Witch Wolf

by Winter Pennington

  My heart sped. I’d never fought another wolf in wolf form. I knew how to fight hand-to-hand combat. I knew how to fight with knives and how to use a gun. I’d hunted in wolf form. I’d dominated Rosalin, but at this I was untried. The gray wolf saw it and took advantage, putting me on the defensive. His massive furred body sank low to the ground and his gold eyes watched me as he circled, predatory and deadly, more like some great cat waiting for the right moment to leap in on its unsuspecting prey.

  The wolf and I saw that look, and her power sailed through me like a physical blow, forcing me to dig my clawed hands into the earth. I had pushed her down in human form, but this form was hers and she would not be distracted or banished, not now.

  I closed my eyes for the briefest moment. She did not doubt. She was not afraid. She was not uncertain. She was the power of the full moon and no eclipse could stop her.

  I opened my eyes and rushed the gray wolf, slamming into him again in what I knew was a blur of motion. My claws found him first, cutting skin like incredibly sharp blades. He reared back and howled in pain, exposing his neck in a long line. I dove and sank my teeth in. The blood burst in my mouth like warm syrup. Claws raked down my arms, causing my jaw to slacken as I stifled a howl of pain. His claws sank into my skin and I bit harder, jerking my head back and tearing his throat out in a shower of hot blood. I felt the piece of his skin dangling from my lips. I tried to look at him. A moment of panic washed over me. There was blood in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I heard him coming.

  Kicking out with my legs, I caught his body. Claws the size of small knives raked across my hip. In the heat of battle, the pain was dull. I swiped at him again, catching the side of his face.

  I tried opening my eyes again but all I could see was red. I shook my head, reached up to wipe my eyes with clawed hands. He caught me off guard and my breath went out in a whoosh as I hit the ground. I felt the tension string his body like a bow on top of mine, like a snake just about to strike. My own body tensed, but this time, in fear.

  The air above me was suddenly empty. A heartbeat later and the sound of something heavy and solid sent a shudder through the ground beneath me.

  “Get up.” It was Lenorre’s voice. I sat up, wiping blood out of my eyes and blinking. A pile of werewolf huddled at the base of a large oak tree some ten or fifteen feet away.

  I managed to lift myself to all fours.

  “Where’s the woman?” I asked.

  “She ran when you interfered.”

  I began slinking toward the wolf man’s body.

  I heard Lenorre say, “I won’t save you again.”

  But the wolf and I weren’t looking at Lenorre. No, we were looking at the gray wolf at the base of that wide tree. The wolf thought Kill, and I didn’t disagree with her.

  Lenorre was suddenly blocking my path. I looked up into her misty eyes. A growl of warning trickled from my lips.

  “Kassandra,” she said very slowly, very carefully. “Kassandra, control your beast. You cannot allow her to make this kill, not if you wish to live in accordance to your human laws.”

  I growled at her.

  Lenorre was quick. She was faster than my eyes could follow. So much faster that I had a flicker of a thought—were all vampires faster than werewolves? Her hand sank into the fur at the back of my neck.

  She grabbed a handful of my scruff and jerked me roughly to her. Her other hand caught my jaw in a near-bruising grip.

  “No,” she said, and there was command and power in her tone. A weight of cool power pressed heavy against my mind. I flinched as she shook me. “No.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, focused on drowning out the wolf’s cries for vengeance, for justice paid in blood and death. When I opened my eyes, Lenorre asked, “Do you have control?”

  I did, but somewhere inside me, in this wolfish body, the wolf paced unhappily.

  “Yes.” The word was only slightly tinted with that edge of growl.

  She was right. I couldn’t kill him, even if it was Carver. If I’d been in human form, and had a gun, then I was Kassandra Lyall, P.P.I. and Paranormal Huntress, but right now I was the wolf.

  I heard the sound of sirens far off in the distance. Lenorre turned her face toward the direction from which they sounded.

  “We need to go,” she said.

  “Who?” I asked, but she was pulling me to my feet.

  I looked at the wolf huddled beneath the base of the oak. The sides of his furred body rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of his shallow breath.

  I stood, torn. Did I run or did I stay and make sure the cops found him? Lenorre went and picked up a bundle of something from the ground. It took a moment for me to realize that the bundle she carried was my clothes.

  “Kassandra, you cannot stay,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “We must go, now.”

  I made my decision and turned away from the pile of unconscious werewolf. If I stayed, I knew what would happen. I was wounded, but I was still a shape shifter, and more than likely, shape shifter was all the cops would see.

  The sounds of sirens drew nearer, several blocks away, but quickly approaching.

  Lenorre fished the keys out of my coat pocket. My nails clicked softly against the pavement. I stayed close to her. It wouldn’t exactly hide me, but in the dark, someone might mistake me for a Great Dane.

  She turned and walked to the driver’s side door. I tilted my head, looking beyond the reflection of snowy fur and through the tinted glass. I sat back, waiting for her to realize that she was going to have to open the door for me. I watched as she slid behind the wheel. She looked at me and seemed to understand. The door opened and I hopped into the seat. I tried to get comfortable, and finally settled for sitting like I normally would, with my butt in the seat and feet on the floor. My clothes and shoes were a small heap in the backseat of the car.

  She started the car and I made a noise low in my throat, almost a growl, but not quite.

  “Happy?” she asked after putting her seat belt on.

  “Yes,” I said and put mine on, though it was awkward and uncomfortable brushing up against my fur.

  She put the car in drive and hit the gas. Before I could say anything she was turning out of the parking lot. I leaned my weight against the turn to avoid hitting the door.

  “Watch it!” I growled. Just because she was a vampire didn’t mean she had to drive my car like a bat out of hell. I grunted as the Tiburon lurched over a bump in the road, wondering which was worse: near-death experience by policemen with silver bullets, or possible near-death experience with Lenorre driving.

  *

  Lenorre’s driving improved. I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d told her to drive more carefully, or because we were trying to look like good citizens, and not a vampire driving with a werewolf passenger. She made a left onto a street I didn’t recognize.

  “You’re going in the opposite direction of my apartment,” I said.

  “We are not going back to your apartment.”

  I tilted my head to look at her. “Where?”

  I knew she wasn’t going to the Two Points. In order to get to the Two Points we had to hit the service road and go farther north into the city. We would’ve taken the service road and gone south to get to my apartment.

  “Where I live.” She stopped as the light turned red and looked at me.

  “Why?”

  “Do you really want your neighbors seeing you thus?”

  She had a point. I settled back in my seat.

  “Rosalin will meet us there. She will bring some of your clothes.”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “I’m staying the night?”

  She looked genuinely perplexed. “Why not? How long will it be until you are able to shift back?”

  Instead of focusing on the “why not,” I answered the other question. “I could shift now.”

  She gave a reserved smile. “Are you bragging at long last?”

  “No. The only reas
on I’m not is because of the side effects.” I didn’t always experience side effects, but I kept that part to myself. It was usually only when I forced myself to shift back after a full moon shift that the side effects kicked in. The body aches and tiredness were similar to having the flu, and so not my idea of fun.

  “Most lycanthropes cannot shift so soon.” She glanced at me. “I have known only a few that were capable of such a feat.”

  “Are you saying I’m abnormal?” I growled.

  “I never said such a thing.” Her voice was more than calm. It was damn near soothing. “I am only stating that you have an ability few possess.”

  I grumbled unhappily, “I can go home later.”

  “You are covered in blood and need a bath. By the time you shift back, you will be too tired to go home, correct?” The dark curve of her brows raised dramatically against paleness of her skin.

  I’d forgotten about the blood. I lifted my hand. The blood had dried around my face and neck, leaving my fur stiff and clumped with it. I tried to see the wound at my hip beyond the matted fur. It was already healed. I turned in my seat as much as the seat belt would allow, trying to examine the wounds high up on my arms. One was long and jagged, with blood still seeping out of the opening. The other arm wasn’t that bad, but this one looked angry. It was deep enough that it would take longer to heal. I ran my tongue across the wound, slipping it gently along the edge of the jagged cut. It stung, and I did my best to ignore the pain. The sweet metallic taste of blood helped me to slip into that quiet place within. It was a place inside my mind where I was able to turn small pains into pleasurable sensations. I rolled my eyes upward and met Lenorre’s wide-eyed gaze. I saw the hunger in her eyes a moment before she turned to look back at the road. It made me uncomfortable. I stopped trying to clean my wounds.

  “Are you healed?” she asked.

  “For the most part.”

  Lenorre offered a slight nod. I turned to gaze out the window. The lights of the city fell behind us as we drove out of its reach. I should’ve guessed she lived away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

  “Do you think the police will find him?” I asked.

  A long pause followed my question.

  “I do not know,” she said at last.

  I suddenly wished I hadn’t shifted. I wished that I’d thought to carry a gun with me, but I never imagined that what had happened would happen. If I’d had a gun with me and pumped a few rounds of silver bullets into his chest and called it self-defense, would that have solved the murders? Of course, there was the possibility that there was more than one killer. I tried to remember what Carver had smelled like and failed. If I’d had a piece of clothing I might’ve been able to trace the smell back to him, but that didn’t help me any. In the heat of battle, the wolf had overshadowed my abilities to think like an investigator. Why hadn’t I just shifted back into my human form, donned my clothes, and waited for the police? After my fight with the bitch that infected me those three years ago, I’d practically had to beat the EMTs away from me with a stick. I’d narrowly averted the suspicion of my colleagues. I had hidden the pain and the blood and gone to Rupert. If I’d stayed and the EMTs had looked at me…they’d have suspected that I’d been infected.

  Even if I shifted back and waited, the cops would know that I’d been attacked. Also, there’d been a witness that had seen me in wolf form. The wounds might heal during the transition, but there’s still the issue of being covered in blood. Sure, I could’ve jumped in the pond after the shift and washed the blood off, but personally, that would look suspicious to me. Cops are a suspicious lot. I don’t blame them, but I don’t want their suspicions directed at me either.

  If I showed up on a scene and found an unarmed woman still standing after a fight with a werewolf I’d be looking for one damn good explanation. Lenorre being a vampire wouldn’t work as that damn good explanation, especially if my wounds weren’t healed. The whole thing pissed me off and made me bitchy. It was such a no-win situation. The only “win” we had was the woman’s safety.

  Lenorre drove in silence as I gazed out the window watching the white painted lines in the road streak by. I gave myself to my mood and dark thoughts.

  “We could have put him in the trunk,” I said, giving voice to one of my thoughts.

  Lenorre’s eyes strayed from the road as she gave me a look. “And if he woke?”

  I thought about that. If we’d stuffed him into the trunk and he’d woken I’d probably be missing half of my car. I frowned. He’d still been breathing when we’d left, which meant his body was already beginning to heal. If he was awake when the cops found him, they were in a bunch of shit. I said a small prayer that the cops arriving on the scene would be safe. I had no doubts that the sirens we had heard were on their way to Heartland Park.

  “Someone must’ve called the cops,” I spoke carefully. I’d started to ask her if she knew who had done it earlier, hadn’t I?

  “My guess,” Lenorre said, “is the woman, as there was no one else there.”

  “You’re sure of that?” I asked.

  Lenorre guided the car onto the highway.

  “Very sure.”

  I closed my eyes and whispered, “Thank Gods.”

  I was glad that we had saved the woman. Yet the fact that the killer was still out there left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was the bitter taste of defeat, and I hated it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was a high black fence circling the property. Lenorre had to enter the security code on a keypad so that the gate would draw back and let us through. The house was gigantic. Lenorre pulled into the circle driveway and parked the car. I stepped out and stared at the giant house.

  It was a building of dark gray stone. The stone put me in mind of a castle, but it was just a small mansion with a very gothic feel.

  The only lights were two sensory lamps that blinked on when we approached a large wooden door. A gargoyle hung above the stone archway, arms spread out like it was crawling out of the building. Its wings swooped upward, large and impressive. The lips of the gargoyle were drawn back to reveal elongated canines.

  We walked through the wooden door and I looked up. The ceiling was a good fifty-some feet above our heads. I spotted a casual lounge room to my left. It was covered in soft cream colors and white furniture. The carpet leading up a wide staircase was a dark burgundy. There were silver vines painted on the white wooden rail.

  Lenorre walked past the flight of stairs. We rounded a corner down a large hallway. The carpet matched the carpet on the stairs. Hugging the wall were Greek statues that were tall enough I had to look up at them. I knew enough mythology to know who the statues were. As we passed the Virgin Huntress I lightly trailed the tips of my claws across her arched bow. A deer slept at her feet, sheltered and protected.

  I lingered at the statue of Venus. A fall of hair tumbled down one side of her body like a veil. The only cloth covering her was the material draped around her womanly hips, trailing across a slightly bent leg. There were seashells scattered at her feet.

  It wasn’t until I stopped to gaze at the bust of Medusa that Lenorre spoke. “Do you like them?” she asked.

  “How could I not?” I’d stopped in front of a mirror. My ears swiveled and flattened against the back of my skull.

  Fingertips brushed the fur on my cheek and I resisted the urge to lean into their gentle touch. “You are as beautiful as a painting.”

  The fur on my ears was more lynx than wolf. Eyes the color of burning gold stared back at me. I ran a clawed hand down the length of my body, turning slightly to look at the bend in my knees. On all fours the hip shifted into place and locked higher up on the body than any other dog. The femur tilted inward more at the knees, creating that graceful arch that allowed us to transition from all fours to bipedal. It was indeed strange, but I had gotten used to looking at myself this way. If the wolf was not trapped somewhere within me, then I was trapped somewhere within her.

>   Lenorre stepped behind me, meeting my reflected gaze in the mirror. “You disagree?” she asked, bowing at the waist to place the side of her face against my furred shoulder. Her black curls cascaded down the front of my body, standing out starkly against the white of my fur. Her eyes like storm clouds remained steadily on my features. I tilted my head to the side, thoughtfully. I gazed at her reflection in the mirror for a long time. On some level, I did disagree with her. There was a tragic beauty to the wolf. A wild beauty, but when I thought of the wolf as myself, my ears swiveled back, flattening against my skull.

  I opened my maw, speaking very carefully. “Somewhat.”

  She offered a gentle smile, burying her fingers in my fur, sliding her hands up my arms, seeming to ignore the drying blood. “Somewhat?” She chuckled softly, breath tickling my fur. “You disagree because it seems so strange?”

  I closed my eyes, nodding.

  “Ah well,” she mused. “’Tis not so strange to me. Rosalin is waiting.” She spared a glance down the hall. “You may use my personal bath. Come.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to argue so I followed her down the hallway, trying to keep my distraction to a minimum, but with so many nifty things to look at, it was difficult. Lenorre turned down another hallway and I trailed quietly behind her, watching as she unlocked a door at the end of the hallway.

  “A closet?” I asked.

  The vampire looked at me and then opened the door. She stayed in front of me as we walked down a wide staircase. The lighting dimmed in comparison with the brightly lit hallway. I stopped, allowing my eyes to adjust.

  “Basement?” I whispered into the darkness, waiting for my night vision to take over.

  “You shall see, my questioning wolf.” The sound of metal sliding made me jump. The concrete walls were white in my vision, and behind the stairs was a large door. The doorway was the size of a small garage door. Lenorre walked through it and I followed.