Weremones

by Buffi Becraft-Woodall

  Adam was betting the door was out of the line of sight from the rest of the bar and near Gates’ own table.

  Another blast. This one was big enough to take out a portion of the bar. Probably the inside storeroom for hard liquor, Adam thought.

  “Go back to the trees. If the fire comes to the forest, outrun it. Don’t stall or wait for us, change and head home fast,” he told Brandon.

  He met and held the boy’s eyes. Seeing compliance, Adam turned his attention back to the task at hand. He changed fast.

  Fur spread like water over his skin. He ignored the itchy crawly sensation and the wrench of muscle and of bone jerking into different formations that happened when he forced the Change. With power was choice. Adam could change as fast or as slow as he wanted.

  The sound of motorcycles and cars leaving came from the parking area. Rats deserting the sinking ship. No one wanted to be around when the fire department and the county sheriff showed up.

  Finally, Gates and another werecoyote, probably a guard, slipped out the side exit.

  Adam jumped out of concealment. He lowered his head, bared teeth, and approached stiff legged. His wardens flanked him on either side, blocking Gates’ path to safety.

  The werecoyote leader froze. His expression looked strained, then panicked.

  Three huge wolves snarled at him. Fear rolled off of the coyote leader, mingling with the combined scents of tobacco, the chemicals off of the burning building, and alcohol.

  His suit was a ruined mess, stained with soot and wet patches of alcohol. He threw his hands in the air. A fat bank bag, clutched in one fist, dangled in the air.

  Adam sneered inside. One of the reasons he rarely drank more than the occasional beer was alcohol’s ability to inhibit the change, or the shape shifter’s control of his change. Sometimes the results were unpredictable.

  The werecoyote was definitely impaired. He tried a smile. It came out a wide grimace.

  Adam’s plan was simple. Corner the werecoyote and tear him to pieces. Adam would pass the rest of the bad news on to the remaining coyotes after.

  The smile became real as the coyote’s eyes settled on the space beside the dumpster. Gates’ brightened and dropped his hands, less threatened with his chosen quarry in sight.

  “Decide to take me up on my offer after all?” He met Adam’s eyes. “Burning down my bar, Weis. Tsk, tsk. That’s going to come out of your cut.”

  Adam snarled and walked forward, angry that the bastard had spotted Brandon.

  That was one of the reasons he wanted the boy in the trees.

  The lascivious gleam boiled Adam’s fury over. He stalked forward, head still down, ears still flat. He snarled again, baring his sharp wolf teeth.

  “Hey!” Gates’ threw up his hands again. He cast a glance in the direction of the parking lot and sidled in that direction. “But, you know what? I’m insured. I can let the bar slide.”

  Adam changed to human, drawing the process out to slow painful proportions while tracking the coyote leader to show off his precise control.

  Okay, he was stalking Benjamin Gates, drawing out the bastard’s fear because it added spice to the hunt. And because Gates deserved every terror filled second.

  Adam’s wardens flanked him, covering his back as he changed to a mostly man form. He felt Brandon disobeying his orders, following the wardens at a discrete distance.

  If the boy wanted to watch, fine. Adam would deal with the fallout later. He had rivals to purge from his territory.

  Adam the predator smiled a hungry wolf smile at Gates. Adam kept his teeth and claws, the tools he’d need for this mission.

  “Actually, Gates, I don’t care for your business. I’m here to serve eviction notices.”

  At the edge of the parking lot now, the werecoyote stopped. His eyes flared with anger. His skin flushed dusky to Adam’s monochromatic, but sharp, night vision.

  Frustration and anger rolled off the were-leader. He screeched at Adam.

  “You can’t evict me, you selfish bastard. My pack roamed these woods when the Indians still camped here.”

  Adam flexed his fighting claws, sharp deadly digits that were more daggers than claws, designed for destruction. His pale blond hair blew around his face in the night wind, partially covering his eyes. The firelight cast a hellish flickering light in their depths.

  He was both terrifying and beautiful, drawing the remnants of the bar patrons, but keeping them at a distance.

  Adam raised his voice. Growly, like water over gravel and full of supernatural power. Magic coursed in the air, pulsed around him. He snapped the power out at the crowd with his words.

  “Do you hear? All supernatural predators, weres, vampires and the rest. You have until noon tomorrow to leave my territory. Anderson County belongs to me and mine.”

  Faint whimpers of protest escaped a few members of the crowd. Adam’s eyes followed them to their source. Duly noted, he made an amendment. He wasn’t a complete asshole.

  He slashed the air in a silencing gesture with the claws. It worked fine.

  “Those with young under the age of twelve have forty-eight hours to make arrangements.”

  “No!” Gates screamed at his followers. “There are only three of them. We can take them!” The werecoyote’s eyes raked the crowd. He pointed a finger at the wolven.

  “Chris! Dennis! Eli! Attack!”

  The werecoyote who’d left the building with Gates and two from the crowd jumped at the wolven party. Apparently, Adam and his pack were threat enough to burn off some of the alcohol in their systems.

  The coyotes changed for fighting. They were slow to change, minutes longer than the weakest of the wolven pack.

  Adam could have set his wardens on them during the vulnerable period. Gates probably would have. To wait was a matter of honor among the upper hierarchy of supernaturals.

  To strike now would be a human’s equivalent of a backstab. Mouths became furry muzzles full of sharp teeth. Their claws were smaller than the wolven, but still sharp and made for tearing. They stopped changing in mid-form as coyotemen.

  “Get them! Can’t rely on your cheating human now, can you Weis? All of you— get them!”

  Adam let the coyotemen come to him. While avoiding the werecoyote’s slicing claws, he slowed the point man with his own weapons. He opened the coyote from chest to belly.

  The coyoteman howled and fell clutching at his belly, futilely trying to shove his escaping bowels back inside.

  The two wardens leapt past Adam, each taking down a werecoyote from the crowd that was brave, or foolish, enough to join the fray.

  Blood sprayed from a severed jugular. Chase stood. He dropped the dying coyote to the ground. He spit the missing piece of neck back at the downed coyoteman then snarled at another enemy.

  Blood and gore washed down the front of his nude body, rained into his skin, head to foot. The advancing coyoteman shook his head and turned tail.

  Tank flung his enemy off to the side, freeing his claws from the coyote’s body.

  Less blood marred his body but was still visible, a black shine on his dark skin.

  Behind him, a mustached human in a short sleeved western shirt and jeans pulled a knife that shone silver in the night. The cowboy flung the knife.

  “Tank!” Brandon yelled. “Behind you!”

  Adam turned, catching the silver along his ribs, and the human in his claws. He shook the man hard and quick. With a muted crack, the human’s neck snapped like a dry stick.

  Adam hadn’t expected wholesale suicide of humans and coyotes alike. He slashed a hand, scythe style, across a woman bearing a silver knife. He could taste the woman’s blood, spiced with adrenaline, and the bitterness of drugs.

  The scent of the silver blade aggravated him. He ripped the weapon away and threw it into the burning bar, now a roaring inferno. He stepped over the dead female, the last of the resistance against his pack.

  His sole quarry was now Benjamin Gates.

  Ada
m searched the area for his escaped quarry. The hunt pounded in his veins.

  Blood, death, fire, fear, and all the other scents melded together in an exciting melody.

  Tank and Chase rounded up the bare few who were left, a mere five that all the fight had gone out of. The werecoyote prisoners whimpered and whined, crouching submissively at the wolven wardens’ feet.

  “Adam!”

  He turned toward Brandon’s panicked scream. Claws raked the air where Adam’s vulnerable bare back had been.

  At last. He smiled in anticipation.

  Gates eyes reflected madness in the flickering light of his burning bar, the same madness Adam had seen in Garrick Moser’s eyes the night he died. The werewolf had died in the fire he set for Adam. Now, the bastard burned in Hell.

  Soon, Garrick would have his old partner Benjamin Gates for company.

  The werecoyote snarled, showing the fangs he was finally able to manage. The werecoyote slashed the air again, pressing his attack. Adam sucked in his belly to avoid being raked. The coyote’s claws might be shorter, but they’d still hurt.

  “You should have taken my deal, werewolf,” Gates spat. “You’re bodyguards are a little far away to save you.”

  The werecoyote’s glance over Adam’s shoulder was all the warning he got. He moved, but not fast enough. An arm slid around Adam’s neck. The extra weight of a coyote female on his back was slight. She held fast.

  Pain lanced under his shoulder blade. The agonizing burn of silver poisoning radiated from the wound. Agony from the poison sucked at Adam’s strength.

  He inhaled around the deadly blade in his body. Striking the attacker in front of him, his claws ripped down the werecoyote’s torso.

  Gates grappled with his own claws. Physically shorter, the werecoyote’s teeth sank into the meat on Adam’s bicep, an easy reach for Gates. He’d have to stretch to go higher.

  Adam tried to rake a claw backwards, to shake the bitch off his back, only to return his claws to the werecoyote leader’s ribs. All the while, he fought to keep Gates’ snapping teeth away from his face.

  The silver in his back robbed him of strength, while the female’s vice of an arm gave his neck a measure of protection.

  Adam dodged away from his attacker’s sharp teeth only to have them latch onto his collarbone. He grunted and tried to twist away from the silver, the coyote on his back, and the one attached to his front. His collarbone broke under the pressure, almost as painful as the silver blade in his back.

  Desperate, Adam let go of Gates. The coyote hooted with glee.

  “You’re going to die werewolf and everything of yours will be mine.”

  Adam dodged one way. His fist flew from the opposite direction. With his good arm, Adam’s next shot turned into an opened handed grip on Gates’ face. The werecoyote began gnawing the hand into dog meat.

  Adam ignored the screaming in his ear, the pain in his back, and jerked his hand free. He bent his knees, set his stance, and slapped away Gates’ claws one handed.

  Inside the coyote’s guard, Adam went for a snatch and grab of Gates’ larynx. His claws closed around the werecoyote’s neck and sank in with slight resistance. Warm blood washed over his hand. Adam jerked his fist back, taking half the coyote leader’s neck with him.

  The flea on his back fell off. Adam turned to face the female, his one good hand reached the handle of the silver blade and he pulled it out. He dropped it on the ground next to the sobbing female curled up at his feet.

  The werecoyotes and their humans stopped, stared, shocked at the fall of their leader. Adam stood tall and straight. He gazed around at those still standing.

  “Anyone else have a problem with my arrangements?”

  “I do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Adam couldn’t believe his eyes. Two crouching female werecoyotes held Brandon stretched out between them, his arms pinned behind him. The boy looked ill.

  His eyes were closed. His breath was excited. So was the poor kid’s body.

  How many females did Gates have hiding out in the fringe? As one, Tank and Chase started for the females and their hostage.

  “Stop!” one of the females cried. “Come closer and your wolf dies. He’s no use to any of us dead,” she said.

  Neither of the females was overly pretty. With long brown hair that would probably be coyote red in the daylight and roman noses, the females still looked slightly canine in their human forms. They looked to be in their mid-twenties. But they were in heat and they were close. Rich pheromone perfume teased the air.

  Adam found himself interested and disgusted, as well.

  One of the females rested a hand on the boy’s bare thigh. The other ran her fingers through Brandon’s hair. She seemed mesmerized by the texture.

  “You killed Benj,” she stated. She didn’t look overly distraught. Her dark eyes glittered, though, with some emotion. “You owe us.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. You leader is dead. You have no running grounds. Let the boy go unharmed and you and your family can leave this territory without any trouble.” Breathing shallowly helped both the pain from his wounds, and the obvious new pain that was beginning to irritate him from his traitorous hormones.

  The dominant female laughed. Her full breasts were tight with the need from her heat and strained against the fabric of her too small tee shirt.

  “You’ve killed everyone that matters to me already, besides my sister,” she growled. “This one was promised to us already.”

  “He wasn’t your leader’s to promise. He belongs to me.”

  The female made a strangled sound in her throat. She stood, dragging both Brandon and her sister up with her.

  “No. Garrick promised me a fertile mate. He promised me this one. We know he’s capable. He’s mine, and Dresilla’s,” she added her sister’s name on when the female growled her protest.

  Brandon shuddered.

  “No,” he said softly. “No, no, no.”

  Brandon’s breath came in short pants that brought a fresh whiff of the females’ scent with each intake. He didn’t want to want this. This was his embarrassment and shame. Wolves didn’t mix with coyotes, Adam said.

  He concentrated on the acrid scent of the fire. The bitter scent of Sheila’s hairspray as she bent close. Her hands in his hair made his skin crawl. The sick sweet smell of her perfume made him sick to his stomach. No, the female did that all on her own. Dresilla’s sharp claws raked across his hip, leaving hot lines in their wake, marking him like she did during sex. Only then she drew blood.

  “Garrick’s promises died when he died.” Adam’s voice came through the haze of his fear and disgust. “Let him go.”

  Brandon struggled. He didn’t want to disappoint Adam even more.

  No. He wouldn’t lie still and let them do it again. Dresilla smacked him on the butt, digging her claws in for extra punishment.

  He heard Adam, only not the words. He felt the anger, felt his own. The heat of the emotion burned through him, drawing the supernatural power from the place hidden within him. Brandon wouldn’t let them do this. Never. Again.

  This time, Brandon didn’t merely let the monster out of its cage. He embraced it.

  He changed. Adrenaline lent him speed and physical energy. His jaws found and closed on his tormentor’s flesh.

  The wolf didn’t understand the shouts around him. Only escape. He snapped. He lunged. He bit. Finally, he slipped loose and found a bolthole, a place to stay out of the way while the alphas fought.

  When the fighting stopped the only sounds were the cries and whimpers of the wounded and subdued coyotes. Crouched under a car amid the scents of fire, blood, death, and ready females, the smallest of the wolves hid and trembled. He watched it all.

  He tried to think, to focus on what the lead alpha, a pale two-legged wolf whose magic tugged at him, said. The words were simply noises used by two-legged humans.

  He was afraid. He was a four-legged wolf now. He crawled deeper
under his hiding space and whined, wanting the four-legged alpha wolf to come for him.

  When the other two-legged wolves bent to reach for him, he snapped at their human paws and darted out from under the space that wasn’t safe anymore.

  The smallest wolf remembered that he was supposed to run to the trees. So he did.

  He ran and ran, all the way home, where he was safe.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Brandon!”

  Adam reined in the urge to find and comfort the fleeing wolf. There was still work to be done. Benjamin Gates lay dead by his hand, exactly as planned. As Adam expected, the trauma of the last few days was too much for the boy.

  Before the boy changed, Adam had sensed a difference in him. The boy had exploded in a fury of fur and fire. It had been one of the fastest changes Adam had witnessed.

  Once Brandon freed himself of the females’ clutches, he’d hightailed it, literally, under a car. There the boy stayed until the wolven tried to coax him from under the car.

  “Damn kid nearly took off my finger,” Chase complained while dragging another body to the fire. The fight hadn’t taken more than ten or fifteen minutes.

  The flames were still burning bright and hot consuming more of the building.

  When it was done, there would be nothing left of the bar. Adam intended for the dead to be part of that nothing.

  Adam flicked his eyes over the able bodied werecoyotes. It was cruel, but had to be done.

  “Those of you that can move, get to work. The fire department may be slow, but they will be here soon.”

  He bent and grabbed Benjamin Gates’ body to heft over his still good shoulder.

  Tank’s dark hand covered his. The warden gently pulled the carcass from his alpha.

  “Allow me, Canis. I will make sure he burns.”

  Adam nodded, biting back the nausea from his injuries and the silver poisoning.

  “Move it people!” Chase urged the werecoyotes on with their grisly task. “Fire truck’s coming! If you don’t want to be here when it shows up, you’d better get moving.”