Wolf's Blood

by Laura Taylor

  WOLF'S BLOOD

  Laura Taylor

  Copyright 2015, 2017 Laura Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition

  Print edition also available via online retailers.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover design by Linda Gee

  https://www.facebook.com/artbymeisarn/

  Cover images used under licence from Shutterstock.com

  ALSO BY LAURA TAYLOR

  THE HOUSE OF SIRIUS

  Book 2: Wolf’s Cage

  Book 3: Wolf’s Choice

  Book 4: Wolf’s Guile

  Book 5: Wolf’s Lie

  Coming soon: Book 6: Wolf’s Gift

  DEDICATION

  To Fabien.

  For your enthusiasm, your time, your imagination, your love of these characters, your relentless questioning and the thousand other things you’ve done over the past year and a half. Words cannot express my gratitude.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you Ellen, for getting me to look at things from a new perspective, and for being honest, even when the truth was hard to hear.

  Thank you Narinder, for your impressive attention to detail and the laughs along the way.

  Thank you Linda, for your amazing patience and artistic skills in creating the beautiful cover design.

  SHIFTERS OF THE LAKES DISTRICT DEN

  PART ONE - CONVERSION

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dee Carman lay on the cold metal table, alternately fearing death and wishing for it. She didn’t have any clear sense of time but, at a guess, she would have said it was three, maybe four days since she had been kidnapped. Snatched off the street and brought to this cold, impersonal lab to be treated like these monsters’ very own lab rat. She twisted her arms, tugging futilely at the restraints that kept her pinned down, locked tight around her wrists and ankles.

  The metal cuffs didn’t budge.

  She tried hard to steady herself, to even out her breathing as she felt the rising panic again. Her heart kicked up a notch, her eyes watering as she told herself not to cry. Crying wouldn’t help; crying never helped.

  She was alone for the moment. The masked men in lab coats had retreated after taking the latest sample of her blood. They’d applied electric shocks to her body and muttered disappointed grumbles as nothing had resulted other than her pained screams.

  What the hell did they want?! They’d taken samples of tissue, of blood, of bone, had filled the room with foul-smelling vapour, had shocked her and drowned her and, to her utter disgust and shame, had brought her to the brink of orgasm; yet nothing had resulted despite her pleas, her offers to tell them whatever they wanted to know, to give them money if they’d release her, to do anything if it would earn her freedom. They had simply stared at her with cold, calculating eyes and moved on to the next experiment.

  None of them spoke to her. They asked no questions, not even how she felt after each round of tests or whether she thought anything had changed, and the complete and utter mystery behind her kidnapping was starting to drive her mad. Had they chosen her for a reason? Or was it a random snatch and grab, just a case of wrong place, wrong time? Did they want to harm her, or did they want her to help them? Were they doctors searching for a miraculous cure, or madmen torturing her for the sheer pleasure of it?

  All too soon, the door opened again. The men silently filed into the room as before, covered from head to toe in white lab coats and surgical masks. But before the door swung closed behind them, she heard a blood-chilling sound through the gap, a strange mix of howl and scream, and she felt a new rush of fear and adrenaline.

  She had to get out of here.

  She glanced around at her captors and a strange sense of foreboding struck her. There was no perceptible difference in the men, but somehow she felt the atmosphere in the room change, becoming taut with expectation and triumph. Whatever it was they were seeking to achieve, they were close, closer now than they had ever been before.

  Good God, what were they going to do to her next?

  As before, there was no talking, no apparent communication between the men, but they worked as a cohesive unit. A drip stand was wheeled over, a bag of blood hooked up to the IV in her arm. Her own blood, the sample they had removed earlier? Or someone else’s?

  If she ever got out of here alive, she was going to have to get herself tested for every disease known to modern medicine.

  The IV line was opened, but she didn’t even bother protesting anymore. She had begged, pleaded and offered every reward she could think of, and had been met with complete disinterest at every turn. She felt a faint tingle in her arm as the fluid flowed back into her, her stomach lurching at the thought of all the infections that could be coming with it.

  Dee suddenly went still, her body breaking out in sweat, and then she felt a wave of ice-cold run through her. What the hell was that? There was... something in the blood; not a disease, not a virus or bacteria, but a consciousness. Another sentient being, joining her in her body. She squirmed and gagged as her body rebelled, shuddered as the new whatever-it-was infiltrated her muscles, trying to make itself fit into her veins and sinews. She convulsed once, her muscles utterly disobeying her commands. The creature moved further into her, reached her heart, made it stutter. It seeped in around her lungs, up her spine, into her mouth, nose and eyes. Suddenly she became aware of the scientists watching her intently. She tried to ask what the hell they had done to her, but all that came out of her mouth was a low growl, her tongue feeling too big, her jaw too tight, her lungs fighting for air.

  There was no mistaking the look of triumph in the eyes of those who watched. Hiding behind surgical masks, white caps and non-descript lab coats, their eyes positively gleamed with glee. And that was when the strange new presence inside her registered that it couldn’t move the limbs of this new body. It tensed, strained, struggled within her as it fought against the same cuffs that Dee herself had fought for days.

  And suddenly the presence lost interest in her body, moved further up and latched onto her mind. She had no idea what it was, its thoughts only half-formed, images and scents rather than words, but the message it gave was clear. If she would allow it, then it would kill those who held them captive. It showed her images of blood, of broken limbs, screams of terror, and the taste of blood in her mouth.

  She had no idea how it planned to get free of the restraints, but the presence had absolute confidence that it could make good on an escape.

  God knew what this thing was, or how many ways she would be damning herself if she gave in to it. But as she watched, the scientist nearest her reached for a large syringe and a bottle of vile green liquid. ‘Pentobarbitone’ was printed on the label, and Dee remembered from when she’d had her cat put down just what the drug was used for.

  She was left with only two choices. Give in to this new force and agree to murder, giving up a portion of her soul to a beast promising death and violence... or face her own imminent death. Because now, for all their glee at their recent success, the eyes of these men were suddenly filled with loathing, hating what they had worked so hard to create.

  She glanced around the room quickly, calculating how many people were here, how many deaths she would have on her hands, how much blood her soul could bear.

  And then the creatur
e within her paused. Scanned the room. Fell still at a sudden and startling realisation.

  One of these men was like her, also infected with this presence. The beast within her could feel it, though it couldn’t identify which man amid all the fear and glee and emotion clogging the room. It repeated the question, more specifically this time. Kill the infected man with all the others, or let this one live? Dee had no answer for the beast. She was torn between wanting to destroy the man for being an abomination and wanting to commune with him, to understand what he was, what she was, to have someone else in the world like her.

  The scientist with the syringe stepped forward, and she was out of time. ‘Kill them’, she told the creature, already praying for forgiveness for this terrible crime. And then, after three days of terror and pain and regret, she felt the creature surge forward into her consciousness, and blackness took over.

  Dee groggily came to, aware of hands shaking her. “Get up! Fuck... We really don’t have time for this.” A firm, even voice, despite the urgency. A male voice.

  The creature stirred, snapped her eyes open, had her up on all fours even before she’d figured out which way was up.

  Blood. All over the place. The walls, the floor, the table, her clothes, her hands... Oh God, it was in her mouth too. She gagged, spat out what she could, retched, but there was nothing in her stomach to bring up. What had she done? What had the creature inside her done?

  She forced her head up and glanced around the room. Bodies everywhere. The scientists’ white coats now red, throats ripped out, chunks of flesh torn away. The sound of hurried footsteps retreating down the hall. She was on her feet before she’d even thought about it, the creature eager to chase after whoever was fleeing. It wasn’t panting for more blood though, Dee realised in relief. Rather it felt a curiosity, a kinship with whoever it was that was fleeing.

  Apparently the one who had shaken her awake was also the other one infected with this presence. She was surprised at how relieved she felt that she hadn’t killed him.

  And then her eyes opened a touch wider as she caught sight of the table. The wrist and ankle restraints were still there, locked, unchanged. She looked down at her wrists and saw no evidence of injury, beyond the red marks from days of chafing. How the hell had she…?

  She looked down again and felt herself sway. So much blood... Her hand left a bloody smear on the door frame, her shoes red prints on the pristine tiles. She ripped them off, running barefoot as she sought an exit from this bizarre hell. She came to a small storage cupboard and rummaged inside. She found scrubs, ripped off her blood-stained clothes, and tried to wipe the blood off her hands as best she could. Then she dressed in hospital green and put on someone else’s shoes, one size too big. She scanned the hallway as she emerged, eyes seeking out any movement, ears straining to hear the slightest sound.

  Nothing.

  Running again, up stairs, following blind instinct, a half-remembered scent, the creature in her head telling her when to turn and when to pause. Bloody hell, what was that thing crawling through her veins, tingling, tight and pulsing? A growl inside her own head, a wave of nausea. More running, upward, south, always south, though how she knew that was the direction she had no idea.

  Then through a door, into sunlight, and her knees hit the ground with sheer relief. She was out. She was alive.

  With an extra passenger on board, heaven help her.

  Dee pushed herself to her feet, frantically considering where she should go. Her apartment? No, of course not. They would know who she was, where she lived. To her family? No. That would only make them a target.

  North, the creature demanded. Go north, to the lakes, to the open spaces and cold winters. To the wild places where they could run free.

  She moved again, not knowing what else to do, running on shaking legs until she was free of the towering warehouses and on the open streets of London. Cars blaring horns. People talking, walking, stinking of sweat and money and greed. She pushed through the crowd in a daze, always heading north, feeling a half-remembered touch on her face, a non-existent breeze on her skin. What the hell was she? She should find a train station. Get a train north, out of the city.

  A white van pulled up in front of her. She weaved around it, ducking past the doors as they swung open. Dodged the hand that reached out to grab her. Darted forward to seek shelter in the crowd.

  Then she felt the tight sting of a dart in her shoulder. The creature inside her roared, howled, spun around, teeth snapping. Her reality turned hazy as the whatever-it-was tried to take over, only to be sent packing by a sharp jolt of electricity. Her body shuddered, sinking down onto the filthy pavement as the taser knocked the wind right out of her. And for the second time in less than an hour, she felt the world go black.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Baron stood in the centre of the small bedroom in the Lakes District manor with his arms folded, staring down at the unconscious woman lying on the bed. She’d been out cold ever since they’d tasered her, the dose of sedative in the dart knocking her out after they’d got her into the van. One of the unfortunate luxuries of modern life and big cities was that no one seemed to bat an eyelid at odd events anymore, not even when a woman was snatched off the streets in broad daylight. People had just kept on walking as he’d hauled the woman’s small body into the van, probably more thankful than concerned that the crazed lunatic wearing scrubs and covered with blood was gone, no longer their problem.

  But now she was Baron’s problem, and the shifter leader tried hard to ignore the cold glare that Caroline, his second in command, was giving him. Second in command? Hardly, he scoffed to himself. The woman was a thorn in his side, and they butted heads at every opportunity. The problem lying on the bed would have to be dealt with but, just to piss Caroline off, he said nothing, forcing her to break the silence.

  “Are you insane?”

  Right on cue, and he deigned to glance over at her. She was a lean, hard sort of woman, resting her weight against the doorframe, arms folded in a mirror of his own stance, wearing her standard leather trousers, black combat boots, a tight, no-frills t-shirt, her short, black hair wild and mussed. She was every bit the predator, taking no shit from anyone in the lush estate that the Lakes District Den called home. That included him, even though he was supposed to be the one running the show. And if anyone else had used that tone with him, they’d have got their arse kicked quicker than they could tuck their tail between their legs and run.

  “She’s a rogue,” Caroline snapped when he didn’t reply. “What the fuck are you doing bringing a rogue wolf to the estate?”

  Baron sighed as he tilted his head to the side, felt his neck crack, and stretched his wide shoulders to ease the tension in his thick muscles. “That’s no rogue,” he said flatly, nodding toward the unconscious woman.

  “What the hell are you talking about? When Mark called, he said he’d come across a rogue wolf in London, untrained and likely to kill someone. And from the state of her, she already has. So, I ask again, why did you bring her here? She should be put down. Or caged, until she learns some manners.”

  Baron studied the unconscious woman again. She wasn’t particularly tall, maybe five foot three. She was on the curvy side, with pale skin and light brown hair, maybe in her late twenties. She had the look of a middle-class office worker, a meek, unremarkable member of the rat race – or at least she would if she wasn’t wearing scrubs and smeared with blood. The jarring sense that something was amiss came back to him again.

  A rogue wolf was a menace, a crazed beast that had no control over the animal side of themselves. When he’d first seen the woman weaving through the busy streets, she’d looked every bit like a convert gone mad. Some of them did, which was why newly turned wolves were watched closely, trained, sometimes caged until they learned to control themselves.

  But as he’d tried to catch the woman, for the briefest moment he’d caught a glimpse of... something else. It was hard to say what. Relief? Anticipation? G
ratitude, even? Twenty years of listening to his instincts had told him that this was no rogue. She was newly converted, no doubt about that, but the wolf had sprung to her defence when she’d felt that dart – a sure sign that human and beast were capable of cooperating with each other. And she hadn’t tried to hurt anyone, even though there had been so many human sheep wandering past, ripe for the picking.

  “She’s not a rogue,” Baron repeated. “And I’m well aware of the need to find out just who the hell she is, but it’s going to be hard to make any progress on that until she wakes up.”

  Caroline stalked across the room, a throwing knife in her hand. She jabbed him in the chest with it, just hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. “You could have done that down in the cages. You’re putting us all at risk.”

  Baron grabbed her arm and twisted, spinning the alpha female around so she was pinned against him, her back to his chest. He leaned down and breathed his words into her ear. “I run this Den,” he reminded her coldly. “And unless you’re petitioning for a leadership challenge, I suggest you remember that.”

  Caroline hesitated – as he expected her to – and he let her go, without waiting for her acquiescence. Push her too hard and she was just as likely to go and find another male to challenge him. Tank, perhaps, or Silas. Either one had the physical strength to give him a good run for his money, and Tank could garner enough support from the Den to give it a real go. Silas would have a harder time gathering a following, but there was no point tempting fate. A healthy Den ran better when there was peace between its members. Baron had no desire to start a miniature war within their own walls.