The Wolf in His Arms (The Runes Trilogy)

by Lilly, Adrian

  “Sure. I understand,” she said, grabbing her coat. “I’m sure she’s okay. She probably lost track of time.”

  “I just keep thinking she twisted an ankle and is limping home or something.”

  As the neighbor settled in with Sable, Darrin launched out the door toward the trail. It occurred to him that he should have grabbed his bike—and changed—as mud splattered onto his shoes from the melting snow. “Jenna!” He called down the trail. No sign of her.

  Darrin breezed back into the house, calling, “I’m getting my bike,” as he passed. To hell with my shoes and pants, he thought. He hit the garage door button as he sat astride his bike. He tore from the garage and pedaled down the street to the multipurpose trail. He followed it until it reached the state forest. He skidded to a stop, gazing through the leafless trees down the trail. His assurance that she was okay melted away, like the clumps of snow falling from branches above him. He began pedaling again. The cold air whipped his face and seared his lungs as he shot down the trail, calling her name. The return of silence ate away at him.

  Be okay. Be okay. He prayed.

  He passed mile marker three and stopped. How far does she run? She couldn’t have gone any farther, he decided. He turned the bike around.

  Then, at the edge of the woods, he saw blood splattered on the leaves.

  He squeezed his brakes, almost flipping his bike, and slid down to an unbalanced stop. He noticed the ground, the signs of a struggle. “GodnoGodnoplease,” he whispered. He stepped off his bike, letting it fall. He walked toward the blood, knowing that he shouldn’t, that it was a crime scene. But he thought maybe someone had shot a deer off season, maybe it was deer blood.

  A startled, broken noise erupted from his mouth, not quite a cry or a groan, as he pushed through the underbrush and saw the shredded figure of a woman. But the face—thank God, it’s not Jenna.

  The woman’s chest rose slightly, and Darrin realized with dread, that she was still alive.

  Darrin fished in his pocket for his cell phone and punched in 9-1-1. “I found a woman,” he rambled before the operator said anything. “In the woods. On the trail. My wife is missing.” He looked around, panic stinging his eyes with tears. His arm dropped to his side, neglecting the phone and the voice asking him his location. “Jenna!” He called.

  He stumbled back from the injured woman, his mind mad with questions. He fought back the nightmare scenarios forming in his brain. Maybe Jenna never came this way. Maybe Jenna is home. He suddenly remembered the phone. “Please hurry,” he croaked. “My daughter’s with the neighbor.”

  * * * *

  Only minutes had passed since Rindy and her parents identified Rebecca, but the moments were hazy, both sped up and slowed down into an incomprehensible mash up. She stood in the lobby of the hospital; her parents stood behind her. But she could not look at them. She wanted to be hugged, needed to be hugged but, at the same time, could not be touched. Her skin ached.

  Rebecca—found in the woods. Rebecca—her skin raked by claws. Rebecca—would she live? Feeling suffocated, Rindy tugged at the scarf around her neck. She pulled it loose and pulled at her collar. She could feel a tension building in her, like a tidal wave deep at sea, scarcely a harbinger of the fury to come.

  Rindy turned to face her parents. Through her tear-blurred eyes, she saw her mother, sprawled into a cheap, orange plastic chair. Her father, on his knees next to the orange chair, clung to his wife as they both sobbed. “Mom, Dad,” Rindy mouthed, the sound barely audible.

  And suddenly, the tidal wave crashed ashore—the guilt and anguish. I should have been with Rebecca! She thought. Rindy staggered to the chair beside her mother. She draped her arms over her mother and petted her head and face. RebeccaRebeccaRebeccaRebecca! Her sister’s name coursed through her head, no longer seeming like a word. Her arms shook violently, and her chest heaved, struggling with the effort of breathing.

  Her father, trying to comfort her mother, suddenly staggered and fell, clutching his chest. “Dad!” She yelled, knowing what was happening. And suddenly her mind closed in, like a tunnel, as she focused on her father. Medical staff swept in, shoving her and her wailing mother aside as they worked feverishly to help her father. She could no longer see her mother as her eyes locked on her father and his swollen, purplish face; she could no longer hear anything but his labored gasps for air.

  Lucy and the Egomaniac

  Lucy pulled her Subaru into the parking lot and squeezed into a spot. She arrived at the gym fifteen minutes early for her yoga class. Afterward, she had her taekwondo class. Filling her days with routine kept her sane. She also felt that the steadier she could keep her mind and body, the more she could control the beast. She had no idea if it was true, but until Jared found some sort of cure, it was all she could do. Lucy slung her yoga mat over her shoulder and shut the car door. She looked up at the nearly full moon and shook her head with a grimace.

  “In a good mood per usual,” Mitch said, as he strode up behind her. He had on his normal white tank top and jogging pants.

  Lucy took a deep breath. She hated the sarcastic snarl in his voice. “I’ve had a long day,” she replied without waiting for him.

  He caught up with her easily, his long strides simply covering more space in fewer steps. He reached for the door to open it, but Lucy grabbed the handle first. “See you later,” she said as she brushed past him. Lucy headed straight to the yoga classroom and laid out her mat, sitting and taking deep, relaxing breaths as the class filled in. She heard someone sit beside her but didn’t open her eyes.

  “I’m sitting in tonight.”

  She recognized Mitch’s baritone voice without opening her eyes. She assumed he was talking to her, but she didn’t really care. She took another deep breath as she stretched.

  “Flexibility is key to success in taekwondo. I appreciate the metaphysical aspect to meditation. But the flexibility, focus on the core, that’s where it’s at.”

  Lucy popped one eye open but didn’t turn her head. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Apparently I was talking to myself.”

  “Apparently.” She closed her eye.

  He snorted a short laugh and said nothing else.

  The instructor arrived moments later, and Mitch chatted with his colleague before she began the intermediate level class. Lucy followed the routine, completing the stretches with competence, if not finesse. She swore she heard Mitch chuckle under his breath as she fumbled her balance on a couple of stretches, but she refused to let him get to her.

  Lucy reflected on her first class taught by Mitch. His boastful demeanor, his assurance that everyone wanted to talk to him drove her insane. She didn’t want to talk to him, she wanted to learn from him. She didn’t need to know his rotten life story. She had considered switching instructors, but he was effective and thorough, and she needed to learn quickly.

  As the yoga class ended, Lucy waited for Mitch to clear out before rolling up her mat and taking it to her car. Back inside the gym, she hovered outside the classroom until Mitch’s taekwondo class was about to begin to avoid another conversation with him.

  Mitch led the class like he was speaking from the pulpit, showing the students a few new stances. He came over to Lucy. He looked down at her, standing nearly a foot taller than she. “Feet further apart. You’ll be too easy to knock off balance.

  “Farther,” Lucy said, unable to help herself.

  “What?”

  She winced. “Farther apart.” She smiled. “You said further. You meant farther.”

  Mitch turned from her. “Class, Lucy has just volunteered to be my sparring partner as we practice the new moves.”

  “No I didn’t,” she said.

  Mitch smiled. “I think you meant, ‘Yes, I did.’” He waved her over to the mats. “I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re all friends here.” He nodded with his head. “Come on. This is a good opportunity. I usually pair you with Marie because you guys are a similar size. But an attacker can b
e a big guy like me.” He hit his broad chest to drive home the point. “And trust me, with practice you can take him down.” He added a wink. “Not me, of course. But other guys.”

  Lucy nodded her head resolutely and approached him. She took the attention stance, and then the walking stance, with one foot ahead of the other.

  “Feet apart. Good.” He approached her. “Now the sitting stance.”

  Lucy brought her feet parallel, shoulder width apart, and bent her knees.

  “Good,” Mitch took the same stance. “Now, hit me.”

  Lucy threw her punches, turning her arms as he had shown them. He deflected each punch with ease. “Well done.” Lucy stepped back into the walking stance. “Now we’re going to try the self-defense moves. Forget the flying fists and high kicks. These are the moves that you’ll most likely use on the street—if you ever have to.” He smiled. “Lucy, turn your back to me.”

  Lucy turned and prepared for his assault from behind. Before she finished a deep breath, he had his long, muscular arms wrapped around her like two hungry pythons. Her first instinct was to go rigid. Her arms were pinned to her sides. Lucy recalled the moves he’d shown them. She took a quick step forward, then back into Mitch, while shifting sideways. She reached over, grabbing his long arm and flipped him over her onto the mat.

  “Good job, Lucy.” He hopped to his feet. “For a second there, I thought you weren’t going to try to resist.”

  Lucy smirked. “For a second there, I thought you had a gun poking in my back,” she shot her eyes down to his crotch, and then cut her eyes at Marie who choked back laughter.

  Mitch eyed her briefly and then turned to the class. “Who’s next?”

  The group rotated, each trying the freeing technique and then throwing punches with partners as they waited. When the class was over, Lucy gathered her gym bag and headed for the door. “Lucy, hold up a sec,” Mitch called.

  Reluctantly, Lucy dropped her bag and rolled her eyes as Marie mouthed, You’re in trouble. She turned to Mitch. “Yeah, Mitch?”

  Mitch waited until the classroom was empty until he approached her. “Why are you taking this class?”

  Lucy leveled her eyes on him, annoyed. What’s it his business? She wondered. He doesn’t deserve my life story. “I just want to feel safer on the street.”

  “Hmmm. Any other reason? I mean, you’re pretty intense.”

  “I take safety seriously.” She reached for her bag. “Look, if you’re mad about the crack, that’s just how I am. If you say something snide, I’m going to shoot back.”

  A deep, derisive chuckle erupted from Mitch, and the sound made Lucy fume. He said, “I thought it was funny. So not true, but funny.”

  “Sure, you’re far too professional.”

  “Nah, you’re just...not my type.”

  “You’re not my type!” Lucy snapped. “Why are we talking about this?”

  He leaned against the doorway, not blocking her but definitely making it uncomfortable to push through. “You don’t like me very much.”

  “Not really.”

  “Then why take my class?”

  “I asked for the best instructor. They pointed in your direction.”

  “I am the best.”

  “And you never let anyone forget it.” Lucy began to push past him, but he put his long arm across the doorway. “May I go now?”

  “Just tell me, honestly, why you’re taking this class.”

  Flashes of smoke and fire, Darius’s evil grin, his knife, flashed in her mind like police lights. She fought the tears that demanded release. “I was attacked. Okay? And, if it happens again, I want to be ready.”

  Mitch looked down at her, his smugness seemed absent. “And we’ll get you there. But you have to trust me if you want the most out of this class.”

  “I trust that you’re the best.”

  “I am.”

  And the pompous jackass returns. Lucy mustered as warm of a smile as she could. “Next time you wonder why someone doesn’t like you, consider this: Some people have a lot of charm and charisma. Then there’s you.”

  Lucy heard his loud, appreciative laughter roaring behind her as she pushed out the door onto the sidewalk.

  Alone, Together

  Light from the street lamp shone through the frosty window in icy patterns on the wood floor as Alec watched Jared, sprawled on the couch, absently lick the tip of his finger and flip a page in his book. Not more than ten minutes had passed since Lucy left, when Alec interrupted Jared, saying, “So this qualifies as one of those times Lucy is out of the apartment, right?”

  Jared looked up from his book and adjusted his glasses. He smiled across the room at Alec who was placing the last of the clean plates away, on his night to wash the dishes. He marked his spot as he set the book down. “Yes.” He stood.

  Alec tossed the dishtowel onto the counter and sauntered toward Jared, his eyes alight. “We have about an hour.”

  “Then we better hurry,” Jared said, grabbing Alec by the back of the neck and pulling his face toward his. He closed his eyes as their mouths found each other.

  “Come on,” Alec urged him, as he pulled away and peeled his shirt off. He discarded it in the hallway as he backed toward the bedroom, pulling Jared by his belt. Alec’s back bumped into the bedroom door, pushing it open. Jared kicked the bedroom door shut with his heel. Dim light from the street cut through the blinds in slits in the otherwise dark room. As Alec pulled Jared, he tumbled onto the bed, on top of Alec, still embracing. Their mouths found one another again as Alec and Jared clung to each other with the urgency of shipwreck survivors in dark waters.

  Alec brushed his hands along the defined contours of Jared’s back, felt the muscle taut and flexing under the skin. Just feeling Jared’s skin sent fire through him—a fire that demanded release. “I love you. I love you so much.”

  Jared pulled back from the kiss, clasping his hands on either side of Alec’s face. He gazed into Alec’s eyes in the dim light. “I loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.” Even in the dim light, Jared could see Alec’s cheeks flush. Jared brushed a wisp of hair back. Jared launched to his feet, standing over Alec, and began to tug Alec’s jeans down with a heated vigor. Alec pushed on the denim, sliding the jeans over his butt and down his thighs.

  Alec sat up, his legs straddling Jared, as he unfastened Jared’s belt and pants, dropping them to the floor. Jared leaned on top of Alec again, the kisses more fierce, moving from mouth to cheek to neck to chest, dancing down Alec’s body. Alec tossed his head back with a pleasured groan, his lips parted in an open smile. He rose off the bed onto his shoulders and heels as Jared tugged his underwear, and felt Jared’s hands caressing his legs as the material traveled down and off.

  Jared was beside him now—and Alec felt that he would explode with the joy of feeling the man he loved locked in his arms. He rubbed his hands over the dark hair on Jared’s chest, as Jared rubbed his smooth chest. They locked their mouths together, and their kisses were furious and deep. They gulped air only as their passion allowed. Alec pulled his mouth away from Jared’s and his kisses trailed down Jared’s body, over his nipples, across his stomach.

  Jared shivered, imbued with the staggering ecstasy of Alec’s mouth. His mind floated—and the thought of Pompeii drifted to him. He pictured the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, the sky glowing red and black, like autumn lightning in a stormy, night sky. He could feel the ground quaking, shivering. His body trembled with the ecclesiastic frenzy of stumbling through darkness within the well-known safety of home, as their hands fumbled across each other’s bodies in the dim bedroom light. He heard the din of pain and ecstasy in their own muffled voices. He could feel the heat of it on his skin, as Alec’s chest pressed against his own bare flesh. The intensity of kisses, suffocating, the gasping, of mouths pressed together, yet fumbling for air in staccato, rapid succession. And the ash, he could see, covering them, thinking that they could be immortalized, like this, intertwined for eternity, in
to a cast of perfect melding. And the final, exaggerated sigh and moan, of releasing, giving in, to the satisfied silence and comfortable, still darkness afterward.

  After a while, Jared reached over and rubbed Alec’s chest again. His hand trailed lower, across the flat, firm stomach, until he found the thin line of hair trailing down from Alec’s belly button. The words happy trail popped into his mind, and he suppressed the gleeful silliness it brought about in him so as not to tarnish their quiet moments in the half-darkness. He loved these quiet moments afterward, when they still touched, but with less urgency, still enjoying the closeness of each other’s bodies. The only sound was the sound of their own breath, regulating from the frenzy to a calm, and the distant hum of cars on a faraway street.

  Explorers

  Kevin and Molly Byrne, along with Kevin’s lifelong best friend, Tristan, were explorers. Urban explorers. They loved the breathless anticipation of turning a corner in a structure left to rot. Detroit offered them hundreds of decaying carcasses, forgotten by most: dark, broken, and empty.

  Usually empty.

  A few times, they had stumbled upon homeless people, drug addicts, even other explores. Once, they had to dodge security guards and hid out in the dank pitch black for over an hour. But the thrill of walking through a hulking, abandoned structure—at night—with just your camera and flashlight—was addictive to them all. They maintained a blog where they posted about their expeditions. The blog contained photos of interesting finds, audio and video, and their thoughts for other explorers. Tristan considered himself an amateur ghost hunter, and a number of his photos that seemed to captured otherworldly objects garnered thousands of hits.

  But the celebrity was secondary. The exhilaration of the moment—moving through the darkness like an archaeologist in a tomb compelled them.

  They were preparing for their next adventure—under the full moon. The Fullerton Building was an abandoned, six-story office building with an empty bank on the bottom floor. Built in 1930, the lobby boasted amazing art deco details. Kevin shook with the excitement of exploring all six floors; Molly couldn’t wait to capture the moldering chandeliers, the crumbling tableaux, and rotted woodwork on film; Tristan anticipated the possibility of the paranormal.