First Bite (The Dark Wolf Series)

by Dani Harper

  Not crazy. Wolf.

  Sure, why not. Baker headed for the street then, figuring it was long past time to fulfill his assignment to get a room for the night—and he was feeling a definite urge to lie down. There didn’t seem to be any hotels in the Pearl District, but that wasn’t a problem. He hailed a cab, confident that its driver would know exactly where to go.

  As the bright-yellow car headed north, Baker fingered the disposable cell phone in his pocket. After he’d checked in, he’d let Neva know which hotel he was in. And then he’d make use of the minibar.

  Following the concierge’s directions, Neva headed to the elevators. They were large and as sumptuously appointed as the lobby, with real walnut paneling and framed works by local artists. I can hardly wait to see the room. She quashed that thought immediately, still feeling the pang of guilt. Linda Ballister’s credit-card bill was going to be a doozy. She’d make a note of the address on the driver’s license. If she survived long enough, Neva determined to pay the money back someday.

  Go help Travis now? Her wolf had been pestering her all day. She’d spelled out the plan and all the whys and wherefores of the situation, but the creature was as eager to help as a child—and just as good at being patient.

  Tomorrow morning. Neva tried to send soothing thoughts to her alter ego, and imagined stroking its thick dark fur. That’s when we go help Travis. We have to eat and sleep so we’re ready. We want to be very strong.

  Wolf is strong now.

  Well, I’m not. If Meredith catches us, there’ll be nobody to help Travis. We’re all he’s got.

  It wasn’t the answer her inner wolf was looking for, but it finally left her alone for a while. Between reassuring it and trying to help Baker with his new reality, Neva felt like she was babysitting. Holy crap, had Travis felt like that with her? How embarrassing was that?

  She emerged into a wide and elegant hallway, with plush, patterned carpet that cushioned her aching feet. Victorian sconces glowed by every entry. There were fewer doors than she would have guessed, then realized it was because the rooms were big. The quality of the place was even reflected in the door lock—it only took one swipe of the key card to open it.

  Baker was propped up on one of the two king-size beds, watching TV with a remote in one hand and a tiny liquor bottle in the other. The bottle had a large group of friends on the nightstand, all empty.

  “Hey,” she said. “I brought food.” She extended the bags she’d been holding, and he turned his head—

  She never saw him move. She didn’t even have time to yell as a massive gray wolf bore her to the floor. Neva hit her head hard enough to see stars, but she was more concerned with the long, sharp teeth that were bared inches from her nose. Her own wolf tried to launch itself, but she struggled to hold it back. If she Changed now, there’d be a helluva fight. “Baker,” she said firmly. “It’s Neva.”

  He growled loud enough that she could feel the vibration clear through to her bones. You goddamn bitch. What have you done with Riley?

  “I’m Neva! Neee-vaaah.”

  The growling stopped, and he looked confused. The big head leaned forward and—

  He sniffed her. The rubbery black nose inhaled deeply as it passed back and forth over her face, along her throat, her ears. Jeez, it was like being vacuumed—only most Hoovers didn’t have the potential to bite her face off.

  Neva?

  “Yes, yes, it’s me.” Relief flooded her system until she felt like a pile of limp spaghetti. “I’m Neva and you’re Baker. I was going to ask what you think of the new ’do, but I think we’ve answered that question. Hey, can you get off me now?” She drew in a full breath as the big wolf backed awkwardly away.

  She’d rather have remained lying down, but decided she’d look too much like prey. Neva rubbed the back of her head and got carefully to her feet, keeping a wary eye on her hairy roommate. His fury was spent, however, and now he just looked sheepish. In a few minutes, he shuffled over to the center of the room and resumed his human form.

  “You’re a lot smoother at that now,” she said as she gathered the food bags.

  Naked, Baker shoved a pillow in his lap as he plunked down on the nearest bed. “Lost my clothes again.”

  “That’s okay. We have more.”

  “It talked to me, Neva. You didn’t fucking tell me it was going to talk to me.”

  “What talked to you?”

  “Baker wolf. The Baker wolf talked to me. Said it liked the water.”

  Okaaaay. She’d hoped the shape-shifting would take care of his inebriated state, but apparently no such luck. “You sure picked a great time to get shitfaced.” She extended the bags again. “Here, get some food into you.”

  Neva ended up unwrapping the food and placing his hands around a pastrami panini the size of Rhode Island that she’d picked up at a deli. As he settled in happily around his first bite, she took her own meal over to a table by the window. Now that her roommate wasn’t going to kill her, she took a moment to appreciate the decor. The table was far from the standard motel melamine-and-steel pedestal. For one thing, it was real wood, and for another, the elegant Queen Anne legs spoke of a possible antique or at least a very good reproduction. It matched the tastefully ornate headboards and other pieces of furniture in the expansive room. Only the big-screen TV contrasted with the feeling of opulence and luxury—until the press of a button lowered it out of sight into what she’d thought was an extra dresser. “Wow, this place could be on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens,” she breathed.

  “I like the Jacuzzi in the bathroom.” Baker’s mouthful of food made him mumble, but he applied plenty of volume so she could hear him anyway. “The wolf said he likes water, so I gave him a bath.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Baker wolf!” he shouted, probably not realizing how loud he was. “It was in my head at the park. So I came here and gave it a bath. I thought I was crazy at first, but now we’re good buds.” He looked around. “Who took my fucking sandwich?”

  “You ate it, bud. Here, I got an extra for you.” She’d seen his appetite in action and guessed rightly that one would never be enough. She’d brought him three, but even a dozen might not put a dent in his hunger. She removed the panini from the paper and again wrapped his hands around it, then stepped back to watch him devour it. Men. It just didn’t take much to keep them happy. The classic joke seemed a lot less funny when she thought of Travis, though. He was deeper, more complicated, somehow. She couldn’t picture any mere sandwich distracting him from the task at hand—or from the weight of the world that he carried around. Oh, crap, she thought as she teared up suddenly. She missed him, and his damn wolf, too.

  “We’re gonna talk in the morning, okay?” she said to Baker, and put a finger to her lips.

  “ ’Kay.”

  She left him to it and entered the bathroom, where there seemed to be more mirrors than walls—and was jolted as a striking woman with very long blonde hair looked back at her. Sure, she’d seen her image at the hair salon, but she’d been watching the transformation every minute of the hours it had taken. Now, not having looked at herself for a while, the impact was enormous. The hair extensions had been astronomically priced, but the results were plainly worth it. With makeup hiding her freckles, she looked exactly like her twin, Meredith.

  No, wait, she didn’t.

  Frowning, Neva struck a pose, then another. Yeah, more like that. Pouted her lips just so, and practiced what she’d always called The Look—that confident, mocking expression that her twin seemed to have been born with. But it wasn’t complete. She rummaged through her handbag and came up with one of several lipsticks she’d bought that day. The shade had to be just right, a combo of Fuck-Me Scarlet and Fresh-Blood Crimson. They weren’t the real names, of course, but where Meredith was concerned, they ought to be. Neva took her time, carefully applying the color with a brush. And stood back.

  This time it was right. Coupled with The Look, it wa
s almost perfect. Meredith might as well be in the room with her. Neva practiced the smile then, the million-dollar diva smile with her freshly whitened teeth.

  And shivered at her own reflection.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Three pounds of prime roast and a loaf of bread later, Travis had to admit he felt considerably better. His muscles and joints still ached, but the skin on his chest was regenerating nicely where unnatural claws had scraped appetizers from it. He peered out the tiny grated window in the steel door, as he had countless times since he’d awakened, but there still wasn’t much to see—only that there were many doors just like his, all facing into a circular room with a concrete floor. When he’d been dragged here, he could swear he’d gone up a couple of stories—but was he still underground? He murmured a fervent thanks to the goddess for the ever-present fluorescent light, despite its greenish tinge and its irritating buzz. Anything was better than being left in the dark to wonder if those creepy orange-eyed creatures were wandering the shadows.

  There were no guards in sight, but that wasn’t too surprising. Why should there be, when there’s nothing for them to guard but locked doors? He hadn’t heard a single sound from outside his door, though. Surely he wasn’t the only prisoner here? “Hey! Hey, can anybody hear me?” he finally hollered through the small grate. Grabbing the tin cup from the tray, he banged it against the door, like James Cagney in some old black-and-white movie. “Hey out there!”

  Just as it seemed he was alone in the complex, he thought he heard a soft tapping. Travis strained to discern where it was coming from. To the right, two or maybe three doors away and—it stopped. No. No, you don’t. “I can hear you,” he called. “Tap twice for yes if you can make out what I’m saying.”

  There was a pause and then two soft taps.

  He blew out a breath, a little surprised at how relieved he was. “Okay, that’s more like it.” What could he ask now? He considered the possibility that it was one of Meredith’s minions messing with his head, but decided not. His sense of smell was still pretty good, even if he couldn’t figure out where the hell his inner wolf was. Inside his cell, the smell of the high-powered cleanser masked everything except what was closest to him. Through the grated window, however, the cleanser was unable to mask the underlying odors of blood and filth and misery that emanated from one of the cells beyond. And it was Changeling blood.

  Travis took a chance, immediately switching to mindspeak and narrowing his focus so the other prisoner would be the only one to hear him. The chow’s not bad here, but I hate the decor. How about you?

  Needs curtains. I’m Riley.

  I’d rather not say.

  I’m cool with that. Names are power. You never know who’s listening.

  You okay?

  Healing slow. Had a run-in with the proprietor of this establishment.

  Yeah, well, I’m looking for someone to help me complain to her personally about the accommodations.

  Love to. Zarita thinks the bandages can come off soon.

  Shit. The guy’s condition had to be rough, because if there was one thing a fast-healing Changeling seldom needed, it was first aid. Even after the demons had sampled Travis’s chest like a smoked-salmon buffet, the bleeding had stopped fairly quickly and the damage was becoming less noticeable by the hour. If Travis could just shape-shift, it would be healed immediately—but his wolf was still a no-show. Who’s Zarita? He was concerned that Meredith had a partner in crime.

  Dr. Zarita Arandas. I figure she must be damn good, because she’s Meredith’s “personal physician.” Mostly, though, Zarita ends up looking after the pack. Not because we have a swell health plan or anything. Just ’cause we’re usually the ones bleeding. So far I might be her most regular patient. Riley laughed a little, but it turned into a coughing spell. It took him a few moments to recover before he continued. She brought you the food—guess you were still out of it.

  She’d given him the roast? The woman’s credentials went up a few notches. Is Zarita a Changeling, too?

  What’s—oh, you mean werewolf? No, but she was recruited by Meredith years ago. One of the early ones, apparently.

  The early ones. Christ, how long had this been going on? Do you trust her?

  Mostly. She hates Meredith. ’Course, everyone does who still has a mind of their own. Most don’t even seem to know who they are anymore. They think they’ve always been here.

  What about you? You been here long?

  Over a month. Been in the cell for a week. Maybe more.

  Travis thought of something. Can you Change? Can you call on your wolf to help you heal?

  Hell, I don’t have to call it, it’s right here. I haven’t walked on two legs since Meredith handed me my ass. She blocks all shape-shifting—from what I’ve seen, no one can become human or wolf unless she allows it. Zarita says it’s some kind of magic spell. Riley snorted. Sounds like fairy-tale shit, but I didn’t believe in werewolves either until this happened to me. So, magic? Sure. Unicorns are probably real, too.

  Travis frowned. According to Neva, Meredith was the sire of almost all the wolves in her pack. Among Changelings, nature had made provision for the very new or the very young, allowing their sire to be able to control them until they were in control of themselves. But that natural influence gradually waned. Within a few months, Meredith’s wolves would normally be free of her constraints. Compelling someone to Change or not Change should be impossible for her—and yet she continued to control a large number of wolves. What had gone wrong?

  He shook his head, realizing that nothing had gone wrong at all. Something had gone very, very right—for Meredith. He’d witnessed for himself that she practiced a ghastly type of blood magic, at a frighteningly powerful level. Neva had once said that her twin considered herself a pioneer in spell crafting and experimented a great deal. He’d seen that, too, and also that the woman was obsessive about documenting the results. Of course the bitch had found a way to harness that initial natural control every sire had. In fact, she wasn’t just continuing it but magnifying it. Judging by the fact that his own wolf was MIA, Meredith’s unnatural control even extended to Changelings that she hadn’t even sired. This just gets better and better.

  Sure does. Riley thought Travis was still talking to him. Zarita will be here in the morning. Maybe you could ask her some questions. The voice in Travis’s head went silent as the shape-shifter drifted off to much-needed sleep. It was a troubled rest, however, as shouted words and snatches of strange one-sided conversations could be heard from Riley’s cell over the next few hours. And the coughing fits. Travis was no doctor, but he was willing to bet the other Changeling had broken ribs.

  For the next few hours, Travis focused on his memories of his grandfather. He sifted through them, hoping to find some tiny nugget of wisdom or information he could apply to his current situation, anything that would help him understand how Meredith was operating. And maybe from that he could figure out how to stop it.

  All that came to mind, however, was a seven-sided chunk of clear quartz that his grandfather kept in his pocket at all times. It had no color, and the once-sharp points were a little worn with age. No matter what else Travis tried to remember, his mind’s eye saw only the crystal lying in his grandfather’s palm, looking like the plainest of glass. It didn’t even cast rainbows or gleam with hidden inclusions, and as a small child, he hadn’t been interested in it—until he was invited to hold it. Make your thoughts quiet, his grandfather had instructed. See. Hear. Feel.

  He’d seen and heard nothing, but suddenly he felt something strange, as if a vibration was thrumming in his cupped hands. As the pleasant pulsation continued, steady and sure, up through his arms, into his chest, and somehow into his very being, he realized the crystal was causing it. It amplifies energy, his grandfather explained. It takes that which already is and makes it greater. And it channels information from places outside yourself.

  Frustrated, Travis paced his cell. He wasn’t his grandfather. He di
dn’t have a damn crystal, and if he did, he wouldn’t know the first thing about how to use it. Maybe if he’d stuck around, if he’d stayed with the pack, he would have learned some of his grandfather’s skills. If, if, if…

  Christ, he hated that word.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The rented SUV was a full-size gas hog, but it had four-wheel drive, and Neva knew they’d need it to get close to what Baker called “the bitch queen’s fortress.” She elected to do the driving—he was hungover, of course—and headed south on I-5. At Grant’s Pass she turned southwest to access the Redwood Highway for the rest of the trip. Within the hour, they would be in Del Norte County, California, and zeroing in on Meredith’s isolated mansion on the coast.

  The sky was that vivid shade of blue that only occurred in the fall, with wisps of icy cirrus clouds airbrushed across the zenith. Everything seemed brighter, colors more intense, details more noticeable, from the calm ocean and the lush landscape to the green highway signs and even the flowering weeds that grew along the guardrails. Sunshine lent a golden cast to all of it…With a start, Neva realized she was appreciating a world that she could be leaving soon. She and Baker were going to attempt the impossible, and if Meredith caught them, their lives would basically be over. Perhaps they would survive physically for a time, but nothing would be left of them and anyone they cared about. Her twin would see to that.

  A royal-blue highway sign embellished with orange poppies came into view: Welcome to California. It’s too soon, Neva thought. Meredith’s estate was close now, but it seemed wrong to have arrived so quickly. What if the hobbits had simply taken an off-road vehicle into Mordor? They’d have been there in no time flat—and most of the story would never have been written. If you’re going into battle, it should take a whole lot longer to get to the damn battlefield, shouldn’t it?