Dire Needs: A Novel of the Eternal Wolf Clan

by Stephanie Tyler

  Rifter kissed her neck, licked the water and Gwen’s scent and fought the urge to bite her, to mark her, because she wasn’t ready for that yet. But soon…

  As if she read his mind, she murmured, “You can get me through this. I can get myself through. I promise, Rifter—I’ll come back to you.”

  He wanted to believe her, had no choice but to do so. He embraced her more tightly and felt a newfound strength radiating from her, and he buried his face in her neck. She was all cherries and tart—sweet like sugar. “We’ll do it together.”

  He carried her then, picked her up while she held tight to him, her face buried in his chest as if not wanting to break the skin-to-skin connection. The light rain pattered on their bodies, soaking them through to the skin, but Rifter didn’t walk faster. This walk was part of his commitment to her as much as their time in bed had been—the cycle had begun and there would be no turning back for either of them. Not now, not ever, and he needed his brothers—everyone—to know it.

  And then, just as suddenly as the rain began, it stopped like someone had turned off a showerhead. He looked up to watch the clouds dissipate quickly, revealing a day that had already nearly waned into night—but a clear night.

  The bad energy was gone, replaced by a calm, clear evening.

  He stopped and howled, and it was no longer mournful despite the hardships that lay ahead.

  He’d found his mate. And he never intended to let her go.

  Chapter 31

  Vice and Jinx watched the interplay on the lawn, more for Rifter’s and Gwen’s safety than anything. Vice didn’t mind being a voyeur, but this scene made his heart hurt.

  At some point, Jinx turned his back. Privacy… and because he was grinding his teeth together. But Vice couldn’t. And as Rifter walked toward the house, the sun broke through the clouds, the rain ceased and it was daylight again.

  Jinx stared out the side window at the patch of sunlight playing across the floor. “Whatever the spell was, it didn’t take.”

  “Do you think… Rifter stopped it?” Vice asked.

  That gave Jinx pause, and Vice continued, “You heard Rifter say she was his. That the mating process had already started. Mating always made Dires stronger. What if it intensified whatever magic Rifter’s got going on with his abilities? We don’t know what that shaman did to him.”

  “If even that’s true, it doesn’t mean Seb won’t keep trying,” Jinx pointed out.

  “We’ll try harder.” He thought about how shitty he’d been to Rifter when he’d told Vice that Gwen was dying and vulnerable.

  Vice would be the only one to come right out to Rifter and tell it like it was. He couldn’t help himself. The lack of finesse was his curse and his gift, what drew people to him instead of repelling them.

  It was Vice’s destiny, but none of them had quite figured out what to do with it, including him.

  Jinx was staring at him.

  “What?” he asked irritably.

  “You really think the spell was broken because of whatever’s happening between Rifter and Gwen?”

  “I think love can do anything when it’s strong enough.”

  “And you know what that’s like?” Jinx asked, with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I do.”

  It was the first time Vice had ever admitted to something like that. He looked at Jinx, who tried not to appear stunned and didn’t succeed.

  “Not a word,” Vice warned, and Jinx nodded but still asked, “How do you handle it?”

  “Obviously, not well.” Vice’s hands shook a little, and he stuffed them into his pockets, hoping Jinx wouldn’t ask who.

  He didn’t, instead asked, “The mate thing… do you think, one day, for us?”

  “For me, never. I can’t be tied to one person without cheating. For you, I hope so, brother. Goddamn, I hope so.”

  Even as Seb chanted in the spell circle, the candles around him flickered and the disturbance raced through his body like a fever. He paused and realized the rain had ended—the raising of the Dire army would not be completed tonight.

  There was a far more powerful energy overpowering it, and Seb could imagine what it was. But when his familiar flew in the window, he knew he’d been right.

  The damned raven had been following him since he was six years old. Had been there when he was running with the wolves. Looked at him sadly now even as it remained loyal.

  “You’re free to go anytime,” he told it, the way he had every day since he’d been shackled by invisible chains that led to hell.

  But the raven stuck around. Didn’t understand that loyalty never got anyone anywhere but hurt.

  Mars barged in moments later, although Seb had lectured him many times about not walking in during the casting of a spell, and the raven, who hated Mars more than Seb did, made a graceful exit. “Why did the weather change? I thought you could control this.”

  “The spell doesn’t work if something the Dires do overpowers it. Good versus evil—it’s all about the balance,” Seb explained.

  “I don’t need this hocus-pocus shit.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought witches to help you.” His jaw ached from clenching so he wouldn’t say more. He was dying here, and not all that slowly.

  Mars touched a hand to his cheek, and Seb remained still even though he wanted to recoil from the touch. When it drifted to his neck and down his chest, he tried not to panic.

  “I can try the spell again,” he said, hoping to distract Mars. One of these days, that would no longer work.

  “If this doesn’t happen soon, baby, I’ve got to ask the witches to attach your curse to any weretrappers and Weres killed by the Dires,” Mars whispered, an excitement in his eyes at the blending of sex and death.

  Seb might as well really be dead if they did that.

  “I think this might help you instead,” Mars said, began to chant in a way that made Seb turn cold. It was the punishment long promised to him, a spell attaching a demon to him that could have come only from Cordelia. His sister was finding a way to reach out and hang on to him from inside her grave, and since Mars was half-possessed himself, the spell would hold—and Seb was powerless to do anything about it.

  The demon wouldn’t possess him—not in the traditional ways, because that would make it too hard to control Seb. No, this demon would be more like Seb’s keeper, meting out punishments when Seb even thought about doing something wrong.

  Seb cleared his mind of anything the demon might latch onto, felt the black smoke rise around his body even before it floated up around his face and brushed his neck.

  “I know you’ll do the right thing,” Mars practically purred against his cheek. “This is just some added incentive.”

  Mars’s eyes were nearly pitch-black. Seb knew, in a few days time, his would resemble them and he wouldn’t care if he ended up in bed with Mars or not.

  Chapter 32

  Gwen was unstable—no doubt ready to shift. Max had seen enough young wolves in her short time among Liam’s pack to sense these things, but it was so apparent a blind person could note it.

  It would be tough for the doctor, although the Dires seemed to have accepted her.

  Vice, on the other hand, wanted to rip Max apart. Maybe she should’ve tempted him enough to let him. Maybe her son would never be accepted by Liam or the pack.

  She’d watched the horrific fight last night from the single, barred window that faced the large backyard. Even in the dark, she could make out the shift. The man-to-wolf thing had at first shocked her, and later, she began to understand the wolf’s nature.

  Liam could kill her easily, was supposed to, when she’d discovered his wolf status—it didn’t matter that he’d been the one to reveal that secret.

  Now Max looked at the secret swell she’d been hiding under her scrubs and sweats. She’d grown out of her jeans within two weeks’ time.

  It was lucky she was the only wolf in the hospital. The ob-gyn had given her an ultrasound, pronounced her
very early on. Way too early for the doctor to have seen anything out of the ordinary. Another week into the pregnancy and the fetus would have shown anomalies.

  But they didn’t deal with wolf gestations, which took place over a much shorter period of time.

  She was due in three weeks, her nesting instincts in overdrive… and she’d lost the leader of her pack and the man she loved in quick succession.

  There was a place for her in the outlaw order. If Teague came now to rescue her, would she take his offer and leave with him?

  It was a question she hoped she wouldn’t have to answer.

  “This can’t be possible,” the police officer was saying as he motioned to the dead girl’s body when FBI agent Angus Young came on the scene. One flash of the badge and the local law scowled. “Really? You like AC/DC that much?”

  “It’s a family name,” Angus said for the hundred millionth time in his life. The damned band never died—he’d be better off changing his name. Except it helped to get him laid and comped hotel rooms at times.

  He was tall and angular—not exactly handsome, but he was rugged enough that women were drawn to him. He was convinced the opposite sex scented danger and were equal parts attracted and repelled by him. “Just tell me what you’ve got here.”

  “Nothing the feds should be interested in.”

  He stared at the man’s badge. Officer Leo Shimmin. Now, that couldn’t be coincidence. The paramilitary organization he’d been watching for the past ten years had a man with the same unusual last name. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

  “A young girl was found murdered in the woods.”

  If Angus investigated, he’d bet the woman’s heart was missing. The MO would match the string of murders that matched heavy metal band Knives ‘n’ Tulips’ yearlong concert across the U.S. Angus had tracked murders through Europe and Canada as well, but he’d never been able to pin anything on his main suspect, the band’s lead singer, named Harm. And he’d tried on many occasions.

  He tried harder now that the murders hadn’t stopped when the band broke up.

  “Could be a crazed fan. Or a roadie,” his longtime partner, John Paxton, liked to point out.

  They were all young, dark-haired women. Definitely Harm’s type, if the dating life sprawled across the tabloids was any indication. “Was she a brunette?” he asked now, and Shimmin nodded.

  “Suspects?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the young man in handcuffs. “We found him at the scene, standing over the body.”

  Angus looked at the young man standing there calmly. “He doesn’t look bloody.”

  “We found her blood on his hands and the sleeves of his shirt. He claims he was walking home and was about to call 911 when we happened on the scene. I’m bringing him in for questioning,” the officer said, showed him the kid’s ID. According to his license, the young man, named Cain Chambers, was twenty years old, the address an apartment building off Fifth Street.

  Angus made a mental note to swing by there later. “And you think he killed her and hung around, waiting to get caught?”

  “Her body’s still warm—I think we surprised him. Got a call from a concerned pedestrian who heard screams coming from this part of the woods.” Shimmin shook his head. “Guy already lawyered up and demanded his phone call. Just kept repeating his lawyer’s name and number.”

  Angus stared down the young man, who returned the gaze without fear, and wondered what kind of trouble Cain Chambers got into on such a regular basis that he had his lawyer’s phone number memorized.

  Chapter 33

  Once Rifter had carried her inside, he’d gotten her towels and dry clothes. Gwen sat in front of the fireplace next to him and ate at his urging. It didn’t take much, because her stomach was growling. The Dires and the Weres were in the house but giving them their privacy, and she and Rifter were mainly silent while they finished their food.

  He’d kept a hand on her thigh the whole time, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

  “It’s like, how was there an entire underground, a subculture subsisting—existing—along with us?” she asked finally, her voice still tinged with disbelief even though she was now living, breathing proof of it. “I mean, maybe, when you kissed me that first night…”

  “Werewolves are born, not made. That whole bitten shit’s a myth,” Rifter told her roughly. “If a wolf bites you hard enough, you die. You won’t be lucky enough to turn into one.”

  These men were proud of what they were—they didn’t skulk in dark corners because they were ashamed, but because of safety reasons. Because no human on this earth could truly accept them.

  “Werewolves and witches and… ghosts?”

  “Vamps too. All things that go bump in the night,” Rifter agreed, and the scientist in her wanted to say no, it wasn’t possible.

  The wolf inside of her simply howled, like it was laughing at her confusion, though not unkindly. She had little choice—she could die on the pills or off them during the shift. “If my shift is… successful, then what?”

  “You have to shift at least three times,” he said. “After that, your Sister Wolf’s stable. After that, technically, you have to go on your Running. But it’s too dangerous to let you free in the world now.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  He gave a wan smile. “I’d go with you. We’ll go when this has all calmed down.”

  “They say you’re king.”

  “Only because Harm renounced the title. He always felt more at home with humans than with wolves. He always said that being king would be like a death to him.”

  “Your brothers don’t seem to think you’re second choice. Neither does Liam. They have so much respect for you as a leader.”

  “I didn’t want the job, but I do it for all of them,” he said. “I was the next choice in the mind of the Elders.”

  “I can imagine it’s not easy leading,” she said cautiously.

  “Nothing about being dual natured is easy. It never should’ve been,” Rifter said. “We pay for our primal urges.”

  She believed it, since she felt like she was already paying.

  She could barely keep her eyes open, even though her mind was spinning.

  “You should rest,” Rifter told her. “We’re going to have more company—with the paranormal activity, you’ve got to keep holding your shift off until we can eliminate some of this danger.”

  She nodded because she understood the severity of the situation, but whatever was happening inside of her was becoming constant and persistent. Her back was sorer by the second, and even the well-worn soft cotton shirt of Rifter’s was bothering her. She planned on sleeping naked against the clean, soft sheets of his bed.

  She let him lead her upstairs, the rest of the men planning on staying up all night to guard the house and the property. When they got into the room, the first thing she did was take the shirt off, and his gaze grazed her body appreciatively. “Goddamn it, I want you so bad.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “You. Sometimes it can… bring on your shift sooner. I don’t want that to happen until we’re more prepared.”

  “I thought the next full moon is at the end of the month—the blue moon.”

  “You won’t last twenty-four hours. Your wolf’s been suppressed for too long. Besides, Dire wolves never needed the moon for their first shift. It’s going to happen soon. I recognize the changes,” he told her. “It’s in the way you’re moving. Your eyes. Your skin. I can’t believe I was so blind to it.”

  He turned her bare back to the mirror and she looked over her shoulder. The odd bruising was giving way to the shape of a wolf. Decidedly more feminine than Rifter’s, but still large enough to cover her back. And the eyes—she saw an outline of them…

  “Her eyes don’t… shine.”

  “They will,” he assured her. Ran a light hand over her newfound glyphs, and she shivered as something fluttered inside of her.

  She
wasn’t alone in her body anymore, and it was strange and wonderful. “Tell me what it’s like.”

  “It’ll scare you.”

  “Then I’ll ask your brothers—they’ll be honest,” she countered, and that was true.

  “You can ask them tomorrow,” he said, then literally picked her up and put her into bed. But then he joined her and she put her hand on the tribal wolf by his collarbone.

  “Will I have one of these as well?”

  “This is a real tattoo, not a glyph,” he explained. “I got it so I would always be mindful of my ability, partly to remind myself that I’m both cursed and blessed. My brothers got the same one, in solidarity, even though they all were born with their abilities and I was literally cursed with mine.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever heard of the berserker legend? It was reported to have started during the Viking times. Except there was no such thing. See, we fought next to the Vikings. The legend said it’s men who went crazy during the heat of battle—the only thing they were wrong about was that it wasn’t only men. There were Dires involved. They had the moon craze. The berserkers slaughtered the family of a skinwalker. He survived and cursed me with dreamwalking. It’s something I can’t control. I get pulled into people’s dreams, feel their pain.”

  “Humans too?”

  “Yes, but I’d have to know them pretty well, and that usually doesn’t happen.” He glanced at her with a wry smile. “I was given the powers of a skinwalker, which lets me dreamwalk and dreamcatch. Getting yanked into a dream that wasn’t mine is really jarring—to feel the pain, fear, longing, is what twists me around the most. When I was young, it freaked my parents out—I used to wander in their minds when I was little. When I could talk about what I’d seen, things got really uncomfortable.”

  “That must’ve made for some interesting show and tell,” she said. “Unless… do wolves go to school?”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up. “We do.”

  “With… real people?”