by Terry Spear
“See you Monday.”
“Be careful, Bella. You never know where that maniac will end up.”
“I’ll be cautious. Got to go.”
Bella hung up the phone and zipped her suitcase. Before it turned dark she had every intention of searching the woods for further clues concerning the red lupus garou—not a wild dog, a mixed wolf-dog breed, or as some thought, a pit bull that some bastard had trained to kill his victims—that might be killing the women.
Why had she caught the scent of red lupus garou in the area near her cabin now, when the woods had been free of their kind for the last three years? She envisioned a lone female wouldn’t stand a chance at remaining that way. Her stomach curdled with the idea that she’d have to give up her cabin and find a new place to run. Just one more concern to add to her growing list of worries.
Later that day, when Bella arrived at her cabin, the waning moon called to her though it was still fairly light out. She tilted her nose up to the breeze, standing on the porch of her cedar home in the woods, the building now a faded gray. It served as her hideaway on the weekends when she lived on the wild side, away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Portland. She would be the right age to be Volan’s mate, if he ever found her. Smiling at how clever she had been to avoid him, the smile faded as a coyote howled. She wasn’t meant to be a rogue wolf, living alone without a pack. Some were naturally geared that way. Not her.
More than that, Devlyn still held her heart hostage, damn him. She could still feel the way his strong fingers had gripped her shoulders with possessiveness, smell his feral craving to have her, feel his heart thundering when he crushed her against him. Why couldn’t he have run with her?
She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts of the one who’d possessed her soul since the beginning.
It wasn’t that she didn’t care for the gray wolf pack, the lupus garou family who had taken her in. It was the unfathomable notion that she’d have been Volan’s mate that fired her soul to the depths of hell. Stronger than the rest, he wasn’t brighter, nor caring in the least bit. Just a bully, such as in ancient times when the strongest men ruled. Why couldn’t she find a mate who would treat her as ... as ... an equal?
Somewhere, such a male had to exist.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled off her sweater, turtleneck, denims, and hiking boots, and dropped them on a porch chair. Standing naked, she shivered, then breathed in the heavenly scent of pine needles, the smell once again triggering the memory of Devlyn kissing her. No man since had kissed her like he had.
She gritted her teeth and swallowed hard. He stirred primal longings in her too strong to quench. The desire to feel him deep inside her, filling her with his seed, producing their offspring, their family—sharing a lifetime commitment as mates forever—overwhelmed her. But he wasn’t the leader of the pack. Even if she wanted Devlyn for her mate, she didn’t think he’d ever be strong enough to have her. Yet, she couldn’t help but keep in touch with Argos, the old former leader of the pack. Knowing Devlyn was alive and well...
She growled with exasperation. For now she had to hunt like a wolf, and in the interim, search for a different prey—the feral predator that stalked human redheaded females and murdered them like a rabid wolf.
Stretching again, her lean body began to take the form of the wolf. The painless transformation always occurred quickly and filled her with a sense of urgency—to hunt, to run wild among the other creatures of the forest.
A thick cinnamon-red pelt covered her skin as her nose elongated into a snout, and her teeth grew ready for the hunt. She straightened her back, howled with the change, then dropped to her paws. Her nails extended into sharp claws, itching to dig into the pine needle cushioned earth.
Though she preferred venison to rabbit, she hunted the latter. Killing deer out of season constituted a crime. If anyone found the leftovers of such a kill, an investigation would follow. Soon word would spread that a wolf was killing deer in the area. A wolf that might next go after ranchers’ sheep or cattle, or household pets, or children. A wolf thought to be extinct in these parts.
Leaping off the porch, her long legs carried her with graceful bounds through the wilderness. She traveled through several hundreds of acres before spying another cabin—quiet, vacated. Since it was winter and no longer hunting season, except for the end of dusky Canadian goose season, she shouldn’t glimpse another human being.
She thought she caught a whiff of something familiar. Pausing, she sniffed the air, and recognized the distinctive smell of lupus garou—red lupus garou.
Loping toward the origin of the scent, she darted past pines and firs, ducked beneath low-hanging branches, jumped a moss-covered log in her path ... then halted.
A patch of red fur clung to the bark of an oak. Definitely red wolf; and because none existed here, it had to be a red lupus garou’s.
She contemplated returning to her human form and taking the evidence back to her cabin, but she was miles from there, and as cold as it was, her human counterpart probably wouldn’t make it.
The breeze shifted. She smelled the red’s scent stronger now. He’d just urinated somewhere nearby, marking his territory. She hesitated. If he were looking for a mate, she’d be a prime target; and if he were an alpha male, she wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him if he decided to force a mating.
Leaves rustled. A twig snapped underfoot a short distance away. A chill raced all the way down her spine to the tip of her taut tail. An eerie feeling she was being watched froze her in place.
What if he was the killer? What if he was hunting her now? But what if she could lure him into the open, play his game, and turn him over to whatever pack happened to live in the area? Even if he were a loner, the pack in the territory would condemn him to die. Killing humans put every lupus garou at risk. Keeping their secret hidden was the only way for them to survive.
Then again, he might just be a pack member hunting for fresh meat—enjoying the freedom of the change like she was—who had come across her, a loner lupus garou violating the pack’s territory. Unless ... unless their reds had a shortage of females like the Colorado grays did, and...
Damn, why hadn’t she considered that before now?
She stared into the shadowy woods where bugs cricketed in a raucous chorus and a breeze ruffled the pine needles in a whispered hush. If there was a severe shortage of female lupus garou, was the killer trying to turn a human female in the ancient way? To make her his mate? Not good.
She dashed to where he’d left his mark. No sign of him. But the urine was fresh. Too fresh. He had to be close by, but if he were stalking her he couldn’t be an alpha male. An alpha male would have already approached her and let her know he wanted her, if he needed a mate. He had to smell how ripe she was and know she was ready, too. Was that why he went after female humans, because they were easier to take than a lupus garou? Maybe he was afraid to advance on a loner who was more feral, warier, more unpredictable.
She caught the scent of another. Also male. Except for twitching her ears back and forth and withdrawing her panting tongue, she listened and sniffed the air but stood in place.
She smelled—water.
Swallowing, she felt parched, and loped toward the sound of Wolf Creek, the water bubbling nearby. At the fringe of the forest she hesitated, not liking the way the stream’s banks were so exposed. For several minutes she stood watching, listening for signs of danger— human danger.
Nothing.
The water beckoned to her. She swallowed again, stared at the rush of the stream, then walked cautiously across the pebble bank.
Unable to shake the feeling that someone watched her, she waited like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, cemented in place.
Ice-cold water from melting snow off the mountains dove over rounded rock. She dipped her tongue into the water and lapped it up; the liquid cooled and soothed her dry throat.
She couldn’t help wishing she were back in Colorado, running with Devlyn
like they’d done when they were younger—chasing through the woods, nipping at each other’s hindquarters, feeling the wind ruffle their fur. God, how she wished he’d mated with her.
Water trickled and gurgled at her feet, birds chirped overhead, and sugar-drained oak leaves rustled in the breeze all around her. But then a flash of red fur caught her attention, and she turned.
The glitter of the sun’s fading reflection off a wolf’s amber eyes captured her, held her hostage, but her gaze held him captive, too. But only for a moment. His head whipped to the side. Another flash of fur, and another male appeared. Then, the wave of a wolf’s tail as the lupus garou made a hasty retreat. She should have heeded the instinctual warning. Instead, she gauged the remaining wolf’s posture, the way he turned his attention back to her, closed his mouth, and almost seemed to smile before dashing after his companion.
The crashing through the underbrush couldn’t hide the most dangerous sound known to wildlife—a trigger clicking on a rifle. Nothing could disguise the sound of death.
Immediately her tail stood upright, and the hair on her back and neck stood on end.
A chill hurtled down her spine and she dashed through the creek, her heart thundering. Her ears twisted back and forth, trying to identify where the hunter stood. The sound of a crack rang across the woods and open area, and a sharp pain stabbed her in the left flank. She stumbled ... then attempted to dash off again, her leg numbed with paralysis.
The hunter shouted, “He’s still going! I’ve never seen a red wolf that big! Shoot him again!”
Idiots. They couldn’t kill her with normal bullets. Running for several yards, she reached the edge of the forest, but the guarded relief she felt withered when the men splashed across the creek in hot pursuit of her. She sprinted north toward her cabin, miles away. Except going this way meant she had to cross the river. Then again, she could ford it, while she doubted they could.
“Hurry!” one of the men shouted, his voice rife with enthusiasm, but shadowed with a hint of concern.
She would have clenched her teeth in anger, but she was panting too hard. Her movements slowed. Even her brain fuzzed, and her eyesight blurred. Ripping out their throats came to mind, if they got close enough. The primal instinct for self-preservation voided out the ruling drummed into her that her kind didn’t kill humans; keeping their existence a secret outweighed the importance of the life of any single lupus garou.
“Tag him before he reaches the river! We don’t want him drowning!” the same man shouted.
Another crack. Another stab of pain. This time her right flank. She stumbled when her back legs gave out. What had they shot her with? She panted, her heart racing as she tried to keep her wits.
The men crashed through the brush toward her. Their boots impacting with the earth radiated outward and the tremor centered in her pads. She struggled to run. Her heart rate slowed.
“Man, oh, man, I told you, didn’t I, Thompson? He’s beautiful,” a tall man said, wearing camouflaged gear, his dark hair chopped short, the bill of a camouflaged baseball cap shading his eyes. He approached her with caution.
She gave him a feral look that meant danger and dragged her back legs. Work, damn you! Work! But no matter how much she willed her legs to push her forward, she couldn’t manage. She sat, panic driving her to run, but unable to oblige as a strange numbness slipped through her body. No longer able to sit up, she rolled over onto her side. And watched the hunters approach with murder in her eyes.
“Damn! He’s the biggest red wolf I’ve ever seen, Joe,” Thompson said as both drew closer ... cautiously ... the smell of fear cloaking them. He was dressed like the other, only his blue eyes were wide with excitement.
She lifted her head, snarled, and snapped her teeth, but the futile effort cost her precious energy. Exhausted, she dropped her head back to the forest floor, the bed of pine needles tickling her nose.
Joe crouched at her back, then pulled something from her hip. A dart, not bullets. Damn. Her heart beat so slowly she thought she’d die.
“You sure as hell were right that a red wolf prowled these parts. But they’ve been extinct for years. How in the hell did he get here? I mean, he couldn’t have traveled all the way from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.” Joe smelled of sweat and sex and a musky deodorant that wasn’t holding up under the pressure; nor was his flowery cologne hiding the body odor.
Thompson, a blond-haired, bearded man, smelled just as sweaty and virile, but he wore no artificial sweeteners to attract the female variety. She could hear his heart hammering against his ribs when he raised her back leg.
Unable to lift her head, she snarled, but the sound, muffled in sleep, didn’t have the threat she intended.
“He’s a she. Damn. How’d a female ever grow this big?”
She growled, priding herself in being a red wolf, and small. Sure, for a real wolf she appeared big, but as a lupus garou...
He ran his hand over her hind leg. If she hadn’t seen him do it, she’d never have realized it, as numb as her leg was. “Long legs, best looking red pelt I’ve ever seen on a feral wolf.” He looked over at the dark-haired man. “She’s in heat, Joe. We’ll have to find her a mate.”
Mate? Great. If they locked her in a room with a real red wolf ... ohmygod, they couldn’t be planning on taking her to a zoo?
“That’d be the ticket.” Joe lifted a cell phone to his ear. “Hey, we got her! Yeah, the wolf’s a she, not a he as I’d assumed. No shit! I told you I’d seen her running through here last weekend.”
Why hadn’t she seen these men? Smelled their pungent odors? Heard them?
She had let down her guard, and now she would pay. “Yeah, she’s a big one.” Joe nodded. “We figured one dart would be enough ... took two.” He ran his hand over her side. She attempted her most terrifying growl, but it sounded more like a sickly, low moan. “Maybe 110 pounds, more the size of a gray.” He chuckled. “I know, I know, I told you she’s big. No, not fat. Lean as they come, just longer legged and longer bodied, and she has the prettiest red pelt you ever did see.”
He ran his hand over her back. “Okay, we’ll pack her out of here. Be there in about three hours; longer, if she comes to. The tranquilizers each were set for a 40-pound wolf, not one as big as she is. But we didn’t want to overdo it. And let ’em know Big Red can have a mate now. No need for the Melbourne, Florida, zoo to send us a loaner. Unless she’s been mating with coyotes, she’s about due for a hunk of a red wolf.”
He laughed, undoubtedly amused by the response to his comment on the other end of the line.
She groaned inwardly.
“All right, out here.” He turned to the blond. “Seems a shame if she’s doing so well in these woods that we have to put her into captivity, Thompson.”
“Hey, like you said, she won’t find any of her kind around here. We’re doing her a favor.”
Inwardly, she fumed, and if she hadn’t been so doped up, she’d have bitten both of them.
Three days later, Bella paced across her new zoo home—nice flat boulders for her to rest on, tree-shaded areas, and an indoor exhibit where humans gawked at her through fingerprint-smudged glass windows.
Furious with the hunters, and even more so with herself, a growl rumbled in her throat. How could she have been so lax in her run not to have noticed them before this?
She paused and took a deep breath, then glanced up at the top of the pen. No way to climb up above. Even if she changed into her human form, she’d never make it, given the way the cliff arched back over the top, providing shade on a sunny day.
She wandered over to the water trough. When she dipped her tongue into the water, Big Red slinked in behind her. She growled. He backed off. The poor old horny red wolf was dying to mate with her. She smelled perfectly ripe, the precise mating time for a wolf, so what was wrong with her, she was sure he wondered.
She shuddered. Mating with a pure wolf ... the very thought.
She resumed her pacing
, but when the familiar scent of lupus garou caught her off guard, she stopped. Two men, both around five-ten in height, leaned over the wrought iron railing across the moat. The breeze carried their scent to her, musky and wild. But she recognized the scent of one of them from the Cascades when she went on her run. Ohmygod, they’d followed her all the way here? Unless they lived in Portland or the surrounding area ... not good.
She studied them closer. Both men wore their brown hair—tinged with a slight reddish cast—short, and watched her with intrigue. But they both had small chins, not a nice square manly jaw like Devlyn had, and both were scrawny compared to the taller, sturdier built grays. Red lupus garou. Her heart took a dive. She hadn’t seen her kind in human form since she lost her own people when she turned six.
They smiled as she observed them, and tilted their noses up slightly, smelling the breeze when it shifted.
“Hello, sweetheart,” the older man said, who appeared to be in his late twenties. “Where have you been all of my life?”
She looked over at the other, probably closer to her age. He grinned like he advertised teeth whitener. “Yeah, Alfred, she’s one of us all right. Understands every word we say. The right mating age, too.”
“Yeah, and in heat, too.”Alfred rubbed his smooth chin. “Got yourself in kind of a bind, eh?” He glanced around, and seeing no other visitors nearby, turned back to her and winked. “We’ll risk getting you out, but on one condition.” She bared her teeth at him, and he burst out laughing. His friend joined in on the chorus.
“Maybe she’d rather have me,” the other man said, poking his thumb at his chest. “She surely can’t want him.” He pointed at Big Red. Folding his arms, he said, “She’s the one from the woods, don’t you think?”
Alfred nodded, the smile on his lips not reaching his darkened eyes. “From all accounts, she’s the one.” He grabbed his companion’s shoulder. “Make sure nobody’s coming.”
His friend turned around and served as lookout as Alfred unzipped his pants. He obviously planned to rescue her and make her his mate. The wolf urge to mark his territory overwhelmed his better human judgment. After he urinated along the bottom edge of the fence, he zipped his pants and smiled. “We’ll be back later, sweet thing.”
