  The pair didn’t pay me any more attention, turning and rushing out the open door on all fours, Dillon following Nick’s lead.

  It was only after they were gone, as I was struggling up to my feet, that I realized my arm hurt and that I was bleeding.

  Panic assailed me. I grabbed the closest chair with both hands, struggling to remain upright as my chest tightened, preventing me from pulling in enough air to fill my lungs.

  Blood. My blood. Not Nick’s, not Dillon’s—mine. Dillon had cut me. With his claws.

  Oh God.

  Bile burned my throat as I stumbled to the counter, turning on the water and thrusting my arm under the stream, rubbing at the shallow cuts even though they now burned like fire. Panting with terror, I grabbed at the tiny bottle of antibacterial soap and dumped most of it on the wounds, scrubbing like it would make a difference.

  Oh God.

  I could be like them this time next month.

  Oh God.

  I couldn’t hold it in. I threw up into the sink, crying even as I still frantically scrubbed at the cuts, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. If I was infected, it was too late. Lycanthropy couldn’t be washed out of the blood, no matter how good that soap was at cutting through grease and bacteria. The smallest nick of fangs or claws could carry enough of the virus to spread it to anyone unlucky enough to be attacked.