Weremones

by Buffi Becraft-Woodall

  “Adam Weis, here.”

  “Adam, it’s Bradley.”

  Adam paced to the window, putting his back to the Miller clan for privacy. Out the window, past visitors and family sneaking a smoke by the emergency doors, he watched cars drive through the parking lot.

  “Everything all right?”

  “I picked up Rick and Seth from the library.”

  Damn! He knew there was something he was supposed to be doing.

  “I forgot. One of my crew had an accident. I’m at the hospital.”

  The incriminating silence on the other end pricked at Adam’s conscience. He was the alpha and he’d forgotten all about the pack.

  He was supposed to pick the boys up from the library and take Seth to some after school function. He didn’t remember what. PTA maybe?

  “I’m sorry. Thanks for picking up the slack.”

  “Yeah. Well, I need to drop Rick off at the house and get Seth back to the school for his presentation.”

  Presentation? Not PTA then. God, he was a horrible parent figure. He didn’t have a clue.

  “Are you going to make it?” Bradley’s voice was neutral.

  “What time does it start?”

  Bradley made a sound, a derisive wuff into the phone. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.”

  Adam bristled. “Cool it, kid. I apologized and I meant it. I’ve got to run back to the job site. Do you have time to meet me there?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Fine. Let me talk to Seth.”

  There were some bumping sounds while the phone passed hands.

  “Hey, Adam.” Seth was upbeat through the slightly static sound of the cell phone.

  “Are you going to make it to the Science Bazaar?”

  The science fair thing! Adam grimaced. “No, buddy. I had an emergency come up.”

  “Are you okay?” Seth’s voice raised in alarm and fear.

  “I’m okay. I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’ve got to take care of a couple of things before I’m done for the day. But I want a complete rundown of your presentation when I get home.”

  Adam pulled up to the job site in time to see Bradley drive out. The older boy looked aggravated. Adam was glad that there would be no confrontation right now. He had too much to deal with.

  Seth stared at Adam for a moment out of the back window of the little red Ranger truck then grinned and waved, on his way to present his science project to the judges. As much for the kid’s self esteem as for his grades, Adam hoped the volcano took first place.

  Everyone else was gone for the day. The lights were out. He didn’t know yet if the reason was because the breaker box was fried or because Mack had conscientiously locked everything up.

  He walked around the side of the house, following a familiar scent. The backyard was smoothed over dirt, with the fresh new growth of grass and weeds facing over a hundred acres of untamed forest. A boy stood at the edge of the yard, staring into the forest, his small frame silhouetted against the fading light of day.

  “Rick.”

  The boy kept his gaze on the forest. Adam walked up behind him and set a hand on the kid’s shoulder. He didn’t see what kept Rick’s interest. A few squirrels in the trees. A raccoon. A herd of deer that came to nibble on the new grass in the yard. And a few other things that had been nosing around his property.

  “Do you smell them?”

  Rick’s question was soft. His dark brown eyes were worried when he looked up at his alpha.

  “Yeah. But this is our territory. The wolven pack always dominates a territory. The coyotes will have to move on.”

  “They won’t see it that way.”

  Adam gave the pup’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re at the top of the supernatural pecking order. Wolven do not share territory with other supernaturals.”

  “Why?”

  Adam blinked, a little surprised at the boy’s question. “Because, that is the way it is.”

  “What about sharing? Isn’t there enough room for everyone?”

  He laughed at the pup’s naiveté and reached out to ruffle his hair. Rick shied away from the touch, only a step, but enough to evade Adam’s hand. He respected the boy’s wish and dropped his hand, hiding the little prick to his pride that the withdrawal caused.

  “No, there’s not enough room for everyone. Just us wolves. Now let’s head to the house. I bet you have a ton of homework.”

  He still had to rattle some sense into Mark for the skateboard incident. But first he wanted to double check the house in progress for coyote scent, which he doubted he would find. Only an idiot would antagonize a wolven in his own territory.

  Barry Miller was an excellent electrician. It wasn’t like the man to make a stupid mistake that would jeopardize his life. Had someone else other than Barry done any work on the breaker box? Adam tried to remember anything odd about this morning. He frowned, aggravated. He had been so caught up in his other problems that he couldn’t recall whether there’d been anything or not.

  After determining that there was no electricity in the house Adam decided to check out the breaker box in the morning. His colorblind wolven night vision wouldn’t tell him much. The smell of charred plastic and the faint linger of burned flesh covered up any other suspicious scents.

  ———

  By six o’clock the next evening Adam was ready to call it quits. He positioned a nail and drove it into the wood with one swing. He would have liked to have gone back to the hospital today to intimidate more information out of the staff on Barry’s condition, instead of the meeting with the Middle School principal for a castigation on how Mark Cargill wasn’t living up to his potential.

  He pulled another nail from the canvas pouch tied around his waist. Instead of the hospital, he’d made do with a phone call to the electrician’s wife.

  Candace Miller’s report was good. Barry would be out of the hospital tomorrow afternoon and under doctor’s orders to take it easy for a little while. No one really knew how long a little while was. The doctor was concerned about damage the jolt may have done to Barry’s heart.

  Adam slammed the nail home.

  Last night, while doing a little sleepless web surfing, Adam had come across a posting on the wolven website about a couple of unsanctioned stray killings in California.

  Executions done with a silver knife reminiscent of The Tracker, a self-styled werewolf hunter.

  The Tracker hadn’t only hunted wolven. The human had claimed various weres, bogies, vampires, and at least one dragon to his kills. The human monster had finally gone down under three hundred pounds of pissed wolven teeth and claws, proud to the end of his holy quest to rid the world of supernaturals.

  Time. Now that was a joke. For him, time was money. Not to borrow trouble, but besides his frustrations with kids and his raging libido where a certain female psychic was concerned, there were quite a few little on the job screw-ups, besides the murdered female in his dumpster.

  Two brand new nail guns had to be taken in for repairs. He’d had listen to a lecture on how not to operate on his tools anymore or mess up the inner workings again.

  As if. That voided the warranty on some stuff. An air hose mysteriously sprang enough small leaks that it had to be replaced. A chewed cord on the air compressor. Then there was Benjamin Gates’ lawsuit protesting Adam’s purchase of the property he was subdividing. A series of building permit issues that cropped up.

  And now Barry’s accident. Adam didn’t believe for a minute that Barry Miller had been negligent in his work. No. Someone was after Adam, upping the stakes on a personal level. A move that pissed off every territorial issue bred into him. There was too much coincidence for him to ignore.

  Adam paused to cut and measure a two-by-four for bracing under the stairwell.

  Working with his hands and the soothing scent of wood always helped him to think better.

  Benjamin Gates bothered Adam. His instincts mad
e him leery of the guy. He’d done a little checking up on the man, found out he was a major business owner in town.

  For now, Adam’s brother, Dominick Sheppard was using his lawyerly skills to untangle the legal side of that snarl. Adam wasn’t worried. Dom always came through, and it would give him an excuse to slip over to the Tarrant Pack and see his brother’s new pup when it came.

  With his wolven constitution, Adam could work steady all night if he called out for pizza to refuel. Wolven metabolism needed, no demanded, a steady high calorie and protein diet, especially if he expended a lot of physical or metaphysical energy.

  ———

  Adam positioned another nail, driving it flush into wood with one satisfying hit.

  “Damn it, Adam! Watch out!” Mack snapped. “You’re going to split the studs if you keep hitting those nails so hard.”

  Adam had been so deep in his problems that he hadn’t heard Mack come back. He shot Mack a glare, aggravated that the human was able to sneak up on him.

  “I know how to hammer a nail. Why aren’t you at home? Everyone left hours ago.” Mack included. So why was the psychic back, bothering him while he needed to think?

  “Yeah? Well, I came back. So watch what you’re doing.” Mack shot back with his own grumpy look. “I don’t want to have to buy more lumber because you need to get laid.”

  Adam snarled at his foreman. He brought the hammer down, missing the nail, but not his thumb. He yelped and dropped the hammer. Adam cussed, long and loud. He stuck the bloody digit in his mouth and leveled his angry gaze on the human.

  With an otherworldly calm, Mack Spencer bent and retrieved the hammer. He slid it into the loop of his own tool belt and rocked back on his heels while Adam nursed his injury.

  Some days Mack had serious doubts about the Fate’s reasoning for his blood tie to the werewolf. Oh, he knew they liked the term wolven, not werewolf. He used the term out of the same stubborn pride Adam used for not finishing what he started. For a psychic to be bound by blood to a supernatural as strong as a wolven was a very personal thing. It was like prepping a surface for painting or texture, then not finishing the job.

  When Mack had decided against reenlistment and caught that plane to Dallas, Texas, Mack had known he would never see his family again. He’d chosen the supernaturals over his twin sister and younger brother. To the psychic communities, he would be dead.

  But there had really been no choice at all with the visions riding him. Adam Weis dying and the boys …

  No, Mack didn’t go there, those visions were worse than the dead and dying. He could ignore some of the visions and keep his sanity, but not that. The Fates knew that and wanted him here. So here he was.

  When the thumb came out, the werewolf’s injury actually looked better, probably due to his supernatural ability to heal super fast. It really was all in the blood. Mack spoke again before common sense overrode what he sensed the wolf needed.

  “You want to go to Jillie’s? Get a beer? Chill for a bit?”

  The receding anger lashed out, a burning pain in Mack’s mind. As a sensitivepsychic his abilities were like a receiver for Adam’s powerful barrage. Combine that with the extra sensitivity he got from the blood bond and that made for a powerful punch from the wolf.

  As an Ex-Special Forces, Mack had endured worse physical pain than an alpha werewolf’s anger. Psychically, Mack was a major player, even if the majority of his gifts were receptive. He was one of the few of his kind who could take the powerful onslaught.

  Psychic, magic, whatever. It was all the same crap. Supernaturals and humans alike treated a psychic’s abilities as a rare, weird human mental skill that cropped up periodically. That way the humans could sleep at night in their safe little world and the supernaturals could still classify psychics as human cattle, like they’d done since before the beginning of time.

  They were wrong about a great many things concerning his people. Mack wasn’t about to enlighten Adam or any other supernatural either. He might have burned all his bridges with his people, would likely become one of the wolven in reality in the not-toodistant future, but he’d take the psychics secrets to his grave as he’d sworn when he left the community.

  Adam’s light blue eyes shimmered red. The aggressive alpha wolf part of his nature ran close to the surface. Mack considered himself a pretty tough guy, and a smart one, too. He had known the suggestion would probably tick Adam off.

  The wolf hated bars. Adam had once confessed that the close confines, the alcohol and cigarette smoke, and mixed body odors of such places overloaded his senses.

  For a guy with almost no modesty, Adam Weis had definite moral issues about paying for anything remotely related to sex.

  Mack lifted his head to study a beam overhead. The move left his throat vulnerable to attack, as he planned, and kept his eyes out of range of the roused werewolf’s. It was an apology of sorts.

  If you ran with werewolves, the least you should do was learn to show the proper respect. Adam Weis was as territorial and possessive as any supernatural Mack had ever met. He’d kill, and had, to protect his pack and any he considered his from danger. The thing with Barry Miller had Adam ready to explode. Mack needed to control the blast area.

  Jiggley Jillies? No,” Adam’s voice growled, deep and dangerous. The wolf was riding him hard. Feral frustration rolled off of him in waves. He didn’t want to go to a goddamn tittie bar.

  Diana Ridley juggling his milk in the store flashed through his brain. His blood burned hot with power, triggered by his desire. His eyes gleamed red.

  “Don’t you have a female already? You need to go trolling for leftovers?” Adam sneered.

  “Sorry man, I didn’t mean it.” Mack took a step back. He held his hands out to the side. His tone was conciliatory. He never once looked into Adam’s face. He might have prodded this beast with a sharp stick, but he intended to stay until the end.

  “Whatever her name is, she’s got a hold on you like nothin’ else. When that happens you might as well hang it up. It’s fate. You’re caught.”

  Adam curled a lip. He might be horny, but he wasn’t tamed. No one caged him.

  Especially, not a little bit of a human female. He would decide when and where he had Diana Ridley. And he’d be the one to decide when he was finished with her. He, Adam J. Weis, was alpha wolf in this county.

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He thrust a hand through his hair. Grime coated his fingers.

  “No. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’ve been an ass all day.” Adam sighed and shrugged. “A beer sounds good. But no bar.” He made a face. “They smell bad.” That is, the females who tried to pick him up, smelled like stale cigarettes, alcohol and sexual interest. He liked a lighter lemon and vanilla scent, like Diana Ridley’s scent.

  Mac laughed. “You’re the only guy I know that complains about the way a bar smells. Besides, I was only yanking your chain about going to Jillie’s. I know you don’t like places like that.”

  Mack gave Adam a friendly smack on the shoulder. Adam tensed but let it go, taking a small comfort in the brief contact with someone he considered his. Wolven needed the touch of their pack. His pack doled out contact in such small quantities that each small touch was a hard won treasure.

  “We could pick up something to eat and toss the football.”

  Adam snorted. “We’d have to find the football first.”

  “Yeah. I think those boys of yours eat footballs for dessert.”

  Adam went to put away his tools. Mack followed, unbuckling his tool belt. Dust settled in the house. The peaceful silence made more acute by the absence of hammering, sawing, and air compressors humming.

  ———

  “You need to go to her.” Mack’s insight was as eerie as it was accurate.

  Adam jerked around. The look in his eyes would have paralyzed a lesser man.

  “You need to mind your own business.” He didn’t want a mate.

  Mack continued to stare
over Adam’s shoulder, his eyes unfocused as the otherworldly quality in his presence deepened.

  Damn.

  Adam forgot his temper as the familiar tingle and scent of his friend’s particular brand of magic washed over him.

  Only other beings firmly lodged in the supernatural world would have scented or sensed Mack’s gift. Humans were fragile creatures. And yet, the fates or gods occasionally bestowed on their number a measure of power and made them something more than human. Psychics with magic as real as any other supernaturals.

  This made a great reason for those like Mack or Diana to keep their special abilities secret. Some of those supernatural beings would have the ex-special forces soldier on their grocery list in a heartbeat. Some would want the human for other reasons, some of them very dark. Human scientists would want to poke and prod, to find out what made the gifted different. To the wolven, those like Mack were potential pack members, or Diana Ridley, a breedable mate.

  Mack knew all of this and still trusted Adam. For his part, Adam intended keep that trust, to protect that rare friendship and the human’s humanity.

  Mack returned to the present with a slump. Adam barely caught his limp as a noodle friend.

  “What do you see?” he asked.

  Mack’s laugh was depreciating and a little wild at the edges. Adam was glad he’d been born wolven. He’d never have, and didn’t want, gifts like the human’s. He’d make Mack wolven to get rid of the visions if it weren’t changing one set of problems for another. Neither did he want to jeopardize the man’s humanity.

  “What I always see. Shadows. Spreading darkness. Danger. Death. A Hunt.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Man, I hate when I see that one. He’s a bastard to shake.”

  Adam frowned as the most important phrase pricked at his over-sensitized instincts.

  “A Hunt? Is someone poaching in my territory?”

  Besides all of the weres he’d yet to evict.

  Mack’s visions could be so damn vague. Part of him wanted to interrogate his friend about the hunt. Worry over Mack’s health won out. Adam slipped an arm under the bigger man’s shoulder and hauled him out to the truck.