Behind the Beginning (Becoming the Wolf Book 1)

by T. S. Joyce

  Under Wolf’s battering, the human side of him lost ground and the beast gained control, bolstering Grey’s anger. He straightened to his full height of six foot three and as he towered over the two approaching men, he challenged the shorter one’s ability to hold his gaze. The man stopped short with a virtually inaudible gasp.

  “Wade?” he said on a breath to his friend as Grey descended slowly upon him.

  The scar-faced man replied with a quiet, “What the hell?”

  Grey reared back and punched the shorter man in the stomach, which knocked the wind out of the guy and flung him backward into the wall. Slumped on the floor, the man tried to drag air into his lungs, clutching his belly like that would help. Grey turned to scar-faced Wade. “What do you want?” he asked in a quiet, snarling tone.

  Wade lowered his head and exposed his neck, flicked his gaze to the floor somewhere around Grey’s thick-soled boots. “I’m second in the Dallas pack. This is Jason.” He motioned to the gasping man on the floor. Looked like a fuckin’ goldfish trying to drag in air. “Our alpha has asked us to bring you in. You haven’t followed protocol and he has questions for you.”

  “There’re more of you?” Grey asked.

  “Of course,” Wade replied. He flashed him a confused look. “Your maker should’ve made you aware of territory lines?”

  “My maker? You mean the monster that terrorized a family in the woods, probably killed a woman, bit me, and then ran off? I didn’t feel like a reunion with a psychopath, so I didn’t track him down.”

  Wade and the now recovered Jason exchanged wide-eyed looks. “You won’t be harmed, I swear it. Dean is our Alpha. He’s a good one. Patient. If you can come with us and explain what has happened to you, he can help you.” There was a note of such honesty in his tone, Wolf was satisfied.

  And besides, if they did intend to hurt, him it was a good excuse for more fighting. Wolf loved fighting. Grey huffed a sigh and stooped to the grocery bags he’d dropped when they’d followed him in. He grabbed a couple granola bars and shoved them in his pocket. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Jason frowned. “Is that all you’re going to eat? You need meat. We can feel how big your wolf is, you can’t feed him like that. It’s dangerous.”

  Not about to take diet advice from some jerk he’d just met, Grey shoved past him and headed down the stairs. “Let’s get this meeting over with.”

  Wade and Jason followed him out, and then led him to a black Range Rover parked around the corner. Jason hopped in front with Wade at the wheel, and Grey climbed in back. They didn’t say much, but as an hour ticked by, and the city lights faded to the subtle glow of small neighborhoods, and then patches of farmhouses, he started getting claustrophobic.

  “Dean lives in fuckin’ Narnia?” he snarled, wringing his hands and staring out the window.

  “Just about,” Wade said from the driver’s seat. “He’s set up a nice house and a bunch of land for us to run on safely. No hunters allowed and stuff. I mean, being a werewolf will never be a safe life, but he tries to make it as easy as possible on the Dallas Pack.”

  Sounds like a pussy. We can kill him and take over the pack and then kill everyone in it, Wolf suggested.

  Grey rolled his eyes and focused on the scenery outside. It had been a while since he’d been out this way.

  They passed diners and hole-in-the-wall barbeque joints, and the skyward buildings of Dallas faded to quaint houses with matching mailboxes and parks with sprawling playgrounds. And eventually, the small towns became wilderness. Woods stretched along both sides of the road, giving a sense of home and loneliness all at once.

  Wade’s phone rang from where it sat in the center console, and he picked it up, draped one hand over the wheel and connected the call. “Hey. Yeah, we have him. Heads up though, he’s a dominant.”

  The voice on the other end paused and asked, “How dominant?” to which Wade snorted and replied, “Think the fuckin’ werewolf apocalypse. It’s hard to even drive with him sitting behind me. My wolf is chanting for me to run.”

  “Well that’s horrible news. How much longer?”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Good. We’ll be ready.”

  Look, there weren’t many bright sides to being a Werewolf, but one of the few was being able to hear both ends of a phone call.

  Werewolf apocalypse, Wolf repeated happily. I like him. Let’s kill him last.

  The scar-faced wolf exited the highway and drove for miles before slowing down at a long gravel driveway. Around the entrance, No Trespassing and Violators Will Be Shot signs dotted the fence line. Homey.

  The winding gravel driveway kicked tiny rocks against the undercarriage of the SUV for over a mile.

  We could kill the little one here, Wolf chattered. No one would hear him scream, except for the one we like. And he seems cool. We could kill the pack, then head west, and cut through the woods, and then hit the main highway again. Hitchhike. Home before dark. You can watch a romantic comedy or something tonight, Little Pussy Boy.

  Grey gritted his teeth and wished he would choke on the stupid granola bar he was currently eating, and kill them both. He didn’t even like romantic comedies. Now, Grey had never hated anyone in his life before, but Wolf was special. God didn’t put that little demon in him, and neither did Fate. Wolf was the devils work, and hell yeah, Grey absolutely hated him. The number of times Wolf had called him “Little Pussy Boy” over the last six months ranged in the hundreds.

  Well, bright sides, he had come up with an exit strategy to accompany his murderous ramblings and at this point in Grey’s shit-tastic life, he had to take all the bright sides he could get. Finally, a rare instance when it was actually helpful to have an extra personality taking up space in his mind. The upside to schizophrenia. Where his human side was prone to avoiding this confrontation altogether, Wolf was logical, methodical, driven by instinct to survive, and if he could put fear into others through intimidation, all the better.

  Wolf pushed against his insides, stretching and filling his head until it was difficult to hear his own logic. The longer they stayed trapped in the confinement of the car, the more impatient the animal became. It had been six everlasting months and still, he had no control whatsoever. Wolf ran the show and knew it. Grey rolled down both back windows, and took steady breaths. Killing people is bad.

  No it’s not, Wolf argued.

  Killing people is wrong.

  Disagree, Wolf said in a bored voice.

  Wade glanced in the rearview mirror with a worried furrow in his brow. No doubt, Grey’s eyes were shifting constantly from blue to gold and back to blue again right now. Monster eyes had a tendency to frighten strangers.

  “You okay there, Greyson?” Worry was thick in Wade’s voice, and rightly so. A Change in the car wouldn’t be pleasant for any party involved.

  “Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically. “I’m fantastic. Just the normal shit with my wolf. Full blown arguments in my head on whether we should kill you guys. I’m voting for your survival, but Wolf is making other plans. You guys are werewolves. You know how it is.” He let out a long, feral growl and shook his head to stop it.

  Jason turned in his seat. “Uh, no. Your wolf is supposed to be part of you, not arguing with you. It shouldn’t be a fight between you. You should be working together, and understanding one another.” He was quiet for a few moments, then said, “You said you have no idea who your maker was?”

  “No,” Grey growled.

  “How long ago were you bitten?” Wade asked

  Grey sniffed the air. The tension roiling off the other wolves almost had a taste. Bitter and metallic. Made him want to fight them. “Six months,” he answered, barely able to avoid gnashing his teeth at the end.

  In a wise move, Wade changed the subject to werewolf story time, during which Grey wasn’t required to respond. “Many of the packs are run the same way. The Dallas pack alpha, Dean, owns a large property on the outskirts of the city. The main house is nestled in
the center of seven hundred acres of undeveloped country and the borders are surrounded by enough range land that deer, rabbits, squirrel and turkey are everywhere. This is the main food that keeps the pack centralized, fed, and in control of its members. The main house is large enough to squeeze all eight pack members in to sleep comfortably if we ever need to be in the same place.”

  “Like a slumber party?” Grey muttered.

  Jason snorted and Wade tossed him a frown before he continued. “Members are expected to hold down a job, provide for themselves, and live on their own, but usually after Full Moon Hunts, everyone crashes at the house. Werewolves like community. They like touching and talking and bonding with their pack. They are naturally social, and the Dallas Pack tends to show up at Dean’s house pretty regular, because that territory is home base.”

  Hold down a job? He couldn’t even buy a cup of coffee without almost biting the cashier. Must be nice to have control of their animals like that, but he was dangerous, barely in control of his body, and growled constantly. If anyone took the chance to hire an obvious psychopath, it wouldn’t end well for anyone. Even if he skirted past the interview process, he wouldn’t last a week chatting cordially by the break room water fountain. Hell, he couldn’t even sit in a car for an hour and a half with two strangers without wanting to break their necks like number two pencils. Maybe it was best he wasn’t part of any pack. The expectations were ridiculous and put every potential human coworker in danger.

  Full Moon Hunts sounded fun though.

  The asphalt shifted to a gravel road, and a sizable Victorian home stuck out of the southern landscape like a little piece of Georgia in the middle of Texas forest. It was light blue with white trim and a red door. A porch swing swayed gently in the breeze, guarding a sprawling wraparound stoop. Huh. It was downright scenic for a wolf den.

  Shoving open the door, he hopped out onto the gravel drive to meet four pack members gathered outside. One stepped forward in the dim lighting and offered his hand.

  “Dean Cooke, Alpha of the Dallas Pack,” he said. “Welcome to my home.”

  The man had short medium brown hair, hazel eyes, a southern drawl, and a quick smile. Under his charm lay dominance so potent, Wolf was all but slobbering to stifle him.

  A contender, Wolf growled with satisfaction. We can take him.

  Grey closed his eyes and fought the unintentional step toward the alpha. The last thing he needed was a brawl with an entire pack of freakin’ werewolves. Although he wouldn’t mind an end to the misery, there had to be less painful ways to go. From the mutter of hushed voices coming from inside the house, he guessed there were three more pack members waiting to meet him.

  Dean invited him in, then sidestepped through the doorway, never exposing his back. Clever wolf.

  The house was open, the entryway melting into a large living area. A tall stone fireplace decorated the living room wall, and framed pictures sat on the mantle. Knickknacks trimmed tables, shelves, and hung from nails on the walls, giving the home an altogether inviting feel. The smell of food brought imaginings of what must’ve been on the pack’s dinner menu. Beef slowly cooked in brown gravy, if he wasn’t mistaken. His stomach growled. Those granola bars really didn’t do him much good.

  A tall, curvy woman stood off to the side, head cocked, watched him from behind Dean’s shoulder. Wolf was protective of women. Grey tried to smile. From the wide-eyed look she gave him, it likely had come out a grimace. Smiling wasn’t his strong suit anymore.

  Blue, gold, blue, gold. His knew his eyes changed in quick succession if it left the pack so obviously unsettled. The smell of fear excited Wolf and he pushed harder. Grey clenched his teeth against the war inside of him.

  “This is my mate, Rachel,” Dean said, slinging his arm around the curvy brunette’s shoulders. She was attractive in an outdoorsy way, with a faded flannel shirt over blue jeans. And even if her eyes lightened the longer she held his gaze, they were kind, and unchallenging. Wade and Jason ghosted the outskirts of the pack, and a man Wade introduced as Logan elbowed a dark-haired member named Brandon when his lip lifted in a snarl. Brent, an obvious submissive, gave a shy but friendly smile and smartly didn’t offer to shake his hand. He acted as if he might, but then ran his fingers through his sandy brown hair instead. Touching was a gesture Wolf couldn’t tolerate without seeing red quite yet.

  “The girl’s named Marissa. She doesn’t talk much,” Dean said with a quick nod to a girl of perhaps eighteen, who cowered in the only corner that offered shadows. “She’s our adopted daughter,” he explained, hugging Rachel into his side.

  Strawberry blond waves framed Marissa’s slightly freckled face, and she darted looks this way and that, anywhere but at Grey. She shook like a leaf in a stiff wind. If Brent was a submissive, Marissa was just plain terrified.

  A seemingly unattached woman introduced herself. “I’m Alexis, unmated female, but looking,” she purred, staring at him with frank approval. Her hungry crimson smile pissed him off for some reason he didn’t understand. Wolf growled. She wasn’t the one he wanted. Alexis didn’t smell anything like her.

  Her. Morgan. The vision of the woman in the woods hit him like a blow to the gut and he focused on the sprawling dining table before anyone would see the pathetic heartache in his eyes.

  If the pack had been warned of his dominance, their reactions didn’t show it. They filled a wide spectrum, ranging from avoiding eye contact to cowering. Alexis seemed thrilled by this. Foxlike, she slanted glances from wolf to wolf, a smirk pulling at the edge of her lips. Her platinum blond hair twitched with the movement. Irritating.

  To escape their blanket of emotional turmoil, he skirted the wolves, careful to avoid any physical contact that would get them maimed, and sat at the table. Weak and starving, he pulled the second granola bar from his pocket as Rachel asked him where he was originally from. Silence descended upon the room and everyone stared. At his granola bar? Fuckin’ weirdos.

  He rolled his shoulders but it didn’t relieve the tension building in his back under their scrutiny. “Why am I here?”

  Dean was first to respond. “Why do you think you’re here?”

  Grey snapped his head to the side so fast, some of the others gasped. I hate games, Wolf snarled. “Just answer.”

  Dean dropped his gaze right along with the others. Interesting. How invigorating that we outrank the alpha of this pack without a fight.

  “Why didn’t you come to us?” Dean asked. “Why didn’t you come to register with the pack when you moved here?”

  “I didn’t know there was a pack,” he said, growling. “I didn’t know there was anyone like me besides the monster that chomped on my arm. I know nothing about this. I can’t control Wolf. I can’t even function in public. No one ever told me anything. I woke up in the woods, Changed by myself, and have been this way since. Never found my werewolf handbook.”

  “Alexis, can you fix Mr. Crawford a real meal please?” Dean asked as he sat across the table.

  “I would love to serve, Greyson,” she purred, her eyes flashing before she made her way into the kitchen.

  Her demeanor raised his hackles.

  Dean cracked his knuckles and then clenched his fists together. “Okay, so to begin, you have no idea who your maker is. This isn’t normal in our community. We rarely ever Turn a human because the instinct to kill prey is too great. If we do decide to bite someone to Turn them, it has to be something we’ve considered for a long time, and then we mentor the new wolf… if he makes it through the change. Many of them don’t. There are rules in our society to keep us under human radar. No man-eating. We hunt animals only, unless it’s for the good of the pack. Man-eaters are put down quickly. You’re dangerous because just looking at your eyes, changing colors every second or so, it’s super-fuckin’-obvious you don’t have control. That gets people killed. Do you hunt?”

  “I hunted whitetails and boar when I was human, but I try to stay inside now. When I know I have to change, I go o
ut in the woods, somewhere remote to avoid killing someone. And then…well…I don’t remember much of what I do as a wolf.”

  Dean cast a quick, unreadable glance to Wade. “That’s not good, Greyson. You’re both human and wolf now, but you should remember everything you do in both forms. Nutrition is important. You have to balance good food when you are human with meat hunted and killed as a wolf to satisfy both of you. And you need to eat real food when you’re in this form. No more granola bars. Part of your responsibility to yourself and the safety of others is to remain well fed. It may help with your control as well. You look thin and weak. Nothing is more dangerous than a hungry wolf.”

  Grey stifled the constant growl trying desperately to rattle his throat. Wolf didn’t like to be taught lessons—he liked to teach them.

  Alexis brought him a heated plate of leftover pot-roast, carrots, potatoes, fried okra, and gravy. She set the plate in front of them, then let her hand linger on his shoulder too long. Wolf snarled, “Get your hand off me.” She wasn’t his mate. Only his mate was allowed to touch him possessively like that.

  The woman backed away slowly, and under the layers of her disappointment, a slight challenge hummed in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” he said in a softer voice that sounded a little more human. “I shouldn’t talk to a girl like that. Thank you for the food.”

  Alexis was a pretty girl—long, perfectly curled blond hair, blue eyes, a slim figure, and the pout to her lips said she always got her way. He pined for a brunette he’d met once under extreme circumstances, though. Back when his life had fallen apart. He ached for the last person who’d seen him human. For a stranger. God, he was so messed up.

  He forked the beef and as the rich flavors exploded in his mouth, Grey stifled a groan. It’d been a long time since he’d had a home cooked meal. He was great on a grill but not great in the kitchen, and when hunger pangs hit, there wasn’t much time to plan a meal. His apartment didn’t allow grills anywhere near it, so he lived on mainly frozen foods he could shove in the oven and eat fast.