by Unknown
"But—" He coughed into his hand as he got his nerve up. "I wasn't lying."
She nodded at him and an uncomfortable silence settled on the room.
"You didn't say much the first time," she finally said, lowering her head. Her blonde hair was pulled back with a tie, and her ponytail hung over one shoulder. "When you were here before."
"I—just remember waking up by the road with my hat and clothes nearby." He shook his head. "I'm sorry. The memory's gone."
She glanced at him, searching his face. "I snuck you out. I don't normally do that but I felt bad. Most of the werewolves they bring in here are mean." A sigh lifted her shoulders and she glanced down at her hands. "You were nice to me."
The puzzle in his mind slowly fit together. But it was blurry, out of focus, and mixed with his earlier panic. Her eyes stared down at him, in a larger room with different lights. Her voice, her smell, it was like a quiet echo in the black hole of his memory.
He still didn't know how he'd wound up here before, but obviously they'd drugged him that time too. But now it was different. The fog in his mind had lifted and he felt a little more level-headed. If she was willing to help him—and it seemed like she was—then they might just have a chance.
"Can you sneak out again?"
She closed her eyes. "No. They've locked the facility down."
A frown pulled at his lips and he steepled his fingers over the blanket. Then his eyes flicked to hers. He couldn't help but stare at her beautiful features: her proud yet smooth cheekbones, the way her lips self-consciously quivered, and the uncertain look in her stormy blue eyes. Even if he was stuck here, it was a small comfort that she was here with him.
He swallowed hard. "You're really good lookin'." Fighting his shyness, he kept his eyes on her. "And I'm grateful for what you did for me. So pardon if I overstep, but I get the feeling you don't want to be here." Although his reserved nature resisted, he hesitantly reached a hand out to her.
She blushed as she stared at his tender offering, looking like it might snake out and strike her. Then she gingerly placed her palm on his. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Well, you could come with me." His thumb gently caressed over the back of her hand.
As their fingers curled together, they traded tentative glances and shy grins.
"Would you..." She whispered, turning her head away. "Would you kiss me again?"
His heartbeat pounded in his ears. "I would be dumb not to."
He caught her eye again and sat up, the blanket falling from his chest. Leaning forward, he cupped her face in his hands and felt the warmth of her smooth skin. Their lips met, timid yet playful, with a gentle caress. Then, as their fingers became more bold, the embrace intensified and their tongues wrestled.
She explored his chest and brushed against his fine nipples. He sighed into her, feeling his hardness grow. Desire fueled him as his fingers traced up her sides and slid under her shirt. Her breasts were large but proportionate to her size, and he worshipped them with his touch.
With one thumb tracing over a nipple, his other hand smoothed down her chest to slide into her waistband. He drifted over the crest of her hip, gently toying with the strap that poked out of her shorts.
Breaking the kiss, Ursula stood and slid her shorts down her long legs, exposing her thong and the dark triangle of cloth covering her crotch.
Then she threw back the blanket. Before Cole could hide his arousal, she swung her leg over him, straddling his hips. She towered above him and he could see the confidence returning in her posture. Her eyes stared down at him and she grinned with mischief as she crushed her mound on his cock.
"You're good lookin' too." She breathed heavily, her hips gyrating. "For a wolf."
Then her hand gripped the chain and brought his head up as she leaned down, her face a hair's breadth from his. Their mouths met again and she rocked against his cock, the thin layer of fabric separating their union.
Cole tried to decipher her comment for a fleeting moment, but his hands found her chest again, and he raised her shirt to expose her magnificent breasts. As he squeezed them, his thoughts focused back to her body: the sweet ache as she rubbed his cock, her warm tongue invading his mouth.
With her shirt pulled up, he traced the soft smoothness of her skin. His fingers pinched and rolled the hard flesh of her nipples. She gasped against his mouth, a sound so full of longing that it tore at his chest.
But when he shifted his weight, to take the lead and guide her body, she pulled back and grabbed the collar. Blinking, he eyed her with surprise. He'd almost forgotten about that, and here she was, using it. As if to control him, he thought, as her other hand snaked down to her crotch.
So it wasn't all an act earlier. She did like to keep men under her power. But at that moment, Cole didn't much mind. Hell, even if she wanted to beat him again.
The tiny patch of fabric shifted aside and he hummed as he felt her wetness on his shaft. He wanted to be inside her so bad; he would have done anything. But she held the power and, once again, he was at her mercy.
Sliding along the length of his cock, she twitched and moaned as the head popped over her clit, rubbing the tight nub. Her mouth broke away and she looked into his eyes. The grip on the chain kept his chin up as she shifted forward. The tip of his rod pressed to her opening and he whimpered, tensing, trying to push into her warmth.
She slid back slowly with a seductive grin and his girth parted her lips, slipping into her depths. The smile faded as her mouth opened, then her eyes closed and she rocked on his length, riding him at her leisure.
The aroma of their sex touched his nose and he felt the beast clawing its way up his spine. He lurched forward, catching a nipple in his lips. She panted as he licked and sucked, pulling the tender skin.
Increasing her pace, she slipped down on him harder and he bucked, his thrusts meeting hers. His teeth became sharp as he nipped at her flesh. Her hand released the chain and she gripped his head, smashing him to her chest. He felt claws against his skull, and a deep rumble rolled in her throat.
Building tension strained his muscles. The urge in him was unbearable and he hammered into her, begging for release. With his cheek braced against her breast, he crested with ecstasy: hips hammering wildly, losing himself in her. His teeth gnashed and a whine wheezed through his muzzle.
Her body spasmed and he felt her fine coat spring over her skin as she moaned like an animal in heat. Intensity surged through him and pleasure danced in his nerves. His cock throbbed, pumping, spurting his seed into her.
Her back arched, the tiny shirt and panties ripping as she screamed with bestial fury. He was a rag doll, captured by her hold as she thrashed on him, squeezing the last of his essence from his cock.
Then, as he panted for air, and she relented her hold. He leaned back, focusing his predatory eyes on her.
She plucked the chain up in her grip, and held it in both paws, a short length from his collar. The muscles under her black coat rippled and she tore the links apart with a savage roar. Bits of metal flew across the room and the heavy chain slid to the ground with a satisfying thunk.
Heaving from the exertion, her pale stare pierced into him from a dark and monstrously large face.
A twinge of instinctual fear sliced through his afterglow, for his earlier instinct was right—she was not a werewolf. Well, I'll be, he thought with the last of his human reasoning. I didn't see that coming.
* * * *
Mark pulled his pants out of the custom backpack and slid them over his legs. Shifting between forms was coming easier to him. While it used to be a mind-bending impossibility that left blank holes in his memory—not to mention agony for his body—it was starting to become more familiar. Almost like a second nature, always waiting at the edge of his senses. And though it was frustratingly beyond reach at times, with Jeremiah's words of advice, he was sure he would master it someday.
The interconnected gray buildings of the laboratory complex sat just
below the dark ridge, lit only by the moon and a few sparse perimeter lights. It all looked strange from this vantage point, since he worked at a section on the other side and usually approached from the parking lot. But he'd remembered that there was a back service entrance with a keypad lock.
This end of the campus was unfamiliar, but he guessed the code was the same. It was just like any of the other delivery entrances, but this one sat on a tiny one-lane road and butted up against the edge of the woods.
Torry stood up next to him, buttoning his plaid shirt. "Okay, no reason to create a fuss here. Just go in, locate Cole and get the hell out."
Mark nodded. There was a loading bay ahead with a set of locked rooms he'd never been in. Remote, with easy, unobstructed access to the forest. Through the process of elimination, he figured that was the first place to look.
It helped that it was night time already. And a weekend too. The response would be slow. Once he got there, he'd smash the door down, find Cole quickly, and they'd both hightail it before security showed up.
Or that was the plan anyway.
"This is the last of my power," Jeremiah said wistfully. "I can help mask your presence from the other shifters." He sat on the soft earth and brushed a hand over his linen pants. "But I can't hide you completely. It will fade, so act quickly."
"Sure," Mark said with more confidence than he felt. "Where's Jax and the twins?"
Jeremiah raised his head to the wind. "Now that you mention it, I don't sense them."
"Jax does his own thing," Torry grumbled. "He probably ran off on the other side and the twins followed him."
"I don't trust him," Mark stated as he stared out over the ridge. The moon lighted the deserted sidewalk leading up to the dark building. "I've never seen his human face."
Torry chuckled. "I haven't seen the twins either." Then he fixed Mark with a friendly smile. "Some just prefer to stay in the beast. It happens when you live out in the wild too long."
A shiver ran up Mark's spine. The thought of being in wolf form indefinitely seemed like a dangerous proposition. He felt the draw, the freedom of being wild, the bestial urges. But if the cost was his human reason, his attachment to society, or to Lacey, then it was too much.
Hefting one of the rifles, he made his way carefully down the embankment. In the brush behind him, he heard Jeremiah's soft whisper, like a chant in the breeze. Then, as he approached the side of the building, he realized the voice was following him, as if the man spoke from inside his mind.
Mark shook his head and focused his thoughts. I'm doing this for Cole, he reminded himself.
The cowboy's fate was in large part his fault. While he didn't regret his decision to find Lacey first, consequences be damned, this wasn't how he'd expected things to turn out. Now he needed to make it right.
There had been a few nights that he'd stayed late at the lab, finishing up a project or doing extra research. And there were usually at least a couple windows still lit when he got in his car. Even on weekends, there was always someone around. Yet tonight, the only light shone down from the moon above. If there was ever a time for this, it was now.
A tiny green light shone from the keypad on the door ahead. Good, he thought. Still active.
But as he crept to the entrance, the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He sniffed the air but he only smelled trees, earth and a whiff of dried paint.
With quick decisive punches, he entered the first four digits. Then movement caught his eye.
He froze as the silhouette of a wolf took shape at the far end of the building. It shuffled toward him and he sucked in his breath. Jeremiah's voice hissed over and over in the back of his mind, incomprehensible words rising to the cry of a windstorm. It was so real, he was sure it was audible.
A cloud brushed over the moon, cloaking the back corner in darkness. Sweat beaded on Mark's temples. Right then he didn't care what the pack leader was doing, be it magic or something else. Whatever it was, it needed to work.
Then moonlight lit up the concrete walkway again. The wolf stood only a few feet away. Adrenaline pumped in Mark's veins, but he didn't hesitate. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder and braced himself.
But before he could take a shot, a small whimper escaped from the wolf's mouth and it crumpled sideways to the ground. At that moment, Mark recognized it was one of the twins: small body, gray fur, smelling of lemongrass. The silver tail of a crossbow bolt jutted out from its side. Blood caked its fur but it was cracked, dried.
Jeremiah's whisper cut off abruptly and the silence droned like a bell in Mark's ears. Then the door burst open, striking him in the jaw.
The rifle spun across the pavement and he struggled to get his bearings as stars danced in his eyes. He was on the ground and the moon spun over his head. The sound of boots clacked through his fuzzy brain and he turned his head.
Men in tactical gear quickly surrounded him, but he wasn't concerned about getting shot. Even through his dizziness he knew they wanted something, or they would have done it already. He braced on his elbow and twisted onto his knees. The ground pitched underneath him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, willing it to stop.
"So glad you decided to show." The voice came from a man in a black suit. Although it was night, the man wore the same iconic reflective shades from their first meeting.
"Slate," Mark said as he pushed himself back up to his wobbly feet.
"Aw." The man smiled. "He remembered my name."
"Well." Mark rubbed his chin and flexed his jaw, feeling a sharp ache in the joint. "I owe you."
Slate's brows raised. "Oh?"
"For my house."
Slate's nose made a sickening crunch as Mark's fist connected, sending the man into the air. His shiny dress shoes flashed in the moonlight before his back hit the ground several feet away.
A gun barrel jabbed against Mark's temple.
He gave the guard a sidelong glance. "You think you can kill me before I gut you?"
The man blanched under his riot helmet and backed up a pace.
"You have a mean right hook," Slate said as he gracefully rose to his feet. He snatched his broken glasses off his ruined nose and tossed them aside. "I'd love to have a one on one with you. But—" His bright yellow eyes shone in the moonlight as he stared back at Mark. "Priorities." He gestured with his hand.
Mark turned to see Jeremiah, restrained by two guards. His head was low and fresh blood dripped down the side of his face. Jax stood behind him, his crossbow pointed at the back of the pack leader's head.
"You fucking traitor," Mark spat.
Jax flashed his sharp teeth in what might have been a grin. "Since you're finally catching on, I have no doubt you realize I will shoot him if you resist."
A soldier grabbed Mark's arm and pulled it behind his back. A growl rumbled through his chest but he didn't fight them. This was his fault and the count was rising against him. First Cole, now Jeremiah, not to mention himself. He just needed to figure out this mess before Jax could get a shot off. Then he would settle the score.
"How about you come inside?" Slate grinned as cold steel slapped over Mark's wrists.
As the men ushered him through the door, he caught a glimpse of movement in the brush over the ridge. Tan fur, he thought as he maintained a passive face. They didn't catch us all.
* * * *
Slate led them down a corridor Mark didn't remember. He might have been here before, but he'd been in a different state of mind during his work. The lab was no longer the familiar workplace he'd grown accustomed to over the past months. Now it seemed stark and menacing, as if it had been a cage all this time, waiting to snap closed on him.
His eyes wandered over the rooms, taking in details he'd overlooked before. Whiteboards full of gene sequencing, DNA splicing, and viral RNA integration. An assortment of medical equipment, like heart meters, brainwave monitors, and door leading to an MRI machine down the hall. Through another doorway was a room full of state of the art exercise equipment.
Large graphs detailed increased performance in the subjects: muscle mass, agility, reaction times.
Slate adjusted the cuff of his suit and glanced over his shoulder. "I would have preferred if you had stayed away from the camp. We're nearing the second phase of our testing and it would have been a shame to lose a prime specimen like yourself."
A grin spread across his lips. "Imagine my surprise when you actually showed up on our doorstep. If only we had known what you were when we first met."
Mark stared forward, ignoring the man's attempted banter. He needed to stay alert, watch his surroundings, look for an opening.
"Pity your woman didn't show. Hopefully we can find her before the next phase begins."
"If you touch her, I'll rip your arm off and stuff it down your wagging pie hole."
Slate chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about her. She is special, too, thanks to you. We'd prefer to take her alive." He opened the door to a cavernous room. "The future of your weaker friends is more—" With a deep sigh he turned and planted his hands on his hips. "—tenuous."
The moon's silvery light cast down through a large skylight in the high, vaulted ceiling. Mark blinked as his eyesight adjusted from the harsh fluorescence of the corridors, back to natural light. Then he noticed the cage.
It stood in the shadowed corner of the wide room and a small wolf cowered inside: whimpering as his wide eyes flicked around in panic.
Mark sucked a breath through his teeth. The other twin.
Another man in a black suit stood just outside the cage. As Mark watched, he casually unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his pants.
"I believe you remember my partner."
Although the other man was shorter than Slate, his thick muscles rippled as he tossed his clothes aside. Cruz, Mark thought.
Then the man snarled as his body morphed into a hulking half-beast. His long clawed finger flicked open the door to the cage. The twin's tail tucked between his legs and his ears flattened as he licked his muzzle.
