Lupo
They limped from the clearing and picked their way through the closely set pines until they reached the highway where Lupo had seen the police cruiser parked. The car was gone.
Good man, he thought. Nothing for you to see here.
He wanted to lean on the older man, but as long as Sam held the shotgun, Lupo needed to keep clear. The silver in the shot radiated heat that stung and burned the closer he came. He could barely imagine the pain the black wolf would have felt ripping through his tissue, burning through his veins like molten fire mixed with acid. He shuddered at the thought.
The black wolf had exuded an air of…Lupo hesitated to label it, but it felt like confidence or the kind of arrogance born of a snobbish sense of entitlement. Maybe experience. Lupo had nothing to compare it with, but the other wolf had seemed old and well practiced. Even though he’d been startled by Lupo’s attack, he had taken the initiative easily and almost won. If Sam hadn’t shown up when he did…
Lupo’s wounds stung, but they were already healing, cuts and scrapes closing themselves as if by invisible zippers. It was one small benefit of the “curse.” Today he was grateful.
The roadway was still covered with eddying mist. Lumps of flattened fur and bone marked what had probably stopped Arnow while on patrol.
Sam had brought clothes in a small knapsack, which he retrieved and gave Lupo. “Jessie called. We figured I might run into you.”
Lupo shook his head. He never tired of relearning how logical Jessie Hawkins could be. He’d almost forgotten he was naked, his usual state during the moon-influenced runs. He slipped on the jeans and sweatshirt.
“We’d better talk,” Sam said. “Two more council members were murdered.”
“Christ. Who?”
“Alfred Calling and Clara.”
“Clara was the only woman, right?”
Sam nodded in sadness. “The nicest member, too, though we disagreed on some issues. Calling was…less nice. He was a player, barely interested in the true issues facing the tribe. He was brought in by Blackthorn. Everyone knew he was just there to sway the vote. His loyalty was paid for with luxuries most other Indians can’t even imagine. Still, he was another human wiped out by this…gang, whatever you want to call them.”
“Pack. I think they fit the definition. They were after me tonight. I was acting as bait, hoping to catch one unawares. Problem is, he turned out to be more than I could handle. Faster, meaner, more ruthless.”
Lupo thought Sam might have been sweet on Clara. He would always be faithful to his dead wife, Sarah, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be attracted to someone. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about Clara, man.”
Sam nodded, his lip trembling. “What are we gonna do, Nick? I feel like this is more than just the usual anti-Indian sentiment, even though I hear there’s some group now pushing for demonstrations about the damn spearfishing again.”
“You have to talk to Eagleson. He’s still okay, right?”
“Yeah, so far. But…well, I’ll see to it. Now what?”
“I guess I’m heading home, Sam. And you should, too. You have more of that silver ammo?”
“Can’t you feel it?”
“Oh, yeah. My whole body’s tingling and not in a good way. That wolf is in a whole lot worse shape than I am, I’ll tell you that.”
“Good.”
“You bet. But why do you have silver ammo?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, it was just some leftover shells from when I was hunting my…my son.”
“And you kept some in case I needed to be put down someday, right?”
Sam’s eyes sparked with sudden anger. “What would you have done? Would you have taken the word of, of—”
“A monster?” Lupo prodded.
“Well, at the time—”
“Just let it go—”
“You let it go, Nick! Without the silver ammo, you’d be roadkill like that.” He pointed.
Lupo sighed. He hated being mistrusted, but it came with the whole werewolf territory, didn’t it? How often had he reverted to his monstrous nature and proven himself unworthy of trust? How often had he hurt someone he loved, or worse?
He nodded. “Fine, I agree. Hope you have more, ‘cause we’re gonna need it.”
He checked his torso, pulling up the sweatshirt. Most of his wounds were already fading scars, healing impossibly fast.
He stripped. “I’m gonna run home. I need to give the Creature some of its night back. I was in charge too long. It makes him cranky.”
“Nobody wants that.”
“Yeah. Here.” He handed Sam the clothes. “Thanks again.”
“You’ll do the same for me before this is over. I’m sure of it.” He’d become accustomed to seeing Lupo naked, but what came next he was never quite used to.
“Call Eagleson,” Lupo said. Then he began a lope down the asphalt highway.
Before he could disappear in the mist, he was over and came down on four paws, knowing Sam could still see him. He knew it because he sensed the old man’s fear.
Lupo took charge of the Creature and headed him home, with a short detour for protein. He knew a place where deer congregated and headed there now.
He howled his love of the night and the waning moon.
He hoped it was a warning to the pack that nothing was finished, nothing was done.
There was no response. But that didn’t mean they weren’t listening.
Mr. XYZ
The night air had been filled with portents.
Strange sounds, whisperings, voices, and screams. It made him feel alive, though he couldn’t have explained it.
He wrestled the Christmas tree bag out of his SUV and dragged it down to the water’s edge. This one rolled easily. It wasn’t all in one piece, so it was easier to handle. He repeated his usual ritual with the chains and padlocks, then hefted the bag and pushed it a few yards farther out, where it hit the black scummy water with hardly a splash and began to bubble up and out of sight immediately.
She hadn’t lasted all that long, this one.
His disappointment caused him to feel unfulfilled.
He listened to the night. Something was out there in the woods, something loud and frightening.
But he wasn’t frightened. He recognized other creatures of the night. Knew he wasn’t the only predator. Knew he wasn’t the only one following a predestined path.
He picked his way over gravel and clumps of wild grass back to his SUV and climbed in.
He sighed.
His needs were greater these days. He sensed that everything was driving toward some kind of end crisis. And then he would deal with that, too. He had been here too long anyway. Maybe it was time to scout a new territory. But this location and its perfect combination of tourism, dead-end service jobs, two-year community colleges, and an overall accep tance of underachievers had been perfect for so long.
He had to see what the end result of his plans would be. He had plenty of wiggle room.
And he still had needs.
Arnow
He went in to change, but the next thing he knew he had been in the bathroom an hour, his wet trousers now dry and nearly forgotten.
The shakes. He’d had them once or twice in his career. After a shooting he’d thought was his fault. After seeing a particularly vile crime committed on a young child. One time, when he’d hesitated and another cop had been wounded. But in a long career, he’d never felt quite the same way he felt now. Powerless. Fearful. Completely unable to process what he had seen, yet unable to let go. He’d set his Glock on the vanity, sat on the covered toilet, and put his head in his hands and cried.
Cried.
The tears were just relief, he decided later. A reaction, completely physiological and not related to his own strength or lack of it. He’d heard of cops who ate their guns when they felt fear so strong they couldn’t go out on patrol anymore. In his case, he was just glad to get home without having seen wha
t was in the woods. The relief at not knowing was what made him forget his fear.
Whatever, he thought. I pissed my pants. Christ.
What would Laura think if she knew? She’d been supportive of him through all his emotions, all his fears, until he had conquered them. They’d been good together, he and Laura. But then he had felt some emotion for a fellow cop, a vice detective in Chicago, and when Laura had caught him, somehow reading him like the proverbial book even though he hadn’t acted on any of his feelings—might never have acted on any of his feelings—she had needed less than two days to make her decision. She had taken the kids and disappeared, later to resurface at her parents’ house where he was no longer welcome. The divorce papers had come in two weeks, and he let his family go without a fight, because he knew the trust was broken and he had been the one to break it.
Jesus, I haven’t thought about them in weeks.
No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t thought about Laura in weeks, but he always thought of his kids, Freddie and Jill, and he thought about them now. He thought of them without a father, but he knew they had one—a stepfather—and didn’t need him. Who’d miss him, if he ate his gun? Who would have missed him if he’d encountered the thing in the woods? Whatever had happened, he knew it had spooked him badly. Here he was, huddled in his bathroom as if a tornado was raging outside, knowing the tornado raged inside now. His hands shook when he held them up to his eyes.
He had double locked the front door, set the alarm, and even locked the bathroom.
His tears were dry now. His pants were dry. He held up his hands again. They were steady now. Steady enough.
Whatever he would have to do required strength. Did he have the strength?
He picked up the Glock and his grip was steady.
He came out of the bathroom.
He stripped and threw the clothes in the hamper.
He showered the fear off himself, out of his pores. He hoped the stink of that fear left, too, because he wanted those things that were ripping people apart in his county to know that he was no longer afraid.
He dressed in much fresher clothes, strapped on an ankle holster and slipped in his backup, a Glock 26 subcompact semi. At least he was changing the odds, he thought, as he checked his Taser and Mace, items he hadn’t carried since Chicago. He felt weighed down, but if that’s what it took to feel slightly safer, then so be it.
It was well past dawn by now, and he was famished, his empty stomach complaining, even though his mind thought he would never want to eat again.
There would be time later. Right now, he wanted to check in and talk to Faber.
And see about getting some of those lab reports, even if he had to light fires under somebody’s ass. Malko and his cronies on the county board were bound to request his report today. Or his resignation.
He wished he could take them out to where he and Faber had heard those things in the woods. He wished he could leave them there.
Heather Wilson
The door was locked and bolted, but she heard him slip through her defenses in every possible way.
She smelled him as he approached in the dark, the musk almost intoxicating, something else in there giving him the aura of danger she craved. She smelled his sex as if he held it under her nostrils, and when she reached toward his shadow and touched him, she realized that he was holding it toward her.
What an arrogant son of a bitch.
She felt him with hungry fingers, caressed the length of him down to his testicles and cradled them in their gnarled sack, thrilled by the feel of his hairless engorged flesh.
Fuck, he was irresistible. Arrogant but delicious.
She guided him to her mouth and took him as he stood at the side of the bed, silent, demanding and yet strangely submissive. His smell was strong and feral, a sharp tang of something she couldn’t quite identify, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she wanted him. She hadn’t been able to find Robbie all day. Maybe he’d bolted out of jealousy. Didn’t matter what his excuse was, she’d have him fired.
“Tef,” she muttered.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full,” he said.
He shoved hard and she gagged but kept working him, feeling her saliva pool under her tongue and gush out in ropes, making the way slick for him. He grunted, and she took that as a good sign and continued to swallow him until he pulled out and reached for her, flipping her in the dark so he would have the access he wanted. She wondered how he could see so well in the darkened room, but then she didn’t really care as he parted her thighs and buttocks and drove in from behind.
His grunts became more rapid, more violent, and she swore his manhood swelled inside her, reaching her depths and stroking her to some kind of cataclysm she barely understood.
All she knew was that she wanted more. She reached back, groaning from the pain and pleasure he provided with each stroke, and grabbed his arms to lever him deeper and faster.
To her shock, his arms were much hairier than she remembered, almost peltlike, which was a contrast to his beautiful hairless groin. She almost let go in disgust at first, but the heat was on her—and apparently on him, because he did not stop his rhythm but instead increased it until she thought the bed would crash under her. Was that a cheap motel bed leg cracking?
Behind her, his long hands held her bent legs like handlebars, and he drove her faster and longer than anyone before. She screamed when the liquid heat of his orgasm rocketed inside her. It seemed never ending, and his hardness never faltered, but rather he continued to pump into her until finally she begged him to stop, never mind the neighbors and the late hour. When he finally complied, he was as large as ever. She rolled over on the creaky bed and took him in her mouth again, tasting herself and him mingling on his skin. When he came again, only minutes later, she jerked back and let him bathe her with his thick cum.
All men like that, she thought. But then he insistently pried her lips open with his tip and fed her the last of his seed.
Demanding bastard. For someone so young.
No matter what, she was hooked. She couldn’t help it. Something inside her melted at the thought of coupling with this…She struggled for a second…with this creature.
There, she had said it. To herself, but she had said it.
He slid down onto the bed and lay beside her. She smelled his musky sweat and something else.
Blood, she thought crazily. He smells like blood.
When she reached out for him, his skin seemed smooth again. And she swore she saw his eyes blazing at her in the dark.
Instead of screaming or leaping out of bed, she smiled and took his manhood between her fingers again, holding him as if he were a lever she needed to control.
“Tef,” she whispered, nuzzling him. “Tef, my amazing young boy.”
He snickered, his teeth glistening in the thin slice of dawn that reached them through the plastic curtain.
“Let’s go again,” he said.
“Okay.” She didn’t care that her genitals felt raw and abused.
She just didn’t care.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jessie
She lay next to Nick Lupo, once again wondering at the burden of his dual life and considering herself lucky to have found him, to be able to hold him.
They had made love, hard and passionate, and she noticed the lines that indicated new, healing wounds. She had been with him long enough to know his injuries healed quickly, closing up and almost disappearing with magical ease. But almost was the operative word—for the lines that remained seemed to be permanent. She could read the worst times of his life in the scars crisscrossing his body. These new lines would join the others in mapping out his existence.
He had given her a quick rundown of the night’s happenings as they lay entwined and sweaty on her bed.
“So there are others,” she whispered in awe. “You were right.” She traced the lines of his newest wounds, gently and with reverence for the unknown workings of his conditi
on.
“I think I interrupted this one from attacking Sheriff Arnow.”
“Thank God you were there then.”
“He was a straggler, or he’d turned aside to follow the scent. But Christ, he was a tough one. He almost had me, Jess. He had me backed up, and if not for Sam, good old sleep-deprived Sam…well, I think I wouldn’t be here right now.” He shook his head. “If the others are anything like him, I think I’m better off tracking them down as humans.”
“But they’ll just change right on the spot, won’t they?”
He grimaced. “If they get the chance. May have to be sure about them, then take them out without giving them anything like a sporting chance.”
“You’re talking assassination, Nick.”
“Yeah, I am. If I have to face three of them as wolves, or even two, I wouldn’t put your money on me. He was…something else. Like he’d been bred for battle. Like he’d been trained. A werewolf soldier.”
His eyes were hard in the soft light of dawn.
“But if you’re wrong—”
“Then I’ll be a murderer.”
The words hung between them a long while. Then he said, “Did you know Sam still had silver ammo?”
She wished she could deny it. Her silence said it all.
Lupo
The sudden sting of realization hit hard—his friend, and even his lover—had never quite trusted him, never quite let go of the knowledge that he was both Nick Lupo and some other Creature.
He wanted to be hurt. He wanted to protest, to complain that at least Jessie should have trusted him, after all they’d been through. He wanted to pout and let her know how much she had wounded him, perhaps more even than that other wolf, but he held his tongue. He swallowed the hurt feelings and swore to himself he wouldn’t hold them against her.
Deep down, he knew he wouldn’t have trusted Nick Lupo either.
Sam Waters
Two old men, he thought. We were young once, full of life’s promise. Now we’re both alone and old as dirt.
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