Werewolf Forbidden

by Christina E. Rundle

  “Sayen-ael doesn’t give up on important things.”

  Wolffey buttoned his shirt and pulled on the soft black pants he wore when on missions. They were easy to move in, and flowed with his sharp movements. “I’m aware of that Rufus.”

  “Ye’r an easy target now, moving slowly the way ye are,” Rufus continued.

  Wolffey adjusted his weapons, ignoring the way his mind felt hazy. He didn’t feel as solid as he usually did. “I’m not moving slower.”

  “Sayen-ael would nary pull back without a reason.” Rufus took to the air, fluttering across the room. “Are ye going to see Lilith like this? Can ye fight her?”

  “I’m running out of time.” There’d been more than a handful of times, mostly when he was learning to be the assassin Sayen-ael wanted, that he felt death was close at hand. There’d been times he’d prayed for death to release him from the torture. This was different. He wanted time and it wasn’t there. “I will do anything to see this through.”

  Rufus’s settled onto the dresser between the two silver blades still lying on the black silk fabric. Wolffey strapped his blades lower on his waist, so the rubbing wouldn’t irritate the cuts. He took his rolled rope and hooked it to his belt. He pulled the quiver bag over his shoulders. The bow was flat and tucked in among the quivers. It was time to go.

  Aire’Si hadn’t taught him to manipulate the distance and realm traveling. He’d learned indiscreetly on his own from watching the younger guards in training. To see the fibers in the air that the fey saw, he had to take farther steps. A little research and a few trades gave him the opportunity to drop fey tears into his eyes. There was a high probability it would blind him. It hadn’t. To survive with the fey, he needed to be like them. Right now; not feeling or seeing the fibers left him distressed.

  “What’s wrong with ye?” Rufus asked, following him out into the humid night. “Ye can’t be out look’in for a fight.”

  The heat immediately dampened his skin. The motel was in a cleaner part of town. The air held the scent of humans; no fey or lycans. He took the steps slowly, feeling the pull in his tired muscles. Bohu gave him time, but he never said how much. It was easy to assume that the venom was attacking his neurosystem.

  He found a small patch of grass between the cement sidewalk and the parking lot, and planted his feet. Being surrounded by the cement jungle did little to free the vision he needed to see the fibers. Dread rolled heavily in his stomach. This was incredibly inconvenient. “It’s gone.”

  “What?” Rufus asked. The moonlight reflected through his wings, making them rainbow speckled.

  There was some relief that the fey sight wasn’t gone, or he wouldn’t see the spirit fey. This wasn’t defeat, just a setback. He was very close to having what he needed. “I need to open the door to Lilith’s.”

  “I should nary be suggesting this…” Rufus’s brows furrowed in thought. He licked his lips and clasped his hands. “The Texas alpha is a Skin Walker. Skin Walkers have certain abilities that are similar to the fey.”

  Wolffey shook his head and regretted it. He leaned with his back against a thin pillar to regain his senses. The motel room at his side was occupied. The television blared through the wall. Wolffey closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. “The werewolf is untrained. He has no potential… his father maybe.”

  A Mission Leader wouldn’t open a doorway to the demons. He’d have better luck knocking on the doorway and asking to be let in. He inwardly groaned. Knocking wasn’t going to get Lilith’s attention; sex would and he wasn’t willing to put himself in a position that foreign or personal.

  "I'm not a beggar and I'm not a fetch dog,” Wolffey growled.

  The curtains on the window were flung open and a man glared at him through the glass; human male, alone, not a threat. Wolffey pushed away from the pillar and started walking towards the edge of the parking lot where a fence cut off an abandoned gas station. On the other side of the gas station was a bus stop.

  The longer he remained in contact with Mercer, the higher his chances were that the alpha or one of his betas would remember who he was. The situation wasn’t ideal, but he needed someone sensitive to earth magic and the Skin Walker was available.

  “Where are ye going?” Rufus asked. He flew just above his head, keeping up with Wolffey’s pace.

  “The bus stop.”

  “Ye’re going to get arrested. Humans are very skittish about people dressed like ye. I’m nary caught up on my history lad, but ye’re gonna make them nervous.”

  “I can’t steal a car, Rufus. I don’t know how to drive.” Age didn’t stop his brothers from getting behind the wheel. They were troublesome at that age, doing what they wanted. He hadn’t shared their natural desire for trouble, though it found him.

  “I may be able to help,” Rufus said.

  Wolffey stopped. He was slow and he hated it. He’d never taken short cuts and he never asked for help. Now he was willing to do both to achieve his means. “How?”

  Rufus stopped fluttering and he put his hand out for the fey to land. The spirit floated onto his palm, but he felt nothing.

  “Ye have the sight lad. I can open the doorway between the living and the dead. Ye can travel through that door,” his brows furrowed in disapproval. “The Unseelie live among the dead, but nary like ye.”

  Wolffey frowned when he realized Rufus knew so much of my past. He’d traded his soul at the borderland outside the fey market where more than the fey often lingered. No one had been with him at the time. It was a secret he guarded, self preservation shortly after his first official solo assignment. Being a killer hadn’t boded well. He might’ve taken it farther than most, truly becoming as soulless as he felt.

  “You think I can travel through?” he asked.

  Rufus nodded, solemn. “Aye, I think ye could, but ye’ll be at risk and I can only do it once.”

  “Understood, Rufus. I appreciate your help.”

  SIXTEEN

  Mercer walked into the kitchen where his betas were gathered. He felt their eyes on the back of his head as he poked through the pots of food on the stove. More than a handful of pies cooled on one counter and plates of homemade bread were on the island counter. A number of dishes were being made to feast during the days and they’d hunt as a pack at night. The smells that permeated were heavenly.

  He ripped off a piece of bread and chewed it as he turned to his waiting betas. This close to the moon, it was dangerous leaving his pack without an alpha. Their instincts would control their ability to reason and he had to guide them, keep them from turning their energy towards each other or innocent humans.

  “Yes?” he asked, stuffing the rest of the bread in his mouth. It wasn’t enough. He lifted a pot lid, grateful for the hamburger meat, undercooked and heavily seasoned. He took a spoon and dish, filling it with the meat, a biscuit, green beans with sliced almonds and salad. It was a started.

  Rider cleared his throat. “What are you going to do with the collar?”

  Mercer sat his loaded plate on the counter. The question spun in his head. The Unseelie queen expected her pet to be delivered. He had no intention of completing that task. Wolffey was a werewolf and belonged with a pack, but what pack would take a gestohlen? The logical answer was none. Wolffey wasn’t trustable.

  “Wolffey knows a way into Chancellor’s. I trust him,” Mercer answered, forking the meat into his mouth.

  “Wolffey thinks he’s fey,” Wyatt said. “His allegiance is questionable.”

  Mercer nodded, halfhearted. The loyalty was there, even if Wolffey wasn’t aware of it. The bite mark wasn’t on his neck anymore, but the remnants of that deed was still present. Wolffey might not understand the werewolves, but he acted like one, still tried to battle it out for dominance.

  “I’ll work on a plan. He’s going to be back for that necklace,” Mercer said.

  The quiet was broken by Axel’s mobile phone jingling a flamboyant show tune, which was surprisingly unbefitting of someone as mas
culine as the firefighter. There was no mistaking the sly smile that spread across the youthful beta’s lips. There was only one man that made Axel smile like that; unfortunately, no one had ever met this guy that Axel fondly called Galaxy Man.

  “Excuse me gents,” Axel said, walking around Fallah who entered the kitchen and waited passively against the counter, away from them.

  Eva strolled in with velvet, spiked heels and a short black skirt. Her pheromones filled the space, nearly overpowering the smell of meat. The betas heads turned to her with apparent interest. Any male would be interested in the smell that was coming off her.

  “That’s an interesting ring tone,” she stated, stopping next to Mercer.

  Dax shrugged and slid off the counter. “Axel is a kept man, but we’ve never met his male companion.”

  “Huh?” Eva said, eyebrow raised and candy pink lips perked. “He doesn’t seem like the long-term type.”

  “It’s the longest relationship Axel’s ever been in, if that’s what it could be called. He’s sort of a high priced call for this older gentleman,” Briley said.

  “How do you know he’s an older man,” Dax asked.

  The brothers usually ripped on Axel when that ring tone had the firefighter skipping out of the room, in a rather masculine fashion.

  Now Wyatt’s head jerked towards the conversation. “How do you know? There are no photos on his phone.”

  “You go through his phone?” Fallah asked.

  Mercer shoved the food in his mouth. He was grateful the conversation eased into something less serious. He needed to think about his next move, something he’d been doing since he’d gotten back to the farm, but all possibilities for success lead to Wolffey.

  “You’re thinking about him,” Sadie said.

  The brothers grew quiet again. This wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have. He glanced up, catching Sadie’s eyes as she entered the room in a little less clothing than Eva; her scent no less powerful. He held her gaze, daring her to step beyond her limits within the pack dynamics.

  “Are you going to tell the Mission about the outsider?” Sadie asked.

  “Who is the outsider?” Eva asked. Her emphasis on outsider said she caught what Sadie was hinting at. Her smell changed; jealousy.

  “A threat,” Sadie said.

  “No,” Mercer answered. His hunger was gone. He dropped his fork onto the plate and pushed it to the side. “The Mission won’t take help and this is a desperate matter. Hota is alive and I’ll do anything to get to him.”

  His heart raced. It wasn’t the approaching full moon or the conversation. What he felt was foreign and yet, growing so familiar. His attention drifted to the window. The light inside reflected off the glass, making the world beyond dark and foreboding.

  Rider kicked away from the cabinet, putting his coffee mug down. “What’s wrong?”

  The group grew quiet, but the rest of the house was restless and loud. Music echoed upstairs, followed by laughter. The full house usually brought comfort and rightness. Right now, he wanted to be outside.

  “Wolffey’s here.” He started towards the living room and when they followed, he raised a hand, stopping them.

  His betas alone were daunting, but to have two alpha females, both in a challenging mood, could quickly antagonize his fragile partnership with the assassin. He needed Wolffey to get to Hota. That’s all he needed him for… so why was there a smaller part of him that wasn’t entirely convinced?

  “Let me talk to him alone.”

  Axel immediately stood from the couch, fully alert. The phone was still pressed to his ear, the speaker raised slightly upward. Before he could end his call, Rider gave him a signal to fall back. Mercer caught the door and pulled both the door and the screen shut. With the noise inside, he doubted anyone could hear what they spoke about.

  With the moon low, his eyes adjusted. The assassin stood with his back at the door, staring at the cars, or the forest. It was difficult to tell. From behind, he looked as he always did, minus the long duster. He wore sleek, black Arabian pants, a black, shirt with a thin collar that was buttoned despite the humid night air and soft, fitted, black leather boots. His straight, long brown hair was tucked inside the black turban that covered his ears and neck. This was the outfit he usually encountered the gestohlen in, when trouble was following.

  Wolffey turned to greet him. His skin was paler, almost ashen and his eyes lost their inner spark. He didn’t need doctor’s training to know something was wrong. He was becoming addicted to the way his heart raced when Wolffey was present. This obsession with the assassin went on far too long and his feelings were too intricate to unravel over night. The few times he dealt with the assassin, this was the first he’d seen such open observation returned.

  “You need to come with me,” Wolffey said.

  Mercer stepped to the edge of the porch. The night hummed with bugs. The forest surrounding their lot was dark, but nothing stirred. He didn’t realize until now that Fallah’s warnings had left him with goose bumps.

  “It doesn’t work like that. I’m an alpha. I give orders.”

  “You’re not my alpha. I hail to no howler,” Wolffey said.

  His statement would be considered a challenge; however, he accept Wolffey’s lack of knowledge on werewolf hierarchy. It was the way he breathed the words, like there was nothing more monotonous than having to speak to a werewolf.

  Mercer took the first step down from the porch. “Technically, gestohlen, you are fair game to any alpha who wishes to reform you.”

  Wolffey cracked a ghost of a smile. It was slight, but a small victory.

  His alpha instincts demanded he make good on his threat in reforming the gestohlen. It would be a fight for dominance. The assassin wouldn’t bare his neck and the young man could hold his own. It was the uncertainty of the outcome and the desire to be victorious that made him want Wolffey even more.

  “I need the second half of the key. It’s similar to the one you possess,” Wolffey finally answered. He licked his lip. “I need both parts.”

  “You need me to get the other key?”

  Wolffey frowned. “You’re too smug alpha. I don’t need you for anything; it would take longer than I’m willing to wait if I go alone.”

  There was more to it, but Mercer didn’t press. “I’ll get my betas.”

  “No, we don’t need them.” Wolffey stepped forward and immediately stopped, eyeing the door just behind Mercer before his attention drifted upwards to the second story windows. Doubt flickered for a fraction of a second, before the assassin was once again expressionless. “I need you to open a doorway. That is the extent of your necessity to me.”

  “And you’re going through the doorway unaccompanied? In my experience, if you need someone once, you’ll need them again. Werewolves are pack animals. We do better as a group,” Mercer said.

  “For the wellbeing of all involved, I go alone. Opening the doorway is your only task,” Wolffey said.

  Mercer took the steps down off the porch, arms crossed. “Are we traveling your way?”

  Wolffey was pale. He looked exhausted. The skin under his eyes was starting to look bruised. “No. We travel like topsiders.” At Mercer’s raised brow, Wolffey waved a hand at the vehicles. “The metal death traps.”

  “The car?” Mercer asked, pulling his keys from his pocket.

  “Tedious, I know.”

  Mercer tried to gauge if the assassin was joking. “Why do you consider cars a death trap?”

  Wolffey stayed rooted where he stood, never answering as Mercer crossed over to his truck. Dust settled on the black paint, making it dull in the soft gray moonlight. He waited patiently, catching the passenger side door and opening it. The assassin didn’t comment as he crossed over to the truck, pausing with a hand on the seat. The lavender ring that circled the younger werewolf’s pupils was thin, nearly concealed by his golden, speckled irises.

  There was a comment lingering there, but it went unspoken as Wolffe
y climbed into the car, caught the door and shut it. Mercer slid in on the driver’s side, trying to forgo the humor that immediately turned lustful when the soft plume of orange blossoms filled the car. This was worse than dealing with his unwanted houseguests and their strong pheromones. He was far more attracted to this smell.

  “Where are we headed?” Mercer asked, sticking the key into the ignition.

  Wolffey’s hand tightened on the door handle, the other was balled and pressed into the seat. His face remained neutral, though his body said he was less than comfortable. “It’s not well marked; drive and I’ll tell you where to pull off.”

  oOo

  Driving was a bad idea. Not only did it dredge up memories Wolffey had tried hard to bury, it made him far too aware of the howler beside him. Many years ago, right before he’d been taken by the faeries, he’d been in a car. At the age of twelve, that had been his first car ride and his last.

  Mercer’s scent brought no comfort. Neither did the lull of the engine humming up through the seats. He was losing control over his feelings and control was his strongest assist. He blamed the fever, because if it wasn’t the fever than his strong tenacity was unraveling.

  He kept his attention firmly on the road, searching for the twisted trees at the edge of the dirt path that marked the area Dryer had parked so many years earlier. In the dark, all the trees looked the same. His muddled mind kept circling back to a topic he refused to get bogged done by, and he feared he missed the marker.

  “Where is the other half of the key?” Mercer asked.

  Wolffey debated explaining this to the alpha. The less Mercer knew about the demon realm, the better. He was about to tell Mercer to turn around when he saw the two twisted trees with wood so black one would think it had been in a fire.

  “Pull over right here,” Wolffey said, nodding his chin at the edge of the road.

  Mercer eased the truck over and cut the engine and lights. The darkness immediately consumed them. The heavy hum of insects invaded the quiet lull in the car. Wolffey fisted his hand to still the tremble. When it eased, he pulled the door open and slid from the seat. He came around the side and joined Mercer. His memories of this place were both exhilarating and overwhelming.