Werewolf Forbidden

by Christina E. Rundle

  “Nary interested,” Wolffey said.

  “It’s not a request,” Mercer said.

  Players looked up from their cards. Any minute now, someone was going to step in and insist they leave, but it never came. Wolffey didn’t have friends here. Wolffey wasn’t someone who needed outside help.

  Wolffey sat his cards face down, pushed his chair back and stood. “Well, if it isn’t an option.”

  He was as tall as Mercer, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. There was a moon shaped bruise under his eye, deep purple and recent. He was incredibly calm, which left Mercer edgy.

  Wolffey walked past Mercer and towards a door in the back. The assassin wasn’t usually this agreeable. They entered the hallway and the situation became real as the door shut behind Wyatt. They were alone. There were no cameras in the hallway, nothing to record the exchange. The tension was high, his betas waited for his order, but the command sat heavy at the forefront of his thoughts, never spoken.

  Wolffey’s eyes narrowed in defiance. “What do you want, alpha? I don’t adhere to your laws.”

  Alpha wasn’t a title of admiration, not the bitter way Wolffey spoke it. His eyes never left Mercer’s. The assassin’s nostrils flared and his pupils dilated. He was under the influence of the moon, just like the rest of their species. Strange, he never thought of Wolffey being anything like the werewolves. There was a great deal of mystery behind the werewolf child, raised by faeries.

  “Mercer?” Dax interrupted the exchange.

  “Gestohlen,” Mercer said.

  “That’s against the treaty. How could the faeries steal a werewolf child without someone noticing?” Axel asked.

  The muscle in Wolffey’s jaw ticked. “Your howler terms don’t define my situation. The fey can hardly steal the willing.”

  “Are there other werewolves in the Hill?” Wyatt asked.

  Axel and Rider both caught the pre-med doctor and the three whispered so low, that he couldn’t catch the exchange of words. It did hold Wolffey’s attention. The assassin stared dispassionately at the three.

  “Someone told you where to find me,” Wolffey said. It wasn’t a question. The assassin’s attention held his; those golden eyes stared right through him. “Why?”

  He tried to picture Wolffey as a domesticated canine and failed. That was the wrong term for the willful werewolf. Wolffey cohabitated with the faeries, but he doubted the assassin considered himself a pet. Before he could answer, the double doors at the end of the hall slammed open and a gust of wind pushed at them with surprising strength.

  “What was that?” Axel asked, shivering.

  Mercer felt the restlessness too. The air was static electricity. The smell of wet pine filled the hallway. Goose bumps rose to the surface of his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled. He clenched his teeth to keep the beast inside him from growling. The doors vibrated against the wall with another gust of cold air.

  With knives drawn, Wolffey started towards the open doors. Mercer grabbed his arm, jerking him back. He couldn’t let the assassin leave before he made his decision. Even if he didn’t give the werewolf back to the queen, he couldn’t let a rogue loose on the streets.

  “We need to talk,” he reinstated, in case the assassin already forgot why he was in the hallway with the alpha.

  “This is not a convenient moment to speak,” Wolffey warned. Those golden eyes were as empty as a glass doll’s, except the pupils were blown wide, hungry for the hunt.

  Mercer released his breath slowly, hypersensitive to the atmosphere. The vibration in the air made the fine hairs on his arms tingle like a spider crawled over his skin. “It’s important.”

  He had the assassin’s attention, though from experience, he knew it was only brief. He let Wolffey go and the younger man remained planted. His face was as expressionless as the mask he used to wear. Only the shine in his eyes said his attention hadn’t drifted. The truth was fitting, but before he could speak, movement caught his eyes. It was quick. Both lithe stick like creatures in the doorway brought hollow wood tubes to their mouths. His adrenaline surged as he flung forward, grabbed Wolffey by the shoulders and haphazardly swung him up against the wall.

  His betas ran past him and out into the alley leaving the two alone in the hallway. Muggy heat drifted in through the open doors. Wolffey didn’t move and he was hesitant about letting him go. Every heavy breath he took drew in the sweet bouquet of orange blossoms, chocolate mint and the very slight scent of fur.

  Mercer became aware of so many things at once, like the pounding of his heart and Wolffey’s dilated pupils and how the lavender circles in his eyes also dilated. “You hesitated.”

  Wolffey swallowed hard. “What?”

  “This is the longest you’ve let me stand this close to you without threatening my life,” Mercer explained.

  Wolffey was utterly still. His eyes slid to Mercer’s lips and Mercer’s body tightened in response. Those golden eyes, the same brown, gold and yellow like a tiger stone, were gorgeous. The lavender circle was small against his dilated black pupils.

  “Does it hurt?” Wolffey asked. His eyes trailed over Mercer’s face before settling on his eyes.

  The question was void of infliction. The assassin could’ve been asking for creamer for his coffee. Did the assassin drink coffee? He couldn’t picture the gestohlen doing anything normal.

  The question spurred his mind to focus on the pinch in his shoulder. The dart made contact with his skin. It didn’t take him down like a rhino, but his adrenaline was dropping and his muscles were starting to go lax. He pressed his palms flat against the wall, keeping himself upright and boxing Wolffey in.

  “Dumb luck,” Mercer growled. The dart was easier to pull out than the bone quiver Wolffey sent through his shoulder ten years ago. It took a number of transformations between his two forms before the scar fully vanished and nearly a year for the painful tweak to fade away.

  “There is no such thing as luck,” Wolffey said.

  Mercer smirked, despite the oncoming heaviness that swirled through his head, begging that he close his eyes. “What would you call it?”

  Wolffey shifted his weight. It wasn’t until Mercer saw the dart that he realized Wolffey pulled it out. “It’s a warning to stay out of my business, alpha. You’re lucky they don’t want me dead.”

  Mercer opened his mouth. He meant to comment, meant to lean in and kiss those stern, pink lips but the world was rushing around him, spinning like a wild carnival ride. Liquid heat rolled through his limbs as he went down.

  NINE

  Wolffey caught the alpha before he crumpled. His nose was accosted with the familiar scent of fur and the distinct smell of Mercer’s skin; cedar and earth. In his weakened state, Mercer’s solid muscle nearly brought him down on top of the alpha. He braced his legs to balance the weight and carefully lowered the unconscious man to the cement floor.

  He checked for a pulse and found it thriving. He sniffed the tip of the dart. The liquid was floral sweet. Nature had its very deadly mixes, but those liquids weren’t in the sedative. It wasn’t in the pine fey’s nature to kill. Mercer would be up and running as soon as it worked its way through his rapid system. Wolffey reached towards the long, black strands of hair in Mercer’s face and stopped when he heard the soft pop of energy that indicated he wasn’t alone. He immediately pulled back.

  “Those are pine fey!” Rufus fluttered in front of his face. “They never come into the city. Those darts were meant for ye, lad.”

  He forced himself to his feet, fighting the crushing ache in his skull. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “Calm down, Rufus, the darts aren’t poisoned.”

  “Ye need to leave, now! Get out of here before they come back,” Rufus ordered.

  Wolffey dropped the dart against the wall and pressed a hand to his injured side. The alpha’s chest rose and fell at a steady pace. His body wasn’t reacting negatively to the chemicals in his system. Still, with the betas gone, he
wasn’t keen on leaving the alpha vulnerable.

  “They’ll just follow me,” Wolffey said, pushing away from the wall. The alpha’s crew was outside fighting against something they didn’t have the skills to battle. He couldn’t leave them.

  Rufus fluttered into his face. His aura shifted from a shimmering sunset orange-red to a bright fire orange “Ye’ve gone daft for sure. The werewolves are keeping the pine fey busy. Ye need to leave.”

  “I don’t run from a fight.”

  “But ye do from logic,” Rufus countered, following over his shoulder.

  His senses sharpened when he stepped into the alley. The tart garbage clotted the damp air, masking the fresh, rain sodden scent of pine needles. There was a fair amount of noise surrounding the building with the door at the front constantly allowing club music to filter out. A shout followed by a lurid thump against metal lead him around the corner.

  One of the betas was passed out against the dumpster with three darts in his thigh. Another one dropped where he stood with two darts in his shoulder and one in his hip. Rufus whistled between his teeth. “They’re going to hurt when they wake up.”

  Wolffey agreed. Fey sedatives were hard to shake. They’d be lucky if they didn’t suffer from hallucinations until it completely worked through their system. The three remaining betas were doing well keeping the pine fey back, but the slender fey weren’t deterred. Their corporeal forms flickered as they maintain their presence.

  “Make this quick,” Rufus warned.

  As if he planned to drag it out. The fey hunters spotted him within seconds and took to the air. He pulled his guns and fired. A bullet struck one, knocking it to the ground. The other one flung an arm of quills in his direction. Moonlight caught the spiraling, five inch long needles. He raised his arm, blocking his face as he turned away. The spines slammed into his arm and shoulder.

  “At least it’s nary the darts,” Rufus said.

  “Make yourself useful,” Wolffey growled. Bullets weren’t going to stop the pine fey.

  “And do what? Pull its twigs?” Rufus huffed, wiggling his tiny fingers at the edge of Wolffey’s vision. “I have nary ability on the corporeal world against anything living.”

  A snappish spirit was the last thing he needed. He pulled an iron dipped throwing knife and flung it at the fey. Its lapse in corporeal form allowed the blade to fly through it, striking the wall, but it did buy him a few seconds to yank the spikes from his skin. There was no chance to count how many he dropped on the ground. It left his skin irritably itchy.

  The three betas kept the second fey hunter on the ground. He took a step towards them when twigs looped around his ankles, yanking him off his feet. His elbows slammed into the pavement and pain spiked through his nerves. He rolled hard, getting his legs under his body and used his strength to pull against it. The twigs snapped free, but his skin throbbed with the pressure.

  “Behind ye, laddie!” Rufus shouted. He zipped down between them, but the pine fey moved through him, unhindered and unaware that a spirit attempted to stand in its way.

  Wolffey caught the twig body in midflight. Its body was light, but the impact was solid enough to shove him against the wall. He risked everything, letting its wrist go and laying his palm flat on its chest. Its claws dug deeper into his skin, but he focused on the life pulse within its body.

  “From the forest in which you hail and the dirt in which you sprang, I release you,” he whispered.

  The pine fey’s body hardened and withered into dust. The other pine fey was gone. The fight was over.

  Rufus clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Eh, lad, ye should nary know that spell.”

  Wolffey squeezed his fists to keep his hands from shaking. Across the alleyway, the three betas stood watching him. He righted himself, and pushed back the exhaustion, grateful that they weren’t trying to box him in.

  “What you did is impossible. You’re a werewolf,” the thinner of the lot exclaimed. The beta stepped forward and the man next to him pulled him back. They weren’t afraid of him. “Are there other werewolves with the fey?”

  Wolffey swallowed. His throat was dry. “Your alpha is alone in the hall. The darts aren’t poisoned. Your lot will wake with minor side effects until the sedative works through their system.”

  “Are there other werewolves with the fey?” The man repeated. He was the only one with short hair. The other two were fairly shaggy around the ears and the nap of their necks. This one was clean. His eyes were sharp. He held himself differently, assertive in a scholarly fashion.

  “Don’t answer,” Rufus said over his shoulder. “Ye shouldn’t be talking to them.”

  The clatter of the doors hitting the wall echoed in the alleyway. The shuffle of feet and breathless curses said that someone was dragging themselves to the party.

  “The alpha didn’t sleep long,” Rufus huffed in disgust.

  “Nay, he didn’t,” Wolffey agreed. The three were staring at him, no doubt confused by the language he spoke. He didn’t have to speak the language of the dead, Rufus would understand regardless, but as a child, he got used to hearing it and even enjoyed the way the words rolled from his tongue.

  “There are others like you, then?” The beta wouldn’t give up on his chosen topic. He was angry now. The others looked concerned and exhausted.

  “We should be gett’in,” Rufus said.

  “Agreed,” Wolffey hissed.

  He shouldn’t have been there, exposed to the werewolves. Aire’Si would say leave no witnesses. He wasn’t about to kill innocent bystanders, even if they witnessed too much.

  Though he was surrounded by human modified land, cement and brick, he felt the earth through the cracks. It was weak, but enough to open the passage and leave the alleyway.

  oOo

  The distance offered no escape from the sudden disquiet within Wolffey. Mercer’s smell clouded his thoughts. It was on his clothes, emitting a persistent reminder of what the alpha represented; a mark he let escape. A few long strides took him to the edge of the roof. Down below, the betas conversed with their alpha. Their voices were low. Not even the wind carried their words.

  Mercer absently rubbed his hand over the spot that had been struck with the dart. Did it ache or as he thinking of something far deadlier that had once pierced his skin nearly a decade ago? The alpha subconsciously ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair, pushing it from his face as he listened to his men. The betas were brothers, though only two of them were identical.

  “Werewolf assassins?” Rufus offered.

  Wolffey snorted and regretted it. There was too much pressure in his ears. “The alpha’s seen what I’m capable of. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have stepped into my line of sight.”

  Mercer inconveniently walked in on some of his messier assignments. The alpha knew firsthand how far he’d go to complete his tasks. He also knew how hard it was to stop him. With Mercer’s black t-shirt snug on his skin, he couldn’t see if the scar he’d given the man was still present.

  Rufus took a spot on the ledge, bracing his feet. The wind didn’t ruffle his hair or flutter his wings. He was untouched by the environment. “Ye should’ve killed them. Topsiders aren’t supposed to know about the fey or that ye exist with us.”

  “There are very few werewolves in this world. I won’t kill an endangered species,” Wolffey countered. If Mercer told anyone he existed, nothing came of it. The werewolves didn’t go in search of the fey or the gestohlen, a baby stolen at birth and raised by faeries, Mercer perceived him being.

  “The alpha recognized you, laddie,” Rufus said, turning his full attention on him.

  Wolffey licked his dry lips. Even dead, being dark fey kept Rufus from traveling Topside during the daylight. It was better the fey spirit didn’t know how many times he came in contact with the “now” alpha. He knew the risks in letting another werewolf close enough to smell that he wasn’t fey, yet he couldn’t side with the fey on this. He couldn’t kill Mercer.
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  “I know you’re still here, Wolffey.” Mercer shouted. His voice was gravely from sleep.

  Wolffey jerked back when Mercer looked upward. He could feel the alpha’s eyes staring at the ledge. His own attention drifted to the moon. Every werewolf knew the Long Horn lineage; knew that the Native Americans weren’t just regular werewolves. Skin Walkers were a different breed; closer to nature and the Lady Moon. They sensed things that others couldn’t, but Mercer shouldn’t have been able to sense him with this much distance.

  Rufus remained on the ledge, staring down. It wasn’t the moonlight that made his dragon wings glisten and glow with rainbow hues. It was brought on by his ghostly illumination. “Ye’re brooding bothers me more than when ye scream in sleep.”

  Wolffey frowned. There’d been a few times he’d woken with the fey sitting cross legged on his pillow, leaning in with his hands folded under his chin, staring. He sighed. “Stop watching me sleep. It’s creepy.”

  It was an old argument and one the spirit quickly dismissed. “Ye’r peaceful when ye’r napping.”

  “You can’t avoid me, Wolffey,” Mercer yelled.

  Wolffey knelt, fatigued and overly heated. “He saved my life. By fey law, I owe him a favor.”

  “Wolffey?” There was a hint of pleading in Rufus’s tone.

  He shook his head. “I’m not killing him. He’s bluffing. There isn’t a way he can find me.”

  And he had no intention of seeing what Mercer needed. In truth, the best gift he could give anyone was distance. He stood and stretched. If he was going to make the trade tonight, he had to find his contact.

  oOo

  Mercer shifted in the car seat, uncomfortable with the rolling nausea and fuzzy vision. His memory was muddled. He had Wolffey cornered in the hallway, and then he woke up alone. How he got from the alley to the car was a blur. Axel and Rider both held their heads in their hands trying to focus on not vomiting.

  “I never want to deal with the fey again,” Axel sighed. His phone lit up beside him, but he didn’t reach for it.