Linda O. Johnston

by Alpha Wolf

  Drew shook his head slowly, even as his mind raced. “Seems odd, doesn’t it, that someone with that kind of toy at his disposal…I assume the caller was male?”

  “We think so, though the voice sounded electronically altered.”

  “Big surprise. Anyway,” Drew continued, “why would someone with access to major electronics systems bother to call about a few military slobs who allegedly got drunk one night—unless, of course, that someone was the one who drugged them, and a side benefit was to discredit them with their commanding officer.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Standing, Greg crossed his arms. “So consider yourselves discredited, at least as far as anyone outside this room goes.”

  “Then you obviously won’t believe that the computer has been touched at all.”

  “That’s right.” Greg pivoted to observe the rest of the room. The lab looked fine, and most of it, apparently, was untouched. The gleaming metal wall cabinets inset with unbreakable glass were locked, as always. The metal counters were pristine, and so was the white, specially constructed floor that extended into the adjoining clean room which, fortunately, remained sealed. All drawers were closed, as was the door to the small, built-in refrigerator.

  “That also means I won’t spend a lot of the unit’s resources finding out who broke in,” Greg continued. “And that part, unfortunately, will have to be genuine, since unlike my state of mind it can be proven.”

  “I figured.” Drew stood. “That’s why I’m planning to use my own best resources tonight to help in the investigation.”

  “Not solely your own anymore.” Greg’s dark eyebrows rose wryly.

  “I owe a lot to you and Alpha for all the support,” Drew admitted. “The ability to formulate and test enhancements to my old family recipes is something we’d only dreamed about as I was growing up. And the additional backup is great. I appreciate it all. Sharing with this group is the least I can do.”

  “The military benefits, too. Or it will, once this unit is good to go.” Greg took a step around the desk. He wasn’t scowling now. Instead, his taut expression seemed filled with concern. “Assuming it ever is, after this. Just be careful tonight, Drew. I know things around here are never what I once would have called normal, before being put in charge of Alpha, but something’s going on. Something bad. And dangerous.”

  “Yes, sir. Which is exactly the reason I’ve got to figure out who pulled those stunts last night, and why.”

  The change tonight had hurt his already aching body. But now, it was recon time. Time to put his enhanced senses to work.

  He approached the areas that had been violated by last night’s intruder.

  And howled.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Jonas, his backup. His handler who, as always, smelled of chocolate. That stuff would make Drew ill if he ate any, even if he hadn’t changed. Chocolate and canines didn’t go together.

  At the moment, he could not explain to Jonas what had set him off. But the intruder had clearly known what to do to mask any residual identifying scent. There was something slight, something vaguely familiar, but it was overwhelmed by harsh odors that took his breath away. And worse.

  Perhaps, in his other form, he could have given them names.

  Now, all he could do was to follow them without inhaling. Without allowing them to injure one of his most valuable assets—his incomparable sense of smell.

  The ugly and painful scent trail was easy to follow, through the laboratory. Into the hallway. Up a stairway that should have been locked. Out through a window on the floor where his four-pawed fellows were housed. Among the thick growth of sheltering trees, and into a parking lot.

  Where it stopped.

  Had the intruder driven onto, and off of, the base? Did the interloper have a suitable ID to get through the entry in the usual way? Or had some additional subterfuge been involved?

  And was the end of the trail also the end of any possibility of his identifying who it was?

  Not if he could help it.

  “Now you take good care of our girl,” Melanie said to Shirley Wells, owner of Diva, the Great Dane. They stood near the door in the cheerful waiting room, while Melanie discussed the friendly beige dog’s favorable prognosis and future treatment. Diva, like so many of Melanie’s surgical patients, wore a recovery collar, and she tried to scratch it off while sitting on the floor. Melanie had removed two tumors from Diva and, fortunately, the lab in Baltimore to which she’d sent them for biopsy analysis had found them benign.

  It was late in the day, and no other patients were scheduled—which never precluded emergencies, of course. But for the moment, none of the waiting room’s chairs was occupied.

  Shirley, maybe mid-forties, seemed much too tiny to have a dog as large as the fortunately well-behaved Diva. “Thank you so much, Dr. Harding. I’m so relieved. Diva’s like my baby—my big baby—and if anything happened to her…” Her voice caught.

  “Let’s hope she keeps doing this well,” Melanie said. “Wait, though. I’ll send you home with antibiotics, and a painkiller in case she needs it.” Melanie had directed one of the technicians to the storeroom for the medications. Diva, who’d stopped scratching, sat on the floor panting, and Melanie patted the top of her smooth head, then rubbed behind her pointed ears. “You be a good girl, now,” she told the dog, who licked her hand with a large, rough tongue. Melanie laughed.

  “She will.” Shirley knelt to hug her dog. She looked up at Melanie. “You know, Dr. Harding, even though we’d gotten a great referral to you, I had second thoughts about bringing Diva here. Over the past few days, people around here have said things about your veterinary practice that got me concerned. But you’ve been great with Diva, and that’s all that matters.”

  The smile on Melanie’s face froze. “Really?” she said lightly. “Who’s been saying what?”

  “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Shirley said nervously, standing again. “And it just sounded like you’ve been busy arguing with people about what’s real around here and what’s not, instead of treating animals like you should. Not that I believe it, of course.” She raised her hands as if erasing what she had said.

  Are you one of those nutcases who believes in those nonsensical shapeshifter stories? The words sprang to Melanie’s lips, but she didn’t say them. Instead, she jammed her fists into her lab jacket pockets and managed to say, “Well, thanks for your support.”

  Fortunately, Astrid entered the waiting room. Melanie’s technician was nineteen, with wavy brown hair worn in a ponytail. Her lab coat was aqua, with a dog and cat embroidered in white on the breast pocket. “Here, Dr. Harding.” She handed Melanie two plastic pill bottles. Melanie studied them to make sure they contained the pills she had ordered and that the instruction labels she’d had Astrid generate were correct.

  Melanie handed the bottles to Shirley. “I’ll want to see Diva again in a week to remove her sutures and check her progress.”

  After further thanks and goodbyes, Shirley and Diva left. Melanie, who’d forced herself to smile, let herself deflate.

  “Something wrong, Dr. Harding?” Astrid’s small, concerned voice nearly made Melanie’s eyes water. She looked at her young assistant. Astrid had smooth, chubby cheeks and a slightly snub nose beneath small but alert brown eyes.

  “I’m just a little tired, thanks, Astrid. If you’re done checking our supply inventory, it’s fine for you to leave.”

  “Great. Oh, and Dr. Harding, I just want you to know I think you’re doing a fantastic job. And even though I know it’s not a good thing for you to take sides, lots of people here in Mary Glen really aren’t happy about the dumb werewolf legends, even if the tourists are good for our town economy.”

  “You don’t believe in them?”

  Astrid shook her head so vehemently that her ponytail lashed back and forth. “Not my family, either, and they’ve lived just outside town since my grandparents moved here. We knew the Worleys, too, and thought it awful that both Dr
. and Mrs. Worley got killed that way. We’re just glad that Patrick’s around and hasn’t been hurt.”

  “Me, too,” Melanie said.

  As Astrid exited, Melanie thought again about eating dinner with the military contingent yesterday. Patrick had been there.

  And Drew.

  She hadn’t heard from him today, but why should she? Just because she thought about him a lot. And the way he kissed her. And backed off.

  “Hey, Doc.” Carla slipped behind her desk from somewhere inside the clinic. “I’ve checked the patients in the infirmary. Everyone’s doing great. Okay for me to leave now?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve got a hot date, though you won’t want to know the details.”

  “You’re right,” Melanie said dryly.

  “Here’s a hint.” She unbuttoned the yellow cotton blouse she wore over her jeans to reveal a white T-shirt beneath. It said “SSTs. We’ll find the answers or flip.” The picture on it showed a cartoon dog sitting on his haunches—with the head of a man baring fangs.

  “Carla, please.” Melanie couldn’t help raising her voice. “If you want to continue working here, you can’t keep encouraging that nonsense.”

  “I’m seeing Nolan on my own time.” Carla’s face screwed into a pout. “It’s exciting, you know, even if it goes way beyond reality.” She grabbed her purse from a drawer and tossed its strap carelessly over her shoulder. “And I’m planning to make sure Patrick hears about it.”

  “You think you’ll get any positive attention from Patrick this way?” Melanie demanded.

  “Guess I’ll find out.” Carla breezed out the door, leaving Melanie alone in the clinic.

  And, suddenly, lonely.

  At least she wasn’t the only one not caught up in the weirdness around here. Maybe she should get to know Astrid and her family better.

  But for the moment, she felt as if the sane were outnumbered in Mary Glen. And outside it—well, the military sorts from Ft. Lukman certainly had no love for the shapeshifter loonies.

  And that group wouldn’t allow her through their front entry.

  Melanie sighed. Then she began her routine of locking doors and shutting off lights, until she reached her own small office.

  She decided that loneliness could be used to her advantage. She had more paperwork to catch up on, an endless task. And then there were the articles online that she had intended to read.

  Except, as she sat at her desk, she thought about Grunge. How was he doing? He was, after all, her patient. And doctors can always call about how their patients are progressing, can’t they?

  She pulled up Grunge’s information that Carla had entered onto the computer. It included a general telephone number for Drew. Melanie pressed his number into the mobile handset she lifted from its cradle on her desk. It rang three times before a click indicated it had been answered. The voice was Drew’s—his voicemail greeting.

  Melanie took in the deep, masculine tone as she equivocated about whether to leave a message. At the sound of the tone, she nearly hung up but figured her number would show anyway, in missed calls.

  “Drew, this is Melanie,” she said briskly. “Just checking on Grunge again. Call me.” She hung up, telling herself not to hold her breath.

  It was likely to be a long time before she heard from Drew again.

  Crack!

  Melanie’s hands jerked on the keyboard. “Oh, come on, you fools,” she shouted aloud. Was this going to be another night like when she had found, and treated, Grunge?

  Another night when at least one of those werewolf loonies was out shooting at anything that moved, in the hope of bagging something supernatural? Déjà vu, all over again?

  She stood at her small desk, clenching her fists and listening, trying to manage her fright. No more sounds from outside, although she couldn’t tell for certain, since the few dogs still in her infirmary were barking, validating that she hadn’t imagined the sound. Surely, there wouldn’t be another injured animal out there, left to possibly die in the gutter. But she couldn’t take that chance.

  Of course, the other night, when she had gone outside to look around, she had been more naïve—and better respected. Now, she might have some…well, if not enemies, at least people who realized she wasn’t exactly on their side.

  And a person who had threatened her. Well, okay, maybe she did have an enemy, even if she didn’t know who it was.

  Was the gunshot intended to lure her outside so the person who had called her could cause her harm? Shoot her?

  Okay, what she should do was call Angus Ellenbogen.

  Melanie immediately lifted the phone and called 911, knowing she would be connected to the Mary Glen Police Department.

  “A gunshot?” said the dispatcher. “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “I don’t know,” Melanie said. “I’m nervous about going outside to check.”

  “Good, ma’am. Stay inside. We’ll send a car to take a look.”

  “Thank you,” Melanie said.

  No more than five minutes later, a Mary Glen PD car drove up. The two uniformed officers questioned her, then again urged her to stay inside while they looked around.

  She watched them through the clinic’s front window, then lost them as they went into the woods, illuminated partway by their squad car’s headlights. They returned soon. “Didn’t see anything, Dr. Harding,” said the older and heavier of them. “But you be careful. If you hear anything else, or see anyone, call 911 again. We’ll drive by here as often as we can tonight.”

  “Thanks,” Melanie said. Then, feeling nervous, she got them to accompany her next door, to her home.

  She was too keyed up to get ready for bed right away, so she settled in front of the TV, turning on the news.

  Only, she heard sounds from somewhere outside. Not another shot. No, this was more of a scratching noise. And it sounded as if it came from behind her house.

  She thought of calling 911 again. What if the person who had left the threatening phone message was here to harm her?

  She tiptoed through her kitchen, to the back door, and stood there, listening, ready to grab a carving knife, if necessary, from one of the drawers near the stove.

  She heard the scratching again. Shivering, she held her breath.

  And then heard a whine. It sounded like an animal in pain.

  Very slowly, very carefully, she cracked open the door.

  And wasn’t very surprised to find another large, wolflike dog that resembled Grunge lying on her back stoop. But it wasn’t Grunge. This dog was even bigger, and had more of a resemblance to a sharp-muzzled, gray-and-black-coated wolf. Its injury was bloodier. The animal was conscious and obviously in pain.

  Second verse, too similar to the first. Still keeping uneasy watch for movement, for someone who might shoot again, Melanie hurried next door to the clinic, retrieved the wheeled trolley from her storeroom and maneuvered this dog onto it and inside her clinic.

  Again, she anesthetized the animal and operated. This time, the bullet had passed through, so she could only suppose it had been silver. This injury was nearer to the heart but hadn’t done much damage.

  When she had finished the surgery, Melanie was exhausted, but she kept watch over her patient while he slept, intending to call the police as soon as the anesthetic wore off and she could say with more certainty that the dog would survive.

  Only, sitting in the same uncomfortable chair from the waiting room, Melanie dozed off in the operating room…again.

  This time, she was awakened by a noise from the dog. She must have been dreaming, since the whimper sounded more like a human moan.

  Except, when she opened her eyes, she gasped, then screamed at what she saw.

  Chapter 12

  A s with Grunge, Melanie had left this dog in an open-topped metal crate lined with clean towels for comfort. The animal had knocked it over. Now it crouched on the floor half-facing Melanie. Its lips were drawn back in a snarl. Somehow the face had become less
furry and resembled a human with teeth bared in a grimace of pain.

  Melanie shook her head, trying to clear it. Her fists clenched, digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palms. Assuring her, much too horribly, that she was awake.

  But no way could she be seeing what she thought she was.

  She had used surgical tape to attach a bandage over the area where she’d operated, but it now hung partially off. The skin beneath was also hairless. Of course she had shaved fur away to better disinfect and treat the area, but that trimmed area had somehow grown to a much larger patch of bare flesh.

  In fact, even as she watched, the fur on this creature seemed to be sucked back inside its skin until it was nearly smooth. But that wasn’t all. The very limbs of the dog were changing—growing fuller. Thicker. Longer.

  “What…what are you?” Melanie’s voice quivered as much as the rest of her. She feared she knew the answer only too well. Feared? Hell, everything about this situation was terrifying.

  Her question might be better phrased, “Who are you?” And that answer she also knew, as the facial features continued to contort, then smooth into a familiar shape and size.

  The whimpering moan she had heard earlier continued softly, as if in inexpressible agony. Low skitterings of canine nails on the floor turned to thumps as those limbs she saw appearing thrashed and hit the surface on which they ultimately rested. The aroma of antiseptic didn’t change, but the faint scent of dog was somehow replaced by a hint of human sweat.

  Terrified yet fascinated, Melanie was unsure whether her body was burning up or icy cold. She shuddered, trying hard to swallow her screams, feeling tears of fright and disbelief well in her eyes.

  The legends. The ridiculous, incredible, absurd legends—they were true!

  Melanie had no concept of how long she watched this extraordinary process. Seconds? Hours? When it was complete, Major Drew Connell lay prone on her surgery room floor. Naked. Under other circumstances, she might have stared at his smooth, muscular body in admiration. Even sexual attraction.