Linda O. Johnston

by Alpha Wolf

  Chapter 5

  “I don’t know what hurt that tourist,” Drew said, his voice low as he leaned over the table, “but the way I heard it, Angie killed her own husband.”

  Melanie had watched a waitress she didn’t know lead Angie from the table. She turned back to face her dinner companion, expecting to see a joking smile on his face. Instead, it remained somber. Serious.

  And damned sexy.

  How could those eyes of his be so excruciatingly intense?

  He leaned back, lifting his glass of the house Merlot and taking a healthy sip. He continued to watch, as if awaiting her response. Was she supposed to laugh?

  “I…I don’t know how to react to that,” Melanie said truthfully. “Care to elaborate?”

  Crystal approached, carrying plates heaped with steak, fries, and small green salads. Mostly comfort food. And right then, Melanie needed all the comfort she could get.

  This was all too much. Too incredible. A sweet, severely injured dog—her patient—accused of being a wild, mythical creature. A visitor to Mary Glen attacked, purportedly by just such a non-existent beast. And now, their hostess had claimed that one of the area’s legendary creatures had actually killed someone.

  “T-bone?” Crystal looked from one of them to the other.

  “Here,” Drew said, and the waitress thumped a plate down in front of him.

  When Melanie’s sirloin dinner, too, was set down noisily, Crystal rounded on Melanie. “I don’t know what you said to upset Angie, but I know what you did. Oh, sure, the werewolves bring in tourist money and are good for this town in some ways. But when they hurt people—well, killing them cleanly with silver bullets is too good for them. And for people who help them.”

  Drew suddenly stood over Crystal. His smile held no humor. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were threatening Dr. Harding,” he said. “Not a good idea, Crystal, to scare off your restaurant’s guests. I think an apology is in order.”

  “No need.” Melanie kept her tone light to try to defuse the uncomfortable situation, though she appreciated Drew’s attempt to defend her. “But I’d like to eat before our dinners get cold.”

  “Angie’s husband, Bill, was a good man,” Crystal muttered and stalked away.

  Melanie felt every eye in the diner focused on them. But damn if she’d let herself feel embarrassed and slink out. She’d done nothing wrong.

  As Drew remained standing, muscles clearly tense beneath his T-shirt, Melanie pasted a challenging smile on her face and shot it toward some of those who stared—until they were uncomfortable enough to turn away.

  When Drew sat back down, his anger had apparently dissipated. Turned into something else, maybe. The way he studied her so intensely, his gaze hinting of wry humor and appreciation, shot little sparks through her veins, simmering her blood.

  Okay, knock it off, she told herself. So what if this gorgeous, sexy guy looked at her as if she was a woman, not just a veterinarian? He was a military man. Weren’t they all full of uncontrolled testosterone? She, on the other hand, was completely under control.

  “You’ve got guts, Doc.” His tone sounded approving. She liked the feeling it elicited from her. Not that she’d show it.

  She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “Obviously, this werewolf legend has a lot of believers around here, not just the tourists. Angie certainly takes it seriously. Crystal, too, I guess.” She carved off a bite of steak and tasted it. “This is good. Maybe it’s even worth all this aggravation.”

  “Maybe.” Drew bit into a healthy chunk of his meat.

  “But maybe not,” Melanie continued. “Now would be an excellent time for you to elaborate on what you said before. Angie obviously blames werewolves for killing her husband. You said she did it herself. What happened?”

  She glanced around. Not a single patron seemed to be paying attention to them. If anything, they were making a studious effort to ignore them.

  A good thing.

  Drew took another bite. “Okay, here’s what I heard. It was the night of a full moon, which was handy for the story Angie later told. She was driving, and her husband was her passenger. They’d both been drinking. Maybe they were arguing, but only she would know that. I gathered that they had a roller coaster of a relationship. The way Angie tells it, they were on a twisty road surrounded by woods when they rounded a bend. There, in the middle of the pavement, stood what looked like a wolf. She swerved to miss it, but its eyes glowed, and not just like something reflecting headlights but throwing off some kind of internal, hypnotic light.”

  “Is that part of the werewolf legend?” The little bit of research into the mythic creatures that Melanie had begun on the Internet hadn’t disclosed that detail.

  “Not that I’ve ever heard of. Although I don’t claim to know all the nonsensical parts of werewolf tales. Anyway, she claims the thing stood up on two legs and launched itself at her car, and was strong enough to shove it toward the trees. There was a crash. She survived. Her husband didn’t.”

  Melanie twisted her fork in her salad. “That’s why you said she killed her own husband. So maybe her werewolf story is a rationalization, to keep her from feeling guilty.”

  “Assuming she even believes it herself. Could be that they were fighting and she crashed the car on purpose to get rid of the guy. Or not,” Drew added as Melanie glared at him.

  “One way or another, the poor woman was driving, and she lost her husband. If it was an accident because she thought she saw something, or even if it was due to an angry impulse, she’s probably still grieving.”

  He nodded. “I’ve never heard anyone mention the wolf, or, more likely, a dog, that she might have hit on the road that night. Maybe it had a grieving family, too.”

  Melanie’s fork stalled halfway to her mouth. That sounded like something she would say. “Guess you’re really an animal lover, too,” she said.

  Angie again appeared in the diner. She walked toward them in the crowded room. Melanie’s appetite wavered once more. She’d had enough confrontations that day.

  Angie stopped at their table, a sad, sheepish expression on her round face. “Sorry, Doc,” she said. “I know you were just doing your job when you saved that animal. But when I hear certain things…Well, I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I hope you won’t hold it against me. Tell you what. Dessert’s on the house tonight, for both of you. We have some great peach pie. Okay?”

  Before Melanie could respond, she saw Angie stiffen and look over her shoulder. Melanie turned.

  A tall, thin man had walked into the diner. Melanie saw nearly everyone turn to look at him.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “Nolan Smith,” Angie said. “He’s been on vigil at the hospital with that injured tourist.” She rushed toward the man.

  “I’ve heard of him.” Melanie remembered Carla mentioning him. He was the one who maintained Web sites on urban legends…and the Mary Glen werewolves.

  Before she could tell Drew, Smith called out, “Hey, everyone.” The room had started to hush when he appeared, and his voice projected easily over the few continued conversations. “Good news. I’ve just come from Sheila Graves’s hospital room. Looks like she’ll be okay.”

  It was past 7:00 p.m. by the time they left the diner. Since it was early spring, the illumination outside, along the sidewalk of Mary Glen Road, came from streetlights. The rest came from the moon, which, despite its healthy glow, was no longer full.

  Melanie was glad. No one should imagine seeing a werewolf tonight, thank heavens. Less chance of another poor dog getting shot when not even the credulous could believe werewolves were on the prowl.

  “Nope, no supposed werewolves for you to heal this evening,” Drew said.

  Startled, Melanie turned to him. Surely, he hadn’t read her thoughts.

  He laughed, a low, deep and somehow seductive sound. “I saw you staring at the moon. Not much of a jump to imagine you had shapeshifting creatures on your mind.”

>   “I guess not.” She forced a smile. Okay, so her musings were predictable. Even so, with all the talk of things supposedly supernatural around here, she was feeling spooked.

  Not to mention turned on by this strangely compelling man.

  Shivering slightly in the cool evening air, Melanie picked up her pace. She needed to get back to her clinic and check on her overnight charges.

  She couldn’t ignore Drew’s presence as he kept up with her. If he was chilly in just his muscle-hugging T-shirt and jeans, he didn’t show it.

  “So…where are you parked?” she asked.

  “Near your place.”

  Okay. They were heading the same direction. No need to inflate this friendly dinner into something it wasn’t.

  Still, it had been a pleasant evening. Mostly. But also uncomfortable at times, and not just because of the werewolf lunacy. Partly—largely—because of Drew.

  The guy made her think—constantly—of passionate nights. She, who had sworn off men. Who’d had no trouble at all swearing off sex, too.

  Till now. She was fully aware of his tall, stimulating presence. Only, she had no intention of following through, even if Drew had similar ideas.

  Although if she were so inclined, she suspected that hard, muscular body of his would be worth falling off the wagon for once or twice.

  The silence between them grew, broken only by an occasional car driving by, and the whisper of a breeze disturbing the trees along the street and behind the buildings. Not a lot of traffic in little Mary Glen, not even along the main street.

  The stores they passed were dark. Shadows ruled, despite the moonlight and artificial street lamps.

  Presumably, the nuts around here wouldn’t shoot at something they chose to perceive as a werewolf tonight. Still, she’d been reminded that she had saved the creature that the credulous believed to be a shapeshifter.

  Was she in danger of being stopped—permanently—from doing it again?

  Maybe it was a good thing to have a military man walk her home. Even if his presence did churn her insides into steamy liquid.

  “So what do you do on the base, Major?” she asked to break the silence.

  He walked close enough that she thought she felt his body heat radiating in the cool air of the spring evening—even though they weren’t touching, and he wasn’t dressed warmly enough. Her imagination, of course. Her over-libidinous imagination.

  “Classified stuff, mostly related to the units training K-9s at the base,” he said.

  That didn’t tell her much. And classified stuff? Of course. He had a professional reason to keep secrets. And he obviously excelled at it.

  Maybe that was a good thing. She despised secretive men…as her fiancé had been. He’d owned the veterinary clinic where she worked. Gave her lots of experience running the place.

  And, while supposedly working on a hush-hush veterinary research project for a local university, took the lady professor in charge of the project as his lover.

  That should keep her from wanting to see more of closed-mouthed Drew.

  Instead, she focused on what was really important to her. “So how many K-9s are there on the base?”

  “A dozen or so.”

  “Without a resident vet?”

  “Their handlers are trained in animal first aid. And despite what happened to Grunge, the dogs rarely get ill or hurt.”

  “So they’re taken care of better than the people?”

  “Absolutely.” But he’d spoken a little too quickly. Was he holding something back?

  Something about the animals’ welfare?

  “Why don’t you let me schedule a checkup for each animal on the base?” she asked. “A baseline, so to speak, in case there’s a problem in the future.”

  “They’re checked out by military vets before being put into service and have official veterinary visits now and then,” he said. “But I appreciate your offer. May take you up on it, but first I’ll have to clear it with my commanding officer. I’ll let you know.”

  Don’t call us, we’ll call you. That was the underlying message, Melanie was sure. She suspected that Drew wouldn’t allow a little thing like military protocol stop something he really wanted. He’d figure out a way around it.

  Which meant he was humoring her. “Fine.” Squaring her shoulders, she increased her pace, and he kept up.

  They soon turned the corner onto Choptank Lane and passed the antique stores nearest the main street. Of course they were dark at this hour.

  Melanie slowed. Looked around uneasily. This was near where she had found Grunge last night.

  Was he shot right here? And was his assailant still around?

  Her state of mind lightened considerably when they arrived safely at her clinic. She pulled her key from her purse. “I have a few dogs to check on. No need to wait.” But she somehow hoped he wouldn’t rush off—not when she still felt a little nervous.

  “I’ll come in. Make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Not necessary.” But she didn’t stop him. Not with the relief she felt.

  The idea of remaining in his company a little longer didn’t hurt, either.

  “Your irritating some of the locals and tourists for being nice to Grunge last night might not be good for your health,” he said, accompanying her inside.

  “I figured.” Melanie nearly exploded with frustration. “Why on earth do so many people around here believe in such absurd stuff? Werewolves. Shapeshifters. The value of silver bullets.”

  “Keeps them from getting bored, I’d imagine.” In the light from the fixtures beside the clinic doors, Melanie could see his shadowed smile.

  “That stuff seems pretty boring to me,” she grumbled.

  “Really? I thought you enjoyed it.”

  “What!”

  Holding the door open for her, he grinned, sending awareness skittering up her spine and down to her most intimate areas. Again.

  She couldn’t help smiling back.

  He followed her inside. Nothing seemed out of order. Thank heavens.

  The dogs in her infirmary greeted her eagerly. She gave them small treats after allowing them out in the dog run to deal with nature’s call. Did they remember Drew being there with Grunge? They all greeted him eagerly, tails wagging, heads down as if they recognized him as a military man, used to giving orders. An officer, and therefore alpha in attitude.

  Despite herself, Melanie appreciated that Drew stayed with her. And when she was done at the clinic, he accompanied her next door, to her home.

  Again, he held a door open. An officer and a gentleman. So what if she felt sexually attracted to him? There was nothing personal in what he was doing. He was just…well, being gentlemanly.

  She watched as he checked out her house. Everything looked fine.

  She walked him to the front door.

  “Thanks again for helping Grunge.” He looked down at her. She shivered slightly at the expression in his eyes. Their heat seemed to char her.

  She wasn’t surprised when he pulled her into his arms. His body was as hard against hers as she had anticipated. All of it—especially where his hardness signified he was turned on, too.

  She wasn’t the only one thinking about sex.

  And that was both gratifying and a little scary.

  When he lowered his mouth to hers, she participated willingly, concentrating on that kiss. His lips. The suggestive strokes of his tongue.

  He tasted of steak—of course. And more, although she couldn’t define it. Something wild. And exotic, somehow. And much too addictive.

  His hands roamed up her back, and every place he touched seemed to come alive with sensation. He made a low, rumbling noise in his throat that only made her shudder with the added aural stimulation.

  She, too, stroked him—his back only, and what she could reach of his shoulders, and the taut, ropy muscles of his arms. As he had done, she moaned softly. Wanted more.

  But she had just met this strangely seductive, secretive m
an. He had appeared in her clinic with no doors opened to him.

  Slowly, as if withdrawing from a powerful magnetic force, she pulled away.

  “Thanks again for dinner, Drew,” she said, out of breath and fighting the urge to kiss him again.

  How could a mere first kiss be so erotic?

  “Any time,” Drew said, his voice hoarse. “Goodnight, Melanie.” He looked down at her one more time, and the intensity of his gaze ignited additional flames everywhere inside her.

  And then he walked into the darkness, toward the street, where his car was parked.

  She stood watching him until she heard a car engine start. She closed the door.

  Only then did she castigate herself for that kiss. It had been wonderful.

  It had been meaningless. It had to be meaningless.

  Time to return to the routine of being home alone at night.

  She checked her locks, then went into her garage to retrieve her mail from the box beneath its slot. Bills, a couple of veterinary magazines. Nothing much.

  She went into the living room to turn on the TV news and saw the blinking light on her telephone answering machine. She pushed the button to retrieve the message.

  And froze, as a voice, obviously mechanically altered, said, “Werewolves exist. Other shapeshifters exist. Believe it, Dr. Harding. And if you help them, you will not exist. Remember the vet you replaced, Dr. Worley. Dead Dr. Worley.” There was a click, and no more.

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  Chapter 6

  “I’ m ready to try it,” Patrick Worley said.

  “I figured, Lieutenant,” Drew said dryly. “You’re always first to volunteer when we come up with a new formulation. But this time I’ll play guinea pig.”

  “You just like the alcohol in that elixir of yours.”

  “Of ours, now,” Drew countered. “All of us.”

  It was Sunday morning, nearly eleven hundred hours, and they were in the clean room. It was part of the lab tucked below the building in a corner of the base that housed kennels for the K-9s used as decoys for what really went on at Ft. Lukman.