Werewolf Forbidden

by Christina E. Rundle

  “He’s not a rogue, Sadie,” Mercer hissed, past the point of annoyance. “He’s a gestohlen. There is a difference. After evaluation, he could still be placed with a host pack.”

  “I have never seen a werewolf with so many weapons. Surely you think that’s odd? What is he involved in that he needs that much protection?” she demanded.

  There was a shuffle and the door knob jiggled as Mercer took it. Wolffey pressed his back against the wall and thought hard about being on the other side. The darkness brightened as the door opened, then there was darkness again. He blinked in the haze of the room, realizing he was staring at a white wall with a framed photo.

  It was of his brothers, all of them, when they’d been kids. He’d been the smallest, hidden behind Wyatt during the photo, and most photos were similar. He hated looking at himself. He turned to see where he was. The room had a signal occupant who was currently present. He recognized the smell, but didn’t recognize her.

  A woman sat on the bed in a floral nightgown, looking years older with graying hair and sightless eyes. Her hands were clasped in her lap and she stared at the tree shadows swaying on the rug. Flower vases sat on the dresser giving the room an elegant fragrance. She swayed. Her song was so low, he couldn’t catch the tune.

  He knelt down in front of her and took her hand. There’d been so many nights when she left her children at Giordano’s mercy. The others were capable of disappearing until the danger was gone, but he’d been too small and sick, unable to hide. The fever or not, all the anger and resentment left him. He wanted to comfort her, but his world was full of blades and blood, comfort was something he wasn’t sure how to give.

  "Why do you sing such a sad song?" Wolffey asked.

  The woman's eyes were foggy and distant. He wasn't sure she even heard. He was surprised when she answered. "My son is dead and gone away."

  He took her hand. Her skin was cold. Werewolves should never be cold. Their blood ran hot in their veins; hotter still during the full moon. "By the grace of the Lord and Lady, you're son is nary dead.”

  She bruised her hand over his, and looked at him, but he wasn’t sure she was present. He raised a hand to her temple and she allowed it. Her head tilted into his touch and she returned it, tracing her fingers down his nose and over his jaw. He never allowed people to touch him.

  “You’re an alpha, but you aren’t Gio.” Her voice was distant. The wheels were turning, she was trying to piece it together, but couldn’t. He knew his looks had drastically changed.

  He leaned in and she leaned down so that his lips were next to her ear. He whispered the words so low, knowing with every heartbeat that what he was doing was wrong. He repeated the words until her aura went from lackluster to a soft glow.

  Wolffey quickly stood, catching her head as her eyes rolled back. When she woke from the fey spell, she wouldn’t quite be the same, but that piece of her brain wouldn’t connect why.

  “Things will be better for you, I promise,” he whispered against her hairline before he stood.

  The wall shook with a body slamming against it, rattling the pictures. He glanced at his mom, she didn’t stir. Through the thick wall, he heard the not so subtle sounds of two alphas in courtship.

  He’d spent enough time among howlers. Their culture was no longer his. He needed to complete his task, and if that meant finding another entrance into the room in Chancellor’s estate, than he would. Nothing was impossible. Aire’Si taught him that.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  He leaned into his closet, taking in the many scents that said the gestohlen was previously there. He touched the walls, not sure what he expected to feel, maybe the residual heat from the assassin. Sadie moved into the closet with him, her body slamming against his back, shoving him up against the wall.

  He braced himself and turned to face her, catching her arms. Her body was hot, but far softer than what he was used to. So what made his mind so foggy and him physically react to her pheromones? Her scent consumed the plume of orange blossoms.

  Her teeth grazed along his pulse and sank into his flesh. The sheer pain cleared his daze. Her eyes were dark with her inner spirit; her mouth was smeared with his blood. She was determined to bind them.

  “Sadie, wait.” He led her out of the closet where her smell was less concentrated. He never reacted like this to females before. His mind and body weren’t in agreement. “You need to find someone willing to bond with you. I’m not that person.”

  She wrapped her warm body against his and nuzzled her nose along his jaw, nipping playfully at his sensitive skin. Her hot mouth and sharp, playful bites urged his body to continue what she started. Her finger tips played at the line of muscle at his pelvis, softly rubbing tiny circles along his skin. The allure was growing stronger.

  “Sadie, stop,” he warned. This time he pushed her back a few feet.

  This tug of war between sudden urges was maddening. He shoved the drawers to his dresser open, grabbing clean clothes as he went, and wasted no time pulling them on. It was too late to wash her scent off. He needed to talk with Wolffey and they needed an action plan. The Ghost Moon was coming. He felt it in every fiber of his essence.

  Sadie braced herself in front of the door, straightening her clothes. Her lip stick was smeared around her mouth marking their actions. “You can’t seriously want that outsider? He’s trouble.”

  She had no idea how true that was. Wolffey rocked the fiber of their heritage. He wanted to pick his brain, to know what he saw and how much of the other worlds he experienced. Most of all, he wanted to convince the assassin that he belonged with the werewolves and with him.

  “He’s a rogue. The Mission should be told about him,” she hissed.

  Her comment left him bitter. The Mission would kill Wolffey, no questions asked. If he’d never met the assassin, he might agree. The young werewolf was responsible for a share of damage, but his personal desires could not comply with Mission laws.

  Tension tightened her shoulders when he stopped in front of her. He took in every aspect of her face. The edge of her eye twitched. “Nervous?”

  She frowned, slowing her breathing. He had to do the same because something in her scent changed his biological obsession. It was eerie and foreign.

  “This isn’t over. I won’t let you throw away your reputation for that rogue,” she promised

  The smell of orange blossoms and the sweet scent of chocolate lingered in the hallway. Wolffey came upstairs without a guard. The concern sent him down the steps. He didn’t want to find a reason to treat the assassin as a rogue.

  “Good, you’re ready. Rider’s got the car started. We have to hurry,” Wyatt said.

  “Where is Wolffey?” Mercer asked.

  The need for urgency exuded from his beta. He followed Wyatt’s gaze to the staircase where Sadie stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the banister. Mercer followed him outside, closing the door behind him. As promised, the betas were in the van waiting.

  “I placed one of Dax’s rodent tracers in Wolffey’s pocket when we were in the medical room,” Wyatt explained.

  “Clever,” Mercer answered as he climbed into the front passenger seat.

  The minute the door shut; Rider put his foot on the gas pedal. Dirt flew up around the wheels as they barreled over the unpaved road.

  Dax leaned over, handing him the black box with a screen that showed the circumference of a large area. The Fish and Wildlife Ranger had once explained this machine to him, and though it wasn’t overly complicated, he wasn’t sure about the distance. As if reading his thoughts, Dax explained. “He didn’t go far.”

  Mercer handed it back and tried to clear his thoughts. The morning light was just starting to burn off the predawn fog. The sudden flare of heat under his skin made him flip the air on its coldest setting. It wasn’t the werewolf that made him sweat; that was something he was far too familiar with. This was something different, something that left him mentally uneasy. Had he really been physically attract
ed to Sadie?

  “Are you okay?” Rider asked. They cleared the dirt road and merged with morning traffic.

  “Just feeling conflicted,” Mercer said. He’d never been attracted to women. Their scent never lured him.

  “Does it have something to do with that massive bite mark on your neck?” Axel teased from the back seat.

  Mercer flipped the car mirror down and looked at the puffy, swelling bruise around the broken skin in the curve where shoulder met neck. He didn’t remember Sadie biting that hard and directly on top of where Wolffey had initially bit him a decade ago. He growled under his breath. This didn’t change anything. He was interested in only one person.

  oOo

  “What was all that about,” Eva asked. She wore a spaghetti strap, gauzy sundress and full makeup. Her heels were two inches higher, but there was no one to flaunt herself in front of.

  Sadie put her hand up, stopping Eva dead in her tracks as she walked around her to the phone. Eva followed anyway.

  “Why do you smell like Mercer? What were you doing with him? When did you get a chance?” She hissed. Her eyebrows arched upward.

  “You can go home now,” she said.

  “We’ll see during the full moon,” Eva responded, turning her back and walking away.

  She wanted to jump to the challenge. No one would step in between two alpha females, but there was a much larger concern, one that had a better chance at winning Mercer, than Eva or her.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the number on the little sticky note in her handwriting. The phone rang once before it was picked up by a strong, baritone voice. Tristen was hardly a child, being older than her. She had to choose her words wisely, least he see her jealousy. He wouldn’t waste his time on pettiness.

  “Tristen, Mercer didn’t have time to call you. He’s chasing a rogue that he believes has a link to Hota’s disappearance,” she said.

  There was silence on the other end. She held her breath, waiting for him to ask questions she couldn’t answer.

  “Thank you for calling,” Tristen said.

  When he didn’t ask for an address, she continued. “He ran out of the house before I could find where he was heading.”

  “I can track his phone.” The reply was strident followed by a click. He hung up on her.

  She hung the phone up, hoping Tristen brought enough people to deal with the rogue. He wasn’t like others. He didn’t have that common madness in his eyes. He carried weapons and he moved like something out of a ninja movie.

  Shoot to kill, get rid of the danger, she prayed. Wolffey wasn’t going to have Mercer.

  oOo

  Sunlight changed the scent of the forest. It amplified the plant life. Aire braced himself with his stomach at the edge of the wood table and his nose flat against the board. He could smell the stench of past victims soaked into the wood. The sunlight didn’t touch him, but the lightened sky burned his sensitive eyes.

  He made a fist and yanked. The iron cuff slid deeper into his burned flesh. He opened his mouth to scream, but couldn’t catch his breath. When the throbbing dulled enough to think, it became apparent that unless he lost his hand, the cuff wasn’t coming off.

  The sun made his exposed skin tight. He squinted at the blisters bubbling on his arms. Bohu hadn’t left him without a way out. When the sun hit, it would damage his hand bad enough that he could slip it through the wrist hold. He’d be lucky if the healer could fix the damage, but it was a risk he had to take; his hand or his life.

  oOo

  Wolffey itched his nose, annoyed that smells weren’t as sharp as they had been before he’d been stung by the Beithir. His side throbbed and even standing in the shade didn’t ease his elevated temperature. He was thirsty again. That pain medication Wyatt gave him didn’t last long.

  Without his coat, he was forced to leave a majority of his larger blades and his bow in hiding. Being out in the open didn’t ease the feeling of unnecessary exposure, though he’d told Roxy to meet him at the center of the busy market place. The humans sold numerous things that caught his attention, from the food to the handmade crafts. The fey had far more delicate wares in their marketplace, but nothing compared to what the humans sold. It was a world he desperately wanted to remember and at the same time couldn’t help but shun.

  As time ticked on with no appearance of the robust warrior, a nagging voice in the back of his consciousness said that Roxy wasn’t coming. He bit his bottom lip and released it with force when he realized he was outwardly exhibiting anxiety, something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

  It was this city that left him feeling exposed. Wyatt saw through his persona. How much more was he willing to risk from being in his hometown?

  He’d give Roxy a few more minutes and then he had to find her. There was no room for glitches, not when death made the back of his tongue sour.

  “In Texas, we usually thank our host before we bail,” a deep, familiar voice rumbled at his back.

  Butterflies twisted in his stomach. He stomped them down as he turned to face a frustrated Mercer. His black hair was still wet and tied in a low ponytail, making his jaw line sharp. His betas stood behind him, looking a little less frazzled, but no less exhausted.

  “You don’t know when to leave it alone, alpha.” The growl was barely contained.

  “You’re right. I don’t,” Mercer said.

  “You daft howler!” His explosive anger surprised even him. He caught Rider looking at the crowd, but Mercer seemed less concerned with who heard the conversation. He took a step towards the alpha, keep his voice low. “I’m poisoned. I’m dying from a demon that is exactly the same species Chancellor merged with. It was luck and a hell of a lot of potion trades that I’m surviving right now. You’ll be dead on the spot. Are you taking your betas? Are you going to let them get killed too?”

  “Stop calling me howler,” Mercer’s tone was a little above a warning growl.

  “Then stop acting like one and think about what is best for your pack. You’re going to have to trust that when I get in there, I’ll look for your father. You don’t have the skills to fight Chancellor. Going in there untrained is suicide.”

  Mercer’s eyes darkened. “A feat you’ve already committed.”

  “Not intentionally,” though he had expected his chances were high when he went into the Beithir’s domain. It was a necessary evil.

  Mercer stepped into his space. “Listen here. I’ve complied with everything you’ve asked. Now I’m asking that you take me with you into her territory.”

  This was the wrong place for an argument, especially when Mercer smelled like the alpha female. His temples started to throb, forcing him to step away from the alpha. A change in the movement from the onlookers caught his attention. The crowd was very clearly trying to avoid someone.

  “Wolffey,” Mercer said.

  “Lotus.”

  “What?” Mercer said.

  The alpha moved at the edge of his vision drawing his attention. He stepped out of Mercer’s reach. “Not now. Don’t follow me,” Wolffey warned.

  “Wolffey, look out.” Mercer grabbed him by the arm, pushing him to the side.

  Air whizzed past his ear, a throwing star slammed into Mercer’s shoulder, knocking him back.

  The alpha hissed, and braced his feet to keep from going down. “What the hell!”

  The crowd panicked. Wolffey immediately stepped forward to assist, but Wyatt beat him to it. It was better this way. Helping others didn’t constitute survival. Turning his back on Lotus was dangerous.

  “Is that a throwing knife? Who uses those?” Axel asked.

  “Assassins,” Mercer answered. His eyes were on Wolffey. “Friend of yours?”

  “Don’t move so much,” Wyatt warned. “We need to get back to my lab.”

  Wolffey turned his back on the group and a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder. He expected Mercer, but it was Rider.

  “You’re coming with us,” Rider said, straight to th
e point.

  “Back off howler,” Wolffey warned. He glanced over his shoulder, but Lotus wasn’t currently insight.

  Wolffey spun, determined to locate Lotus in the crowd, if the assassin was still Topside. The man wasn’t fey, but his realm wasn’t here among the humans. What he didn’t expect were the men in suits that appeared alarmed as they rushed towards them. The Mission. There had to be at least twenty hard pressed betas with them.

  His heart slammed harder in his chest. Lotus he could deal with, the Mission he couldn’t. His childhood fear seized him. It was ridiculous. He handled demons. He wasn’t bound by the werewolf law.

  He took a step forward, not to greet them, or explain what he was doing. He would meet them head on, but any questions had to be dealt with later. He saw the movement, saw the flash of light as the bullet was dislodged from a gun, but he didn’t hear the blast.

  Pressure in his shoulder slammed him back against the beta. Arms closed around him, keeping him from sliding to the ground. He looked down at his body, half expecting the bullet missed him, but the fabric of his shirt glistened with blood.

  The initial disbelief made it difficult to register the inability to tighten his fist. The pain rocked his world, making it hard to catch his breath. Waves of pain clutched at his muscle. He was bleeding, but he couldn’t feel the wetness against the numb layer of his skin.

  He hissed, trying to shift from Rider’s grip. He didn’t have the strength to push him away, but when he reached with his good hand towards his dagger at the back of his pants, Rider gave him a shake.

  “Don’t be stupid,” his brother hissed. “This is the Mission.”

  “That means more to you than it does to me,” Wolffey answered. His head was filling with white noise.

  Mercer stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Mission. One hand remained on his shoulder. The throwing star had to hurt, but he faced off with the men in black suits. “Stop! We need him alive.”