Weremones

by Buffi Becraft-Woodall

  The other male was as golden as his companion was dark. The coppery scent of old blood hung in the air. Even injured, both wolven strays would be formidable in a fight.

  In the moment it took for Adam to size up the males, Bradley went for full attack mode. The teen’s claws ran out to full dueling claws. His face contorted, lengthening into a muzzle full of sharp predator’s teeth before he hit the blond biker. The shit was about to hit the fan.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Bradley!” Adam yelled. “Down!”

  Everyone moved back, the dark biker included. Soon Adam had the pup pulled off the man. The blond biker’s eyes gleamed red in the lights, but he was calm. Adam noted the blond male held Bradley off with human hands.

  Adam shook his pup hard by the scruff of the neck, rattling teeth, and then let the boy’s feet touch the ground. His hand remained on Bradley’s neck.

  Emotion ran high in his little pack. The other three boys took their cue from the eldest, shuffling their feet and shooting angry glances in the strays’ direction.

  “All of you calm down.”

  Adam turned an authoritative eye on the two outsiders.

  “Now. What are you still doing in my territory?”

  His fingers gripped reflexively when Bradley lunged again. The boy didn’t get to lean more than a few inches forward.

  Really, the kid was going to have to cut this alpha wanna-be shit out until he had more muscle to back the attitude. A faint smile twitched around Adam’s mouth at boy’s tenacity. He arched an eyebrow at the strays, waiting for an answer.

  The dark one responded with a nod, an autocratic mien that made the hackles rise on the back Adam’s neck. He narrowed his gaze on the male. Mack took the opportunity to move closer to the younger boys.

  “Show ‘em, Tank,” the blond male said.

  Tank responded by pulling his tee shirt out of the leather jeans. A white bandage marred the dark definition of his exposed belly.

  Several were pink and fading, or darkening to his normal skin tone, healing wounds. Obvious claw marks, scraped the length of his body from his armpits to his waist. Dueling wounds received from the teeth and claws of other supernaturals and silver healed at a slower rate than normal injuries.

  Tank peeled away the white square, revealing a raw ragged wound, still red and weeping around the clotted blood. Neat, even stitches kept the five-inch opening in his belly closed. Someone or something had twisted and yanked on the weapon, doing as much damage as possible. A human in Tank’s place would likely have been dead.

  “Man! Don’t that hurt?” Rick’s accented voice was laced with awe, despite the pup’s bored drawling of words.

  “Course it hurts you idiot.” Seth gave his pack brother a light shove, but the boy’s tone was neutral. His dark brown eyes were fixed on Adam as they waited for the alpha’s decision.

  He felt Bradley’s focus also shift from the strays to himself.

  “Tank got that when we stopped to help a human on the highway. A psychic.”

  The blond male looked Adam full in the eyes. He seemed to come to a decision within himself. He dropped his gaze to a more neutral, less aggressive, spot, giving the local Canis the respect of his station.

  “The name’s Chase. This pin cushion—” he pointed a thumb at the darker male—

  “is Tank.”

  Both males kept a close eye on the pack and Mack while managing relaxed, unthreatening, postures. Which Adam knew from past experience, was more difficult than it looked. Quite a feat for a couple of strays, bitten ones at that.

  “Anyway, we were at some dive, on our way out of the territory. We stopped for a beer and to shoot the breeze about where to head to next. This guy came up needing a hand with his bike. The dude reeked of psychic, so we decided help out.”

  “And being the helpful kind of guys you are, you just jump up to go fix it, huh?”

  Mack’s expression said he thought otherwise.

  Chase shrugged.

  “He was pretty rank looking. But hey, we’ve been on the other side. So what the hell?”

  Chase smirked as he confirmed his bitten status. Being bitten was the wolven equivalent of being born out of wedlock. There wasn’t the stigma there once was, but it still raised a few eyebrows from the old school.

  “Besides, there’s nothin’ more pitiful than a broke down biker that can’t fix his own ride.”

  The blond male grinned, obviously more impressed with his humor than anyone present.

  Adam shook his head, disgusted. His hand dropped away from Bradley as he turned toward his truck.

  “I don’t have time for this.” He turned to Mack and the boys. “It’s time to hunt. If anyone’s got a clue where to look for Diana, spill it.”

  He didn’t want the strays in on his pack problems, but he felt her fading. He wasn’t going to lose her like Amanda. This time if he failed, he’d lose a lot more than his pride. He’d probably loose a good chunk of his heart.

  “Adam, wait. Let’s hear them out.” Mack looked at the strays, but through them, as well. His voice was distant, caught between here and wherever his gifts took him.

  “No. We’ve got to go.” He too was torn between places. The line he associated with the female psychic was unraveling, slowly but surely.

  “Adam!”

  “Canis!” Mack and the dark stray called at Adam’s retreating back.

  He didn’t know where to find her. If he’d been more persistent, convinced her to accept him as a bonded mate, then he’d be able to track her now using the mate’s bond.

  “Canis! The human who stabbed me knew what he was dealing with. He thought to surprise me while my brother was occupied with repairs.”

  “Adam, it’s your girlfriend. She’s in a car with the killer.”

  Adam turned, suddenly furious at Mack.

  “You knew. You’ve been seeing her,” he accused. His fists balled as he walked back to the psychic. “Where is she? So help me God ….”

  The psychic should have been afraid of the angry wolven approaching him. Instead, he looked sympathetic. Damn the irritating, human, bastard.

  “I’ve never met her. You were courting her, so I’ve kept my distance.”

  “Kept your distance?” He snarled. Jealousy and impotence fueled the fires of his rage. “How the hell do you keep your distance from someone you’ve never met?”

  Mack was calm.

  “I know how to find my own kind, Adam.”

  The two strays growled. Mack glanced their way. Some kind of undercurrent passed between them, then the psychic focused back on Adam.

  “She’s not dead yet. While there is life, there is hope.”

  “What the hell does that mean? I need details to find her, not platitudes,” Adam growled.

  “Heads up, Canis. You’re about to get more company.”

  Chase nodded at three sets of approaching headlights turning into the subdivision, bouncing down the road toward them. The thump-thump of their speakers beat the air before the sound reached their ears.

  Neon lights glowed under the vehicles, outlining two low-rider trucks and a car.

  “It appears you could use some assistance, Canis.”

  Tank moved to stand beside Adam. A protective growl trickled from Bradley.

  “It’s that coyote Nick and the rest of his werejackasses.” The boy slipped in front of Adam directing his comment to his alpha.

  Despite Bradley’s unexpected defense, Adam moved the boy aside to confront the stray himself. Again he was struck at the incongruity of the leather-clad biker with highbrow speech and manners.

  “Thanks for the offer, but no.” His pack, his business.

  A chorus of high-pitched howls rose in the tree line behind the house. From the road, the stenciling, Bite the Hand that Feeds You, of the first truck became clear.

  Appropriate for coyotes.

  Beside him, Bradley, and the other boys, froze. Wary nervousness rolled from them. Not outright fear, not yet,
but soon.

  “Oh, shit,” muttered Rick, “it’s Benj.”

  Now, Adam smelled fear. And he didn’t like that this Benj brought it to his pack.

  A growl slipped from his throat.

  “Where’s Brandon?”

  He hadn’t had a chance to ask before and hadn’t been too worried since Bradley didn’t appear to be. Brandon tended to disappear when he felt pressed and Adam had been more concerned with Diana’s disappearance.

  “I was looking for him when we passed you.”

  Bradley stared into the dark behind the house, as glued to the imminent approaching coyotes as his pack brothers.

  Benj. The werecoyote leader Adam had been putting off meeting. Most likely, the coyote was another friend of Garrick Moser. Trust that sick individual to make a deal with weres. Adam had a real good guess who this Benj was.

  “If they wish to fight, Pater Canis,” Tank said, ever so carefully. “The coyote pack stands to gain your human ally for their own. Then how will you find your injured female? The young ones ….”

  “Will fight,” Bradley interrupted. Fire and venom laced his words. “Those bastards won’t touch what’s ours.”

  Adam was outnumbered. The approaching vehicles braked in the drive, spitting dirt and gravel everywhere. The coyotes hidden in the dark had the wind with them. By the sound of them, they outnumbered a good-sized wolven pack of twenty.

  “What do you want?” The time for negotiations was gone, wasted on petty jealousy.

  “A place in your pack, Pater Canis.” Tank used the formal title again, pointing out Adam’s responsibility as Pack Father. The honorary felt weighted, more significant to him, as the boys’ guardian.

  “Now wait a minute,” Chase’s voice rose with indignation. Tank waved his companion to silence. Adam hushed Bradley with a hand on his shoulder. The boy’s jaws snapped together with an audible click.

  “Quiet, brother. It is time we belonged.”

  Chase scowled and crossed his arms. He nodded once, put out, but not about to let Tank enter into an agreement without him.

  “You are in dire need of wardens. Consider the coming confrontation our interview.”

  “Done.”

  Adam gave his back to the vehicles. He turned to face the coyotes he scented coming from the woods. The youngsters sitting in their vehicles held no threat for him.

  Shadows slunk into the next cleared lot. The little bit of light was enough to see coyotes. Smaller than wolven in animal form, half the size of Adam’s animal form, the coyotes were still larger than their true animal cousins.

  They stopped about a hundred feet away.

  The biggest of them changed first. Bones shifted, popped and moved under the half-coyote form. Fur receded like water into a vaguely human physique. The elongated muzzle shrank. Claws became hands. Normal hair returned onto the man’s perfectly average body, toned without being muscular.

  As a human, the coyote leader was unassuming. At least a couple of decades older than himself, Adam guessed. The coyote had medium length hair, probably reddish brown with a sprinkling of premature gray, considering the werecoyote’s longevity.

  Wolven night vision, while excellent, did not pick up color very well.

  The coyote seemed to be waiting for something. His followers ranged around him in animal form, looking to their leader for guidance. He spread his hands out in a gesture of peace, a conciliatory smile gracing his plain features.

  Adam felt the shift from fear to guilt in his pack. Whatever the boys failed to tell him, it was too late now. Finding out at the last minute seemed to be a trend with the boys.

  “I am Benjamin Gates.” The coyote’s voice was his one distinguishing feature, a rich deep baritone. “You must be Adam Weis. My friends call me Benj.”

  Adam crossed his arms over his chest and waited, his demeanor as icy as his pale coloring. After a few moments of Adam’s silence, the coyote faltered.

  “I’ve heard of you, Weis. Garrick and his wardens were no small feat to defeat.”

  Bradley moved from his place behind Adam to where his pack brothers closed ranks. The older males moved in a protective circle around the boys, yet not so close that they’d be tripped up in a fight.

  “However,” Benjamin continued, recovering his earlier confidence, “You are new to the area, so I understand that you don’t quite understand how things work around here.”

  Adam cocked an eyebrow.

  “Or perhaps,” he said with fake surprise, “you didn’t receive my message. You see, these are my running grounds you are trespassing on.”

  Adam’s tone was bored. His expression was unimpressed in the face of the twenty some-odd werecoyotes. “And here I thought my name was on the deed. I’m sure my lawyer notified you. He’s very thorough.”

  “No!”

  The werecoyote’s eyes gleamed red in the night. His anger rolled across the field, the scent bitter, triggering a rush of territorial heat in the wolven. Adam kept his features bored, though he wanted to run the intruders off of his property. The irrational coyote leader headed the top of his list.

  “This place is mine! These woods have been in my pack for over two hundred years!”

  “Then you should have paid your taxes.”

  Adam had bought the land for a song by paying off the back taxes. He’d also thought the property would be good to run, but the proximity of two hospitals and a funeral home was too close.

  It never failed to surprise him what humans tolerated.

  For most supernaturals, especially the more long-lived ones, death was abhorrence. Sickness, triggered latent instincts used for pruning the weak and the sick from the herd.

  In the end, Adam decided to break the land up for subdivisions and use the profit for the boys’ college. He’d buy cleaner running grounds later. For now, he alternated between using the forested Dogwood Park and about a hundred and fifty acres owned by an out of town businessman.

  It was too bad for the coyotes that their leader had mismanaged their inheritance.

  The coyote’s loss turned into a good financial move for the wolven pack.

  Gates snarled. His average features twisted into a more sinister visage.

  “You are the interloper here, wolf. I’ve tolerated your kind long enough already. Time to pay up. On my terms.”

  Adam sensed the boys freeze behind him. There was a silent expectancy in the fabric of the pack while they waited for his answer.

  “You were the one defaulted on your taxes. I’ve got the receipts and the deed of transfer. I don’t owe you a thing.”

  Curiously, the coyotes didn’t attack. In Adam’s place, with the superior numbers, he would have gone on the offensive.

  He didn’t know what to expect from werecoyotes. He’d never dealt with them before, as wolven didn’t allow the presence of other shape shifting supernaturals in their territory. Another mark in Garrick’s offense.

  Gates stalked closer, anger and frustration palpable. His coyotes shifted, tuned into their leader’s agitation, but stayed where they were. Low growls filled the night.

  Gates stopped out of Adam’s immediate reach.

  “I could have you torn to bits, boy. I’ve got this town wrapped up from city board members all the way down to dealers.” Spittle flew in Adam’s direction.

  “You think you’re a builder? Your high dollar Dallas references don’t mean squat. All I need is to say the word and your piddley little business dries up.” Adam’s smile was grim. “Get off my property were. Better yet, out of my territory.”

  The werecoyote lunged, changing back into his coyote form. He was fast and clever. Adam was quicker.

  Gates’ forward motion ended in an abrupt drop on his butt. Adam stood over him, three inches of lethal dueling claws extended. Four red lines gaped across Gates’ chest.

  The aroma of fresh blood scented the air as rich rivulets ran down his torso.

  Adam snarled at the coyotes, daring them to intercede. He backed away,
allowing Gates to stand. Inside, the wolf snapped and snarled, wanting the kill.

  As bad an idea it was, Adam didn’t have the heart to kill him, especially in front of the boys. He held a tight leash on thousands of years of instinct bred to defend what belonged to him.

  Magic, power leaked around his control, spilling into the air. Someone, he didn’t know who, wolf or coyote, whimpered in response.

  “Get off my property.” Adam repeated. “Unless, anyone else wants to dispute me?”

  His question was a statement, a challenge to the werecoyotes. All eyes stared past him to his pack. Behind him, the two strays had changed for dueling. Mack held a couple of very sleek handguns.

  Gates gave a bark toward the low rider vehicles. The group of coyote teens, having left the safety of their vehicles, scrambled back inside.

  “Guns aren’t allowed in a challenge duel.”

  Gates had the audacity to look affronted. Adam nearly laughed. Instead he curled his lip, exposing the sharp length of his canines.

  “Duel? You are not wolven.”

  The click of Mack’s guns, readying for a confrontation drove home Adam’s point.

  Wolven did not extend the privilege of their laws to other weres.

  “We had an agreement with the old wolf leader.” Benjamin Gates sounded desperate. He needed something from the wolves. “I’ll tell you what, we share the territory and I’ll share the profits from my businesses. I’m diversified, you could say.”

  “I’ll tell you what were.” It had changed so much, Adam’s voice was a deep growly bass. “In case you missed the obvious, I’m not Garrick Moser. And I don’t share …” Adam flashed his canines. His clawed hands flexed with restrained power, “…

  Anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The world drifted in a surreal haze of pain. Diana was no doctor, but she knew that something was wrong. She shivered with a cold awareness that cold was a bad thing.

  Her front and hands were covered in sticky cooling liquid. Blood. Her blood.

  Alarm skittered through the haze.

  Think calm. Don’t panic. Got to help Karen. Make sure the bad guy doesn’t hurt her.