by Naomi Clark
With that unpleasant thought in mind, it took me a few seconds to notice Shannon when I walked into the bedroom. I nearly walked straight past her to the bathroom, until she cleared her throat and I glanced towards the bed. “Oh...”
She lay naked on the plum-colored sheets, her fair skin glowing against the rich color. She gazed at me through her eyelashes, lips pouting, fingers trailing idly over her stomach. Her blonde hair shone in the low lamplight and the beret I’d bought her yesterday was perched jauntily on her head, drawing a wide grin from me.
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” she asked, fluttering her eyelids at me.
I practically pounced on her, snarling in frustration as I struggled to rip off my clothes. Shannon laughed as she helped me, rolling me underneath her and pinning me down so she could pull off my top. Hungry for her, I locked my arms round her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. We fumbled on the slippery sheets, Shannon scrambling for my jeans zip, me tangling my fingers in her hair, knocking the beret off. Finally we managed to claw me out of my jeans and my underwear followed fast.
For a hot second we simply clung to each other in silence, gazing into each other’s eyes. In the dim light, she looked angelic. I didn’t want to move and break the spell, just wanted to stare at her forever, push away the fights we’d had over the past few weeks and the strange, dark turn our romantic break had taken. Her skin was soft and warm, and she nestled into me with a breathy sigh, pushing her breasts against me.
I moved—slowly, so slowly, drawing out every second—down her body, tongue and fingers caressing that beautiful skin as I did. Shannon moaned and sighed, shifting her hips, guiding my attentions where she wanted them. After a while, she lost patience and flipped our positions, taking mere minutes to render me senseless with quick, wicked lashes of her tongue. I lost patience even faster than her and it was only a few minutes more before we were rolling around in the sheets, nipping, scratching, kissing.
Somewhere in the midst of it all I heard a door click, heard footsteps in the hall, but it barely registered and was quickly forgotten as I was far more interested in nibbling my way up Shannon’s leg and listening to her squeal in mock protest as I did.
Later, lying breathless, hot and happy in Shannon’s arms, I wondered again if I should go check on Sun. I asked Shannon. She kissed my neck. “Stop fussing,” she ordered me. “I had no idea you could be such a mother hen.”
I didn’t push it. This evening had been exactly what we’d come here for—time together away from the Pack, romance, fun. I didn’t want to ruin that, didn’t want to leave the warm circle of her arms, so I pushed Sun out of my mind and turned my attention back to my mate. Neither of us were ready to sleep just yet.
***
I knew I was dreaming because Graham Hesketh was dead. But in the dream I was terrified as I crept through his dank, dirty house, quaking as I tip-toed up the stairs, following a bitter, musky smell towards the bedroom. In the dream, blood splattered the stairs and walls, great gushes of dark crimson blood dripping down the off-white walls. I trailed my fingers through it, shuddering at the sticky sensation. I followed the trail of blood to its end, through the hall littered with corpses—rabbits, cats, birds. All torn to pieces, glassy-eyed and drenched in blood.
In the dream, I knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t what it had been like, but it still scared me. So much death, all tangled up with that sour smell that made my eyes water and my nostrils burn. I wanted to run, just like I’d wanted to run that day, but I kept going, picking my way through the bodies, driven by anger and fear.
Shadows filled the house. In reality it had been daylight, but in the dream night filled the bedroom, thick and black. Hesketh stood by the bed, naked, wolf strap in hand. As I watched, frozen in the doorway, heart barely beating, he wound the strap round his waist. I screamed as thick fur flowed over his body, as his limbs twisted and lengthened and his jaw distorted and changed. I screamed and covered my ears to drown out Hesketh’s wicked laughter.
He didn’t turn into a wolf. He turned into a monster, too tall, limbs all long, eyes toxic yellow and full of murder. He laughed and slashed at me with his jagged claws and in the dream I was still frozen. I couldn’t dodge him, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t do anything but watch in horror as his claws ripped through my skin, spilling my intestines to the blood-soaked carpet. And there was no Vince to help me, no Glory to save me, there was just me and Hesketh; monstrous, murderous Hesketh, slashing away, tearing me to pieces until I was nothing but a bloody pulp.
Six
I woke up with a start, sweating and burning hot. Darkness pressed around me and for a second I didn’t know where I was, thrown by the unfamiliar scents of the room. I rubbed my hand across my stomach, gripped by the memory of my guts spilling out bright and lurid. But my skin was smooth and undamaged. I twisted round to stare at Shannon, to make sure she was okay. She didn’t stir, huddled under the comforter, sleeping soundly. Something in me uncoiled at the sight of her, my nightmare fading a little. The scent didn’t, though. Now I’d dreamed it, I remembered it as if I really had revisited Hesketh’s house. Bitter, rank, and sour and nothing like the sweet-rotten scent of Le Monstre.
I settled down again, curling into a ball, Shannon’s warm breath tickling my neck. I didn’t think I’d sleep again—wasn’t sure I wanted to—but then Shannon shifted in her sleep, draping her arm over my waist, and I relaxed enough to nod off again.
***
The urge to change shape woke me before dawn. I wondered if the nightmare had triggered it. It felt like the wolf was trying to claw her way up my throat and out my mouth. She would not be ignored anymore. Careful not to wake Shannon, I slipped out of the bedroom and into the dark living room. I was certain that I must have gone longer without shifting before, although I couldn’t remember when. I think just knowing there was nowhere for her to run made the wolf more frantic, more determined to change.
I stretched out on the carpet and let the change roll over me, welcoming it with a dizzy sense of relief. The swift cracks and snaps of my bones as my body reshaped felt good, like letting out a breath you’d been holding too long. Minutes later, I padded around the room in wolf-shape, investigating it all over again with a keener nose and sharper eyes. I found a stray grape under the kitchen table and chased it around the room, tossing it in the air and catching it before swallowing it with a gulp.
Over at the open window, I placed my front paws on the sill so I could get a good whiff of the world outside, taking in all the usual scents of a city still sleeping: cats, rats, spilled alcohol and dropped food, mixing with the aromas from the newsstand opposite—fresh bread and inky newspapers. I wagged my tail, satisfied the world was as it should be. Even with my sharper wolf nose, I couldn’t smell Le Monstre anymore, its odor masked by time and fresher scents.
I dropped back to the carpet, pacing restlessly. The flat was too small for me to do much and although it was tempting to head outside and go for a quick run round the quiet streets, I resisted. I’d promised Shannon I wouldn’t go off without her and I meant to keep that promise, determined to stop her feeling excluded from the wolf part of my life. It hadn’t been a problem before we moved back to my home city. Up north I had been a lone wolf, but almost as soon as I’d rejoined my old Pack, it was like my life had split in two—Pack life versus personal life. I still wasn’t sure how to deal with that, but my promise to Shannon felt like a start.
So I hopped onto the sofa, worrying at my claws and tail, waiting for her to wake up so we could go do something.
I’d dozed off again by the time she did emerge from the bedroom, naked and yawning, finger-combing her tangled hair in a vain attempt to get it under control. I twitched my tail lazily at her and she paused to scratch me behind the ears on her way to the kitchen. It was disorientating, watching her through the wolf’s eyes. She was still my mate, but with the human part of my mind pushed way back, the wolf couldn’t help but think she was the wrong shape. No
tail, for one thing. But she still smelled delicious. I rolled onto my back, legs dangling in the air, laughing at myself.
“We should check on Sun,” Shannon told me, setting about making two cups of tea—real tea, not the herbal crap. “Will you go? I don’t fancy waking a sleeping werewolf.”
I loped through to the bedroom to change back and throw some clothes on. The change hadn’t been long enough and the wolf grumbled inside me, feeling cheated. I promised us both a real run tonight. I hadn’t seen any werewolves out and about in wolf shape last night, but I’d smelled them, seen the public changing booths on street corners here and there, so it wasn’t like it was banned or anything.
I pulled on a pair of ripped jeans and threw a t-shirt on, then went to see if I could rouse Sun. My polite knocks on her front door got no answer, but it was open when I tried the handle. A little alarm bell rang in my head. I remembered vaguely hearing her go out last night, but didn’t remember hearing her come back. My heart skipped. “Sun?” I called, entering the flat.
It was a mirror of ours, done in bold, Mediterranean colors. A suitcase lay open on the sofa, clothes spilling out. They had to be Mike’s; there were lots of baseball and football shirts. I wondered if he’d been packing or unpacking when we’d interrupted his row with Sun.
“Sun?” I tried again, heading for the bedroom. “You okay?”
Silence greeted me, somehow both heavy and hollow. The flat felt dead, the air stale. The bedroom was empty; I knew it. Sun was gone. I wet my lips as I pushed the door open, worry churning like acid in my stomach.
Her bedroom was sumptuous, lots of jewel-colored pillows on the bed and wildly exotic prints on the walls, showing rainbows and humming birds. Jewelry covered every spare surface, big chunky necklaces and drop earrings. Makeup and perfume took up any spare space and I sneezed repeatedly as the cloying scents of flowers and fruit hit me. Dresses and bras were strewn all over the floor, heels piled haphazardly against the wall. It was like an explosion in a boutique.
Sun was nowhere to be seen.
I slumped against the wall, feeling sick. Shit. Shit! Why didn’t we check on her last night?
I rushed back into the living area, trying to catch a fresh scent amidst all the perfume. Out in the hall, her scent was clear, and my first impulse was to race down the stairs onto the street to follow it. I checked the impulse though, remembering my promise. Instead I dashed back into our flat, shouting for Shannon.
“She’s gone!”
“Gone where?” Shannon was sitting on the sofa, laptop open, sipping her tea.
“No, she’s gone, Shannon.” I ran my hands through my hair, biting my lip. “She went out last night—I heard her—and she’s...gone.”
Shannon set her laptop aside, frowning. “Do you think she went to Loup Garou?”
“In the middle of the night?” I could feel frantic panic bubbling up in me.
“Well, maybe she went for a run, or—”
“No! She’s pregnant, she can’t shapeshift!” Shannon’s refusal to get upset with me somehow made me more upset. “She’s drinking that tea for it, remember? She’s hurt. What if she’s hurt, Shannon?”
“Stop.” She rose and came over to me, catching my hands to hold me still. “Let me get dressed before we start running around like headless chickens.”
I fidgeted in the doorway while she quickly showered and dressed. I wanted to yank her out of the shower and march her into Sun’s flat, but I curbed the impulse. Not only would it piss Shannon off, it wouldn’t do any good. Sun was gone; she wouldn’t be any less gone with me panicking about it.
My wolf instincts pricked me, reminding me that this wasn’t just some silly girl wandering off by herself. It was a silly pregnant, bereaved werewolf girl wandering off by herself in a city where people were being murdered seemingly every night. I fought those instincts. Even a pregnant grieving werewolf was capable of looking after herself, I told myself fiercely. Sun wasn’t stupid. I was pretty certain of that.
After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, Shannon joined me, dressed and smelling of soap. I took her hand and hurried her across the hall to Sun’s flat. Shannon poked around, far more calmly than I had.
“Well, she didn’t take her purse,” she said, lifting the strappy red leather bag from the sofa. “And her keys and money are all in here still. So she wasn’t planning to go far.”
“So she’s in trouble. Shit, Shannon, it was the middle of the night! Where could she have gone with no money?”
“Can you track her? There must be a scent.” Shannon dropped the bag, a wary alarm on her face. She wasn’t ready to freak out yet, which kept me from flying off the deep end. Shannon was good at stuff like this; it was her job after all. She’d figure out where Sun had gone and why and everything would be fine. I nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to sort through all the overpowering scents in the flat for the freshest.
“It’ll be easier in wolf-shape,” I muttered, dropping to my knees to sniff at the doorway. Sun had chosen a citrus scented perfume with orange notes yesterday and the tang lingered around the door. I followed it out the hallway and down the stairs, onto the street, where the smell mingled with other smells that had come and gone through the night and early morning.
“Need to change?” Shannon asked when I hesitated, trying to figure out which way Sun had gone.
I wanted to, but I didn’t think it would make much of a difference. “The trail’s almost cold already. Too many scent trails crisscrossing.” I bit my lip in frustration. Paris was a big city, far bigger than my relatively small East Anglian home town, with more scents to sort through than I’d normally have to deal with. Even in wolf shape, I’d be overwhelmed. And of course, I didn’t know this city like I knew my home town. I couldn’t guess at where a grieving, isolated wolf might go for comfort or privacy or help. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted finally.
“Okay.” Shannon rested her hand on my shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “Well, she can’t have gone that way.” She gestured behind us, up the hill that our apartment block was on. The street went up a few meters more, then hit an untidy brick wall. On the other side of the wall was a sheer drop to a train track. Still, we peered over the edge, neither of us actually saying that we were doing it to confirm Sun hadn’t thrown herself in front of a train or something. “She must have gone into the city,” Shannon continued, pulling me back.
“Maybe we should just go to Loup Garou,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck to try and ease the tension knotting there. “It’s where I’d go if I were her and if she’s not there, they might be able to help us look for her.”
“It’s only just gone seven,” Shannon said, glancing up at the pale blue sky. The sun cast watery sunlight over Montmartre, promising hotter hours ahead. “Do you think anyone will be there?”
“Hopefully,” I said grimly, “Sun will be there.”
***
She wasn’t. I’d hoped so much Sun would be, I’d almost convinced myself of it. That we’d push open the door to Loup Garou and see her sat at the bar safe and sound. Instead, we pushed open the door to see Clémence, human-shaped and naked, curled up on one of the sofas near the TV, fast asleep. A faded tartan blanket was tangled round her legs and she had a death-grip on a stuffed pink teddy bear. An empty pizza box and a few beer cans littered the floor near the sofa.
I suddenly felt embarrassed and awkward, like we’d intruded, which we obviously had. Shannon gripped my hand.
“We should go,” she whispered.
Clémence stirred at the sound of her voice, moaning and rolling over, the bear clutched to her chest. She blinked sleepily at us, looking far less embarrassed than I felt. “Bonjour,” she yawned. “Excusez-moi, je ne vous ai pas entendu. I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her. “It’s our fault, it’s early, we didn’t think...” I trailed off, realizing Shannon was staring at Clémence. Not obviously, but her eyes kept flicking back to the girl’s bare
chest. She had a nipple ring, I noted absently. Maybe Shannon liked nipple rings. I squeezed her hand, not sure whether I was annoyed or amused. Shannon jumped slightly and pulled free of my grip.
“We were looking for Sun,” she said. “She went out last night and didn’t come back—we thought she might have come here.”
Clémence shook her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I haven’t seen her since she left with you.” Concern rubbed the last traces of sleep away from her face. “She is okay?”
“We don’t know.” I wondered if Clémence would be offended if I told her to cover up. “But she didn’t take her bag or anything, so we thought...”
Clémence swung her legs to the floor, wrapping the tartan blanket around her shoulders. It covered her breasts, but left everything else bare and I glanced quickly at Shannon to make sure she was keeping her eyes at a safe level. She was. I relaxed a little. Clémence patted the sofa, inviting us over.
