by Ian Thomas
Thankfully Jason was still tied to the radiator but his body was bigger and larger than before, skin pulled tight over the bulging muscles. Dark fur had started to cover his skin.
“Mouth?!” Rebecca cried down the phone. “Mouth! Are you there?!”
“Yeah. The floor’s cleared. Just me and him now.”
Rearing back, arms wide, his rib cage pulled open with a series of snaps and pops, the sound sickening to Mouth’s ears.
Words were beyond Jason as he stared at the dark fur starting to shade his swollen arms.
“Mac’s back. He’s on his way. So’s Michael. One of them’ll be there shortly.”
“Michael’s a wolf though.”
“He’s fine. Has this under control.”
Jason’s brow bulged, then his cheek bones, his face broadening painfully. In his mouth, his canines extended into sharp fangs.
“Anything else I can do?”
“Not without wolfsbane or rye.”
“Will pumpernickel do?
“I wish it were that simple. But we’ve seen Eddie drink vodka so, sadly, not a rye we can use.”
“Great,” he groaned, deflated.
“Get under the shower,” she said suddenly. “Wolves fear running water so if you hide under the faucet, he won’t find you.”
Soon Jason was barely visible. Instead a large wolfman occupied the space where his friend had been. Dark fur, golden eyes, savage claws and a hunger that wanted muscle and blood. Tearing free of the restraints, the nightmarish beast slowly rose to his feet.
“He’s loose,” Mouth said with a gulp.
XXXVII
“Can you go any faster?” McLachlan asked the cabbie.
“Easy, brah,” Michael rebuked down the phone. “Just tossing daks on my pins.
“I have no idea what you just said,” McLachlan replied. “And I was talking to the cab driver.”
“I do my best. Traffic,” came the reply from the front seat.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” McLachlan asked into the phone. “It’s…you know the…”
“Chill. Not a factoid I’m gonna lose in the wash. ‘Sides Rowan and my good self have been riding quite the set lately. Our own localized Waimea, if you will.”
“Dude, she’s practically my sister.”
“Hence my lingo was grommet-friendly.”
“So you’re good?”
“I am the zen master. I am king of the great glassy.”
“I am almost there.”
“Catch ya on the flip. Stay frosty.”
The line rang off and McLachlan sat back in the cab. He couldn’t relax. Hadn’t been able to for the past day. Not since Rebecca cracked Milton’s poem. Colton. Life was shit enough with Dylan being attacked, Blackthorne wanting a hostile takeover, and now Jason was a werewolf. And all the while Colton had been alive.
The accords were fucked.
And Matteo was going to disappear into himself again, any one of these travesties proving the final straw.
Incessantly his foot tapped and his palms were clammy with sweat. At least Rebecca was safe at the radio station.
Questions swirled his head. Who had sired Jason? What did a new siring mean for the accords? This had to be the end of them, he worried, his stomach lurching as the cab pulled over.
“Thanks,” he said, shoving money through the small window.
Not until the cab pulled away did McLachlan realize he was miles away from where he needed to be. How had he ended up outside a townhouse in Brooklyn instead of NYU? He knew how but the answer wasn’t going to save Mouth.
Sprinting down the street, arms signaling for the cab to stop, the horrible feeling in his stomach worsened.
●●●
Grabbing his keys, Michael bolted out of the apartment and down the stairs taking them three, sometimes four, at a time. He felt the moon’s pull but was breathing through it. Out there was a scared kid going through his first transformation. And an even more scared kid watching it happen.
He could hold it together for another hour at least.
Focused, he barreled out of the building and made straight for Laf Hall. Already he could hear the fire engines screaming into the night. It was several blocks away but he needed the run. If anything the distance would give the wolf the hunt it needed.
Deeply focused, he didn’t sense the vampires nearby. The first tripped him, mullering him into the street. He got up dazed, head ringing and blood on his face.
“Gnarly,” he said, looking at his skinned hands. “Do I know you?”
“Hardly,” the young blonde vampire sneered. “Hey, um, so I’m new to this but aren’t you supposed to be all hairy and howling and shit?”
“Allow me,” he said, claws extending and bulk growing.
“No,” a female said behind him. “Allow me.” Her hand punched though his back. Already paralyzed, Michael spasmed as her cold hand enclosed his heart. Feeling it wrenched from his body, Michael’s world went silent and black.
Table of Contents
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
XXXIV
XXXV
XXXVI
XXXVII
