A challenge. Now we were getting somewhere.
Assuming my kickboxing stance, I locked my glare on his. He swung a left hook, but my right arm blocked him. I delivered a proper left hook across his jaw. I followed up with a jump kick to the chest and a roundhouse kick to his cheek. My heel caught the mask, tearing a hole from the material and taking a slice of skin along with it. My assailant fell against another car. I clocked him with a right uppercut that lifted him up in the air and crashed him down on the front windshield. Cracked glass webbed under his weight.
Footsteps scrambled in my direction. Two mall security guards headed straight for us, shouting for the mugger to stop.
The bonehead regained his senses quick enough to roll off the hood and lope in the opposite direction.
A smile lifted my lips. Punk.
Turning, I went back to the car to collect my purse. The moment I leaned over to pick it up off the ground, the heel of my favorite pair of shoes snapped, pitching me forward. Of all the lousy luck.
That damn mugger. He'd better hope we never cross paths again. Unfortunately, if he worked for the Georgia Pack, then this attack wouldn't be the last.
Chapter 3
The police questioned me about the incident in the parking garage while Kirsten belted out threats of a lawsuit. Then she had to open her big mouth and tell everyone that my husband was a lawyer. It took an act of God to keep me from smacking that woman across the back of the head. I didn't want this kind of attention, and I certainly couldn't afford it.
Boy, did I need to pick my friends better.
When I got home, I spilled the news to Matt. I dreaded saying anything, but I couldn't keep something like this from either. For all I knew, someone could have sent the guy as a decoy to keep me occupied while they went after my husband. Needless to say, Matt ditched the driving range and flew home to cradle me in his loving arms.
We spent part of the night trying to figure out if the failed mugging attempt was coincidence or planned. Sending a human to do their dirty work was a first for any pack, since most werewolves kept their human contacts at a bare minimum, if they had any at all. Unless the Georgia Pack was curious about my half-werewolf abilities, why engage in a nonsensical attack? If this Stephan person wanted me dead, then why send a human to do a werewolf's job? Maybe they didn't want their hands getting dirty. Maybe all of this was really nothing more than a freak accident. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. Maybe, maybe, maybe. All we were doing at that point was feeding our paranoia. We did the best thing we could do: practice our escape plan that same night.
We had twenty minutes tops as we ran through the house grabbing as much as we could and packing it into the Land Rover. Our second car, a white Mitsubishi Mirage, would stay behind, which was why we bought it used. The most important bags went in first. Two backpacks, one stuffed with medical supplies we had collected over the years and the other stuffed with thousands of dollars in cash. The emergency suitcases contained clothes and other necessities that we could always buy back, but didn't want to waste the money on.
Matt handled our pre-filled suitcases in the bedroom while I filled a backpack with toiletries from the bathroom. Anything that mattered we kept in one drawer in the bathroom. That was the only one I emptied.
We practiced packing repeatedly just to make sure we had it down to ten minutes on each floor. Essentials only. I made a mental list of everything we needed and everything we could leave behind. If it wasn't pre-packed or on our list, then it stayed behind.
"Time!” Matt shouted from the bedroom.
Jiggling everything inside, I zipped up the backpack, kicked the drawer shut, and stepped into the bedroom. Just outside the door, Matt slid the suitcases down the stairs and hurried down to the first floor. Slinging my backpack on my shoulders, I followed after him and headed for the kitchen.
Two coolers fill with emergency rations waited in the pantry. In case we remained on the road for a while or broke into an empty cabin in the woods, we would need something to hold us over. Double-checking them would waste time because I already knew their contents: bottled juice and water, canned foods, snack items, anything nonperishable.
Retracing my footsteps out of the kitchen, I darted down the hall and into the garage where I put my charges in the leftover space in the trunk. We always made sure to get a house that had a garage. It prevented werewolves from slashing our tires and preventing our escape. After unloading everything into the Land Rover, I closed and locked the trunk, leaving the other doors open for the remainder of our stuff.
I retreated back inside the house and headed to the hall closet near the front of the house. My crossbow and the accessories sat inside a large duffle bag on the top shelf. Recalling past experiences, I unfolded the crossbow and mounted an arrow in the holster. Turning my attention to Matt, I watched as he wrestled with our laptops and computer bags.
"We've got less than a minute,” I announced, reaching for one of the handles.
Matt grabbed it before I could. “You sweep the house. I'll put these in the car and come back."
"Wait.” I put the duffle on the floor and reached inside for two more arrows. “Take this with you. It'll slow me down.” I zipped up the bag and handed it to him.
Matt eyeballed me before taking the duffle in silence.
Get over it, sweetheart; this extracurricular activity of mine has saved our lives more than once.
Like many werewolves, he detested the use of weapons. He knew the crossbow was my weapon of choice for hunting deer with my uncle—or so he thought. He also knew that I would never leave it behind. My thick-headed husband needed to drop his pride. Who cared if other wolves saw it as a sign that he wasn't man enough to protect his half-breed mate? Though he never said it, I read it in his eyes whenever he watched me target shoot in the backyard. If he had had his way about it, he would have whisked me away to some deserted island where I didn't have to worry about the evils of the world.
Too bad he didn't know that I had been at eye level with them for years and had thirty-six kills under my belt to prove it. But if he wanted to see me as a fairytale princess, who was I to complain? Better a princess than a cold-blooded sniper. Anyhow, those days were gone and buried with the rest of the skeletons in my closet.
I began my sweep from our bedroom. After checking under the bed, I stepped into the closet and glanced at the clothes left hanging on the rod. They weren't that important because we kept all the necessary clothes in the emergency suitcases. The same went for the dozen pairs of shoes lined neatly along the far wall.
The bathroom came next. My attention went to the large soaking tub where two people could fit easily. Matt and I spent many nights in there with candles lined along the side, a box of chocolates, and Marvin Gaye in the background. If we had to leave town, our next house didn't guarantee any of the luxuries we left behind in this one. Man, I hated that. Leaving the bedroom, I headed downstairs.
Matt was in the hall linen closet grabbing a few last minute linens and tossing them into a large trash bag. Walking passed him, I went into the living room and scoped out a few more things. The wall clock caught my attention, so I turned to Matt.
"Down!” I yelled, raising the crossbow in the air.
Matt ducked.
Good. He still remembered my commands and the reflexes were good, not that I assumed otherwise. His libido from last night's sex romp told me so.
Matt grabbed the last pile of linens and tossed them into the bag. After tying it off and throwing it over his shoulder, he grabbed me by the hand, turned me around, and nudged me towards the garage door. I grabbed my purse off the counter and we sprinted toward the garage.
Hopping into the driver's side, I placed the crossbow in the passenger's seat. Matt played spotter, standing behind and off to the right of the SUV while waiting for the overhead door to open. I started the engine. Practice or not, the retracting garage door always reminded me of a guillotine winding up for the fatal blow. I checked out my
rearview mirror. Matt eased onto the driveway and signaled for me to back up. Putting the SUV in reverse, I pulled out before the door completely stopped. Matt triggered the door to close. After shifting the car to drive, I waited till he got inside and pulled the crossbow into his lap. Instead of pulling out, I jabbed the gear in park.
He tipped his wrist over and gazed at watch. “We're off by more than four minutes."
"I needed to make sure you remembered my commands,” I said.
"That's not important."
"Not important? Suppose someone gets in the house while we're escaping? It's happened before, Matt, I shouldn't have to remind you."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I know. Trust me, I know."
"I don't want to have to wake you up every hour on the hour for a concussion. More important, I don't want to go through the dead-body-disposal routine in the middle of the night."
"Then we have to up our game. There was a time when we had those four minutes to spare. That's more than enough for a second sweep of the house. We were lucky to get a house on two floors because that's what we're used to. God help us if we lived in a ranch-style home. Our time could have been a lot worse."
"Or better.” Irritated, I folded my arms.
Matt turned towards me. “Baby, all I'm saying is that we're used to no one interrupting our lives. Maybe meeting this Carlisle guy is the best thing that could've happen to us. Reminding us of our place in werewolf society. Unless you become pregnant, the chances for us keeping a familial pack in the Georgia Pack's territory are nil."
"Having a kid doesn't guarantee they'll let us stay."
"No, it doesn't. But the pack is too fond of kids to let us simply walk away either. They represent the future of our race and no one wants to see that disappear anytime soon, no matter what the circumstances."
"So what do we do now?"
"We call it a night. Tomorrow, we go over our escape plan, pick up any loose ends and try again."
I rolled my eyes. “I'd rather spend the day doing the other fun-filled things we had planned."
"We will. But in the mean time, we can't let this slip. We've already slipped four minutes off our target."
Thinking, I leaned on the door and asked, “I'd give anything to slit Parry's gelatinous belly for what he put us through."
Matt laughed disgustedly. “You and me both. It's hard to forget a guy who calls you a ‘malignant leech’ and doesn't want you ‘tainting our bloodlines with your human disease.’”
I snorted. “Don't forget my all-time favorite: ‘I don't want your multiracial, mutt-children infesting the pack.’”
Facing racial prejudice was a part of growing up. Because I was part African-American and Native American, kids called me names from Oreo to checkerboard to Orange-skinned. I should have gotten over it when I left my childhood behind. Subjecting ourselves to Parry, the proverbial “bully on the playground,” turned me against the idea of wanting to join a pack.
God knows I wanted to call that man a few names of my own. Matt said to keep quiet and let him do all the talking. As my mate, it was his place to speak for us when addressing his Alpha. I came from a line of strong-minded women, so the subservient wife role fit me like a flour sack. Matt understood, and for that, as for his lycanthropy—the scientific name for the werewolf virus—we made allowances.
Parry offered my husband an ultimatum. If Matt married me, then he could kiss his pack good-bye. To make matters worse, he promised to fix it so that no pack would ever take us in. He hoped the loneliness would kill us. Matt had been with his pack for more than half his life and me for four months. His Alpha made it sound as if he had to choose between his family and the town whore. Unlike that bastard, I loved Matt enough to honor his decision, even if it wasn't in my favor. Without a moment to reflect, my husband made his choice, and together we walked out.
Parry carried out his plan of blackballing us from werewolf society. Because of Matt's expulsion from the pack, we were intruders in the Boston area. The few friends we left behind warned us to leave before Parry could send trouble our way. Taking only what we could carry, we vacated the state and never looked back. The Alpha bastard took Missing Persons ads out for Matt, hoping to find his so-called “long lost cousin.” When someone reported him, Parry sent his terror squad to roust us out. If he was in good with the local pack, then he would report our intrusion to them.
Packs were extremely territorial by nature, so we couldn't count on them to take pity on our quandary. They would kill invading werewolves regardless of their motives. Since our exile, we've been on the move. By accident, we sometimes ended up in another pack's territory. Whenever we settled in a state where none existed, the territorial misers considered that too close to their borders. Numerous moves have taken their toll. We were better off on the move than waiting till someone found us. Twice they almost caught us, and the results weren't pretty. After two years of peace, we drew the line at Atlanta. This was our home and we weren't going anywhere.
Chapter 4
I finished shoving the last of our coolers into the pantry and closed the door. Matt and I hadn't said much as we unloaded the SUV. It didn't take a genius to know that we had a lot on our minds. Matt disappeared upstairs, his arms stocked with more supplies than the average human could carry.
I gazed at the stucco ceiling. He had been up there a while and the thumping had stopped. I should have gone up there and soothed his nerves but ... I needed some time alone too.
Turning away from the sink, I almost jumped out of my skin. “Dammit, Matt! You scared the hell out of me!"
Using his werewolf prowess, Matt must have sneaked into the open area that separated the dining room from the kitchen. Standing in his fully-naked glory, he leaned both arms on the L-shaped breakfast counter and stared at me. His darkened eyes held a hint of sadness mixed with a predatory drive.
His nonverbal cue said everything. I knew what he felt because I felt it too. The sex would come later, but right now we needed to burn off some frustration.
The anger dissipated, loosening up my tight face. “Give me a minute to change and I'll join you."
After putting on my workout clothes, I locked up the house and stepped onto the back porch. Nighttime swallowed up our backyard because I turned off our motion-sensor floodlights. A six foot wooden fence separated our backyard from the vast acreage of forestry and kept prying eyes out.
My acute eyesight and whiffing nose converged on Matt.
Grass snake muscles slithered under his skin, scattering till they disappeared from sight. Black hairs extended from their roots, thickening to a shiny coat as they blacked out his skin. Bones cracked and shifted, molding sweaty arms and legs into a Canis lupus form. Fingers and toes knitted together, becoming stumped hands and feet with blackened pads materializing on the bottom. More cracking. Spasms riddled his spine as a bump pushed out from his tailbone, protruding further and further till the black hairs sprouted along the tail-like whip. Labored breaths and dripping spittle worsened. Then, his gorgeous face snapped under the skin. His nose and jaw pulled away from his human face to form a muzzle with extra fanged teeth growing out of his moist blackened gums.
The whole process took about five to ten minutes as Matt's body pushed and pulled away from his bipedal form. Joints and bones breaking into place forced the tension to spasm between my shoulders. Matt said it wasn't any different than getting chiropractic adjustments, but I found that hard to believe. When his humanoid knee cracked and shifted into a canine haunch, I shuddered.
He says I'm lucky. I say he's wrong. We share our lives together, but changing he does alone. No matter how much it hurts, it hurts most not being able to change with him. Even if he had a pack to run with, it would have made a world of difference because it would bond him to his own kind. Every animal feels the need to be with its own kind. Werewolves are no exception.
As Matt finished, he lay on the ground in his wolf form, panting from the ordeal. Despite his e
normous size and humanoid eyes being a dead giveaway that he was something else in the making, he resembled a timber wolf. He stood on all fours, about the size of an Irish wolfhound, his head came to my stomach. Strolling across the lawn, I knelt beside him and slid my fingers through his fur pelt. Unlike dog hairs, his satiny feather hide enticed my touch, drawing me to a level of werewolf understanding that humans could never comprehend. My lips pressed against the space between my husband's pointed ears, his soft coat soothing me like a natural, hot spring. I kissed him several times before letting go.
I glanced overhead, taking in the twinkling stars and crescent-moon sky. “Imagine that. No full moon,” I teased.
Mutt grumbled under his breath. As a werewolf, he turned into a real wolf with his human intelligence intact. Good thing too. When it came to my time of the month—erratic as it was—he had the ability to squelch his bloodlust. Heck, he knew my period was coming before I did. You have to figure out for yourself.
The rules were simple. Neglecting the urge to change had insurmountable consequences. High and low emotions, similar to bipolar disorder, took control by the second week. By the third week, wolves went rogue. If they didn't kill themselves, they gave in to their ravenous nature by adding humans to the menu. Though werewolves could change whenever they want, Matt made it a point to change every few days to quench his body's cravings.
I pulled my black cap over my head and pulled my hair through the back opening. Black camouflage made it so much easier to hide in the woods behind our rented home. Nobody should be back there this late a night anyway. Then again, try telling that to the teens living in our neighborhood.
"Ready for a run?” I asked.
Matt's head jerked up to attention. Reading his nonverbal cues came so easily that I could hold an entire conversation with him despite his canine form.
Once again, thanks to Dad for my half-werewolf genes.
I should be thanking my rogue grandfather more than anyone. He was one rogue I'd shoot between the eyes, then return home, kick up my legs up on the coffee table, and flip through a magazine. No remorse or second thoughts. Not after how that bastard destroyed our family. He was one reason why I had embraced the assassin's life. And you thought your family was dysfunctional.
Half-Breed Page 3
