by Kimber White
I nodded. “Right. The hell with the Harlans. I’ve got this though, Dad.”
I came back to his side and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Be careful,” Grammy said as I stood in the doorway of her trailer.
I gave them each a salute as I opened the door. Then I walked through it toward the worst thing that happened to me that day.
Chapter Two
Banchory, Ohio. I’ve lived here all of my life. A sleepy little town, population 1,243, nestled in a wooded valley along the banks of the raging Ohio River. We’re two miles and a suspension bridge away from Kentucky on the south side. No Man’s Land. Literally. Werewolves don’t belong here. I’ve heard they have territory to the far north in Michigan and Canada. But the ones down here, they’re supposed to stay on their side of the damn bridge. It’s the law.
This guy, though, Derek Monroe. Just being in Ohio made him a threat. There was no good reason for it other than to start trouble. My father worked to stop that trouble and usually succeeded. Even local law enforcement knew to call on Tinker Lyle when they found wolves behaving badly.
I stepped into my trailer and suited up. Night gear for this job. Black stretch pants, boots, a black turtleneck and grease paint. I tied my long, straight, blonde hair back into a top knot and tucked it under a black knit cap. One last touch, I sprayed scent killer all over my body and put Dad’s nine in the shoulder holster he’d given me on my eighteenth birthday two years ago.
I was ready. I said it in my head as much to convince myself as anything. I was ready. Dad took me on hunts since the day I turned twelve. Grammy insisted. She said every woman in this family would know how to defend herself against werewolves if it was the last thing she ever did. You see, long ago, Grammy hadn’t been so lucky. A pack of wolves hurt her very badly in ways she still wouldn’t tell me about. Whatever it was, I saw the echoes of it every time that haunted look clouded what otherwise would have been a smile. I saw the edges of those scars around her collar. I’d never seen the full extent of them, but knew they made her stiffen when she turned at the waist sometimes. No pictures existed of her in a bathing suit when she was younger. Some secrets she kept well hidden.
The KOA campground was just three miles away on the opposite side of the overpass. I parked on the shoulder of the road about a quarter mile away. At just past dusk, the camp was mostly quiet. Wednesday night, most of the campers wouldn’t roll in until Friday. Still, on a warm June night, I saw a few glowing campfires around Fish Gut Pond at the center of the park. A local name that kind of stuck.
Shielding the light from my phone, I tapped it to pull up the picture I’d taken of Dad’s file on Derek Monroe. He drove a black Ford F-250, Michigan plates. It crossed my mind I had a customer looking for a few parts. If things went well, I’d send one of the high school kids Dad employed out here to do some recon later on the vehicle.
Derek Monroe’s rugged face stared back at me from my phone screen. Hard. Handsome. Deadly. He was here somewhere. I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and headed for the parking lot. Monroe’s truck was easy to spot. It was the only one shiny and clean. Heart pounding, I took a chance and looked inside. The thing looked new. No crumpled papers in the cup holders. No coiled charging cables in the cigarette lighter.
I ducked down and scanned the tents. Dad said Monroe’s was silver and blue, staked at the northernmost edge of the campground. I saw it right away. No shadows or lights. Either Monroe was inside sleeping, or he’d gone off to hunt.
My heart thundered in my chest as I cut a wide perimeter, staying hidden behind the trees. I found the perfect place to hide and wait. Pine trees lined the eastern edge of the pond. I wedged myself between two of the fattest. The branches tickled my nose, but from this vantage point, no one would see me unless they were looking. Maybe not even then if I shielded my eyes.
I waited. No movement from the tent. After a while it became clear Monroe wasn’t in it. Since I could still see his truck in the lot, it meant he was out somewhere on foot. Probably hunting. I just prayed he was out there looking for game instead of people. We hadn’t had a wolf attack out here in over a year. Though the last one had been grizzly indeed. One of the Kentucky wolves went on a rampage, stalking students at Banchory Community College until my father put him down. Four people died. A tragedy. But it could have been so much worse.
My blood began to boil thinking of all the things Derek Monroe could be up to in the dead of night. What on earth was he doing down here, so far away from his northern pack? There could simply be no good reason for it. Either he’d been run off, or chose to leave. But wolves just don’t live on their own unless they’re forced to.
I checked my watch. It was just past nine. Plenty of time. Proof of death. That’s what the Harlan brothers needed. Until now, I hadn’t quite thought through what that would mean. I had a sled in the car. I could drag Monroe’s dead body out of here by myself if I had to. The only problem would come if he didn’t shift back to his wolf the moment he died. Most of them did, but with my luck, he’d be one who didn’t. That would be a hell of a lot harder to explain to anyone passing by. If I had to, I could call Gunther and have him meet me out here. Let him figure out what to do with Monroe. He could hang his head for a trophy for all I cared.
Then what? The Harlans would know my father wasn’t fit to do the job tonight. It would weaken him in their eyes. It wasn’t a complete disaster. It just meant that after tonight, I’d have to plan on taking a more active role in the bounty hunting side of the business. I was okay with that. As long as it was no more than one job a year. Two would be enough to pay the rest of my tuition. I went part time, trying to get a business degree. I wanted to go full time, but so far, there had always been something to get in the way. Grammy’s health. Slow business at the yard. Lack of funds. I could take a loan, but that’s not how Lyles did things. We paid our way and that was that.
Something moved in the trees about two hundred yards out. I raised my binoculars to get a better look, but the light was too dim. I should have brought Dad’s NVGs, but the things were clunky as hell and didn’t work half the time. Another thing on Dad’s list to tinker with.
Then, I saw him.
His golden wolf eyes flashed like beacons, making my heart stop. He looked my way but past me. He came slowly, loping with his tail swinging from side to side. A casual gait. He panted with his tongue hanging out to the side.
Derek Monroe’s wolf was beautiful. I can’t deny it. Sleek, gray fur, powerful muscles that rippled through his back and haunches as he took each step. He stayed close to the tree line and in the shadow of the moon. What few campers there were could never see him this far out.
My heart fluttered as I struggled to take even breaths. Slowly, I reached over and unsnapped my holster. There was time yet. I could wait. He went to the edge of the pond and dipped his head low to lap up the cool water. A twig snapped to the south. Monroe lifted his head and pricked his ears, but then went back to drinking.
Wait. Not yet. The urge to take aim and shoot coursed through me, making my head pound. But in wolf form, there were too many ways I could miss. Though he was big, actually the biggest wolf I’d ever seen, he would still make a better target after he shifted. Softer skin. Softer skull. Less room for error.
I tucked myself as far back among the pine branches as I dared. Their sickly sweet aroma made me almost lightheaded. Then, Derek’s wolf turned back toward the tent. He took one step. Two. Then he stretched himself long, digging his front paws into the ground while he raised his tail high.
I heard it. Bones breaking then reknitting. Flesh swelled beneath his silvery fur. I froze, in awe of the power of his shift. I’d never seen one this close before. The air around me seemed charged with electricity and magic. But, this was no magic. This was brutal, deadly force. The creature before me would kill if I didn’t act first. I could never forget that. His paws stretched, grew long, then strong, beautiful hands with corded veins clawed into the ground, bra
cing as the rest of his body was reborn.
He rose. One leg with powerful thigh muscles, bent at the knee. He took a step, stretching his spine and filling his human lungs with cool, crisp air.
Derek Monroe in a photograph was one thing. In person, he was breathtaking. Gorgeous. Magnetic. I found myself wanting to hear him talk. His voice would be deep, sending vibrations of pleasure through me. I just knew it.
I closed my eyes. Something came over me. It was the magic of the shift. It held some thrall over me, but the instant I couldn’t see him, I came back into myself again and remembered why I was here.
My fingers closed around the trigger of my weapon and I squared my shoulders. He didn’t see me. His eyes narrowed as the wind shifted. He was naked. Potent. His broad chest glistened with the sweat of exertion. His manhood swung heavy and I couldn’t help staring. Such a beautiful creature. But lethal. And his presence here threatened all of us.
I took aim. One shot. Straight through the heart. He wouldn’t die instantly. His wolf strength would keep his heart beating at least at first. But my toxin-laced bullet would paralyze him, retarding the natural healing his body would struggle to do. One more shot would finish him. Head. Or heart. My choice. My job. My life.
I let my breath out and steadied my hands. At the last second, our eyes met, and Derek Monroe understood. His wolf eyes flashed gold, but it was already too late. I squeezed the trigger. Just a quick pulse from the silencer and I hit my mark. Strong though he was, even wolves can’t outrun bullets.
I walked out from my sniper’s nest in the trees. Derek’s step faltered, but he didn’t go down. A great wound opened above his left pectoral muscle. Shit. I pulled too hard to the right and missed his heart by a good four inches. His howl of pain cut through the air. I felt it in my soul as well as heard it with my ears. It nearly brought me to my knees.
Even without a heart shot he should have gone down. He should have crumpled as the toxin short-circuited the electrical impulses from his brain to his muscles.
He didn’t go down.
Instead, our eyes locked. His filled with wild rage. Human still, his wolf flared to life behind his eyes and looked at me with deadly intent.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He shouldn’t have been standing. He shouldn’t have been able to move. But, he did.
Werewolves are fast, you see. Not faster than bullets. But faster than a trigger finger. When I raised the gun a second time it was already too late. Derek Monroe came at me with lethal speed. Before I got a shot off, that final, worst thing happened. His fingers closed around my throat and everything went black.
Chapter Three
“Jessa.”
No. Ugh. No. I just wanted to sleep. Groaning, I rolled to my side and reached for the covers. Ten more minutes.
“Jessa!”
My eyes snapped open. I blinked hard, trying to focus. Two black boots faced toward me, inches from my face. My head rested on hardwood. Dust everywhere. I sneezed. That’s when I realized my hands were tied tightly behind me. My feet bound at the ankles. I lay on my side on wooden floorboards. Flickering light from a pair of three-wick candles burned in the corner.
Derek Monroe crouched down and peered into my face. His pupils narrowed, those amber eyes glinted.
Shit.
I rolled to my back, wincing as my weight landed on my bound wrists. I twisted away, trying to sit up. Pins and needles flowed through my wrists down to my fingertips. Derek put his hands on my shoulders; his fingertips radiated heat straight through my spine, taking my breath away. Gently, but firmly, he pulled me up to a sitting position. I scooted backward, pushing off with my bound feet until I butted up against the far wall.
Derek squatted before me, his right arm dangling over his knee. He held his left arm against his chest. Blood still oozed from the wound on his left shoulder but even in the dim light, I could see the edges of torn flesh had started to close. How was that possible? Dad’s special bullets should have kept him on the ground immobile. He never should have been able to get up again.
“Feeling better, Jessa?” he asked. His voice was rich and deep, just like I’d imagined. My pulse quickened as I surveyed my surroundings. We were in an empty house. Old, with faded wallpaper with looping flower patterns. It might have been yellow or pink long ago. Now, it was dingy gray like everything else in here. Probably one of the abandoned farmhouses off County Road 14. I could still hear highway noises through the open window behind Derek’s head. Would anyone hear me if I screamed? Maybe. But it likely wouldn’t matter. Derek might have been wounded, but he’d still managed to overpower me quick enough and bring me here.
“How do you know my name?” I asked the safest question I could think of.
Derek smiled and reached into his back pocket. He held my phone up. Shit. So he knew everything. He must have pressed my finger to the touch screen when he had me knocked out to unlock it. What else had he done to me? Nothing hurt except the strain where he bound my wrists with plastic zip ties.
“Okay,” I said. “So now what?”
Derek stood. God, he was big. My gaze went up and up, and I had to crane my neck to stay on his face. He walked to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall. He scrolled through my phone, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“This me?” he said, turning the screen toward me; he’d pulled up the picture I took of the spec sheet Dad had on him. Basic stuff. Height. Weight. The color of his wolf. Where he’d been last seen. And Dad journaled Derek’s movements over the last few days.
“Pretty much,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. “What are you after?”
I cocked my head to the side. Did he legitimately not know? Derek Monroe might be extra strong for a wolf, but he seemed a little dense. “What do you mean what am I after? That hole in your chest didn’t make it clear?”
Derek rolled his left shoulder. He tried to hide it, but I could tell the movement caused him agony. For an instant, his eyes flashed gold as his wolf flared to life. Fire shot through me. I started to sweat. I was afraid. Of course I was. But there was something else going on too. I felt drawn to him. Like some invisible rubber band bound me to him. I had to be losing it, but the air grew colder the further he moved away from me. Then, when he pushed himself off the wall and came closer, warmth flooded through me and my nerve endings seemed to crackle.
“Someone sent you to kill me. Who? Why?”
I opened my mouth to say something but couldn’t form words. I just clamped my jaw shut and looked at the ground. Think, Jessa. Think. What leverage did I have?
“Did you really think I’d be that easy to kill?”
“I’m having an off day,” I said. The words just seemed to spill out now. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here in Banchory. Are you lost? Did your pack drive you out?”
“Jessa Lyle,” he said, turning the phone back toward me. He’d pulled up my Facebook profile. My cover photo was one of my Dad and me posing under the Lyle Salvage Yard sign after we’d repainted it. Brutus had jumped up and had her paws on my shoulders. I was laughing. Dad took a wide stance with his hands on his hips as if all he needed was a superhero cape. Goofy. His bald head gleamed in the sun, but he looked tough. Weathered skin with hard muscles and a trim waist.
Derek turned the screen and studied the photograph. “Lyle. Wait a minute. Is that Tinker Lyle? Are you Tinker Lyle’s daughter?” He said my father’s name as if it burned in his mouth like acid. There was no point in denying it. He held the evidence in the palm of his hand.
“Yesss. I’m Tinker’s daughter. So now you know what I was doing out there tonight. And you also know I wasn’t on my own.”
“Wolf killer,” Derek said. He switched the phone off and put it in his back pocket. “We’ve heard of Tinker as far as Wild Lake.”
Wild Lake? I knew a pocket of wolf packs lived up there near the Canadian border. Again though, Derek’s mere presence here in Ohio made him a threat. The Kentucky wolves
were within their rights to kill him if he tried to cross the river. “So why don’t you head on back there? Your kind doesn’t belong in my state, Derek.”
Derek’s eyes widened as he realized of course I knew as much about him as he knew about me. “My kind. My kind? What kind of bedtime stories has old Tinker been telling you?”
“Not stories. You’re a killer. There’s no good reason for someone like you to have crossed the boundary lines. Ohio is No Man’s Land for wolves. Surely you’re not that stupid that you don’t already know that.”
Derek snapped his jaw. Human still, his wolf simmered just below the surface and his growl vibrated across the floorboards. My breath stuck in my throat as he crouched back down and came within inches of my face. His hot breath blew along my cheek. He bared his teeth, and that low, vibrating growl seemed to come from everywhere. Fresh blood started to pour from the wound near his shoulder.
That wound should have closed by now. Which meant the toxin was doing its job. But why was it taking so long in Derek? What made him different? For the first time since I came to, I started to think maybe I wasn’t entirely fucked.
“So that’s who sent you? One of the Kentucky packs?”
“I don’t work for wolves, Derek. We take care of our own down here. When killers like you get out of line, I take care of it. My father takes care of it.”
“Yeah? Then where is he? Where’s the great, deadly Tinker Lyle? Didn’t see him hiding in the trees when I knocked you out. Nobody followed me when I brought you out here. You’re on your own, aren’t you, Jessa? Nobody’s looking for you.”
My heart thundered in my chest. It wasn’t true, but something else made my blood run cold. It was late. Very late. Was it past midnight? Oh, God. What was going to happen when I didn’t show up at the Depot bar with proof I’d finished the contract? The Harlan brothers were going to come looking for my father. He was in no position to deal with them, and Grammy was liable to shoot them on sight. Gunther and Jeff were one thing, but if Grammy got the entire Harlan family after us, they’d burn the yard to the ground. Likely with Dad and Grammy tied up inside.
