Wolf Rebel

by Paige Tyler

  She reached up and fingered the necklace lying on her chest, toying with the Celtic shield knot charm hanging from the chain there. Hannah had given her the necklace right before Rachel had left Chattanooga for Dallas, and she never took it off. She and Hannah had become good friends during their recovery in the hospital and had spent a lot of time together afterward simply being there for each other after that traumatic night in the cemetery. Hannah had given her the Celtic knot for protection. Rachel had given her a wolf charm necklace for the same reason.

  If it wasn’t so late, Rachel would have jumped on the computer and checked in with Hannah that very second. The two of them texted and Skyped regularly since Rachel had moved, but giving her a call now was out of the question, so Rachel pushed back the paisley-print comforter and climbed out of bed, then stood there for a moment, waiting for the dizziness to pass. She always felt weak after a nightmare, but lately it seemed the episodes were getting worse. Or maybe the dreams were. Either way, it felt like someone had drained the energy completely from her body.

  Since she wasn’t getting any more sleep tonight no matter how exhausted she was, she decided to make some coffee. If she was going to be awake at this ungodly hour, she might as well be caffeinated, too. But first, she needed to rinse the taste of blood from her mouth.

  Padding into the hallway, she wandered into the bathroom. The light in there was already on, as was every other light in her apartment, including the bedroom. Thanks to those damn nightmares, she couldn’t stand to be in the dark anymore.

  She studied her reflection in the big mirror above the vanity for a moment, groaning at the dark circles visible under her eyes. She shouldn’t be surprised. She hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep in forever. Holding her hair back from her face ponytail style, she turned on the faucet and cupped water in her hand.

  While she rinsed her mouth, she thought about the meeting she and the guys had with Jennifer Lloyd at her office that morning. They’d gone there to discuss her schedule and daily routine, hoping to start working out the details of how they were going to keep her safe, but while the prosecutor had said all the right things about appreciating their help and doing anything to help make their jobs easier, she’d seemed kind of cavalier when it came to the threat she was facing, vetoing every suggestion Zane made regarding even simple changes to her itinerary. Maybe Jennifer was so focused on taking down Alton Marshall she couldn’t think about anything else, even her own safety. It was hard to keep someone safe when they refused to believe they were in danger.

  Rachel just finished rinsing her mouth when she felt something behind her. She couldn’t say if it was a sound she’d heard, a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye, or merely her inner wolf sensing a presence, but whatever it was, she quickly spun around ready to defend herself. She didn’t see anything in the hallway just outside the door, so she tiptoed over to peek out. Her bedroom was empty, as was her living room—at least what she could see of them from where she stood. Holding on to the doorframe, she stepped into the hallway and sniffed the air, trusting her sense of smell to tell her if there was anyone in her apartment.

  There wasn’t.

  There never was.

  Even so, Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. It was an unnerving sensation, and she swore the temperature in the apartment dropped ten degrees as goose bumps chased over her body.

  Shivering, she turned to go back into the bathroom.

  And froze.

  Instead of her own reflection, a clown stared back at her from the mirror. Not just any clown, either, but the clown who’d tried to kill her in the graveyard that night.

  Rachel screamed and stumbled back, fear gripping her even as she instinctively reached for a sidearm she wasn’t wearing right then. She whirled around, sure she was about to be attacked from behind, but no one was there. She was just as alone in her apartment as she’d been five seconds ago.

  That didn’t stop her from thinking about running into the bedroom to grab her service-issued .45 caliber from her bedside table. But she quickly dismissed the idea. What the hell good would a gun do in a situation like this?

  Telling herself she was seeing things, she slowly turned to face the mirror again, bracing herself for what she’d see there. The clown was gone and all she saw was her own reflection, fangs and claws extended, eyes bright green. She hadn’t even realized she’d shifted.

  Rachel took a step back, only a little relieved the clown was nowhere in sight because that confirmed she was insane. On top of the bizarre scents she kept picking up, the glimpses of shadows out the corner of her eye, and the terrifying nightmares, now she was having waking flashbacks. She was losing her already-tentative grip on reality. How much worse was this going to get?

  She glanced at the mirror one more time before heading out of the bathroom and through the living room to the kitchen. She made coffee, impatiently waiting for it to brew and thinking about the monster that still haunted her dreams—and now apparently her bathroom.

  Horace Watkins, the man who’d tried to kill her in the cemetery, really had been a clown. First on the rodeo circuit in the eighties, then in a traveling circus through the nineties and into the early two thousands, and finally, in an old folks home of all places. Horace had also been criminally insane, at least according to his court-appointed lawyer. Rachel figured he was, especially when the guy had actually demanded the judge allow him to stand trial in his clown makeup.

  The judge had said no, and the people with doctorate degrees had decided Horace wasn’t insane. Or if he was, at least he was still aware enough to face a jury. Thank God. Because that meant the man ended up with a thirty-year sentence in Riverbend Maximum Security Institute versus an undefined stay in a mental facility. Never mind that Horace claimed he didn’t remember anything about that night or what he’d done.

  Yeah right.

  Rachel had a crazy urge to call the prison in Nashville right then to make sure the demented clown was still there but quickly pushed that ridiculous thought aside. The man who’d made a mess of her head was still locked up and would be until he was old and gray.

  Pouring coffee into a mug, she added sweetener and cream, then headed across the living room toward the balcony, opened the door, and stepped outside, letting the chilly night air caress her exposed skin. Since she was only wearing shorts and a Captain America tank top, she probably should have grabbed the throw from the couch, but the cool air felt good. It was like a shock to the system she hoped would clear out the remnants of whatever the hell just happened in her bathroom.

  She leaned against the balcony railing to do a little stargazing from the second-floor deck when two scents that were becoming overwhelmingly familiar hit her. It was the same combination of scents she’d picked up this morning at the compound.

  But this time it wasn’t some slight trace carried on the breeze. Instead, it was thick and heavy, like whoever the scents belonged to had been standing on the balcony mere seconds ago. It struck her then that this was the first time she’d attributed the smell to a person. Before now, she hadn’t been quite sure.

  Hand tightening on her mug, she swept the street below her apartment with her gaze, taking in every car parked on the curb and row of buildings on the other side of the street, following the smell with her nose. It was strongest in that direction and she inhaled deeply. The scents were richer and fuller than she’d sensed before. And they definitely belonged to a man. Of that she was sure. The scents possessed a subtle hint of something so tantalizing that Rachel found her eyes going slightly unfocused as she fixated on it. She’d never smelled anything so…perfect.

  Suddenly, she caught sight of movement across the street, buried in the shadows of the alley that ran alongside the organic food store. She turned all her attention in that direction, her eyes shifting so she could see better. That’s when she saw a man’s silhouette in the darkn
ess.

  As if sensing her gaze on him, the man retreated farther into the alley, and while she couldn’t see him, she could tell he was still there somewhere.

  Setting her cup on the small table in between the two chairs, Rachel gripped the balcony railing and vaulted over it to the ground below. Her bare feet hit the sidewalk hard, but she ignored the discomfort and took off running across the street, chasing after the shadow.

  The rocks and stray pieces of glass in the alley dug into her feet, but she refused to let that slow her as she ran as hard as she could. For a werewolf like her, that was pretty damn fast. But the man ahead of her was fast, too—too fast to be a normal human.

  Crap, she was chasing another werewolf. She almost stumbled to a halt at the realization, shocked she hadn’t recognized the unique scent until now. How was it possible she hadn’t known it for what it was? Maybe because it had changed since she’d first smelled it all those weeks ago. The werewolf part of the scent seemed new.

  Growling, she picked up speed, her body partially shifting as she ran faster, refusing to let the man ahead of her get away. It took a while to corner him, but when her prey turned down a dead-end alley, she knew she had him.

  He didn’t stop running until he reached the brick wall at the end of the alley. Then he stood there and stared at it as if trying to figure out how to go through it. Dark-haired, he was tall with broad shoulders and sleek muscles filling out the T-shirt he wore. He looked left and right, breathing hard as he searched for an escape route.

  “You’re not getting out of this alley,” Rachel told him, not even trying to disguise the anger in her voice. This guy had been stalking her for weeks. He was lucky she didn’t rip him to shreds first and ask questions later. “Not until you tell me who the hell you are and what you want with me.”

  Squaring his shoulders as if resigned to his fate, he slowly turned to face her. His hair was short on the sides and longer on the top, and his face carried a few days’ worth of scruff that emphasized his square jaw, making him look dangerous and even more attractive than he probably had a right to. His eyes were a deep, rich chocolate brown, piercing but somehow soft at the same time.

  She was well on her way to getting lost in those eyes when she suddenly realized she recognized him. He was the hunter she’d let get away. A hunter who was a werewolf.

  She would have made a crack about how insane this entire situation was, but the expression on his face stopped her. For a guy who had an obvious confidence about him, he looked completely and utterly lost.

  He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry I’ve been following you, but something’s happening to me and I think you’re the only one who can help.” When she didn’t say anything, he took a deep breath and continued. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think I’m turning into a werewolf.”

  Rachel couldn’t help it. She laughed. It was either that or start crying at the poetic irony that would make poor William Shakespeare choke on his writing quill.

  “You’re a werewolf?” she said. “Well, all I can say to that is, no shit, Sherlock.”

  * * *

  Knox had envisioned his first face-to-face meeting with Rachel hundreds of times. But in absolutely none of those visions had he imagined the woman laughing at him. Yet that was what she was doing, as if his confession that he thought he was turning into a werewolf was the funniest thing in the world.

  He had to admit she was even more beautiful up close—in a wild, almost feral way—and he couldn’t stop himself from staring. Her long, blond hair was in disarray from chasing him at light speed through the streets, and her fair skin was glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Which was crazy, considering she wasn’t wearing much in the way of clothes, and the temperature had to be thirty degrees tonight.

  He tried not to gawk at her long, toned legs, but he couldn’t help it. They were as perfect as the rest of her, right down to her bare feet.

  Knox didn’t realize how hard he’d been staring at her body until he lifted his head to find her light-brown eyes locked on him, brow arched in an expression that might have been amusement. Or anger. He wasn’t entirely sure which.

  “What? You have a problem with being a werewolf?” she demanded, her southern drawl sexy as hell. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a hunter. You kill werewolves for fun and now you are one. Ain’t that a bitch?”

  Knox really wasn’t sure what to say to that. This really wasn’t the way he’d expected this conversation to go.

  “So, are you going to help me, or what?” he asked.

  For the first time, it occurred to him that he might have wasted his time chasing her all over the country. To her, he was one of the people who’d tried to kill werewolves like her—attacked her and her friends at a wedding reception no less. Why the hell would she ever want to do anything to help him? Damn, he’d been so stupid. But from the moment he’d seen her at that wedding reception at the SWAT compound, he’d felt like there was something there.

  “What kind of help do you think I can give you?”

  Her tone had softened, giving him hope. At least for a moment.

  “I’m hoping you can tell me how this happened. Because I know I never got bitten by a werewolf. More importantly, how do I make it go away?”

  Rachel regarded him thoughtfully, as if deciding whether she wanted to help him or not. Finally, she jerked her chin toward the mouth of the alley. “Come on. This conversation is going to take a while, and there’s a pot of coffee in my apartment with my name on it.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed toward the street. Knox stared after her for a moment, then hurried to catch up. She didn’t say anything on the way to her place and he didn’t want to press his luck by trying to engage her in conversation. When they got there, Rachel had to climb up to the balcony since she didn’t have her key while she insisted he take the traditional way through the apartment building’s front door then went up to the second floor and waited for her to let him in.

  Rachel’s place was small but appeared bigger thanks to the light-colored paint on the walls and open floor plan. The earthy tones she’d used to decorate gave the apartment a warm, homey feel, as did the landscape paintings and framed photos of what he assumed were family and friends on the built-in bookcase along one wall of the living room.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing to the tan-colored couch and matching love seat.

  Knox did as she suggested, opting for the love seat. He expected her to head into the kitchen for that coffee she mentioned, but instead, she walked down the hall and into what he presumed was the bathroom. A moment later, he heard the water running and what sounded like a soft grunt of pain.

  “You okay in there?” he called.

  “Just picking out pieces of glass I got stuck in my feet running after you. I’m fine.”

  That sounded painful. And made him feel guilty for making her chase him. He hadn’t intended for that to happen. No, the original plan had been simple. Stop by Rachel’s apartment and knock on her door. Instead, he’d hung around across the street from her building like the stalker he’d become until she went to bed. Or at least he thought she’d gone to bed. He wasn’t quite sure because she hadn’t shut off any of the lights.

  He’d just been about to leave when he’d heard her scream. The terror in it had cut right through him and he’d lost it.

  The next thing he knew, he was on her second-floor balcony. He’d been this close to busting through the sliding glass door when Rachel had wandered out of her bedroom, slick with sweat and looking like death warmed over. Despite how crappy she’d looked, Knox was relieved she was safe and unharmed. While he knew it wasn’t possible, for a moment, it almost seemed like he could actually hear her heart pounding. The idea that something could scare a werewolf like her shocked him. He’d been so busy trying to wrap his mind around th
at he hadn’t even realized she was walking toward the balcony.

  He’d hurdled the railing, hitting the street below like a bag of bricks thrown from a moving car. The pain was intense but, oddly, not as bad as it probably should have been. Nothing broke, so it was definitely a small price to pay to avoid getting caught.

  Not that his clumsy escape had done much good. Somehow, Rachel had seen him and leaped off the balcony like a graceful gazelle. She’d chased him down like a barefoot bloodhound on crack, catching him with ridiculous ease.

  But on the bright side, it had broken the ice on the introductions.

  Knox glanced up as Rachel walked into the living room still wearing the same tank top and shorts. While he didn’t mind getting another look at those legs, he was more concerned about her injured feet.

  “You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital and get checked out?” he asked. “With the trash and crap in those alleys, you could get a serious infection.”

  “We don’t get infections, as long as you get any foreign debris out of the wounds. Your body will take care of everything else. It’s a werewolf thing.”

  She lifted one foot, showing him that the bloody lacerations were now replaced with scars that looked three or four days old, then continued into the kitchen. Taking two mugs out of the cabinet, she grabbed a package of popcorn from another, then stuck it in the microwave. She was making popcorn…at 0300 in the morning. Coffee and popcorn. Different but okay. Within moments, the smell of butter and the sounds of popping kernels filled the apartment, making his mouth water.

  When the microwave beeped a minute later, Rachel dumped the popcorn in a bowl, then poured coffee into the mugs.

  She glanced at him over the peninsula separating the kitchen from the living room. “Cream and sweetener?”

  He nodded. “Please.”

  Rachel added cream and two packs of sweetener to each mug, then set the bowl of popcorn on a wooden tray along with them and carried everything into the living room. Placing the tray on the table, she handed Knox a mug, taking the one with the Tennessee Volunteers logo for herself. Then she curled up on the other couch, gracefully tucking her long legs under her.