Last Wolf Standing

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “Jesus,” Torrance croaked hoarsely, knowing the scene he’d just described was going to play front and center in her nightmares from now on—if she lived long enough to have another nightmare.

  “He took a souvenir to remind him of her, and I’m thinking that maybe I should do the same. Killing Dillinger’s new woman is certainly something I’ll want to remember. But what should it be?” he murmured, looking her over with slow deliberation. “A lock of hair? A…finger, perhaps? It’ll be fun, rubbing it in his smug face that I had you. Especially when he wanted you. I could tell. Oh yeah, he wanted you bad. But I’m the one who’s going to get you.”

  He lowered his head back over her chest, watching her watch him, and let his long candy-pink tongue slip toward her breast, swiping at her cloth-covered nipple. Torrance grimaced, squirming, a sickening icy fear fisting in her gut, before settling lower into those deep, inner feminine places, and wrathful frustration surged through her.

  She could feel it building…building…and in the next moment a loud, endless roar filled her ears, echoing through her brain…and with a stunning jolt of shock, she realized that it was her! “Get…off…me!” she shouted, her rage taking hold, gathering like a coming storm, mounting in her taxed muscles until she felt like she’d explode.

  Those black, vapid eyes, empty and cruel like a shark’s, narrowed, slick black upper lip curling as he bared long, vicious incisors. “That’s it,” he whispered with chilling satisfaction, leaning so close that he almost touched her mouth. “But maybe we should keep it down a bit.” He stroked the side of her face with one claw-tipped hand, his cold eyes traveling over her features, one by one. “Just think. Even now, he could be out there, watching for a sign of you. He thinks he’s so clever, but I got to you first and he doesn’t even know it. Now I can have you…then leave you like leftovers for him to find. Sweet, isn’t it?”

  “You’re disgusting.” She spat in his face.

  “And you’re terrified,” he said with a soft, guttural laugh. ‘In case you didn’t get it the first time, fear really does it for me, honey. The more frightened you get, the more satisfying this bit of payback is going to be.”

  “Payback?”

  “A long time ago, Dillinger took something from me, and I’ve been waiting for the chance to return the favor. Now that it’s here, I plan to enjoy every moment of it.”

  Sitting back in a sudden shift of movement, he released her wrists as he straddled her, his brutal claws reaching for her jeans. Rage, sizzling and violent, raced through her blood, and her body instantly went on autopilot as survival instincts finally kicked in. Moving faster than she’d ever thought she could, Torrance bent her knees and planted her feet flat on the ground. Gritting her teeth, she thrust her hips up, hardly moving his solid weight, but jarring him enough to shift his body to the left. She immediately twisted in the opposite direction, lunging to the side as she pulled her right leg free, then struck out, knocking his hips off center. At the same time, Torrance flattened her hand as she slammed it against the floor, frantically searching for the fallen letter opener that he’d knocked from her grip.

  Come on…come on…come on…Yes!

  The second her fingers touched smooth silver, Torrance grabbed at it, swinging her arm around, aiming for his mangy ruff and sending the cool metal sinking through the tough skin at the side of his throat. An inhuman roar surged up from his chest as she used every ounce of her strength to shove the blade deep. She twisted her wrist, and his body jerked above her, writhing, knocking the breath from her lungs as he fell forward and slammed her back into the hardwood floor. One powerful arm swiped at her face, sending her glasses flying as she jerked to the side, just missing the lethal slash of his claws but smacking the back of her skull hard against the base of her dresser. Stars exploded before her eyes, glittering and bright against the graying edges of her vision.

  “Arrrgh,” she grunted, gnashing her teeth, using the flat of her palm to push the letter opener deeper, ignoring the impulsive urge to let go when blood began pumping from the wound, pouring over her hand in a slick wash of crimson. Shoving with her leg, Torrance nudged him farther away, the gurgling sounds dripping from his muzzle monstrous and grotesque, like something torn straight from the depths of hell.

  “God, just die already,” she screamed, the deafening cry drowned out by the harsh, outraged shouts she could suddenly hear coming from the outer hallway.

  The wolf’s face lifted at the commotion, nostrils flaring as he threw back his head and unleashed an unearthly howl that rattled the doors and windows, the letter opener now fully imbedded in his muscular neck. A crash sounded in the living room, followed by the sound of running feet, heavy and pounding, moving at full speed, and then flashes of a hard, strangely familiar figure as something solid and fast slammed into the beast and sent him hurtling to the side, freeing her. Torrance tried to draw in a huge breath, her lungs burning from lack of oxygen. At the same time she struggled to focus on the chaotic scene, but her head was throbbing and everything was happening too fast.

  Curling onto her side, she pulled her legs up into the fetal position and tried again to focus on the blurry shadows crashing around her room. Three twisting figures were fighting with inhuman strength, growling…snarling…biting out virulent curses as they destroyed her furniture. Bodies slammed into one another with preternatural force as they battled for dominance, coarse grunts followed by the sickening sounds of crushed cartilage and tearing flesh. Torrance squinted, certain she had just seen a human arm sporting an amazingly wicked set of claws but couldn’t hold the image. A quick, sharp cracking noise, like a snapping bone, came from the other side of her bed, and her stomach churned at the revolting sound.

  Then the sound of broken glass hit her ears, followed by a familiar voice shouting into the small alley between her apartment building and the neighboring one. “That’s right, run now, but next time we find you, you’re dead!”

  Torrance blinked against the salty sting of sweat running into her eyes, and for the first time she got a clear look at her rescuer’s face as he dropped to his knees beside her, one unsteady, blood-splattered hand reaching out to check her pulse at the side of her throat.

  “It’s you!” she gasped, sounding groggy, positive she could hear the other one, who had shouted out her window, snickering off somewhere on the other side of the room.

  “Shh. Just take it easy,” he rasped, staring down at her, his expression fierce and brutally hard with lingering traces of violence and rage, a warm glow burning in his oddly lit gaze. Animal ferocity, predatory and wild, rode the long lines of his body, and there was something different about his eyes, she thought hazily. They seemed more golden than brown, smoldering with a primitive, provocative intensity that made her feel…uncomfortably sensitive—and suddenly Torrance was aware of being cradled against the strongest chest she’d ever felt.

  Oh…whoa.

  Hot, comforting heat surrounded her, pressing her against solid muscle and strong sinew outlined beneath a sweat-damp T-shirt. Torrance wanted to moan at the feel of all that hard, unyielding masculinity holding her close, but bit back the sound. Instead, she focused at first on trying not to pass out, and then on the voices, listening to the rich, husky tones, the rhythm and pitch of their speech patterns, so rugged and male. Trying not to groan from the pain in her head, she lay silent as the one named Jeremy spoke to the man holding her within the strong, possessive circle of his arms.

  “I took a quick look around the building, but there’s not a soul around right now,” Jeremy was saying. “Kinda creepy, but at least there won’t be any cops on their way, and I’ve got her door back up on the frame. A good breeze would knock it over, but it will fool anyone who might pass by until we can get outta here.”

  Strong, infinitely capable fingers pushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ears, her braid a pitiful wreck. “It’ll have to do for now,” he rasped.

  “How’s she doing?”

&nb
sp; Callused fingertips stroked gently over her forehead, across the tops of her cheekbones, the careful touch so at odds with the raw-edged power she could feel pulsing off him in hot, potent waves. “She’s pretty shaken up, but Simmons didn’t bite her,” he growled, that deep, whispery baritone ragged and hoarse. “The bastard must have been here all along, waiting for her when she got home. How the hell did he track her down so fast?”

  “Come on, you know what kind of connections he’s got. If she frequents that restaurant often enough, he could have slunk in there after we left and had her name like that,” the blond argued, snapping his fingers—an unmistakable thread of frustration lacing his words. “Then once Simmons knew who she was, all he’d have to do is hack her information off the Net. The whole thing could have happened in minutes.”

  Mason made some low, noncommittal sound deep in his throat, sounding unconvinced as he ran his big, warm hands over her body. Torrance tried to control her shiver and failed, while his delicious scent, like something wicked and sinful that she could almost taste on her tongue, filled her head, crowding out the raw smells of meat and blood and fear.

  There was something wrong here, she knew, but she mentally shoved the irritating thought away, her body finding too much enjoyment being in his arms. If she thought too hard about things, she would have to move…and that just wouldn’t do.

  “There’s no such thing as privacy anymore, man.” Through her barely parted lashes, Torrance watched Jeremy plant his hands on his hips and glare at Mason. “Who knows what he used. At this point, it doesn’t really matter, Mase. We’ve got a much bigger problem on our hands. It’s daylight outside,” the blond muttered, gesturing at the pale light beyond the broken window. “He fully changed without night. You know what this means?”

  “It means this isn’t your run-of-the-mill Bloodrun,” Mason grunted, still checking her for injuries. A hot, rough palm traveled up her side, feeling her ribs, coming deliciously close to the outer curve of one breast. If it didn’t still hurt to breathe, she’d have shifted, just a bit, and gotten that strong hand where she wanted it.

  “Yeah, among other things,” his friend bit out. “It means there’s something a hell of a lot bigger than meat lust going on here, partner. No way in hell should someone Simmons’s age be able to dayshift into his full form, even if he is as friggin’ pure-blood as they come. And why couldn’t we smell him out on the street? If we hadn’t heard her scream, we wouldn’t have even known he was here and he was practically sitting under our noses.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on with his scent. I can smell him in here, but the musk is lighter than it should be and there’s something sharp mixed with it that’s burning my nose.” His hand paused as he turned his head to look toward the blond. “And I don’t care when he can change, or how goddamn powerful he is. When we finally get him, he’s going to pay for touching her.”

  Jeremy remained silent for a moment, and then she heard, “Are you going to explain to her what we are?”

  What we are? What did that…

  In the next instant, forgotten images came rushing back as Torrance suddenly recalled the forgotten piece of the puzzle.

  * * *

  Before Mason could answer Jeremy’s question, Torrance scrambled off his lap, her movements awkward and uncoordinated as terror rushed through her, weakening her limbs.

  “I already know what you are.” The hoarse words left her lips on a soft whoosh of air, barely more than a whisper—and the realization she’d been trying to push away came roaring back, blindsiding her with the force of a kick to the chest.

  Mason watched her with a calm intensity as she scooted away on her hands and feet, crab-crawling until her back pressed up against a corner of the room. “Do you now?” he asked quietly, moving with the sleek power of a predator as he gained his feet.

  “How did you find me?” She could hear the panic grabbing at her throat, making her voice sound hollow and husky. “What are you doing here?”

  At the sound of her fear, his expression closed, like a veil being pulled over a window, filtering out the light. “I doubt you’re going to believe me, but I followed you to keep you safe. I was watching the building when I heard you scream.”

  “I saw claws,” Torrance said shakily, pulling her gaze away from him to cast a quick look around the room, unable to believe the destruction. Her once cozy, comfortable bedroom now resembled a slaughterhouse—her white bedding a gory sea of red, a blood-spattered closet door hanging at an odd angle…like a broken limb, window and blinds broken where the monster had made his escape. “You’re a goddamn werewolf, aren’t you? Just like him!”

  His head tilted a fraction as he studied her, dark eyes impossible to read. “Not exactly like him.”

  “But those were your claws that I saw, right?” she all but shouted, fisting her blood-covered hands at her sides. “When you were fighting off…whatever his name was.”

  “Simmons. His name is Anthony Simmons. And they could have been either mine or Jeremy’s.” His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, as if they were discussing nothing more controversial than the weather, when her entire world had just been turned on its head. “That’s about all of the change we can manage when it’s still daylight. Not even Simmons is meant to be able to fully shift like that during the day.”

  “They were yours,” she stated flatly, remembering the gray flannel shirt. All but shaking apart inside, she sneered, “You guys normally only change at night? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Dark heat flared in the rich brown of his eyes as they narrowed, pinning her in place. “I’m not interested in making you feel better. I’m interested in keeping you alive.”

  A sharp sound of disbelief jerked from her throat. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “You would, if you’d just calm down for a moment and listen to what your gut is telling you. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m the only thing that can keep you safe.”

  “Keep me safe by scaring me to death?” she returned, her voice trembling. “I don’t think so.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you earlier, and it isn’t my intention to scare you now, Torrance.” He sighed. “I just had to make sure you were going to be okay.”

  With a little start of surprise, she realized what he’d just said. “How did you learn my name?”

  Reaching into the pocket on the front of his flannel shirt, Mason pulled out the pay stub she’d been using as a bookmark, holding it up between his first and second fingers.

  Torrance looked from the slip of paper to his face.

  “It fell out of your book when you pulled away from me at the café.” He watched her for a moment, then quietly said, “You felt it, too, didn’t you?”

  Torrance shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that there was a strange truth to his roughly spoken words. Her gut was telling her…something—but she refused to listen.

  Mason stepped forward, his expression turning fierce when he saw her flinch. “Damn it, don’t do this. I know you feel it, Torrance. Don’t goddamn lie about it.”

  “You’re wrong,” she whispered, even though she knew the look in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the intense, almost painful longing that she couldn’t hide…couldn’t explain or rationalize, considering she was terrified of him. “I’m sorry. Believe me, you have no idea how sorry—but I…I just can’t do this.”

  His head fell forward and he seemed to be staring hard at the floor, lost in thought. Several tense moments passed, and when he looked back toward her, he kept his voice gentle, saying, “Everyone’s afraid of werewolves, honey. At first.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Her voice shook, despite her efforts to sound strong. “I’m not just afraid. I’m terrified. I’ve…ever since I was a little girl…nightmares…always. I’m…I can’t…I can’t do this.”

  Mason took another step closer to her, stopping when he saw the way her body tensed. “You can’t go off on your own again,”
he said quietly, his tone urgent. “He’s not going to stop until he’s got you.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Torrance, please listen to me. There’s something going on here…a connection between us that’s too damn complicated to explain right now. But if Simmons so much as suspects it, he won’t give up. He’ll keep coming after you.”

  She blinked, trying hard not to cry. “Why me?”

  He stared at her, his gaze moving softly over her face, before settling back on her eyes. She felt as if he could see straight into her—as if he could get into her head and witness firsthand the chaos going on inside. “Because he’ll use you to get to me.”

  Pulling her knees into her chest, she flicked her gaze between him and Jeremy. “And what the hell does he want with you?”

  “It’s because of who I am. Because of what I am,” he explained gruffly, hunching down in front of her, his arm resting on his bent knee. “My job is to hunt down and kill Lycans like Simmons. Rogue werewolves. That’s what we do. It’s called Bloodrunning, and Jeremy is my partner.”

  “What do you mean rogue werewolves?” she asked, inching farther away from him. He shot a questioning look toward Jeremy, and she could tell from his harsh expression that he didn’t want to explain. “Damn it, you got me into this! I deserve to know what’s happening.”

  “Rogues are wolves who have gone over,” he told her, breathing out a rough sigh.

  Her stomach flipped, making her queasy. “What do mean ‘gone over’?”

  “They give in to their darker hungers and hunt humans, using them as food. Once they start, the power…the rush they feel from the kill and the feeding is addictive. They have no conscience and they have no fear. Now that Simmons has set his sights on you, he won’t stop until he’s got you. That’s why we need to get you somewhere safe before he comes back. Next time he attacks, you can bet he won’t be alone.”